by P. F. Ford
"I can't argue with that," said Norman, with a wry smile. "Anyway, we'd better get down there and find out why there's a disk missing."
"Right," said Slater. "Take Jane with you. And find out if anyone outside the company uses the van. Then bring Jane down to Diana's house and meet me there. Maybe we need a woman's eyes to see what we're missing."
"I spoke to that frosty cow," said Norman, when they met up later. "She claims she has no idea where the disk could have gone. She says she hasn't been near them recently and Millie Gibson is the only one who touches them."
"Do you think she's lying?" asked Slater.
"Is the sky blue?" replied Norman.
"What about Millie?" asked Slater. "What did she have to say?"
"She says she hasn't thrown any disks away, or renewed any. She says anyone could have done it, and it could have happened any time she was out of the reception area. The disks are used in strict rotation so as long as it was put back in the right order she wouldn't even have noticed until she got to that disk."
"D'you believe her?" asked Slater.
"For sure," said Norman.
"What about the van?"
"Frosty says it's staff only," said Norman. "But I thought to ask Millie the same question. According to her, Rossiter arranged for his wife to use it for her charity work. She's used it several times, and she doesn't even ask. She just turns up and takes it like a member of staff."
"Now that's very interesting," said Slater. "If we can find a way to prove Celia Rowntree knew about that, maybe your conspiracy theory isn't so far off the mark."
"It works, doesn't it?" agreed Norman. "They could easily have worked together to solve a shared problem. Diana gets bumped off, Rossiter gets put away, and the two women most affected by their bad behaviour get to live happily ever after."
While they were talking, Jane Jolly was wandering around the kitchen.
"Are you sure it's in here?" she asked Slater.
"I can't say for sure," he replied. "But it's while I was in here that I felt I was missing something."
"So it's a good place to start, then," she smiled.
She opened some cupboards, peered inside and closed them again. Then she did the same with some of the drawers, and it was one of these that finally caught her attention.
"What?" asked Slater.
"Look at these knives," she said. "They're real chefs knives. They must have cost a fortune."
"Yeah, but she was well known for her cooking," said Norman. "People like that tend to buy expensive stuff."
"That's true enough," agreed Jolly, but she continued staring into the drawer. "Didn't we take a knife block in as evidence?"
"Yeah," said Slater. "The murder weapon came from it."
"Maybe it's just me," she continued, still staring into the drawer. "But don't you think it seems a bit odd to have all these top quality, very expensive, chefs knives in the drawers and then have a cheap, run of the mill, knife block as well?"
"Was it that bad?" asked Norman. "I can't really remember what it was like. But even if it was crap, perhaps she just used the crappy ones for everyday use, and kept the best ones for special occasions."
"But everything in this kitchen is expensive," insisted Jolly. "Just look around. There's nothing cheap anywhere else in here. In fact there's nothing cheap in this whole house, apart from that knife block."
"So, maybe someone gave it to her as a present," said Norman. "And she kept it out so she wouldn't hurt their feelings if they came round."
"Somehow I don't see Diana Woods as the type to worry about hurting someone's feelings," argued Jolly.
"Ah, but don't forget she was like two people rolled into one," said Norman. "Maybe the heartless tart wouldn't care about hurting someone's feelings, but then the nice, angelic, Diana wouldn't want to hurt anyone."
"Maybe you're right," said Jolly.
"But you're not convinced, are you?" said Norman.
"No," she agreed. "This woman does not like cheap tat in her house. She would have thrown away the cheap knife block or maybe given it to a charity shop. She certainly wouldn't have kept it out where everyone could see it."
Slater had been listening carefully to the exchange between Jolly and Norman. It was telling him something, but what was it? And then it came to him.
"That's it," he said. "Jane's right. The knife block's wrong. It doesn't make any sense."
"And nor do you right now," said Norman, looking puzzled. "I'm lost."
"And I have been, too," said Slater. "Until now. All the time, we've assumed the killer came to see Diana, saw an opportunity, took a knife from the knife block, and stabbed her, right?"
"Yeah," said Norman.
"But that's what's wrong, isn't it?" said Slater. "When I was talking to Ian Becks earlier, he said about how the killer seemed to have made a point of wearing gloves and been really careful about not leaving a trace of evidence anywhere, all the hallmarks of a premeditated murder."
"But then we're saying the killer used a knife taken from a knife block, which just happened to be in the kitchen," said Norman, comprehension dawning on his face. "Which is opportunist, and anything but premeditated."
"Exactly," said Slater. "Would our killer really take so much care, and then rely on a piece of luck to provide a murder weapon? It doesn't make sense, does it? I seem to recall that knife block was brand new, or at least it looked new. So, what if the killer brought it with them?"
"It's an interesting idea," admitted Norman.
"But why not just bring a knife?" said Jolly. "Why bring the whole block?"
"To throw us off the scent," suggested Slater. "Or to get rid of it. If you just took one knife from it you'd still have the rest of the knives and the block to dispose of. This way you don't have to dispose of it at all."
