by P. F. Ford
"Breakfast is served," she announced.
"Jane Jolly you're an angel," said Norman, and he meant it.
He grabbed a sandwich and a coffee.
"Right," he said. "We'd better decide what we're going to tell the Old Man."
"What about this neighbour?" asked Slater. "Shouldn't we speak to her first?"
"We don't have time," said Norman. "We'll have to drive out there after we've seen him. I don't wish to gloat, but it looks as if she's going to put Ian Woods at the murder scene. That rather proves it for me."
"Not so fast," argued Slater. "There must be hundreds of white vans in and around Tinton every day. Unless she has a registration number it doesn't prove anything."
"You really don't want this guy to be guilty, do you?" asked Norman. "I don't see why you're so keen to save him."
"I've just been talking to Jim Brennan," said Slater. "According to him, everything we've been told about Woody and Diana is arse about face. She was a cheat, and she'd been cheating on him for years. The reason he left was because he caught her screwing her boss, in his own house and his own bed."
"Okay," said Norman. "So there's a lot of mist and fog to fight our way through. But that doesn't prove he's innocent. If anything it just gives him a really good motive for murder."
"I know how it looks," said Slater. "But I still think we're missing something. And now we know more about Diana. According to Brennan she's slept with half the men in Tinton, so there could be dozens of suspects."
"But only one who's van was at the scene at the right time," pointed out Norman. "Jane told me about your 'other woman' alibi theory. Did Brennan know anything about this woman?"
"No," conceded Slater. "But that doesn't mean she doesn't exist, does it? Maybe it's someone else's wife and Woody knows what discreet means."
"Even if it means being discreet gets him accused of murder?" asked Norman, cynically. "Seriously?"
"Chivalry's not completely dead," Jolly chipped in. "There are still some men alive who know what it means."
"Yeah, but you're biased," said Norman. "Your first impression was that he was a nice man. Remember?"
"I'm a good judge," said Jolly. "I have woman's intuition on my side."
"Yeah, but I have evidence on my side," said Norman. "And I just keep getting more and more of it."
Detective Chief Inspector Bob Murray was Slater and Norman's boss. Close to retirement, Murray was weary from the continual battle against a mountain of paperwork and never ending budget cuts. He had applied for voluntary redundancy and would leave tomorrow if given the chance.
"So, where are we with this Diana Woods murder case?" he asked Slater and Norman.
"I think that rather depends on your point of view," said Norman, before Slater could speak.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Murray, impatiently. "Do you have a suspect?"
"Yes," said Norman. "Ian Woods."
"Evidence?" asked Murray.
"He's the husband," explained Norman. "He moved out a few weeks ago after he caught the victim in bed with another man."
"So that's a good motive," said Murray.
"Woods was in the area on the afternoon she died, and there's a big hole in his story that would give him plenty of time to have committed the murder," continued Norman.
"So there's the opportunity," said Murray. "What more do you need? Arrest the man."
"Err, with respect," said Slater. "All we have is circumstantial. We have no hard evidence to prove he was even in the house that day. There are no forensics to put him at the scene, and no witnesses."
"But we do have his boss's testimonial," suggested Norman. "He says Woods told him he was going to see his wife that very afternoon to collect some records and CDs."
"Yes," argued Slater. "But Woods says he chickened out and didn't go."
"And we've just had a witness come forward to say she saw Woods and his van in the lane at the time of the murder," said Norman.
"We don't know that for sure," protested Slater. "We haven't even spoken to this witness yet!"
"Do you know this man Woods?" Murray asked Slater. "You seem very keen to argue in his defence."
"No, I don't know him," replied Slater. "I'm just not convinced he's guilty. I admit he looks possible, but I'd be a whole lot happier if we had some real evidence to connect him to the crime scene."
"It seems open and shut to me," said Murray, dismissively. "He went to the house to collect his records and CDs, got into an argument with his wife, lost his rag and murdered her. If it was me I'd have hauled him in here and charged him by now. I don't know why you haven't."
