Just A Coincidence & Florence (Dave Slater Mystery Doubles Book 1)

by Ford,P. F.

  “So, come on then Steve,” said Slater. “What’s on your mind? You said you had sent Flight home earlier and that you need to talk to me about her, remember?”

  For a moment Biddeford thought Slater had read his thoughts, then he realised he had said exactly that, earlier.

  “So why did you send her home?” asked Slater.

  “She’d been fine earlier in the day,” said Biddeford. “In fact she’d been a pretty good partner to work with, and good company too. But then, when we got the call about the flasher, she went sort of crazy. She was driving like a mad thing. It’s a wonder we didn’t kill someone. And then her mood changed completely and she became aggressive and I just didn’t know where I stood with her. I thought she was a bit unstable to be honest.”

  “Has she got problems?” asked Slater.

  “She told me her marriage is on the rocks. Maybe that’s eating at her,” Biddeford said, shrugging.

  “When did she tell you that?”

  “Over lunch. She said I was a good listener,” said Biddeford.

  “It’s your life, Steve, but my advice would be not to get involved with her.”

  “Oh, I’m not.” Biddeford blushed. He was actually quite annoyed that Slater felt he needed advice. Who did he think he was telling people who they should and shouldn’t date?

  “And another thing,” said Slater. “She doesn’t know it, but I know her husband. Now, she might tell you her marriage is on the rocks, and maybe she believes it is, but I can tell you for sure he doesn’t know about it. It sounds to me like she’s got you hooked and she’s reeling you in, mate.”

  “No,” said Biddeford. “She’s not like that.”

  The more Slater said against her, the more defensive Biddeford felt himself becoming.

  “Like I said – it’s your life, Steve. I’m just warning you. She may be beautiful on the outside, but there’s something not right with that girl on the inside.”

  “You really think so?” asked Biddeford, finally deciding he’d had enough free advice for one evening. “Because, to be honest, I really like her.”

  “Well, I just hope you don’t do anything you’re going to regret. The problem with getting involved with a risk-taker is that they don’t care who gets hurt. The only people they care about are themselves, and then only when they get caught.”

  Chapter Twenty

  In the beam of their headlights, Slater could see there were several cars parked to one side of the car park. He stopped the car and used his mobile phone to photograph all the number plates, then parked his car in a space to one side. All the other cars were in darkness apart from a big SUV parked away from the others. This car seemed to be where it was all happening. A crowd of half a dozen men were gathered around it, peering in the windows. The interior lights were on to allow those on the outside to see what was happening on the inside.

  One of the men was on his own at the front of the vehicle watching through the windscreen. He was wearing white trainers with red soles, and a big blue dressing gown. He was working hard, face contorted, as he stared into the interior of the car, his arm pumping furiously.

  Slater switched off the lights and killed the engine.

  “The guy at the front,” said Biddeford. “Isn’t that-”

  “Yes it is,” interrupted Slater. “Dick Waver, doing Darth Vader, right down to the light sabre. Now go and grab the wanker while he’s distracted, and when you’ve got him, bring him back here and stay with him. Don’t let him get away again. I’m going to spoil the night for the other dirty buggers.”

  “Awww, you’re kidding,” whined Biddeford. “Do I really have to?”

  “You let him go last time, so yes you bloody do,” snapped Slater.

  “I’m putting gloves on before I touch him, then,” said Biddeford, looking disgusted. “I don’t care if you put a bloody wet suit on,” said an exasperated Slater. “Just get out there and grab him.”

  As they approached the SUV, Biddeford moved stealthily away to creep up on Dick Waver. Slater made his way around to the driver’s side where his arrival was greeted with a mumbled suggestion, from someone in the crowd of voyeurs, that he get to the back of the bloody queue.

  “What do you mean, queue?” asked Slater.

  “I mean queue, as in, ‘wait your bloody turn, I’m next’,” said a big-mouthed man without taking his eyes from the action within the car. “I’ve had to wait over a week to have a go with Blonde Bobby because of this friggin’ police investigation closing the car park, so you can just sod off and wait your turn.”