"So, if we could find out who bought that knife block we might just find our killer," said Jolly.
"It would be a big help," agreed Slater.
"Well, shopping is one thing I am quite good at," she smiled. "I'm pretty sure I can find out where it came from, and with any luck I might be able to prove who bought it. But first I need to see it again to make sure I know exactly what I'm looking for."
Chapter Twenty-One
Next morning, Slater, Norman and Jolly were in Slater's car, parked just around the corner from the market.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" asked Slater.
"Of course," said Jolly. "The only problem I might have is if the guy isn't there today. He has one of those stalls that's here one week and gone the next. If you buy anything you never know if he'll be there again if you have problems with it."
"Well, let's hope he is there," said Slater. "Because we need one of those knife blocks. Have you got the photos?"
"Of course I have," she said, with a forced smile. "I have done this sort of thing before, you know."
"I'm sorry," smiled Slater. "Just make sure you don't get into trouble. Any problems or doubts, you give us a call, alright? We'll be waiting in the car."
"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?" asked Norman.
"I'm just going shopping," she said. "What could be more innocent than a girl going shopping? I just want to see if my friend bought her knife block from him, and if he recognises her I want to buy one just like hers. If I walk around with two heavies for protection we're likely to scare the guy. I'll be fine, honestly."
She pushed open the car door and slipped out.
"I'll be ten minutes," she said, as she closed the door.
True to her word, it was almost exactly ten minutes later when she opened the door and slid into the back seat.
"Look what I've got," she said, brandishing a carrier bag.
"Oh great," said Slater. "Well done, Jane."
"Is it the same one?" asked Norman.
"It's exactly the same," she said. "And we're in luck. He doesn't sell many of them so he tends to remember who he sells them to. I asked him if my friend had bought one, beca
use I wanted one the same as hers. I told him it would have been ten days, or maybe a fortnight ago. He described a woman to me, I showed him the photograph of Celia Rowntree, and he identified her."
"Brilliant," smiled Slater. "Now we're starting to make some sense of all this. I think it's time we had a serious chat with Mrs Frosty Knickers, don't you, Norm?"
"For sure," beamed Norman. "Houston, we have lift off."
"She doesn't look quite so full of herself now, does she?" said Norman, as he and Slater peered through the observation window at Celia Rowntree, who was sat nervously at the table in the interview room, wondering what was going to happen next.
"How did she take it when you told her she was coming in for a chat?" asked Slater.
"She was the epitome of hostility when we arrived in reception," said Norman. "She told me I was wasting my time without making an appointment. Then she reeled off all this crap about how we were trespassing, and how we were violating her human rights."
"I bet you were so impressed," smiled Slater.
"Actually, in part, it was pretty impressive, to be honest," grinned Norman. "And she looked so pleased with herself, I just couldn't resist letting her ramble on and on. It's amazing how much she can say without stopping for breath. That was the impressive part. We probably ought to contact the Guinness Book of Records."
"And then you got bored, I suppose," suggested Slater.
"Actually it was Jane who lost interest first," said Norman. "She interrupted old Frosty to tell her she could save all the bullshit for when we got to the station. That's when it got really entertaining. Frosty does indignity better than almost anyone I can think of. Apparently no-one speaks to her like Jane did. But then Jane showed she can get pretty feisty herself.
"You should have been there. You would have loved it, especially the bit when Jane announced, at the top of her voice, that if the stroppy cow didn't shut up and come quietly she was going to be handcuffed and dragged out. That's when she started screaming about her rights all over again, and how she was entitled to a solicitor."
"Is there a solicitor on the way?" asked Slater.
"Yeah," chuckled Norman. "It's that Brian Humphreys guy from Rochesters again. He actually came down to reception, while we were there, to see what all the noise was about. Man, he was not impressed to find another senior member of staff was being dragged into this investigation."
"I bet he wishes he worked anywhere but Rochesters right now," smiled Slater.
"Yeah, he kinda made that quite clear," said Norman. "But apparently it's written into his contract that he has to represent senior members of staff. At least that's what Frosty told him. I guess he never expected he would find it necessary to represent anyone for anything as serious as murder. Poor guy."
"Good morning Mrs Rowntree," said Slater, with a broad smile, as he entered the interview room alongside Norman. "Thank you so much for coming down to see us."
"I don't seem to have had much choice," she hissed.
"That's right," said Slater, settling into his seat opposite her. "You don't have any choice."
He looked at her, but said nothing. She glared malevolently back at him.
"Let's get something clear, right from the start," he said. "This isn't some game we're playing here. We're conducting a murder inquiry, and so far you've been evasive, and downright hostile, towards myself and my fellow officers. At the very least we shall almost certainly be charging you with obstructing our enquiries, but I think it's likely we'll be charging you with something a lot more serious, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, uncertainly.
"You're sure about that, are you?" asked Slater.
She didn't answer, preferring to study her nails instead.
Norman reached down under his seat and produced a carrier bag which he placed on the table. He pulled the knife block from the bag and placed it on the table in front of her.
"D'you recognise this?" he asked her.
