by Ford,P. F.
There was another long silence. Biddeford didn’t know what to say. He felt sick to his stomach about the whole thing. Have I really been such a fool?
“D’you believe in karma?” asked Norman. “You know, the idea that what goes around comes around? Because that’s what’s happening here, to you, right now. And this has to be the fastest it’s ever happened. And all for an easy lay. Congratulations you friggin’ idiot.”
Biddeford felt wretched as he went over what Norman told him. Had he really been so gullible?
“I’ve been such a fool,” he said, eventually.
“You think so?” asked Norman, his voice loaded with several tons of irony.
“I’ll go and see Dave and apologise-”
“You will do no such thing,” said Norman. “Your instructions, from Bob Murray, via me, are to keep away from Dave Slater. As of now, you are under my command and you will do as I say. Understand?”
Biddeford looked unhappily at Norman, but he could see there was no point in arguing. He nodded his agreement.
“My orders are to make sure you keep as far away from Dave Slater as possible. Anyway, do you really think he wants to hear your lame excuses right now? You will do the sensible thing and keep away from him and keep out of his way for a few days.”
“But, what about the murder inquiry?”
“You seem to have forgotten you walked off the job this morning,” said Norman. “You’re no longer a part of that inquiry. But I’ve got a nice little counterfeiting operation you can look into. It’ll keep you busy until your transfer.”
“But I didn’t mean anything by that. I’ll withdraw the request.”
“I think you’ll find it’s too late for that,” said Norman. “Bob Murray doesn’t go much for people who act without thinking, and he doesn’t like shit stirrers. You qualify on both counts. The best thing you can do is make a good job of this counterfeit investigation and then maybe he won’t give you a crappy reference.”
Biddeford now saw the enormity of what he’d done, and he knew it was all his own doing. Norman was right, he’d been thinking with his dick. He couldn’t even blame Phillipa Flight, really. She had told him she didn’t want him to make it official. If only she’d told him why. But then, how could she? And all those terrible things he’d said about Dave Slater. Oh God, what a mess. How could he have been so stupid?
He hung his head in despair, trying to stop himself from crying. He felt Norman pat him on the shoulder.
“Go home, son,” he said. “Report to me in the morning at nine and I’ll get you up to speed with the counterfeit case. You’ll have to work on your own I’m afraid. The rest of us are a bit busy right now.”
Biddeford shuffled sadly from the room, feeling utterly broken. He had no idea what his career had in store from him now. How could he have been so bloody stupid?
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Norman had done all the work preparing the briefing, Slater thought it only right he should take a back seat and let him lead it as well. As his colleague began to speak, Slater looked around the room at what was left of their rapidly diminishing team. With Flight and Biddeford both missing, they were all going to have to work a little harder and be a little more resourceful.
“We feel we had something of a breakthrough yesterday. We spoke to the guy who led the removals team, and also to the taxi driver who picked up Sandra and her daughter the day she disappeared. In both cases, it seems the woman fits the description of attractive, blonde, long legs, etc.
“However, the removals guy talks about a very nice, friendly lady who couldn’t stop thanking them for all their help. The taxi driver remembers someone with a snotty attitude who didn’t know how to say thank you. That’s interesting, but if it was Sandra and she was running away, that could be a stressful enough situation to put her in a bad mood.
“But, when it comes to the little girl, it gets very interesting. One description says she’s a shy little girl with loads of freckles and long, straight, ginger hair.” Norman pointed to the board showing Rose’s photograph. “That’s a match for the Rose Bressler shown here. The other description from the taxi driver says she was a chatterbox who never stopped talking and had curly ginger hair and no freckles at all.”
Norman stopped for a sip of coffee, and there was silence around the room as Slater watched them all taking in this latest revelation.
“I hope you can see where this is leading? We’re now beginning to think Sandra and Rose may have already been murdered by the time the taxi driver made that trip to Gatwick airport. We think he picked up a pair of lookalikes to make everyone think they’d run away.”
There was a small ripple of excitement around the room.
Norman looked across at Slater.
“Have you got anything you want to add?”
Slater nodded.
“You all have tasks to try and finish today, and I know you’re all working hard to do that, but if you’re waiting for someone to get back to you, don’t. Get on to them and hassle them for all your worth. We made a big step forward yesterday, but we need more evidence to back up this theory. It is out there, we’ve just got to find it. We’re getting close to giving Sandra’s mother some answers. Let’s make sure we do.”
“So, how did the date go last night?” asked Norman as they were tidying up after everyone had gone. He hoped that Jelena had managed to put a smile on Slater’s face, after the day he had had.
“It wasn’t a date,” said Slater.
“It wasn’t?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought Jelena was chasing after you, begging you to take her out.”
“It wasn’t Jelena,” said Slater. “It was Cindy Maine.”
Norman looked at Slater in disbelief.
“Are you nuts? You can’t start dating her. She’s involved in our murder case. Or had you forgotten that?”
“Just hang on a minute,” said Slater. “Before you start accusing me of a doing a Biddeford and thinking with my groin, let me explain.”