"You're joking," said Slater. "We don't have enough evidence to do that."
Murray looked Slater up and down. He was a good detective, but he had a habit of speaking his mind which Murray often found irritating.
"I'm sorry if things aren't going quite the way you would like, Slater," he said. "But I think you'll find I have a bit more experience than you in these matters. I'm not asking you to arrest this man, I'm giving you an order."
"At least let us speak to the witness who's just come forward," pleaded Slater. "She could be wrong."
"She could be right," pointed out Norman.
"And if she is," said Slater. "At least we'll have some concrete evidence to back up this assumption that he's guilty. Give me that, and I'll arrest the guy myself."
Murray gave Slater his most intimidating death stare, but Slater wasn't going to back down.
"Very well," he said finally. "You go and see this witness first, and then you go and arrest Woods. And I'm not having you run off doing your own thing, Slater. Do you understand?"
Slater didn't quite know how to answer that so he simply nodded his head.
"Just in case you don't understand," continued Murray. "DS Norman will take the lead on this. At least I know he'll do his duty as directed."
He returned his attention to the pile of paperwork on his desk, leaving Slater and Norman to their own devices. Slater thought about starting an argument, but Norman caught his eye and shook his head, no.
Murray looked up.
"Are you two still here?"
"Just going," said Norman. "Come on, Dave. Let's go."
"Is he in a good mood this morning, or what?" said Slater as they made their way down the stairs from Murray's office.
"He's a man under a lot of pressure," said Norman. "Getting into an argument with him will only make it worse. You should know that by now."
"Yeah. I know that," agreed Slater. "But surely we need to make sure we have enough evidence if we're going to charge a man with murder. I want to be able to sleep at night, you know."
"Let's go and talk to this witness," said Norman. "Maybe she'll provide the proof you need to get a good night's sleep and keep the Old Man happy."
Chapter Six
"Plum Tree Cottage," said Norman to Slater, checking the address written on the sheet of paper he was holding. "This is the house."
"But didn't we speak to her yesterday?" asked Slater. "Wasn't she one of the ones who said she didn't hear or see anything?"
"We spoke to her husband yesterday," said Norman. "We didn't actually see her. He said she was ill in bed."
"So how did she see a van driving past?" asked Slater.
"Perhaps she wasn't ill at the time," said Norman, wearily. "Or maybe she can see out of the window from her bed. Jeez, how the hell do I know?"
"I just think it's a bit fishy, that's all," said Slater.
"I seem to recall her husband was no spring chicken," remembered Norman. "Maybe she's a not so young and her memory's a bit slow."
"You're not filling me with confidence, Norm," sighed Slater.
"Instead of trying to second guess what's caused her to remember, why don't we just go and ask?" suggested Norman. "Isn't that why we're here?"
"Yeah. You're right," admitted Slater. "We have to keep open minds."
"We?" spluttered Norman. "I don't think i
t's a question of 'we', do you?"
But he really wasn't in the mood for an argument this morning.
"Look," he said. "We're much more effective as a team when we're not arguing, right?"
"Of course," agreed Slater.
"So let's not argue about it," suggested Norman. "Let's just go and ask some questions and then draw some conclusions. That's what we do best, isn't it?"
"You're right," nodded Slater. "Come on, let's go."
Mrs Turner was a very old looking sixty-four. If she hadn't told them, Slater would have guessed she was at least ten years older. She had seemed surprised to see them on her doorstep, and Norman had to remind her she had called the police station earlier that morning.
"Did I?" she asked him in surprise.
"Yes, ma'am," said Norman patiently. "You spoke to a young lady officer called PC Jolly. You told her you had some new evidence about the death of Diana Woods."
"Oh yes," she said. "That's right. I remember now. Amanda told me I should call you."
"Amanda?" said Norman. "Do you mean Amanda Hollis?"