  “You mean, the Blonde Bobby?” asked Slater. “As in, ‘the one and only’?” He didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but it seemed to be as good a response as any.

  “Yeah, the one and only,” said the man. “The reigning champion. Confirmed as the best shag in the county. And I’m next, just as soon as she’s finished with this one. Got it?”

  This was all news to Slater. He didn’t even know there was such a championship. He peered over the heads of the other guys to see what all the fuss was about.

  In the back of the big SUV, the back seats were all folded away and covered with some sort of mattress to make a more comfortable and spacious area. Within that comfortable, spacious area, an athletic looking blonde was enthusiastically grinding away astride a guy who appeared to be having an experience like no other. Slater couldn’t tell if his face was screwed up in agony or ecstasy, but reasoned that, from the way she was working him over, it could well have been a mixture of the two.

  As he moved around to the back window, he had to peer between the heads of two other spectators, but even so, he still got a full frontal view of Blonde Bobby. He couldn’t see her face, which she kept turned down, and was also obscured by her long blonde hair, but he could see one thing for sure, she certainly wasn’t a natural blonde. He wondered if she was wearing a wig, or perhaps her hair was bleached? He thought it was probably a wig – it made for an easier, and quicker, disguise.

  At the front of the car, Slater could hear the sounds of a scuffle taking place between Steve Biddeford and Dick Waver, who seemed to think pointing his light sabre at Biddeford was really going to be enough to ward him off. It almost worked too, as Biddeford’s first reaction was to recoil in horror in case it went off, but he quickly recovered, and a well-aimed kick soon quelled the uprising, so to speak.

  Sadly, for the vanquished Dick, now lying in a crumpled heap on the ground clutching his rapidly deflating equipment for the second time that day, his waving days were over, at least for the immediate future.

  Slater raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the back window.

  “Oi,” said the man with the big mouth, stepping towards Slater. “What d’you think you’re doin’? I told you I’m next, so why don’t you fuck off before I make you?”

  Slater whipped out his warrant card, shone his torch on it, and waved it in the guy’s face.

  “You really think that’s going to be a good idea, do you?” He was right in the guy’s face now, and his patience was beginning to wear very, very thin. “Why don’t you have a go, and we’ll see if you’re as hard as you think you are.”

  Clearly driven by the possibility of perhaps missing out on his long-awaited go with Blonde Bobby, Big Mouth swung a huge haymaker at Slater’s head. Slater saw it coming from so far away he was easily able to duck out of the way, and as the guy lost his balance, he brought his knee up hard. With a muffled noise that was a mixture of curse and agonised sigh, all the breath whooshed from Mighty Mouth and he sank to the ground in an untidy heap, clutching his wedding tackle.

  The rest of the audience quickly lost their enthusiasm for voyeurism, as they realised there was trouble afoot, and began to flee the scene. Within seconds, cars were leaving the car park, roaring off into the night, quite unaware that their registration numbers had already been taken and they would soon be getting a warning visit from the local constabulary.

  Unaware of the goings
-on outside the car, Blonde Bobby, apparently the confirmed, ‘best shag in the county’, appeared to have exhausted her partner, who was laying on his back, looking almost comatose, with his head close to the tailgate of the vehicle. She was climbing off, ready to kick him out to make room for the next one in the queue.

  As if to save them all time, Slater reached down and popped the catch. The tailgate swung up with a quiet hiss. The man didn’t move at first, but was suddenly shocked into life when Slater grabbed him by the arms and dragged him backwards, still stark naked, and dumped him on the ground.

  “Whatthefuckin’ell’sgoin’on?” he gabbled.

  “Police!” Slater bent over the man so he was right in his face.

