The Wrong Man (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 4)

by P. F. Ford

  Celia Rowntree was beginning to look very uncomfortable, but she was determined to stick to her side of the story.

  "I'm sure that can't be right," she said. "That sort of behaviour would be regarded as gross misconduct within this company. Anyone guilty of such behaviour could lose their job."

  "Anyone?" asked Slater. "Even you're top marketing man?"

  "It wouldn't matter who-"

  "So why do you think Diana Woods and her husband split up, Mrs Rowntree?" asked Norman.

  "That's none of my business," she said. "What happens in someone's private life is their business."

  "But surely such an event could affect a person's performance at work," suggested Slater. "Isn't it your job, as Human Resources Director, to look out for the welfare of your employees?"

  "Diana Woods was a very independent woman with a mind of her own, Sergeant. As I understand it her husband didn't walk out, he was kicked out. And she probably kicked him out because she outgrew him. Just as her star was rising, his was fading fast. He was a waster who was bringing her down and holding her back."

  "And she told you this?" asked Slater.

  "Yes, she did," she said. "And after that conversation I concluded Diana’s work performance was not going to be affected."

  "Did she also tell you her 'waster' of a husband made over a hundred grand last year?" asked Norman.

  She looked shocked, but said nothing.

  "I didn't think so," smiled Norman. "And that kinda makes me wonder what else she forgot to mention."

  Celia Rowntree squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. This interview wasn't going quite the way she had been told it would go. Damn Bruce bloody Rossiter. She was used to having to clear up the mess he often left behind him, but if she was stonewalling the police because he was involved in Diana's murder this was going to be one mess too many...

  "So when was the last time you kicked someone out for illicit sex?" persisted Norman.

  "I've been here nearly twenty years," she said, haughtily. "And in that time it's never been necessary to even mention it."

  There was an icy silence as Celia Rowntree stared back at Norman.

  "Is Mr Rossiter here?" asked Slater, breaking the silence. "Because we need to ask him a few questions."

  "I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said. "He's up in London with clients today."

  "I did tell you I needed to speak to him when I called," said Slater, in exasperation.

  "And I said I would see what I could do," she replied. "I didn't realise he was going to be out for the day when we spoke."

  "And you couldn't call me back when you found out?" asked Slater.

  "I only found out shortly before you arrived. I'm sorry I should have checked earlier."

  "Come on," Norman said to Slater, as he climbed to his feet. "I think we're done here."

  He glared angrily at Celia Rowntree.

  "But we're not finished yet," he said to her. "We'll be back tomorrow, and we'll keep on coming back until we speak to Rossiter. Perhaps you'd like to pass that message on, and tell him we're quite happy to call at his house and speak to him in front of his wife if he'd prefer it."

  "Don't get up," Slater told her. "We'll see ourselves out."

  They marched from the room and made their way back down the stairs and through the door into the reception area. Millie Gibson was just finishing a phone call.

  "That was quick," she said, as she put the phone down. "I haven't even had time to make the coffee yet."

  "That's okay, don't worry," said Norman. "We didn't exactly feel the warm welcome up there that we got down here."

  "She can be a bit of a cow," said Millie, with a grim smile. "They don't call her Frosty Knickers for nothing."

  "You can make us coffee tomorrow, if you like," smiled Slater. "We'll be coming back to speak to Bruce Rossiter."

  "Oh. You mean God's gift to marketing. That'll be nice for you," said Millie, pulling a face.

  The phone buzzed on the desk in front of her. She picked up the handset.

  "Reception," she said.

  She listened for a few moments.

  "Yes, Mrs Rowntree," she said. "They're just leaving. Right. I'll get on with it straight away."

  She put the phone down and grinned conspiratorially at the two detectives.

  "Looks like I'm not supposed to be fraternising with you two," she said. "I just got my wrists slapped."

  "We're just going anyway," said Slater. "But before we do, maybe you can do us a favour."

  He fished a card from his pocket.

