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

by Ford,P. F.

  Slater listened, finishing the conversation with “Great, I’ll be down in two ticks!”

  “It’s okay. You can send Allison home,” he said, turning to Norman. “Billy’s downstairs. He says he wants to talk to me.”

  “Oh. Right,” said Norman, looking somewhat miffed. “This is gonna get to be a mess if everyone’s taking turns at doing the interviews.”

  “It’s okay, Norm. I don’t want to interview him. I’ll remind him he knows Steve. He’ll be okay to talk with him. I’ll just keep him busy while you and Steve get yourselves ready.”

  “Should I tell Allison he’s here?”

  “Yeah, you’d better,” Slater said. “Otherwise she’ll be worrying about him. But first make sure she understands she can’t see him and she has to go home. Get the mental health doctor guy to take responsibility for getting her home and getting her settled.”

  It was almost an hour later when Norman and Biddeford finally sat down across a table in an interview room with Billy Beatty, aka Billy Bumble. Norman had told Biddeford to lead the interview. After all, it was his case – and he thought the young officer perhaps needed lifting a bit after what had happened the other day.

  “Right, Billy. You understand why we had to arrest Allison earlier?” Biddeford began.

  “Not really, no, Mr Biddeford” mumbled Billy.

  “It was because there was a garage full of cigarettes and she couldn’t explain how they got there,” Biddeford said, slowly and deliberately.

  “But that weren’t nothin’ to do with ‘er,” said Billy.

  “So how did they get there?”

  “They’re mine,” said Billy, looking and sounding immensely proud. “I’m lookin’ after ‘em for a friend.”

  They had made sure before they started that Billy understood his rights, but Norman felt now might be a good time to re-iterate the part about being represented at this interview. He didn’t want anyone saying later that Billy had been denied his rights.

  “You do understand you are entitled to have a solicitor here to represent you if you want one?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I know that,” said Billy. “But wha’s the point? All you legal people are the same. Yer all out to stop people like me makin’ a livin’.”

  “We’re only here to stop you making a living illegally,” said Biddeford. “We’d be happy to help you get started making a living if it didn’t involve breaking into people’s houses and nicking stuff.”

  “So why am I ‘ere, then, Mr Biddeford? I didn’t break into no-one’s house this time. I got a proper job now drivin’ a truck. I’m jus’ storin’ some goods for a while.”

  “I didn’t know you could drive a truck, Billy,” said Biddeford, sounding dubious. “Do you have a license? When did you pass your test?”

  “I can’t remember,” mumbled Billy. Norman noticed he was very careful to avoid eye contact with both him and Biddeford.

  “Okay, we’ll worry about that later,” said Biddeford. “Why don’t you tell us about this ‘friend’ of yours?”

  As far as Norman knew from what Slater had told him, Billy didn’t actually have any real friends. His known associates were all fellow petty criminals.

  “I don’t know his name. I only jus’ started workin’ for him. I only done two jobs before this one,” said Billy, looking even more shifty. Norman had the sense of a tower of lies being constructed around him, but he thought it probably wouldn’t take much to bring them tumbling down.

  Biddeford sighed heavily.

  “Alright. How about telling us where this friend comes from?”

  “Dunno,” mumbled Billy.

  “Let me get this straight,” said Biddeford. “You’re working for a friend you don’t know, who comes from somewhere you don’t know. Presumably, they know just as much about you, and yet they are happy for you to look after thousands of pounds worth of cigarettes. Have I got that right?”

  “Tha’s about right, yeah.”

  Billy shifted, looking uncomfortable. Norman knew it was because of him, and he scowled to emphasise his point. He knew very well that if they both just sat in silence now, eventually Billy would start talking. He would feel he had to. And, sure enough, after a few minutes, he did.

  “I got this job, right? All I have to do is collect the truck, drive it up to Trapworth airfield, sit and wait while it’s loaded up and then take it to where they tell me. Fing is, last time I got lost, so I took the stuff home and put it in me garage.”