"It's a knife block," she said. "Anyone can see that."
"Have you ever bought one like this?" he asked.
"No," she said. "I don't buy cheap tat like that. I wouldn't give it house room."
"What about buying it to give to someone else?" he persisted.
"I've never bought one of those in my life," she said, adamantly. "I wouldn't know where to find one."
"Well let me help you out there," said Norman. "There's only one place you can get them around here, and that's the market in town."
"I never shop there," she said. "You never know what you're buying in places like that. I prefer to buy quality goods."
"Oh, really," smiled Norman. "Did you know you have a double walking around town?"
"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, wearily. "Is this why I'm here? So you can ask me where I do my shopping? Do you really think this is proper use of your time? And how on earth can it be relevant to your inquiry?"
"You know damned well why it's relevant, Celia," said Norman. "It's relevant because Diana was killed with a knife from a knife block just like this one. A knife block that you bought from the market about ten days ago."
Celia Rowntree went very quiet, and her face seemed to turn a ghostly shade of white.
"The guy in the market sells very few of these," said Norman. "So he tends to remember who he sells them to. He remembered you because he thought you were nice looking, and because he didn't think you were the type to buy something so cheap. As a result he was able to describe you perfectly. He also picked your photo out."
"He must have been mistaken," she said, nervously.
"I should warn you there's CCTV overlooking the entrance to the market," said Slater.
At the mention of CCTV she seemed to slump in her seat, almost as if the stuffing had been removed from inside her.
"I bought it as a present for a friend," she muttered.
"Not much of a friend," suggested Norman. "Or do you buy 'cheap tat you wouldn't give house room' for all your friends?"
She looked around hopelessly for a way out of the lie she was creating, but there was none. Her brain seemed to have stopped working.
"So who is this friend?" asked Slater. "Maybe they can confirm you gave them the knife block."
"Err, I don't remember," she stammered. "I didn't give it to them. It was just too tacky."
"So you went to the market you never go to, to buy a knife block you wouldn't give house room to, to give to a friend you can't remember. Have I got that right?" asked Norman.
"Yes. No," she said, and then she began to cry, quietly.
"No. That's not right is it, Celia?" said Norman, gently. "You see you've been lying to us all along, haven't you? We think you bought the knife block as part of a plan to kill Diana Woods and frame Bruce Rossiter for her murder. We think you planted the mobile phone we found in his desk, and you removed the CCTV disk that shows who used the company runabout the day Diana was killed."
She continued to cry quietly, her head in her hands.
"We could charge you with her murder, right now, Celia," said Slater. "But we don't think you were the murderer. That was someone else. You were just the accomplice. Are we right?"
At last she looked up at him, snot and tears dripping from her face. She shook her head.
"You don't understand," she whined. "You just don't understand."
"But we want to understand," said Slater. "We want to help you."
"Let's take a break for ten minutes, Celia," suggested Norman. "I'll go and get you a cup of tea while you get yourself together. Then maybe you'd better tell us all about it. Okay?"
She nodded slowly, then slumped forward onto the desk and began to sob quietly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Good evening Mrs Rossiter. So nice of you to join us," smiled Slater, back in the same interview room, a few hours later.
"What am I doing here?" she demanded. "You've already arrested my husband for Diana's murder. What more do you
want from me?"
"I'm afraid we have one or two things we don't quite understand," said Slater. "As Mr Rossiter's wife, we think you might be able to help us."
"Was it really necessary to send a couple of goons?" she asked, bitterly.
"We find people tend to get here much quicker when we do that," smiled Norman, genially. "We wouldn't want anyone getting lost on the way here, now would we?"
"And there are men crawling all over my house. Again."
"That's what a search warrant allows us to do," smiled Norman. "But don't worry, they'll lock up when they've finished."
She glowered at the two of them, but said nothing. They had thought she was likely to be a much tougher nut to crack than Celia Rowntree, and it looked as if they were going to be proved right.
"Does your husband ever go to the supermarket to do food shopping?" asked Norman.
"Hah!" she laughed. "The fat pig doesn't even know where the supermarket is. If it was left to him to put food in the cupboards we'd starve."
"So he doesn't shop in supermarkets," suggested Slater.
"Never," she confirmed.
"So you do all the supermarket shopping?" asked Norman.
"Yes," she snapped impatiently. "There isn't anyone else, is there?"
"So, were you in the supermarket on the Sunday before Diana died?" he asked.
"God. I don't remember," she sighed. "Does it really matter?"
"Yes, it does matter, so I'll tell you," said Norman. "You were there. We have your till receipt."
"So why ask me if you already know," she spat. "Anyway, what's this got to do with Diana's death?"
"Less than five minutes after you checked out, someone paid for some condoms using your husband's credit card," said Norman.
"And what's that got to do with me?" she asked. "If I'd bought condoms they would have been on my till receipt."
"We believe you paid for those condoms, separately, at one of the self-serve check outs," said Norman.
"And why would I do that?" she asked.
"Because, that way, no-one would notice you were using your husband's credit card," smiled Norman.