  "This card has got my number on it. Perhaps you can ask around and see if anyone might know anything that would help us with our inquiry. I'm always on the end of that mobile number."

  She took the card, slipped it into her jacket pocket and winked at him.

  "I'll see what I can do," she said.

  "What's that woman's name, again?" asked Norman as Slater started the car.

  "Who? Frosty Knickers," grinned Slater.

  "Yeah, that's her," agreed Norman. "There's no doubt she knew they were having an affair. I bet it's like one of those open secrets. Everyone knows about it but no-one ever mentions it."

  Slater nodded his head.

  "Yeah," he agreed. "But why doesn't anyone mention it? And how can the Director of Human Resources so blatantly ignore something that's supposed to be company policy?"

  "That Millie, in reception," continued Norman. "I reckon she'll know everything that goes on in there, and she looks the sort who would know wrong from right. We need to speak to her."

  "She looks pretty sharp to me," agreed Slater. "And I reckon you're right. I bet she doesn't miss a thing. But didn't you feel there was a bit of an atmosphere, like she was almost afraid to say too much? And it certainly looked like Frosty didn't want us talking to her."

  "And I thought Frosty herself was very careful what she said, didn't you?" commented Norman. "It was almost like she was reading from a prepared statement."

  "Yeah. She knew what we were going to ask," agreed Slater. "That more or less confirms our suspicions about Rossiter for me. All we've got to do now is prove he’s involved."

  "Even then it doesn't prove he killed her," said Norman.

  "No," admitted Slater. "But it can't just be a coincidence. It's got to be relevant to her murder, even if we don't yet know why."

  "Maybe Diana wasn't Rossiter's only bit on the side," suggested Norman. "Maybe Frosty melts in his arms too."

  "You think?" asked Slater, in surprise. "I reckon she could fly close to the sun without melting."

  "It would explain why she's protecting him," offered Norman.

  "I got the feeling she despised him," said Slater. "Like maybe he makes a habit of shagging the female members of staff and she has to sort the mess out when it goes pear-shaped."

  "But if it's like that, why do they let him get away with it?" asked Norman.

  "Now that, my dear Watson," replied Slater. "Is the reason we're detectives."

  "Well, Holmes, in that case we'd better get on back to the office and do some of that there detecting. I'll start by going through the Rochester & Dorset website."

  When they got back to their incident room Jane Jolly had a broad smile on her face.

  "PC Jolly, You look like the cat who got the cream," said Norman following Slater in with coffee and cakes. "Come on, out with it. What have you done?"

  "Diana Woods' mobile phone records," she said, holding aloft a fistful of papers.

  "I fall at your feet, once again," said Norman, bowing low.

  "That's great," agreed Slater, reaching for the papers. "Now perhaps we can make some progress."

  "While you're doing that I'm going to study this website," said Norman. "Jane, can you get onto Companies House and check out their profit and loss for the last three or four years?"

  "They're just about breaking even," announced Jolly twenty minutes later. "But I think that's because most of their profits go into maintaining the
ir headquarters and paying over-inflated salaries."

  "As I suspected," said Norman. "So here's my theory. What if old Brucie boy is the only one there who keeps bringing home the bacon? That receptionist called him 'God's gift to marketing', and looking at this website it seems he's the one with all the big clients.

  "If they're all on fancy salaries but rely on him to keep the company successful, I bet he's allowed to do what he likes, and no-one dares to speak out against him for fear of the consequences. You know the sort of thing, speak out of turn and you find you're straight out the door with your arse on fire."

  "Yeah, that figures," said Slater. "The working conditions there are pretty fantastic, and if the salaries are big as well, who wouldn't be prepared to turn a blind eye to a little bit of sexual harassment?"

  "Well, I bloody well wouldn't, for a start," said Jolly, indignantly.

  "Okay, let me re-phrase that," said Slater. "Let's call it a little bit of consensual sex between co-workers."

  "Yuck," said Jolly. "That almost sounds worse."

