The Red Telephone Box (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 5)

by P. F. Ford

  The Red Telephone Box

  A DS Dave Slater Novel

  By

  P. F. Ford

  © 2015 P. F. Ford

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

  Editing by KT Editing Services

  With thanks to:

  My amazing wife, Mary – sometimes we need someone else to believe in us before we really believe in ourselves. None of this would have happened without her unfailing belief and support.

  Books by P.F. Ford

  DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels

  Death of a Temptress

  Just a Coincidence

  Florence

  The WrongMan

  The Red Telephone Box

  Alfie Bowman Novellas:

  An Unlikely Hero

  Missing Without Trace

  An Unnecessary Murder

  Who Kidnapped Billy Bumble

  A Handsome Stranger

  P.F. Ford links:

  P.F. Ford website

  P.F. Ford’s Author Central page

  P.F. Ford on Goodreads

  Prologue

  Detective Sergeant Dave Slater’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared up at the block of flats in front of him. The flames licked and curled around the windows of one of the flats – and not just any old flat; it was DS Norman’s flat. As he stood, rooted to the spot, he heard the roar of the fire as it whooshed through the window, and saw the yellow flame and black smoke pouring from inside the building.

  Slater felt helpless as around him, firefighters ran back and forth, carrying various types of complicated-looking equipment. Surely Norman couldn’t be in there, could he? Not Norman, with his crumpled shirts, his burgeoning belly, and his silly jokes. Slater refused to believe his friend was in that building – he was surely somewhere else, wasn’t he?

  He thought about the situations he and Norman had found themselves in before. They had chased murderers, for heaven’s sake. Norman wouldn’t let something so dull as a house fire stop him in his tracks. But, as he tried furiously to think positively – wasn’t that what Norman always told him to do? – the logical side of his brain was nagging at him. It was the early hours of the morning; if Norman wasn’t inside, then where was he? He had tried calling, his fingers fumbling desperately over the keys, but there had been no answer. Norman didn’t have much of a social life, and he especially didn’t have one at half past three in the morning.

  Just a couple of nights earlier they had been sitting chatting to each other across the table at their favourite Indian restaurant. Slater had been less talkative than usual, brooding slightly on the continual turmoil his personal life seemed to be in. That hadn’t mattered though – he and Norm had sat in companionable silence. They’d been friends long enough that sometimes conversation wasn’t necessary.

  How could, just a couple of days later, Slater find himself staring up at Norman’s flat as the inferno raged, not knowing whether or not the man who had become his closest friend was trapped inside? He had to fight to control the absurd urge to race into the building himself; to climb the stairs and break down Norm’s door; to drag him from his bed if he was in there – which would be no mean feat, given Norman’s bulk – and haul him to safety. But all he could do was stand and watch. And wait.

  Chapter One

  It had been some time since detective sergeants Dave Slater and Norman Norman had spent an evening together, mainly because Slater had been preoccupied with his new relationship. Sadly, the gorgeous Cindy Maine had told him it was too difficult to adapt to the idea of sharing him with his job, and as a result, their relationship was currently on hold while they both took a step back and decided what they really wanted.

  Slater hadn’t really been surprised when it all blew up in his face – Cindy wasn’t the first girl to find playing second fiddle to his job was too much to bear. She was currently travelling in an attempt to ‘find herself’. He was under no illusions as to what the outcome was likely to be, and he wasn’t expecting to see her again, except maybe to say goodbye.

  This evening hadn’t been planned as a night out, but the two colleagues had ended up working late, they were both hungry, and neither had anything to rush home for, so it seemed only right they should pay a visit to their favourite Indian restaurant before they went home.

  Before they had left the office, they had tossed a coin to decide who was driving. Unusually, Norman had won – but then he had recently dramatically increased his chances of doing so when he had figured out Slater kept a double-headed coin for such occasions. Norman had decided, as an appropriate punishment for Slater’s subterfuge, he should be bestowed the honour of driving, and consequently not drinking.

  The food had been excellent as always, but Slater had felt downbeat, and he could tell Norman felt the same, too. There was no rift in their friendship, Slater just got the impression they were both preoccupied. For a few weeks now, Slater had sensed Norman had something on his mind – but he didn’t seem inclined to share what it was.

  It was just ten o’clock when they settled the bill and made their way towards the car park at the back of the high street where they had left Slater’s car. As they turned the corner into the open car park, two figures could be seen across the far side, beating a hasty retreat.

  ‘Don’t you just love teenagers,’ Norman said. ‘Why don’t they seem to understand they’re always going to look suspicious if they’re seen running away, even when they’ve done nothing wrong?’

  Most of the shops accepted deliveries at the back, and part of the car park had been allocated as an approach road for this purpose. The lighting wasn’t exactly brilliant along the back of the shops, but in the gloom a selection of industrial wheelie bins could just about be made out halfway down the access road. They had been pushed together for emptying next morning.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Norman, pointing across to the bins.