  “So where’s the truck?” asked Biddeford.

  “I dumped it down in Southampton, like I was told.”

  “Where d’you get it from?”

  “I picked it up from the M3 services at Fleet.”

  “Who met you there?”

  “I don’t see no one,” said Billy. “I get told the registration number and I have to find it. The keys are on top of the front wheel.”

  Norman felt it was time he got one or two things clear.

  “So someone steals a truck,” he said aloud, thinking it through. “They leave it at the services where you collect it, then you drive it to Trapworth and get it loaded, then you drive it to where?”

  “Instructions to where I’m goin’ are always left on a piece of paper,” said Billy. “It’s ‘idden under the passenger seat. I jus’ take the truck to where it says, unlock the back, wait until someone comes along and empties it, then I drive it to where I have to leave it, put the keys on top of the wheel an’ scarper. I swear I never sees no-one, not even at the airfield.”

  Norman was getting a deja-vu feeling about this. It was beginning to sound like an operation he’d come across when he worked up in London.

  “I think we need to have a few words outside,” said Norman to Biddeford.

  Biddeford looked surprised as Norman explained what he was thinking.

  “Wow!” said Biddeford, when Norman had finished. “You really think this could be a London gang?”

  “As I recall,” said Norman, “the truck would be stolen to order just a few hours before it was needed. Then, the number plates were switched, the job was done, and within a few hours the truck was dumped somewhere else. Sometimes it was all over before the truck had even been reported stolen.

  “By using lots of different people, all recruited separately, each one doing just a tiny part of the job and then leaving, no one ever saw anyone else who was involved. So, if one got caught no one else could be easily incriminated.”

  “It’s interesting he should mention Trapworth airfield,” said Biddeford. “When we were poking around up there, I was pretty sure there must have been something going on at night. The security’s non-existent.”

  “This is not good,” said Norman. “The problem for Billy is that he’s got himself involved with some serious criminals. Whoever’s behind this is going to be looking for their missing loot. And they’re not going to believe Billy got lost and decided to look after their goods until they reclaimed it.”

  “Crap,” said Biddeford. “What do we do now?”

  “I think we need to explain to Billy just how deep the hole is that he’s dug for himself.”

  “Detective Sergeant Norman thinks you’ve really done it this time Billy. You’ve managed to get yourself caught up with the big boys and pissed off some real hard men. When they find out you’ve stolen their cigarettes, you’re in for a serious hiding,” Biddeford said, looking intently at him. “These people won’t be messing about. You might even be a dead man walking.”

  “But what about Allison?” Billy asked, looking horrified. “This has got nuffin’ to do wiv ‘er. They won’t ‘urt ‘er will they?”

  “They will if they think she knows where the cigarettes are,” said Norman. “But we can do something about that if you’ll help us.”

  “But I don’t know anyone else involved,” Billy sounded and looked desperate. “I’d tell you if I did.”

  “Alright,” said Biddeford. “We understand you don’t know anyone, but what about h
ow the operation works. You mentioned Trapworth airfield. You can tell us things like, what happens up there? What time? How often?”

  “I’ve only done it three times, and this is all I know,” said Billy, misery etched on his face. “They always pick a night when they know it’s going to be cloudy. They usually fly in between one and two in the morning. I park where they tell me. They load the truck and when I get the signal, I leave. That’s it.”

  “Does anyone see you back into your parking place?”

  “Nah. They drive the airplane up to the back of the truck. It’s only one of them little things, you know.”

  “How regularly does it happen?”

  “It’s usually on a Monday night, but not every week.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “A week ago.”

  And so they went on, asking short questions and getting short answers until finally they thought they’d probably got all they were going to get. Norman decided to try one more question before they called it a day.

  “Can you remember anything about last Monday night? Was there anything different from usual?”

  Billy creased his face up in concentration.