  The victim of his ire was struggling to get to his feet and cover his dignity with only two hands, but Slater was intent on making this as frightening an experience as possible, so he made it more difficult for the guy by aiming a kick at him. There was an untidy pile of men’s clothes just inside the tailgate of the car. Slater grabbed them and threw them at the naked man.

  “Here. Take your clothes and bugger off, now,” he said. “And be aware we’ve got your registration number. We will be in touch very soon.”.

  The terrified man grabbed his clothes and scuttled off in the dark towards the only other car left in the car park. Now Slater turned his attention back to the girl in the SUV, who hadn’t moved since he popped open the tailgate and announced his presence. She was still naked, having made no attempt to cover herself, and remained on her knees. Her head rested on her knees so he was looking along the graceful curves of her body from her shoulders, sweeping in to her waist and then curving out again to encompass her backside. He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. He already knew who she was.

  The registration number had rung a bell in his head when he’d photographed it just a few minutes ago, but at that moment he’d been unable to recall why. However, his subconscious mind had obviously been working away at the problem as events had unfolded, and just as he’d dragged the unfortunate man out of the back of the car, he’d finally connected all the dots.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the one and only Blonde Bobby. I suppose I should consider it an honour to meet the woman who’s been confirmed as the best shag in the county. You must be so proud of your achievement.”

  She didn’t say a word, but let out a long, impatient, sigh.

  “It’s lucky for you we’re not arresting anyone tonight, don’t you think?” he continued. “I mean, that would have been a bit embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”

  Still she said nothing.

  “If you’re worried about showing me what you’ve got,” he said. “It’s a bit late. I got a good look at the full frontal along with all the other guys who were watching. Very nice, by the way. It’s clever how you manage to keep your face hidden behind the blonde wig. It adds a bit of mystery. I always think that’s such a nice touch. Does your husband know what you use his car for when he’s out of town?”

  “Is this going to take long?” she said, wearily. She shifted her position so she was now sitting back, her knees drawn up in front of her, facing him, defiantly staring at him.

  “Oh sorry,” said Slater. “Are you too busy to speak to me?” He looked around in mock surprise. “Oh dear, the queue seems to have disappeared. Looks like it’s me, or no one.”

  “I suppose you’d better get in and take your turn then, if it’ll keep you quiet,” she said. “I know you’ve always fancied your chances. Now I’m giving you the opportunity to find out what you’ve been missing, and just why I’m the best.”

  He reached forward angrily into the car, snatched hold of the wig and pulled. It came off without much difficulty, revealing the short, neatly styled, dark hair he recognised. He flung the wig in her face.

  “Just so you know,” he said between gritted teeth. “I never have ‘fancied my chances’ with you. Yes, you’ve got a beautiful body, but you’ve also got an evil temper and a shite attitude. For that reason alone, I wouldn’t waste my time. I also happen to know your husband, and I never cheat on my mates.”

  “You know Alan?” she said in disbelief. “But you’ve never said.”

  “I’ve never felt the need to,” he replied. “And do you really think I’m that desperate I would want to get it together with someone who enjoys being passed around like this? Being the best shag in the county must make you what? Top Dog? I can’t think of a more appropriate title, can you? Except, perhaps, ‘cheap little slut’.”

  All the colour had drained from her face and with it, her confident attitude. Slater watched as she shivered and tears filled her eyes.

  “What are you going to do?” she said, sobbing. “I don’t want to lose my job, or my home or anything.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’ve just realised how deep that pile of shit is that you’re in, haven’t you? It’s funny how people suddenly realise what they’re going to lose when they get caught.”

  Slater kicked at the back bumper of the car in frustration.

  “You’re so bloody stupid.” he said, sighing. “You can be bloody good at your job, when you put your mind to it. You could go a long way, and yet you’re prepared to risk your future and everything you have, for what? A quick shag in a car park with these sad tossers? Even Dick Waver, the Phantom Flasher, was watching and wanking all over your car bonnet.

  “That must be quite an achievement in itself. You arrested him this afternoon and had the chance to end his career as Tinton’s biggest wanker, and now here you are, just a few hours later, fulfilling one of his wildest fantasies.”