"Oh yes," enthused Mrs Turner. "She's such a lovely girl. She always looks in to see if I'm alright. She even does a little shopping for me. Diana was the same. Like angels, they are, the two of them."
Slater's heart sank. It seemed Mrs Turner was confused to say the least, and, on top of that, she appeared to be yet another member of the Diana Woods fan club, so the chances are she was going to be a member of the Ian Woods hate club, too. He thought it would be great if they could find someone who might actually offer some impartial evidence.
"Is Mr Turner here today?" asked Norman.
"Oh no," said Mrs Turner. "He only stays home when I'm having one of my bad days. It's the drugs you see. I have chemotherapy to keep the tumour at bay, but the side effects can be dreadful. We're lucky his employer is so understanding."
Slater felt an immediate stab of guilt for judging her. No wonder she didn't seem one hundred per cent!
"Oh, wow," said Norman. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Turner."
"It's a bugger alright," she confirmed. "But I've got a saying to help me cope. Don't let the bastard grind you down. That's my motto."
She gave them a sad smile. Then there was one of those awkward silences when no-one really knows what to say next. It was Mrs Turner who rescued the situation.
"Well," she said, suddenly becoming all business-like. "You didn't come here to hear about my illness, did you? You'd better come in."
She led the way through to a spacious lounge. At one end a set of folding doors opened out onto a beautiful garden.
"That's some garden," said Norman, admiringly.
"Isn't it?" agreed Mrs Turner, proudly. "Being able to enjoy my garden is what keeps me going."
She ushered them towards two comfortable armchairs and then settled down on one opposite.
"PC Jolly tells me you think you saw something significant at around the time Diana died," began Norman.
"Yes," she replied. "I'd had a bad day, and I spent most of it in bed sleeping, but I woke up at around five forty-five. I was feeling much better so I decided to get out of bed. Our bedroom is at the front of the house so the window overlooks the lane. I heard a car going past so I looked out of the window. Only it wasn't a car. It was a small white van."
"You're quite sure about the time?" asked Norman.
"I know that was the time because I looked at the clock, wondering where the day had gone," she assured him. "It's become a habit. When you spend as much time sleeping as I do, you really do wonder where all the time goes. You resent it, so you tend to keep a check on it. It's silly I know. It's not as if I can get it back, is it?"
"No," agreed Norman. "You can't get it back, but I can see why you'd want to know how much you've lost every time you wake up."
"When I was talking to Amanda," she continued. "She told me I'd seen Ian Woods driving away and that I had to tell you as much."
"And did you see Ian Woods?" asked Norman.
"Well it must have been him," she said. "He killed Diana, he has a white van, and it was the right time. Who else could it possibly have been?"
Slater let out an involuntary, impatient sigh. He really had intended to let Norman do all the talking, but now he couldn't stop himself.
"Did you see the registration number?" he asked.
"Well no," she admitted. "But he was driving that van when he lived here. I'd know it anywhere."
"What make was it?" asked Slater.
"I don't know," she said, impatiently. "They're all the same, aren't they?"
"No, Mrs Turner. They are not all the same," said Slater.
"But he was driving it," she insisted.
"You saw his face?" asked Norman.
"Well, no," she conceded, reluctantly. "But it was definitely a man. I could see that much."
"So you don't really know it was him," concluded Norman.
"But we all know he murdered her," she pleaded. "Amanda told me. And it was a small white van at the right time. I've heard all the things people have been saying about him. It must have been him."
"Do you know how many small white vans there are, within ten miles of this house?" asked Slater.
She said nothing.
"There are well over a hundred," said Slater. "We checked, so we know it's right."
She managed to look indignant they hadn't taken her word as gospel, but again she said nothing.
"You may well have seen a white van," suggested Slater. "But if you can't tell us the make of the van, and you didn't actually see the registration number, and you didn't see who was driving, you can't say, with any certainty, that it was Ian Woods, can you Mrs Turner?"
