by P. F. Ford
Norman stepped back to make sure he could read what he'd written, before he handed the pen to Slater.
"Your turn," he said.
"So, what do we know about the victim?" asked Slater, taking Norman's place at the board.
"She's either an angel or a lying cheat, depending on who you listen to," said Norman. "She had sex with someone earlier, maybe lunchtime, on the day she was killed."
He waited for Slater to catch up before he continued.
"She was wearing fancy underwear with the labels still attached," continued Norman. "This suggests she could have been given the underwear as a gift, probably, but not necessarily, by the same person she had sex with earlier."
They fussed around for another fifteen minutes adding little bits of information here and there until they were reasonably satisfied they hadn't missed anything.
"So what have we got?" asked Slater, stepping back from the board.
"Honestly?" asked Norman. "Not much. In fact now we've ruled out Ian Woods we've got nothing really. We know what happened, but we haven't got the first idea why."
"We need to speak to Ian Woods again," said Slater. "But this time we need a bit more information about his wife and why they split up. Jim Brennan told me Woody caught Diana in bed with her boss. We need to find out a whole lot more about this guy."
"Right," agreed Norman, looking at his watch. "We're supposed to be talking to Woods in a few minutes anyhow. Let's hope he's feeling amenable enough to help us out. It would also help if we could get hold of her mobile phone records."
"Jane tells me they're on the way," Slater assured him. "Maybe they'll be here in the morning."
"Let's go see what your friend Woody can tell us about Diana," said Norman. "And then I wanna go home. I feel like crap and I need an early night."
Slater wasn't surprised Norman felt like crap. He certainly looked like crap. His face was an unpleasant shade of grey, and he had the appearance of a man who hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. He felt genuinely concerned for his friend, but he knew there was no point in asking if he was okay. Norman would say he was fine, and he'd be pissed off at Slater for asking.
Chapter Eight
“Good evening Ian, Mr Strong," began Norman. "I'm pleased to say we no longer consider Ian a suspect in the Diana Woods murder inquiry."
Both Woods and Strong looked surprised at this sudden turn of events.
"How come?" asked Woods. "What's happened?"
"Susie Brennan happened," said Norman. "She says you were at her house in Newbury until five that afternoon. You couldn't have got from there to Tinton in time to kill Diana."
"My client told you all along he wasn't involved," said Strong. "I think perhaps we should consider making an example of you-"
"Your client could have told us this right from the word go," interrupted Slater. "As it is we've wasted a lot of time on him when we could have been focusing our attention elsewhere."
Strong looked suitably chastened and a little guilty.
"You knew about this didn't you, Mr Strong?" asked Slater. "Shouldn't you have advised your client that wasting police time is a criminal offence?"
"He didn't want to drag Mrs Brennan into this," said Strong. "I can only advise a client, I can't force him to do what I suggest."
"Oh great," said Norman. "So you're saying you think it was okay to let me think he was the murderer when you knew all along he had a cast iron alibi?"
"Look. I know how it must look," said Strong.
"You do?" said Norman, indignantly. "Oh, good. In that case you might want to think about how you're going to apologise. We have a murderer who has now had forty-eight hours start on us, thanks to you."
"Look," said Woods, looking very uncomfortable. "I wasn't trying to obstruct anyone. I was just trying to protect Susie. I did tell you I wasn't involved in the murder."
"Funny enough," snapped Norman. "Even the guys who are guilty tend to tell us that. If we believed everyone who told us they were innocent we'd never catch anyone."
Norman was getting distinctly twitchy, so Slater thought it might be a good idea to step in and build some bridges before he really lost it.
"Okay," he said. "This isn't going to get us anywhere."
He looked purposefully at Strong and Woods.
"I think DS Norman has every right to be pissed off with you two. Like he says you've wasted a lot of our time when you could have sorted the whole thing out right at the start. However, we still need to find Diana's killer, and, if you're willing, Woody, I think you could be a big help to our inquiry."
"How?" asked Woods. "What can I do?"
"We've heard a lot of stuff about Diana from her friends," explained Slater. "They seem to see her as some sort of angel who never did a thing wrong in her life. Yet Jim Brennan paints a totally different picture.
“You're the guy who was married to her, so we could do with hearing your version of Diana. What was he really like? Why did you leave her? This would help us to build a much better picture of who she was, and that will help us find out who killed her. Surely you'd want her killer caught, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, of course I would," said Woods. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know if you think it will help."
"Is that okay with you, Mr Strong?" asked Slater.
"I don't think I'm really needed am I?" asked Strong. "If my client's no longer a suspect, he doesn't need to be represented, so I'm going home, if that's alright with everyone."
"It's okay with me," said Woods.
"It's certainly alright with me," growled Norman.
And so for the next half hour, Ian Woods told them about his life with Diana, who he admitted had been a serial adulterer.
"She just couldn't seem to stop herself," he said. "I pleaded and begged, but she either couldn't, or wouldn't, stop."
"So you knew all about it?" asked Slater.
"Well, not exactly," said Woody.
He let out a huge sigh, and went quiet for a minute. Slater was beginning to think he was going to burst into tears but then he managed to get control again.