  ‘What?’ Slater peered uncertainly into the gloom.

  And then he saw what had attracted Norman’s eye. At first, it was just a quick lick of flame from the nearest bin, but then in a matter of seconds the bin seemed to become a roaring inferno.

  ‘Looks like that’s what they were running from.’ Slater started running towards the bins. ‘Those kids looked suspicious because they were.’

  He sprinted across the car park towards the blazing bin. He could hear Norman shuffling along behind him at the fastest pace he could manage, which was only slightly faster than he could walk.

  There was no way Slater was going to try to put the blazing bin out, but he thought maybe he could at least push it away from the others and stop the whole lot going up. The air was already thick with smoke from the burning plastic bin as he began to push at the side of it. Then, just as Norman wheezed his way onto the scene, he realised he was wasting his time.

  ‘Call the fire service, Norm. Someone’s tied all the bloody bins together. The whole lot’s gonna go.’

  Just as he said it, another bin began to send flames shooting up to the sky.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ said Norman a minute later as he ended his call. ‘So much for my early night. I’d better call it in and ask everyone to keep an eye open for two teenage fire-starters.’

  ‘There’s not really much we can do here,’ said Slater, as Norman waited for his call to be answered. ‘But I suppose we’d better wait unt
il the fire service guys get here and tell ‘em what we know.’

  ‘Yo, Sandy,’ Norman called into his phone. ‘It’s Norm. I need to report another one of those fires.’

  Recently there had been an outbreak of small fires in and around the town. There had been nothing major so far, just a few litter bins, and two or three industrial wheelie bins. But both the police, and fire service, knew it was only a matter of time. The longer it went on without anyone being caught, the more likely they were to start experimenting with bigger targets. Between them, they needed to stop it before it became serious.

  The official line was that the police had no leads, but in reality everyone knew it was bored teenagers who had, so far, evaded capture. However, until they could actually produce concrete evidence to back it up, they were forbidden from mentioning teenagers for fear of driving a wedge between them and the police.

  Chapter Two

  ‘So, did Sandy thank you for being a model citizen and reporting what you saw?’ asked Slater an hour later, as they drove away from the car park and headed towards Norman’s flat.

  Sergeant Sandy Mollinson was a recent newcomer to Tinton station. A uniformed officer of many years’ experience, he seemed happy to be more or less on permanent night shift as duty sergeant.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Norman said, grinning. ‘He said my description was way too vague to be much use, but he did pass it on to the whole night shift. Apparently, there are hundreds of teenagers in Tinton who are average height and own a dark hoodie. I suppose he has a point.’

  ‘He certainly has a way with words,’ said Slater. ‘But I get the feeling he was just what was needed to take control of that night shift. It seems a lot more organised these days.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right there.’ Norman nodded. ‘Now we just need someone to take control of the day shift and we might start to work like a proper police station.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Slater, and then, after a pause, added, ‘Is it?’

  ‘You only say that because you’ve never worked anywhere else,’ said Norman. ‘Quite honestly, this place is a shambles. I mean, look at us. We shouldn’t be working together all the time, and why don’t we have a DI? I reckon it’s all gonna change soon.’

  ‘But we get results,’ Slater said.

  ‘But one day someone’s going to challenge our procedures,’ Norman replied. ‘And sod’s law says that’ll be the time we’ve bent one rule too many because we didn’t have a DI to direct the investigation correctly.’

  ‘Yeah, but Bob Murray-’ began Slater.

  ‘Bob Murray,’ interrupted Norman, ‘is just trying to keep his head down until he gets his early retirement package. He knows what needs doing but he doesn’t have the stomach for it. Mark my words, the people up above can’t wait for him to go so they can send in a new broom.’

  ‘But he’s a good, old school copper,’ said Slater.

  ‘Yeah, but they don’t want good, old school coppers anymore. They want pen-pushers, spin doctors, and accountants, who can figure out how to make do with an ever decreasing budget. Murray’s a dinosaur in their world and he knows it. You’ve seen how stressed he is. He can’t wait to get away.’

  These were sobering words for someone like Slater, who didn’t deal well with change. The imposing figure of Bob Murray had been at the helm ever since he had become a detective, and even though Slater no longer had a great deal of respect for his boss, the idea of a replacement was something he didn’t really want to have to think about.

  And as for the general air of chaos at Tinton – well, Slater had never given it that much thought. He had assumed that’s how it was everywhere, and yet he’d been the first one to acknowledge the improved efficiency at night since Sandy had arrived.

  Norman occupied a small flat, in a block of 20, on a relatively new housing estate near the edge of town. The road that ran past the entrance to the estate was quite well lit, and as they approached the turning onto the estate, two figures could be seen running across the road about 50 yards ahead.

  ‘Heads up,’ said Slater. ‘Isn’t that kid carrying a fuel can?’