"It could have been any one of the hundred and odd small white vans that are registered locally," added Norman.
"But they said..." she began.
"But they were wrong to say," said Norman, gently. "We don't know Ian Woods killed Diana. You can't tell us what you think we want to hear Mrs Turner. You can only tell us what you really saw."
"But Diana was so lovely," she said. "Why would anyone else want to kill her?"
"That's what we have to find out," said Norman. "But whoever is guilty, we have to be able to prove it with facts, not with guesswork. Now I'm happy to accept you saw a white van, but I can't accept you saw Ian Woods, and I can't accept it was definitely his van."
She looked distinctly crestfallen.
"Don't feel too bad about it," said Norman. "You may well have provided us with a vital piece of evidence, and for that we're very grateful, but we can only accept the facts and not the speculation."
"I feel such a fool," she said.
"Don't," said Norman. "It's not necessary."
"That Amanda Hollis is a bloody menace, going around putting ideas into people's heads like that," said Slater as they got back into their car.
"I know," agreed Norman. "But you can't deny this doesn't look good for your friend Woody."
"He's not my friend," said Slater. "I just don't think he should be the victim of a witch hunt. You agreed with me when we were out here before."
"That was before we had any evidence to back up their claims," suggested Norman. "Right now it's getting difficult to see how it could be anyone else."
"But we've got no hard evidence," argued Slater. "It's still possible he had nothing to do with it."
"We have no hard evidence, yet," emphasised Norman. "And if you want to talk about possibilities, it's still possible Tinton Town football club will, one day, reach the premier league, but it's really hard to believe isn't it?"
Slater realised he was wasting his breath so he didn't pursue the point.
"Where to?" he asked, hoping to change the subject as he started the car.
"I think we'd better go back," said Norman. "I think we need to talk to your man Woody again."
"I don't think we should be arresting him," Slater argued.
"And what if we don't arrest him and he decide
s to do a bunk?" asked Norman. "We'll look pretty damned stupid in front of Murray then, won't we?"
"Don't you think he'll have gone by now if he's intending to?" asked Slater.
"We don't know that he hasn't yet," said Norman.
"If he's still at that hotel like he said he was going to be," said Slater. "It proves he's not going to run, right?"
"It might just prove he thinks we're too stupid to catch him," replied Norman.
"Oh, come on, Norm. You've met the guy. Did he really come across like that to you? Because he doesn’t look like a confident, cocky, killer to me," said Slater.
Now it was Norman's turn to keep quiet. Slater had a point, and he knew it.
"We're going to have to bring him in, whether you like it or not," he said finally. "Let's hear what he has to say when I tell him a white van was seen at the scene of the crime. Then I'll decide if I'm going to hold him or not."
"I've got the land line phone record," announced Jolly, when they got back. "And I've got some CCTV footage from Leigh Delamere services on the M4."
"Does the phone record tell us anything?" asked Slater, hopefully.
"Not really," she said. "I've printed it out. There's a copy on your desk. It looks like she hardly seemed to use it. I suspect it's just there for the broadband. She probably used her mobile more than her land line."
"Any news on when we'll have that?" he asked.
"I'm chasing it," she said. "But you know what these places are like."
Yeah. He knew. He just hoped it wasn't going to take too much longer.
He picked up the copy on his desk and glanced through it. As Jolly had already said, it looked as though Diana Woods made most of her calls from her mobile phone. There were just a handful of calls made from the land line, and most of those seemed to be to 0800 numbers. But there was one call that appeared to have been made to a mobile number just three nights before she had died.
"We've got Ian Woods' phone number, haven't we?" he asked.
"It's there on your desk, somewhere," said Jolly.
He sorted his way through his desk until he found the file with Ian Woods name on top. He flipped the file open and ran his finger down the personal information on the first page. Sure enough, it was the same number Diana Woods had called.