  “Yeah,” he said finally. “There was two of ‘em.”

  “What do you mean two?”

  “Usually there’s just the pilot. He’s all dressed in a black one-piece suit thing, and he wears a balaclava so I never actually gets to see his face or anyfing, and he keeps far enough away so I can’t see anyway. He bangs on the side of the truck when he’s finished loadin’ an’ sticks his thumb in the air. I can just about see it in the wing mirror, like.”

  “But this time there was someone else?” Biddeford asked, and Norman could tell he was getting a bit more excited. He was too.

  “Yeah. I reckon it must have been his girlfriend.”

  “A woman?”

  “Was a bit small if it was a bloke,” said Billy. “She only came up to his shoulder. She was definitely in charge though.”

  “And you’re sure it was a woman?”

  “Yeah. They seemed to be in a big hurry and there was a bit more light than usual. I could see she had a nice figure coz she had a tight-fitting outfit, like one of them cat suit things. And she sounded like a woman.”

  “You heard her voice?” asked Norman, almost climbing from his seat in surprise.

  “I couldn’t hear exactly what she said, but I know a woman’s voice when I hear one,” Billy said.

  “And you’re sure you don’t know what she said?”

  “It was only a few words, and it were as if she was a bit foreign,” said Billy, screwing up his face. He was evidently trying his hardest to remember.

  “A bit foreign?” asked Biddeford, looking puzzled. “What do you mean ‘a bit foreign’?”

  “Well, you know,” said Billy. “It was English, like, but not spoke proper like what an English person would.”

  “So not the Queen’s English as spoken by you,” said Norman, but the irony was totally wasted on Billy.

  “So how did she sound?” asked Biddeford.

  “Like someone from Russia,” said Billy, shrugging. Then his face brightened. “I’ll tell you who she sounded like,” he said, his voice more certain now. “You know that tea shop in town? The one that’s run by that little foreign bird with the funny voice that all the fellas fancy? Well, that’s just what she sounded like. They coulda been twins goin’ by the voice.”

  Norman knew exactly who Billy meant.

  “And you’re quite sure about this?” asked Biddeford.

  “Oh yes, Mr B.” Billy smiled proudly. “I often goes into that shop just to hear her talk. Lots of fellas do. It gives me the horn, listening to her-”

  “Alright, Billy,” said Norman, wincing at the image Billy had just created in his head. “We get the picture. Unfortunately.”

  For his own protection, Norman decided to lock Billy up for the night. In the morning, they would make it obvious to any visitors that the police had raided Billy’s house and put the word out that he’d been arrested along with his loot. That should make sure Allison didn’t get any unwelcome visitors.

  “Can you believe what he was saying about the girl sounding like Jelena?” asked Biddeford.

  “Yeah, it seems a bit weird, but then he only said ‘sounded like’,” said Norman. “But she’s from Serbia or somewhere like that. I reckon anyone from that part of Europe would sound similar. At this stage, I’d put my money on Albania. I thought I’d left all that East European gang stuff in London, but maybe it’s followed me down here.”

  “So what next?” asked Biddeford.

  Norman looked at his watch. It was 11pm.

  “Let’s go home and sleep on it,” he said wearily. “We’ll plan our next move in the morning.”

  Chapter Thirty

  As Slater and Norman set off for the home of Lindy Fellows the next morning, Slater felt a tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t yet heard back from Dr McCall. McCall was a heart surgeon, and when he’d called yesterday afternoon he’d been told the doctor was in surgery and could expect to be there until late into the night. He was assured the surgeon would be informed when he came out of theatre, but Slater had been told not to expect a call back before this morning.

  It would have been nice to have his suspicions about Bressler and Lindy Fellows confirmed before they spoke to her, but Slater knew well enough that heart surgeons often operated for many hours, and he could hardly expect the surgeon to set everything aside just to talk to him.