  "But you know what I mean," said Slater. "These two people might be bonking each other senseless, but as long as they're not actually doing it in front of anyone else, and the work's still getting done, why complain and risk losing a nice fat salary? And besides, if one of those doing the bonking is the person who keeps the company afloat, would you really want to get him sacked? You'd all lose your jobs then."

  "Well, I wouldn't put up with it," said Jolly. "I'd leave."

  "But not everyone has your standards, Jane," said Norman. "You'd be surprised what people are prepared to not see in exchange for a good salary, especially these days when well-paid jobs are scarce."

  "Well, it all sounds very seedy to me," concluded Jolly. "Surely the people at the top wouldn't allow it."

  "They can pretend it's not happening," said Norman. "Unless someone makes an official complaint, but we already know no-one ever will. The company stance is quite simple - if it was happening someone would make a complaint. No-one has made a complaint, therefore it's not happening."

  "That's awful," said Jolly.

  "That's life," commented Slater.

  "But what if he made a pass at someone who wasn't interested?" persisted Jolly. "If it was me I'd complain."

  "Yeah, but it would be your word against his," said Norman. "And which side do you think the company would take? The irreplaceable star player, or the backroom staff?"

  "But that's just wrong," she said.

  "Of course it's wrong," agreed Norman. "And I'm not trying to defend it. But to the company it's not about right or wrong, it's about profit. And in the case of this particular company, it's about survival."

  "I'm obviously not cut out for business," observed Jolly, gloomily.

  "You're just fine where you are, Jane," said Norman, cheerily. "You'd be wasted anywhere else."

  "What else have you learnt about them, Norm?" asked Slater.

  "They were started back in the sixties by Jonathon Rochester, and Ian Dorset. They quickly got a reputation for creating effective advertising campaigns and went from strength to strength through the seventies and eighties. They currently employ nearly fifty people and have some real big clients. Both the original partners are retired now, and although they maintain a large shareholding they no longer have anything to do with the day to day running.

  "I reckon, back in their heyday, they would have been as moral as Jane would like them to be, but the people who run the business now are only interested in profit. Mind you, from what Jane just said about profits it looks like they have no idea how to make money. Their main asset seems to be Bruce Rossiter. Apparently he wins awards on a regular basis, and his clients love him.

  "There's talk of a takeover by a US company, but assuming they just want to get their hands on the best clients, all they need to do is poach Rossiter."

  "What you've said certainly backs up your theory," said Slater. "A US takeover would be interesting. I've heard these US companies can be a bit narrow minded when it comes to that sort of behaviour. They might not be quite so keen on turning a blind eye."

  "So that's my news," said Norman. "What about those mobile phone records?"

  "Very interesting," smiled Slater. "She obviously used her mobile a lot more than the land line. I've taken out all the numbers that only get called once in a while and concentrated on the more frequently called numbers. One of those numbers is Ian Woods."

  "Really?" asked Norman. "Did she call him a lot?"

  "She bombarded his mobile with calls and texts a few months back, around the time when he walked out. If those calls were begging him to come back, it would back up what he told us. The calls get less frequent as time goes on, but that makes sense too."

  "Okay," said Norman. "So who else is there?"

  "There's a land line number I recognise as her parents, but apart from that it's all mobile numbers," said Slater. "I haven't had a chance to check them out yet, but there's one number she sends a hell of a lot of texts, Monday to Friday, mostly during office hours, but rarely in the evenings or at weekends. I'm guessing that could be Rossiter's mobile number."

  "But they work together. Why would they need to text each other?" asked Jolly.

  "They often work in a group, or with clients," explained Slater. "Perhaps it was their way of being discreet. Let's suppose they wanted to arrange a little lunchtime nooky. Doing it by text means they can arrange whatever they want, in a roomful of people, without anyone else knowing what's going on."

  "Or maybe it was just for the thrill," suggested Norman. "A bit of secret dirty talk right under the clients noses."

  "That sounds distinctly smutty, and extremely juvenile," said Jolly.