“I think you’d better.”
“When I bumped into her at the supermarket I gave her my card, just as I would have given it to anyone else who I thought might be able to give us information. Just as you would if you were in a similar situation.”
“Okay. That’s fair enough,” Norman said. “I can’t argue with that.”
“She called me yesterday, not long before you picked me up,” Slater continued. “She said she wanted to talk to me, and could we meet somewhere.”
“If she wanted to talk about the case you should have told me,” said Norman. “You know the problems these one-to-one interviews can cause.”
“It wasn’t an interview, Norm. And she didn’t want to talk about the case. It was just two lonely people wanting someone to talk to.”
“Now it sounds like a date.” Norman sighed. “I told you last time you met her you need to be careful. How do you know Bressler hasn’t put her up to it?”
“The same way you know I’m not a rapist,” snapped Slater. “For your information, I have explained to Cindy that I can’t date her all the time she might be involved in this case, no matter how small that involvement might be.”
“You have?” asked Norman in surprise.
“Yes, I have. Do you really think I’d be that stupid after what happened yesterday?”
Norman considered this for a moment.
“No. You’re right. Of course you wouldn’t. I’m sorry,” said Norman, contritely. “But I’m not trying to treat you like an idiot. I’m just looking out for you, watching your back.”
“And I appreciate that, Norm, really I do, but you don’t have to worry about me and Cindy. Scout’s honour.”
“Me and Cindy? What about you and Jelena?”
“There is no me and Jelena, and there isn’t going to be. There’s something inside me that says I should steer clear of her. I can’t tell you why.”
“Y
ou don’t have to tell me why. You have to listen to your gut instincts, right? If your gut says no, that’s good enough for me.”
They carried on shuffling papers in silence, but Norman’s curiosity was getting the better of him.
“So, you think you might date Cindy when this is over?” asked Norman.
“I think that could happen,” said Slater, shortly.
“You like her, then?” Norman was determined to tease the information out of him.
Slater gave him a dirty look.
“Look,” he said. “I like Cindy. She’s warm, she’s funny, and, and… I just like her, okay?”
“Oh my,” said Norman, with a grin. “She has that ‘indefinable quality’. Now that’s serious.”
“It’s not serious,” said Slater irritably. “I just like her that’s all.”
“Look,” said Norman, soothingly. “I’m just teasing. If she makes you happy, Dave, then I think that’s great. Just be careful. I know it’s unlikely, but she could still be involved in this case.”
“I know that only too well, Norm. And she did offer a couple of snippets of information last night that might be useful.”
“Well, come on. What snippets?”
“First of all, she thinks Bressler’s for real. According to her, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he especially wouldn’t have hurt Sandra.”
“Yeah,” said Norman. “But then he would ask her to say that, wouldn’t he?”
“Okay,” said Slater, patiently. “So you think she’s just doing as he says. Fine. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one.”
“So what was the second point?” urged Norman, aware that he was probably annoying Slater, but also aware they couldn’t afford to trust anyone right now.
“The second thing is that the first girlfriend he had after Sandra was around earlier than he told us. Cindy thinks she may even have been around before Sandra disappeared.”
“But he told us he ended his affair as soon as Sandra suggested starting over,” Norman said, confused.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Slater said. “But what if he was having more than one affair?”
“Perhaps we’d better go and ask him,” said Norman. “But first I have to brief DC Dickhead Biddeford about the semi-literate counterfeit operation that’s currently running in Tinton.”
“Okay,” said Slater. “I’ll be waiting here somewhere.”
As Norman left the room, Slater was thinking about Cindy, and especially about the last thing she’d said to him the night before.
As he’d escorted her to her car, she had told him her deal with Bressler was due to end in just a few days.
“It’ll be strange,” she had said. “I’m going to be at a loose end. I won’t know what to do with myself. I suppose I’ll have to find a real boyfriend.”
Then they had reached her car, and it was time to say goodbye. Like a nervous teenager on a first date, Slater had suddenly found himself in that awkward situation where he wasn’t sure what he should do next, or even if he should do anything.
For a brief moment Cindy had seemed equally unsure of herself, but then she had rescued the situation, and made the decision for him, by leaning forward and gently planting her lips on his for just a couple of seconds. As she drew back from the kiss, she slipped a piece of paper into his pocket.
“My number,” she had said, patting the pocket. “In case you ever want to buy me another drink. Please don’t lose it.”
Then she had climbed into her car, blown him a kiss and driven off.
A smile spread across his face as he recalled that moment. There was no way he was going to lose that number. He’d had a great night and she had been wonderful company. He very much wanted to buy her another drink.
His thoughts were interrupted by a passing voice.
“Someone looks happy this morning,” said Jane Jolly. “Did you win the lottery last night?”
“I think I might have, in a manner of speaking,” Slater said, beaming at her. Maybe things were looking up.
Truth be told, Norman was glad to have a little time out from the murder inquiry, even if it was just for half an hour to brief Biddeford. All these early starts and late finishes were beginning to wear him out, and all these stairs were a pain in the backside, he thought, as he puffed his way up one flight.
