by Ford,P. F.
“Anyway, what makes you think they’re Albanians?” he asked, suddenly.
“I don’t know for sure,” said Norman, sounding tentative. “It’s just something Billy said.”
“Well go on, tell me.” Slater was puzzled by Norman’s evident reluctance to tell him. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“He says there’s usually just one guy at the airfield. This time there was a second person. He reckons it was a woman.”
Slater was sure there must once have been a time when women were never involved in this sort of thing, but now they seemed to be involved in everything, even armed robbery. But then that’s equality for you, he thought.
He realised Norman had stopped talking.
“So, just because there’s a woman, that makes you think they must be Albanians?” asked Slater, confused. “Since when did that become a reliable indicator of the nationality of a gang?”
“No. Of course it’s not that,” said Norman. “But the woman spoke. Billy says she had an Eastern European accent.”
“Billy wouldn’t recognise an East European accent if it bit his arse,” Slater said, scoffing. “He’s having you on.”
“Sorry, but you’re wrong.” Norman let out a heavy sigh. “Billy knows exactly what that accent sounds like. It seems he’s a big fan of Tinton’s favourite tea shop, which just happens to be run by what he described as ‘that little foreign bird with the funny voice that all the fellas fancy’. Does that ring any bells with you?”
“What? Jelena? You’re kidding?” said Slater, in disbelief.
“According to Billy, he only heard a couple of words, but he says the voice was so similar they could have been twins.”
“Okay,” said Slater. “So it sounds like her, but then so would any woman from that part of Europe. Wouldn’t they?”
“No one’s saying she’s involved, and as far as I know there’s nothing to suggest she’s ever done anything illegal,” said Norman.
“It’s a coincidence, that’s all,” said Slater, and busied himself with his work. He didn’t want to discuss it any further.
As Norman sat, watching his colleague engross himself in paperwork, he wondered if he should point out that, only a couple of minutes earlier, his partner had insisted he didn’t believe in coincidences. No, probably not the right time for that. He also didn’t feel it was the right time to mention that he’d asked Steve Biddeford to take a good look into Jelena’s background when he had time.
Norman was well aware Slater thought Jelena was one seriously attractive young woman, and to be honest, he doubted there were many men in Tinton who would disagree. As far as Norman knew, though, they had never actually been on a date together. In fact, Slater had actually told him that his gut instinct had been to steer clear of her despite the physical attraction he felt for her.
Norman also knew for sure that she had asked Slater out on more than one occasion, and he’d always found an excuse not to go. Now Dave Slater was a good-looking guy and most women seemed to find him attractive, but how many would be happy to accept being rejected and then keep coming back for more?
Norman had wondered about her chasing after Slater before. It didn’t make sense. She could charm the pants off any guy, so why keep going after him if he wasn’t interested?
Perhaps he was being extra suspicious because he felt protective towards Slater, but it suddenly made a lot more sense if you accepted it had nothing to do with his good looks and was much more to do with what he might know in his position as a police officer.
Lindy Fellows lived in a small village about half an hour from Tinton – certainly close enough, in Slater’s opinion, for her and Bressler to get together, if they ever felt the need. Her house was a good-sized cottage with a large garden and a paddock adjoining. The short drive ran alongside the paddock and up to the front of the house. Three horses lazily interrupted their grazing to watch their arrival, before returning contentedly to the grass. At the end of the paddock nearest the house, a small, but expensive-looking, stable block provided shelter should they need it.
“You don’t get much change out of a million when you buy one of these.” Norman let out a low whistle as he surveyed the house.
“And they’re not cheap to maintain, are they?” Slater gazed admiringly as he manoeuvred the car up the drive.
He parked the car on the drive in front of the house and he and Norman made their way to the front door. He rang the bell three times, but it was soon obvious they weren’t going to get an answer any time soon.
“Can you hear something?” asked Norman.
“No,” said Slater, listening hard.
“There,” said Norman. “Did you hear that?”
“I can’t hear anything.” Slater strained his ears.
“It’s not a constant noise,” Norman said, turning his head this way and that. “It’s every 30 seconds or so. It’s coming from over there somewhere.”
He pointed to the stables and began to head that way. Slater followed, listening hard.
Thwock!
It was faint, but he definitely heard it that time. Norman was right, there was a sound, and it was coming from behind the stable block. They kept walking, following the path down the side of the house.
Thwock!
There it was again, much louder this time as they got closer. It was coming from a barn behind the stables.
Thwock!
This time he recognised the sound. Someone was chopping logs. They took the last couple of steps down the side of the barn and turned to their left. The barn was open-fronted and Slater could clearly see the source of the noise now.
Thwock!
The oak log split neatly in two, right down the middle. They could only see the back of the person wielding the axe, but they didn’t need a degree in anatomy to see it was a woman.
“Miss Fellows?” called Slater.
Startled, she spun round at the sound of his voice, axe held ready to defend herself.
“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
He produced his warrant card and Norman followed suit.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Slater, and this is Detective Sergeant Norman. We’re from Tinton CID. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you could spare the time.”