  "I'm sure you're right, but apparently that's what turns some people on," said Norman. "I guess there's no accounting for taste."

  "Or a complete lack of it," finished Jolly.

  "Whether it's poor taste, bad taste, or no taste," concluded Slater. "It's my guess that's the sort of thing that was going on."

  "Is there something wrong with me?" asked Jolly, sadly. "Perhaps I'm just naive, but I seem to be the only one who finds this shocking. You two seem to think it's quite normal."

  "There's nothing wrong with you, Jane, and no, I don't think it's normal. It's just that these people live by a different moral code. You might inhabit the same planet, but your world isn't their world, if you see what I mean," said Slater.

  "Maybe I'm some sort of prude," she said, gloomily.

  "Somehow I doubt that," observed Norman.

  Then, almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, "but I sincerely hope you never have to work vice."

  "D'you want to help me check out these numbers, Norm?" asked Slater. "There's only six. Three each, it shouldn't take long."

  "Okay," said Norman. "Last one to finish buys the coffees."

  "Right, Slowcoach," said Norman to Slater, twenty minutes later. "You're buying. I've got Laura Pettit, Amanda Hollis, and Arthur Hanning. Not very exciting I'm afraid. What have you got."

  "She certainly likes Bruce Rossiter," replied Slater. "So far I've got his work mobile number, and his personal mobile number. The one that's holding me up is this mystery number she sends all the texts to during the day. It seems to be an unregistered Pay-As-You-Go number."

  "I'll bet my salary that's Rossiter's secret smutty text number," grinned Norman. "You have one mobile number anyone can use and one only your girlfriend uses. You never know when a suspicious wife might decide to take a peep at your phone. I bet his wife doesn't even know this phone exists."

  "You seem to know a lot about all this," suggested Jolly, suspiciously.

  "You seem to forget I wasn't always a provincial copper, out in the sticks, where nothing happens," he said, defensively. "I spent most of my career up in the big City where you can't help but get exposed to all sorts of shit you'd rather not know about. This stuff is nothing, believe me."

  "Why don't you just ring it and see
if he answers?" Jolly asked Slater.

  "I'm sure he's not that stupid," he explained. "Probably only one person knows that number, and she's dead. If we ring it now, he's not going to answer it."

  "Dave's right," added Norman. "The chances are he's already got rid of it, but if he hasn't, and we call him, we could spook him into dumping it."

  "So how do we prove it's his number?" asked Jolly.

  "Like Norm says, he's probably already got rid of it," said Slater. "But if he hasn't I've got an idea that might just catch him out. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try."

  "Well, come on then, Baldrick," urged Norman. "Let's hear this cunning plan."

  "I hope it's better than one of his," muttered Slater.

  "Yeah, so do I," agreed Norman.

  "Well, we're going to see him tomorrow, right," began Slater. "Now I'm going to insist we see him at eleven o'clock..."

  And then he explained his plan to Norman and Jolly.

  Chapter Ten

  They arrived at Rochester & Dorset's offices shortly before eleven o'clock next morning. Once again they were warmly greeted by Millie Gibson in reception, but then things quickly cooled down as Celia Rowntree, a.k.a. Frosty Knickers, who had obviously been waiting for them to arrive, appeared on the scene.

  "Why, good morning, Mrs Rowntree," said Slater. "Anyone would think you were waiting for us."

  "I just happened to be passing," she said, trying to ignore Slater's remark, but he could see he'd obviously hit the target. "I thought you might like to meet Mr Rossiter in my office."

  "Oh, did you?" replied Slater. "I'm afraid you got that wrong. Perhaps you weren't listening when I spoke to you yesterday. I distinctly said we'd like to see him in his own office, and I also said we'd like to see Diana's desk. And I understand they shared an office..."

  "Perhaps we could discuss this in my office," she said, through gritted teeth.

  Slater made a big deal out of looking at his watch.

  "Okay," he said. "We can spare you five minutes before we meet Mr Rossiter, in his office."

  They followed her up the stairs, along the corridor, and through the door into her office.