  Norman had appeared to be rather preoccupied during this morning’s briefing, and even though he’d taken the time to go off and talk to Steve Biddeford before they’d left, he still didn’t look entirely happy.

  “You’re quiet this morning, Norm,” Slater said, observing him. “Has it got anything to do with Alison and Billy Bumble. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be involved,” said Norman, moodily.

  “I don’t recall saying anything like that,” said Slater. “I’ll admit I’m not exactly keen to work with Steve Biddeford right now, but if you want my help I’m not gonna refuse, am I? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” said Norman, with a heavy sigh, “is that my itty bitty little counterfeit handbag case that never was, has the possibility of becoming one huge case that originates far away from Tinton and involves some seriously heavy crooks.”

  “What? Are you trying to tell me Billy Bumble has suddenly become some sort of criminal mastermind?” Slater laughed, thinking how ridiculous it all sounded.

  “This is no laughing matter,” said Norman.

  “Seriously?” asked Slater, sceptically.

  “Seriously,” said the unsmiling Norman. “I’m not quite sure how Billy got involved with these people, but he’s made a serious mistake helping himself to their hookey cigarettes.”

  “Who are ‘these people’, Norm?”

  “I think they may be Albanians, or at least some sort of East European gang.”

  Slater thought about this for a moment.

  “What was Billy’s explanation for the cigarettes ending up in his garage?” he finally asked.

  “He says he got lost on his way to make the delivery so he took the stuff home and stashed it in his garage.” Norman sighed in exasperation.

  “Yeah,” said Slater. “That sounds like the sort of crap Billy would come out with. And he expected you to believe that?”

  “Yes,” Norman said, nodding. “He did.”

  “And if the people in this gang find him that’s what he’ll tell them too.”

  “The thing is, if they find him, they’ll probably smash his kneecaps for fun, and then kill him. I’ve seen what these people are capable of,” said Norman, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “So what have we got so far?” asked Slater.

  “We know it’s a sophisticated operation,” Norman said. “There are lots of people involved, but no one ever gets to se
e anyone else, so no one knows who’s who. Billy knows bugger all really, but he did tell us it all goes down on a Monday night and the stuff comes into Trapworth airfield.”

  “Sarah dropped from an airplane on a Monday night.” Slater racked his brain. “What if that’s what she was on to? What if it somehow ties in with Sandra’s murder?”

  “I think you may be asking one too many ‘what ifs’ there,” said Norman. “I don’t see how it’s likely to tie in with Sandra. That would have been too long ago. But, there again, it would be one hell of a coincidence if there were two light aircraft flying that low over Tinton last Monday night, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Slater was becoming more and more interested in what he was hearing. “Does the timing work?”

  “Billy reckons they usually fly in between one and two in the morning. But if they’re flying out of Trapworth, picking up somewhere close to the coast in France, and then returning, I reckon they could well be flying out of Trapworth around 11pm.

  “Steve says the kid who logs all the aircraft reckons he heard a plane at 11.10pm last Monday. That’s close enough for me. I’ve got him going through all that stuff again right now, and he’s going to speak to the kid again and see if he’s got any record of the return flights. A kid that age would probably be asleep at that time of the morning, but you never know.

  “The thing is, if this turns out to be as big as I think it could be, Steve’s going to need some help. He can’t deal with something that big all on his own.”

  “Have you told Bob Murray yet?” asked Slater.

  “I was planning on seeing him when we get back,” said Norman. “If that’s okay with you?”

  “Of course it’s okay with me, Norm.” Slater smiled reassuringly at him. “If there’s a link to Sarah’s murder, then we’re all involved anyway.”

  “Right,” said Norman, sounding uncertain. “Fine.”

  Slater could tell he had reservations about him being involved in a case with Steve Biddeford, after what had happened between them. But they were all adults, weren’t they? And anyway, if Billy Bumble was linked to their murder investigation in any way, he had to be involved, regardless.