Now she had turned around, her tight leggings and skimpy t-shirt made it easy for them to see she was a perfect fit for the Bressler mould. The passing years had done nothing to spoil her good looks, and her figure was still as good as it was in the photo from 15 years ago that Slater had in his pocket.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” she said, lowering the axe. “A girl can’t be too careful living out here on her own.”
“Do you always chop your own logs,” asked Norman. “It’s unusual to see a lady swing an axe like that.”
“I enjoy it,” she said. “It helps keep me fit, and there’s something very satisfying when the axe hits home with that lovely noise. My parents owned a farm when I was a child and we always chopped our own logs. My father taught me when I was about 10. I’m still using the same axe, as it happens. When you have good technique and a well-balanced axe, it’s just like an extension of your arm.”
She lifted the axe and swung it smoothly. With another resounding “thwock”, she embedded the head in her chopping block.
“See?” she said. “If your technique’s right, it’s no effort at all. I can split any log, any size. And I can keep going for hours.”
She walked past them, leading the way to the back of the house.
“I take it you’d like a cup of tea,” she said. “Let’s go into the kitchen, we can talk in there.”
“So what is it you want to ask me about,” she asked.
Slater looked round the lavish kitchen as she pottered about making a pot of tea. There was money here, all right.
“We’re investigating a couple of murders in Tinton,” said Slater. “One concerns Sarah Townley who was mur
dered just over a week ago. The other concerns the murder of her sister Sandra Bressler and her daughter 15 years ago.”
“Murdered?” said Lindy, sounding surprised. “I thought she’d just walked out and left. That’s what Rudy told me.”
“So you do know Mr Bressler?” asked Norman.
“Well, of course I do. I was in a relationship with him for five years, as I’m sure you must already know.”
“Did you know Sandra?” asked Norman.
“Good heavens, no. I didn’t meet Rudy until about six months after she disappeared.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Slater.
“Are you calling me a liar?” she said, bristling with annoyance.
Slater produced the photograph and laid it down in front of her.
“This was taken several months before Sandra disappeared,” he said.
She looked guiltily at the photo.
“Ah, well,” she stammered, and her face reddened. “When I say I didn’t meet him until after Sandra disappeared, what I mean is I didn’t become involved with him until then. We had met at one or two medical conferences. We shared the same area of expertise, you see?”
“You’re a doctor too?” asked Norman.
“No, not anymore,” she said, smiling. “I stopped practising when I came into some money.”
“When you moved in with Mr Bressler?” Slater asked.
“It was around that time, yes,” she said. Slater could tell she was trying to remain tight-lipped.
“And you’re quite sure you and Mr Bressler weren’t in a relationship before you moved in with him?” he asked.
“I’ve already told you, no,” she snapped.
“It’s just that it doesn’t seem to have taken very long for you to decide to move in with him and quit being a doctor,” said Slater.
“There’s no law against making your mind up quickly, is there? We hit it off right away and he asked me to move in and share his luxury lifestyle. What was there to think about?” she said, sulkily.
“So why did your relationship end?” asked Norman.
“They all end when the girl gets to 30. I would have thought you knew that.”
“But you didn’t know that before it started, did you?” said Norman. Slater looked at him, surprised. He must be playing a hunch – it wasn’t the first time in their career together that Norman had used his gut instinct, and to great effect.
There was just a flicker of petulance across Lindy Fellows’ face before she answered.
“No. I admit I didn’t know that. I was even stupid enough to think he might make me the next Mrs Bressler, but he was obsessed with Sandra and the life they had together even though she had left him. All he wanted to do is keep reliving it over and over. That’s why we all get kicked out at 30, so he can start it all over again from where she was 25.”
They tried to get more information from her, but eventually Slater accepted that she had told them all she was going to.
“Well, thank you for your time, Miss Fellows,” said Slater. “There’s just one more thing you might be able to help us with. Do you know the address of the young lady who replaced you in Mr Bressler’s life?”
“No-one could ever replace me,” she said, arrogantly. “I’ll always be special to Rudy. But if you mean the girl who went to live with him after me, then yes, it’s in my address book. I’ll get it for you.”
“It’s okay,” said Slater, tearing a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Perhaps you could just write it down on here for me.”
She took the sheet of paper and left the room, returning shortly to hand him the neatly written address.
“Thank you,” said Slater, folding the paper carefully and putting it in his pocket. “Now we’ll get out of your way and you can get back to chopping your logs.”
“So what do we think?” Slater asked, interested to hear Norman’s take on Lindy Fellows.
It was a nice day, so they’d elected to stop for tea at a roadside snack bar. There was no one else around so they were sat at a wooden picnic table enjoying the sun on their backs.
“I think a bacon and egg sandwich would be a good idea,” Norman said, grumbling.
“And I think you eat far too much fried food and bread,” said Slater. “You need to start looking after yourself. From now on, I intend to stop you eating anything like that. I’m going to educate you about healthy food choices if it kills me.”