  ‘How stupid is that?’ Norman sighed, shaking his head. ‘Shall we guess what his hobby might be?’

  ‘Shall we go for it?’ asked Slater.

  ‘You really want to chase them in the dark? You know I don’t do running, and they’ll know all the back alleys on this estate.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Slater. ‘When I pull up, you take over the driving from me and I’ll do the running. I know this estate pretty well. And get some back-up. With a bit of luck, we might just catch the buggers.’

  He turned into the estate. The two teenage boys were walking along up ahead, apparently without a care in the world. The boy on the inside carried a plastic fuel can in his left hand. As Slater pulled up alongside them, Norman’s window slid down.

  ‘Hi boys,’ said Norman, leaning out of the window. ‘That looks like a fuel can you’re carrying there. You wouldn’t have been anywhere near the centre of town earlier this evening, would you?’

  ‘What’s it gotta do with you? You fat git,’ snarled the nearest boy.

  Slater threw his door open.

  ‘Police,’ he shouted as he jumped out. ‘Stay where you are.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said the boy, and then the two of them were off. The one carrying the fuel can fled back down the road while the other one shot off deeper into the estate.

  ‘Leave him,’ shouted Slater to Norman, as he started running. ‘Let’s go for the one with the can.’

  As Slater chased the teenager, he could feel himself beginning to flag. He saw the youth glance over his shoulder, clearly checking to see if he was being caught. Slater wasn’t unfit, but he was no sprinter, and he reckoned he must be giving away 20 years or more. He focused on the kid’s back. If he could just get a little closer before they got to that bend ahead, where they would have to slow down, maybe he could dive on him.

  Then, suddenly, his plan became purely academic as a flying fuel can filled his field of vision. Instinctively he put his arms up to shield his face. Being plastic, the fuel can bounced harmlessly off his arms, so there was no real harm done. His pursuit, however, was ruined. In taking evasive action, he had lost all his momentum while the fugitive seemed to have reaped the benefit from ditching the fuel can and had put on a spurt. While Slater was stumbling unsteadily towards the bend ahead, the boy had zoomed around it and was out of sight.

  ‘Bollocks!’ Slater stumbled to a halt against the fence that lined both sides of the alley. He gave it a frustrated kick.

  At the far end of the alley, Norman stood waiting, wearing a small fold-up pair of night vision goggles, which he was in the habit of carrying at night. He watched as the teenager suddenly ran into view – although there was no sign of Slater. He could see the boy as clearly as he would have done on a sunny day. Norman started walking down the alley and as he walked, he watched the boy slow down and stop. Then he began to climb over a fence. It was obvious, by the way he took his time, that he was convinced Norman couldn’t see him.

  Norman was barely five yards away from the point where the boy had climbed over the fence now. He was concerned about what might have happened to Slater, and this caused him to hesitate for a moment, but then he heard the distant sound of approaching, running footsteps, so he figured there couldn’t be too much wrong with him.

  He had been expecting to hear the sound of fading footsteps from beyond the fence as their fugitive made good his escape, but there wasn’t a sound. Surely the kid hadn’t just climbed the fence so he could hide, had he? Norman reached up for the top of the fence. He could just about manage. If he was careful, maybe he could pull himself up high enough to look over. Now wouldn’t that surprise Slater if he could point out exactly where the kid was hiding? As quietly as he could, he took hold of the top of the fence and began to ease himself upwards.

  As Slater came around the corner, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
Was that Norman struggling to climb a fence? Convinced the chase was over and their fugitive had already made good his escape, he thought this was just too good an opportunity to miss. He crept slowly along until he was right behind Norman.

  He hadn’t actually realised just how big Norman’s arse was before, but now, faced with the sheer size of it, he began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Norman was one seriously heavy guy, and he could easily put his back out doing this. But then the devil that had put the idea into his head took over and all concerns for his own safety vanished.

  Norman had just about managed to get one elbow up on the top of the fence, but he was clearly struggling. Then, suddenly, he was shooting upwards, his arms flailing wildly. Slater watched, almost in slow motion, as Norman began to topple forward, and then realised that he, too, was being pulled forward towards the fence. But then he noticed the fence was moving away from him. What was going on?

  Releasing his hold on Norman’s feet he stepped back and watched helplessly as the fence, unable to take Norman’s weight, which, to be fair, it had never been designed for, toppled slowly and majestically into the garden it was supposed to be shielding. Norman, still clinging to the top, but now as a helpless passenger, let out a cry as it went.

  ‘Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh!’

  There was a crash as the fence hit the ground, and then there was another cry.

  ‘Aaaahhh! My legs! You’re crushin’ my legs!’

  Slater walked over to the wreckage of what had been quite a nice looking fence. The head and shoulders of a teenage boy were sticking out from under it.

  ‘Oh, well done, Norm,’ he said, surprised. ‘I have to say, it’s a bit of an unorthodox way to apprehend a suspect, but you caught him.’