"I loved her, you see," explained Woody. "I loved her so much it hurt. When I first found out about her cheating on me I was going to leave her, but she pleaded with me, promised me she would change and that it wouldn't happen again. She said all the right things, so I forgave her and we agreed we'd try again. And it was alright for two or three years, but then I got the feeling she'd started again, you know? I had no proof, I just recognised the signs."
"So what did you do about it?" asked Slater.
"Nothing," said Woods.
"But why?" asked Slater. "Why would you put up with that?"
"Because I didn't want to believe it," explained Woods. "I didn't want to believe she would want to hurt me like that, all over again. I just wanted us to be a happy loving couple, that's all. But she seemed to despise me for that. Somehow it wasn't good enough for her. I think that's why she did it - to punish me for being what she saw as weak. Is it a sign of weakness to love someone?"
Norman had been listening to Woods with growing empathy.
"No," he said, sadly. "No, Woody, it's not a sign of weakness. In fact I would go as far as to say it's a sign of great strength to be able to admit you love someone that much."
Slater looked at Norman in surprise. Just a few hours ago he was ready to condemn Woods, and yet here he was empathising with him!
"So why do all her friends seem to think she's such an angel?" asked Slater.
"Ah yes," said Woods, with a sad little smile. "That was her magic trick, you see. She would do anything for anyone, but she never told any of them what she was really like. She'd sit for hours with one of her friends who was ill, for example, and then go and shag their husband on the way out. She must have had most of her friends' husbands, and just about all of my so-called 'mates'. They only got friendly with me so they could get a chance with her. And she was clever about when she did it too. I mean, no-one thinks people
go off shagging at lunchtime, do they? Diana realised that and took full advantage of it."
"She'd had sex earlier on the day she was murdered," said Slater.
"That will have been at lunchtime, then," offered Woods.
"The day you caught her it was lunchtime, wasn't it?" asked Slater.
"Yeah," said Woods, wistfully. "I couldn't pretend it wasn't happening after that, could I? That was the day I decided enough was enough. I packed my bags and moved out that very same day."
"So tell us what happened," suggested Slater.
"I had a wasted morning over at Jim's, waiting for this job to come in," explained Woods. "Then the customer called to say the job wasn't going to happen. I was well pissed off. Anyway, Jim sent me home to get some lunch. As soon as I got there, I knew something was up. She never comes home at lunchtime, but her car was outside. I thought maybe she had been taken ill, and come home, so I let myself in really quietly so I wouldn't disturb her.
"As soon as I was inside I could hear them. They were up in our bedroom, in our bed, grunting away like a pair of prize pigs. So I walked up the stairs, and still they didn't hear me. The bedroom door was wide open, and all I could see was this huge hairy arse humping away between her legs. So I just walked up behind them and I slapped his arse as hard as I could."
He was smiling at the memory as he looked up at them.
"It didn't half make my bloody hand sting," he laughed. "But I tell you what, it hurt his arse a bloody sight more. He certainly squealed like a pig when I hit him. And he damned near shat himself when he realised her husband had come home and caught him in the act."
"What happened then?" asked Norman.
"I threw his clothes out of the window," laughed Woods. "Out onto the drive. I told him I was going to see his wife and tell her to look for a big, hand-shaped, bruise on his arse."
"And did you?" asked Slater.
"Nah," said Woods. "I really thought about it, but then I thought better of it. Yeah, it would have been good to ruin his life, but somehow it didn't seem right to spoil her life, even if she is living a lie, you know what I mean?"
"But what did Diana do?" asked Norman.
"Oh, she went spare, of course," said Woody, sadly. "Told me it was all my fault. How I was a useless idiot, and how I had no right to tell her who she could shag. That's how she saw it you see. To her it was 'just a shag'. That's exactly what she told me. 'What's the big deal,' she said. 'It's just a shag.'"
"Jeez," said Norman. "And this is the angel we keep hearing about."
"Yeah," agreed Woods, sadly. "And I had the misfortune to fall in love with her. Maybe she was right about me being a useless idiot. I certainly was where she was concerned."
"So what's this guy's name?" asked Slater. "I think we need to speak to him."
"Bruce," said Woods. "Bruce Rossiter. He was Diana's boss."
Chapter Nine
The offices of Rochester & Dorset (Marketing) Ltd. were housed in a huge, rambling old house on the outskirts of Tinton. The five acre grounds included a swimming pool, two tennis courts, and over an acre of woodland. There was even an old coach house which had been converted into a small gym, complete with changing rooms and showers.
Compared with the sparse facilities at Tinton nick, Slater and Norman agreed this was most definitely how the other half worked. Even their somewhat shabby pool car managed to look totally out of place among the shiny, squeaky clean, vehicles that filled the enormous car park off to one side.
"We're definitely working for the wrong side," observed Norman, from the passenger seat. "This looks more like a luxury hotel than a workplace."
"Marketing's not against the law," said Slater.
"No," agreed Norman. "I didn't mean to suggest it was. It's our working conditions that are a crime."
They climbed from the car and followed the direction indicated by an antique signpost inscribed with the word 'Reception'.