“Have you become my mother all of a sudden?” Norman glared at Slater. “I like fried food.”
“So,” said Slater. “It was alright for you to look out for me the other day, but it’s not alright for me to look out for you. How does that work, then?”
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill Steve Biddeford,” Norman said.
“And I just want to make sure you don’t kill yourself.” Slater glared back at him.
“I also wanted to make sure you don’t get involved with a witness in this murder case,” Norman said, sniffing haughtily.
“Don’t argue, and don’t try to change the subject. You know you’re unfit. You even have to stop for breath when you climb a flight of stairs.”
“So, I’m a little overweight. Is that so bad? Lots of people are.”
“Norm, you’re not just ‘a little’ overweight. You’re a helluva lot overweight, and you know it. As your partner, I’m not asking you to lose it, I’m telling you. This job involves teamwork. That means if someone does a runner, we both have to chase. It does not mean I get to do all the chasing while you sit on your arse and watch.”
Norman brooded in silence for a couple of minutes. Slater knew his comments had hit home. Surely it wasn’t a surprise to Norman that he was out of shape? He must look in the mirror from time to time.
Norman took a sip of his tea.
“Ugghh!” he said. “I also think this tea tastes like shite. I reckon those tea bags they’re using have been dried out and re-used. At least twice.”
“It’s not good is it?” Slater said, pulling a face as he tasted his, too. “Perhaps we should have had coffee.”
“Anyway, what you really meant is, what do I think of Lindy Fellows, right?” asked Norman.
“Exactly,” Slater said, nodding.
“She’s what we used to call drop-dead gorgeous when I was a teenager,” Norman said, smiling wistfully. “I think kids today would say she was fit, and they’d be right. Yet she seems to have chosen to live alone. Maybe I’m a dinosaur, but that strikes me as odd. Yeah, I know there could be all sorts of reasons for that, but I still think it’s odd.
“And then there’s the way she swings that axe. Now, I’m a definitely a city boy, and there isn’t much call for splitting logs where I come from, but is it usual for a woman to be quite so handy with an axe?
“Also she’s definitely lying about her and Bressler. I reckon they were an item before Sandra disappeared.”
“Me too.” Slater didn’t think Lindy Fellows had been telling them the whole truth. “Perhaps when Dr McCall calls me back he’ll confirm that.”
He took another sip of his tea. Norm was right, it really did taste like shite.
“Here’s something for you to think about.” He set his cup down, trying to get rid of the unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Cindy and Lindy both confirm the fact that Bressler seems to live in some sort of personal time loop where he keeps reliving five years of him and Sandra. Now, we know he used to cheat on the real Sandra, so it figures he would cheat on a pretend Sandra too. According to Cindy, he definitely cheats on her. In fact, she says he never has sex with her. What if he never has sex with any of his girlfriends, but he cheats on them instead?”
“I’d say that was pretty weird,” said Norman. “But then the one thing we know for sure is that Bressler is one weird guy.”
Slater waited for Norman to catch up with his train of thought.
“Oh. I see where you’re going with this,” Norman said, suddenly. “You think Lindy’s the other woman, r
ight?”
“She’s conveniently close,” said Slater. “And it would explain why there appears to be no man in her life.”
“But isn’t she too old?” asked Norman.
“Maybe. But suppose she’s the constant that makes the whole thing work for him?”
Norman leaned away from Slater, turned towards him and gave him a long appraising look.
“You have some very strange ideas, Dave Slater,” he said. “I think you ought to see a psychologist.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I think,” protested Slater. “I’m very creative in my thinking.”
“I know you are,” Norman said. “I’m saying I agree with you. I meant you need to see a psychologist to find out if your theory about Bressler makes sense. If you’re right, we have a good motive for him to be the killer. And Lindy Fellows could easily be in the frame as his accomplice.”
“It adds up even more if he knew Sandra was going to leave him,” said Slater.
“Yeah, that’s true.” Norman nodded. “Just because we found the bodies here, it doesn’t mean she never left, or that she wasn’t going to leave. We need to find someone who knows. If she didn’t tell her parents, maybe she told a friend.”
“I’ve got Jolly Jane working on finding her old friends,” said Slater. “She’ll find someone.”
In Norman’s jacket pocket, his phone began to blast out a tinny version of Blondie’s ‘Call Me’. Slater cringed in embarrassment, glad there was no one else around to hear it.
Norman rummaged in his pocket for the phone.
“Yo! This is Norm,” he boomed into it.
Slater tried to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible to make sense of it from only Norman’s responses.
“That was Steve Biddeford,” said Norman finally, closing his phone as they walked back to their car. “He’s been poking around at that airfield, finding out who keeps aircraft up there.”
“Anyone we know?” asked Slater.
“No one involved with this case,” replied Norman. “But he says one name jumped out at him. Someone he met with you down at the sports centre. He says the guy pissed you both off and that’s why he remembered the name. Some guy called Rodney Rodgers. Ring a bell?”