  He kicked the car again.

  “And have you never heard of safe sex?”.

  “But what are you going to do?” Blonde Bobby wailed, tears running down her face.

  “What am I going to do?” he echoed. “What I’d like to do is arrest you and drag your sorry arse down to the station so all your colleagues could see what you do in your spare time. That’s what I’d like to do. But my remit was just to come up here and frighten the crap out of everyone. I think I’ve done that, don’t you?”

  “But what about me?” She sounded desperate now. “What will happen to me? Will you tell Alan? Will you tell everyone? Please don’t. I’ll do anything. Just say it, and I’ll do it.”

  He looked at her sadly and shook his head.

  “I probably won’t see Alan,” he said. “And if I do, how do I tell him his wife’s the best shag in the county? Right now, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I will tell you what you can do. You can go home and stay there while you consider whether you’re a fit person to be a police officer.”

  “Stay there?” she asked, looking confused.

  “Phone in and tell them you’ve been exposed to something nasty. Looking at the sad bastards you mix with I’m sure you probably have. Take a few days off sick. That way you won’t get in my way. And think, long and hard, about whether you should come back. Now get dressed and bugger off out of my sight.”

  With that, he slammed the hatch down and stomped angrily back to his car, where a pissed-off Biddeford was waiting with an equally pissed-off Dick Waver, who was handcuffed to the roof rack.

  “I couldn’t put him inside,” explained Biddeford. “You locked it.”

  “Of course I bloody locked it,” said Slater. “I didn’t want that dirty bugger dribbling jungle juice all over my car seats. There’s a plastic sheet in the boot. Put that on the back seat before you put him in there.”

  Then Slater turned his attention to the prisoner.

  “When we get back to Tinton, you’re going to be locked in a cell for the night and then I’m going home,” he said. “My colleague here will be back in the morning with another colleague, and then the three of you are going to have a nice cosy little chat.”

  Biddeford manoeuvred the prisoner onto the plastic sheet.

  “Hey. This is cold on my arse,” the flasher said.

  �
�Tough shit,” snapped Slater from the driver’s seat. “If you weren’t walking around half undressed it wouldn’t be a problem would it?”

  “It’s bloody police brutality, that’s what it is,” Dick Waver muttered from the back of the car. “First I get kicked in the balls, for the second time today, and now you make me sit on a feckin’ freezin’ plastic sack.”

  “Look,” shouted Slater, swinging round in his seat to face the prisoner. “I’ve had a bloody gut full today. If you don’t stop complaining, I’m going to drag you out of that bloody seat, and show you what real police brutality is all about. Right now, I’m in just the right mood to give a demonstration. All I need is a volunteer to beat up. One more peep out of you and you’re that volunteer. Understand?”

  The Phantom Flasher gulped loudly and nodded his head. Slater turned back to the steering wheel, breathing heavily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve Biddeford staring at him, puzzled. But he was in no mood to explain what had happened.

  There was no further comment from anyone on the way back to the station.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When he finally struggled out of bed on Sunday morning, Slater felt pretty wretched. He had hardly slept last night, having spent most of it agonising over what he should do about Phillipa Flight. How could she be so bloody stupid? Doing it right on her own doorstep like that, she could have been caught at any time. But then he knew that just made it even more risky for her, and at the end of the day, it was the risk, rather than the sex, that made her come alive.

  All in all, he had concluded it was a desperately sad situation, but one that she would have to sort out for herself. He knew which course of action he was going to follow. What happened after that was down to her.

  To compound his crappy morning, he had just discovered there was nothing to eat. There was food, but only in the loosest sense. None of it was edible. He’d binned a loaf of bread that was so hard even mould wasn’t growing on it, some distinctly green-looking bacon, and a carton of milk that appeared to have turned to yogurt, and smelt even worse than it looked. At least he had eggs, he’d thought, until he opened the box and found it was empty.