"What does this woman we're here to see do?" asked Norman.
"She's the HR director," said Slater.
"What's that in old money?" asked Norman.
"It's Human Resources," replied Slater.
"What was wrong with calling it Personnel?" grumbled Norman. "Everyone knew what that meant. It was good enough for years and years."
"I suppose someone in Marketing decided they needed a trendier name," suggested Slater. "They have to justify their existence somehow."
"This place sure looks pretty justified to me," said Norman.
A spotless path, bordered by neatly clipped, knee-high, box hedges wound its way towards the side of the building and a magnificent, ancient, oak door. A small sign invited them to 'Please ring for attention'. Slater rang the bell and stared up into the CCTV camera that was focused upon them.
"Good morning, how can I help you?" asked a voice from a loudspeaker set in the wall.
"DS Slater and DS Norman from Tinton CID," he replied, holding his warrant card up to the camera. "We've an appointment to see Celia Rowntree."
"Just push the door and come on through," said the voice.
The door buzzed and Slater pushed it open to reveal a corridor of polished wood topped with a very expensive-looking rug. At the end of the corridor they could see an open doorway leading into a large office.
"I feel like a pauper in the King's castle," muttered Norman.
"It's a bit rich isn't it?" agreed Slater. "And they say there's no money in marketing anymore."
"They do?" said Norman. "Well, it looks like they're wrong, whoever they are."
They walked along the corridor and into the reception office. An enormous desk was set at an angle in one corner in such a way it seemed to stretch almost from one side of the room to the other. A small woman jumped up from behind the desk and beamed a warm, welcoming, smile in their direction.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she said. "Mrs Rowntree will be with you in just a minute. Please take a seat."
"Good morning, Millie Gibson," said Slater, reading the badge on her lapel, and ignoring the invitation to sit down. "We've come to ask some questions about Diana Woods. Did you know her?"
"Everybody here knew her," said Millie. "In her position she was sort of key to how the whole place worked."
"She'll be missed, then?" suggested Slater.
"More by some than by others," she replied, noncommittally.
"I thought everyone liked her, didn't they?" asked Slater.
But before Millie could say anymore, she saw a movement off to one side which made her clamp her mouth firmly closed. Slater followed her gaze over his shoulder where he saw a door swinging open as a tall, elegant, smartly dressed, woman entered the room.
She glided smoothly across the floor, hand extended towards Slater.
"DS Slater?" she said as Slater took her hand. "I'm Celia Rowntree. We spoke earlier."
"Yes, of course," said Slater. "This is my colleague DS Norman."
She shook Norman's hand and then took a step back.
"Won't you come through to my office?" she said. "Millie will bring us some coffee, won't you Millie?"
Millie nodded her assent.
"I take it you do both drink coffee?" she asked.
"Coffee will be just fine," agreed Slater.
They followed Celia Rowntree through the door, up a short flight of stairs and then along yet another corridor until she pushed her way into her own office. Norman's mouth almost dropped open when he saw the size of the room. Palatial was the word that sprang to his mind.
"Wow," he said. "This is some office."
"It's very grand, isn't it," she agreed. "It's one of the benefits of working in such a big old house. Of course, on the downside the running costs of a building like this are enormous."
She led them across to an informal area where three armchairs had been arranged around a coffee table, and indicated where she wanted them to sit.
"I'm sure you can understand this is a very difficult time for all of us here," she began. "Diana
was a very popular member of staff. She'll be sadly missed."
"How long had she worked here?" asked Slater.
"She had been with us for almost five years," she replied. "She actually started as my assistant, but it soon became clear she was wasted in here so we moved her over to one of the advertising teams. She soon impressed everyone with her all round ability. Now she provides support to all the teams, travelling here, there, and everywhere."
"That sounds like quite a meteoric rise in just five years," observed Norman. "It's almost like someone's been pushing her along."
"We're a company that likes to reward achievement with promotion," she replied, ignoring the innuendo.
"So who did she work for after you?" asked Slater.
"She joined Bruce Rossiter's team. He's our number one man. In fact she's still with him. Bruce and Diana head all our client meetings."
"They sound like quite a couple," said Norman. "Do they travel together? Stay in the same hotel?"
"I'm not sure what exactly you're suggesting," she said, bristling. "But I can assure you this is a highly respected family company. We do not encourage our employees to be anything other than professional in their relationships."
"Yeah, I'm sure you don't encourage it," said Norman. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen, does it?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said. "What's going on here? The poor woman's only been dead a couple of days and here you are dragging her name through the mud."
"Diana's not just dead, Mrs Rowntree," said Slater. "She was murdered. Now you may think we're being insensitive, but if she was having an affair with her boss it could have a huge bearing on why she was murdered."
She stared back at Slater and tried to adopt an attitude of righteous indignation, but somehow it just didn't work.
"As I've already stated," she said. "We don't encourage that sort of behaviour."
"Right. Of course you don't," said Slater. "So you're saying you didn't know Diana and Bruce were caught in a rather compromising situation by Diana's husband, and that as a result her husband subsequently left her?"