He was breathing quite heavily by the time he reached the top. Maybe they were right and he did need to do something about his diet. And perhaps he could do with a little more exercise – but if it made him feel like this, how could it be good for him?
“Okay,” he said wearily, as he slumped into his chair and slapped a small folder down on the desk. “This is all the information on the case.”
“There’s not much there,” observed Biddeford, unhappily.
Norman thought Biddeford looked awful this morning, like he hadn’t slept for several nights. That was probably rich, coming from him. Norman had caught sight of his own reflection earlier as he passed a mirror, and had been shocked at the grey pallor of his skin. He was still out of breath from the stairs, too.
“Are you alright, Sarge?” Biddeford asked, looking concerned.
“Nothing a bacon sandwich and mug of coffee can’t cure,” Norman said, hoping that was the case. “I just haven’t eaten yet.”
“Right,” said Biddeford, sounding unconvinced. “So what have we got, then?” he asked, clearly making some effort to sound keen and upbeat.
“Apparently the local Trading Standards people have had some complaints about a woman selling counterfeit Gucci handbags,” Norman began.
“Isn’t that their problem and not ours?” asked Biddeford.
“It seems the last time they had to speak to the suspected counterfeiter their man ended up in hospital, so now we’re involved.”
“Okay,” said Biddeford. “So who’s the lucky lady?”
“The chief suspect is one Allison Beatty,” said Norman.
Biddeford let out a groan.
“You know her?” asked Norman.
“I’ve not actually had the full pleasure yet,” said Biddeford. “But I know of her reputation. From what I’ve heard I’ll need a bloody armed guard if I’m going up there.”
“Surely she can’t be that bad,” said Norman.
“She’s officially unstable, and unpredictable,” Biddeford said, sighing. “It’s no wonder the Trading Standards guy ended up in hospital. Assault is second nature to Allison. She regards it as a form of communication. She’s put more than one innocent caller in hospital, and she hates any sort of authority, especially the police.”
“If she’s dangerous, why isn’t she locked away?” asked Norman.
“Care in the community,” said Biddeford. “If we try to charge her with assault they always get some do-gooder down here to tell us how ill she is and why we should leave her alone. That would be frustrating enough, but we also have to contend with her husband, who’s a one-man crime wave.”
“What does he get up to?”
“Oh, it’s mostly petty stuff. Burglaries, shoplifting, that sort of thing. They call him Billy Bumble because he’s supposed to be an idiot, but he’s not that dumb. He knows how to play the system regards Allison. If we go near the house to arrest him, he shouts for help from her do-gooder friends and we get accused of harassing her again.”
“He sounds pretty cute to me.” Norman smiled, recognising the type. “But this time you’ve got a search warrant to take with you, and a genuine reason for having it. Maybe you’ll find some stuff to use against both of them. Take a couple of uniforms up there and see what you can find.”
“Is this my punishment?” asked Biddeford.
“You can call it that if you want,” Norman said. “But, between you and me, you shouldn’t complain. You probably would have drawn this particular short straw anyway.”
Biddeford smiled, ruefully, as he gathered up the folder.
“I’m not complaining,” he said. “I can deal with it.”
&
nbsp; “You wouldn’t have been given it if we thought you couldn’t deal with it,” said Norman. “Let me know what happens.”
“I’ll catch you later,” said Biddeford, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Slater had been relieved to find Cindy’s car wasn’t parked on Bressler’s drive when they got to his house. At least he would avoid that particular embarrassing situation.
He and Norman were made about as welcome as the proverbial ‘turd in a swimming pool’ when Bressler opened the front door, and his irritation with them didn’t fade as Norman began to ask his questions.
“I thought I’d already told you,” said Bressler. “I ended my affair as soon as I knew Sandra was serious about us moving away and starting over. And anyway, the girl I was having the affair with was short and dark haired.”
“Women have been known to wear a wig,” Norman pointed out.
“Yes, that’s true,” Bressler said. “She could have changed her hair colour that way, but she could never have changed her voice to make her sound like an English woman.”
“Sorry?” said Norman.
“She was French,” said Bressler smugly. “She spoke English with a very heavy accent. It was part of the attraction, you see.”
“Right,” said Norman, sounding irritated. “So she was French. Does she have a name? Do you know where she lives now?”
Slater got the distinct impression Bressler wasn’t telling them everything he knew, but he couldn’t decide if it was because he had something to hide, or because he just liked the idea of messing them around.
“Her name is Michelle Laurent,” said Bressler, with a heavy sigh. “Is this really necessary?”
“And her address?” Norman asked.
“I have no idea where she lives now, but back then she was a nurse working in the cardiology unit at Good Hope Hospital in the Midlands. That’s how we met. Cardiology is my area of expertise.”
“Right. Thank you,” said Norman, pointedly, as he wrote this information in his notebook. “Is there anyone else we should know about from that time? Any Sandra lookalikes you were seeing behind her back?”