by Ford,P. F.
“And so modest with it,” Norman said, grinning back at her.
“All joking aside,” Slater said, keen to continue the train of thought he had embarked on. “If Bressler and Fellows murdered Sandra and Rose, they could easily have staged the runaway. Pack some bags, substitute Fellows and her niece for Sandra and Rose, then call a taxi company who won’t know them from Adam.”
“As far as anyone knows,” Norman said, “a mother and daughter, matching the descriptions of Sandra and Rose, took a taxi to Gatwick airport and then disappeared. Perfect.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
As soon as they got back to the station, they split up. Norman hurried off to find out if Steve Biddeford had figured out a flight pattern yet.
Slater returned to the incident room. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He was hoping it would jump out at him once he got back to his desk. Jane Jolly said she was going to start searching for Lindy Fellows’ niece.
It was gone 5pm before Slater realised what was troubling him. Jolly was still working at her desk so he wandered across.
“Jane? Have you managed to track down the second ‘Sandra substitute’ yet?”
“If you mean Terry Evans, I’m afraid not. Every search has turned up a blank so far. To be honest, you said she probably wouldn’t have any relevant information, so she’s not exactly been high priority. Do you want me to make it a priority now?”
“How are you doing on Lindy’s niece?” asked Slater. “I think she’s more important right now.”
Jolly’s face broke into a broad grin.
“You’ve found her already, haven’t you?” He laughed, shaking his head. She really was proving to be an extremely efficient and useful member of the team.
“It wasn’t hard, was it?” She smiled at him again. “I already knew which university to start from, and there aren’t that many Melanies, with ginger hair, who were studying languages and graduated with honours last year.”
“You’re a genius PC Jolly,” said Slater.
“I’m going to call her in a minute. Do you want me to arrange for someone to go and interview her?” she asked.
“Why don’t you arrange to go and interview her yourself.” Slater thought she had more than proven herself capable of the task. “It’ll be good experience for you. If you want to, of course.”
“Are you sure I can handle it?” she asked.
“Of course you can handle it. It’ll be a piece of cake for you, Jane,” he said to her as he headed out of the room. “A piece of cake.”
Out in the corridor, he almost collided with Norman and Biddeford, who were clearly rushing off somewhere. Slater gave Biddeford a curt nod. The younger man nodded back, but looked as if he would rather have been anywhere else right at that moment.
“Where are you rushing off to?” he asked Norman.
“Time to drag your friend, Rodney Rodgers, in for a little chat,” Norman said. “Steve’s worked out his flight pattern to within a couple of days each time. We can’t prove conclusively that he was in the air that night, but it’s near enough for us to be asking some serious questions. We’re going to ask him to come down and give us some answers.”
“Good work,” Slater said to Biddeford. It had been good work, but he still felt pretty bitter about the man’s accusations about him to Bob Murray. He turned back to Norman.
“When you get back we need to talk. I’ve got a nasty feeling about something and I’d like your opinion.”
“I can bring Rodgers in, if you like,” said Biddeford. “I’m sure I can find a uniform, or two, to take with me.”
“Now that sounds like a plan,” Norman said.
“So what’s worrying you?” asked Norman, looking intently at Slater.
He and Slater were grabbing a quick meal in the canteen. It would be a while before Biddeford returned with Rodgers and readied him for an interview and Norman didn’t fancy having the added background sound effects of his stomach rumbling away while they were asking questions.
“We haven’t found Terry Evans yet,” said Slater. “And that’s beginning to worry me.”
Norman chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of pasta.
“She hasn’t come up in any of the searches?” he asked.
“Not so far,” said Slater.
“There could be any number of reasons for that. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” Norman pointed out, spearing a piece of pasta with his fork.
“Or maybe she’s just not out there to be found,” Slater said, shrugging.
“We have no reason to think that.”
“If Sandra was murdered, and Terry was a Sandra substitute, I think we have plenty of reason to think it’s a possibility,” Slater said, sighing.
“But Lindy was replacement number one, and she didn’t get murdered,” said Norman.
“But suppose Lindy was never a real substitute.” Slater leant back in his chair. “What if she was always the mistress and Bressler could never see her as anything else?”
“I’m not entirely sure I agree with you, but it is a possibility,” Norman said, through a mouthful of pasta. “I guess we need to step up the search. It’s a pity we don’t have a few more bodies.”
They chewed in silence for a while, before Norman spoke again.
“So what do you think we really have here?” he asked.
“How d’you mean?” asked Slater.
“Well, we have three suspects, but we’re not really sure who’s done what, and who they’ve done it to.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Slater said. “But we know we have three dead bodies for sure, and a fourth person is so far unaccounted for. And we know our three suspects are all guilty of something. We suspect it’s the murder of Sarah Townley, and Sandra and Rose Bressler. All we have to work out is who used the axe and who pushed someone out of an airplane. Simples.”
“Only it’s not ‘simples’ is it?” Norman sighed, obviously frustrated. “Is there a link between all three? I can see how Bressler and Fellows could have set up Sandra and bumped her off. And I understand how Rose would have been collateral damage in that set up.
“And I can see why they would have needed to get rid of Sarah if she had turned up knowing their little secret. But I can’t see where Rodgers fits in, can you?”
“Maybe there isn’t a connection. Perhaps we’ve allowed ourselves to believe there can’t be a coincidence when there actually is one.”
Slater chewed his pasta as he watched Norman take this in.
“So you’re saying we built a box to think in,” he said. “And now you’re demonstrating how clever you are by thinking outside of it and coming up with a theory. I’m impressed.”
He grinned and nodded his approval.
“Okay DS Clever Dick,” Norman said, smiling at Slater. “Let’s hear this theory of yours.”
“I think we’re agreed on the first part,” Slater said. “Bressler and Fellows murdered Sandra and Rose so they can get together. We’ve got motive, we’ve got opportunity. We’ve even got a suspect who’s shown us she’s very handy with an axe. That’s the easy bit.”
He took a slurp of coffee before he continued.
“Now, the problem we’ve had is that we’ve always assumed Sarah had somehow worked out who killed Rose, and she’d come down here to confront them. QED, whoever killed Sandra also killed Sarah, right?”
Norman nodded his agreement.
“But what if our assumption was wrong? What if Sarah hadn’t figured out who the murderer was but instead had sussed out Rose’s real father was Rodgers? What if she came down here to confront him?”
“But would he murder her for that?” asked Norman. “I mean it’s not exactly a big deal in the grand scheme of things, is it? Fifty years ago it would have been a scandal, but now it happens all the time. And don’t forget – Sarah was given that paralysing injection. Would an idiot like Rodgers know how to do that?”
“People know
how to give injections,” Slater said. “It’s not that hard is it?”
“I disagree. Not everyone knows how to give an injection. But every doctor knows how to do it, and we have two to choose from.”
“Yeah, true.” Slater had to admit, Norman had a point. “But then how did she come to drop from the sky?”
“You’re forgetting Fellows has a pilot’s licence,” said Norman.
“But the kid only heard one airplane that night, and we already have Rodgers down as the pilot. What are the chances of there being a second rogue pilot out at the same time, on the same night, from the same airfield, and he didn’t hear it?”
“I think this is gonna be a long night.” Norman sighed and Slater thought he looked tired. “There are so many ifs, buts and maybes concerning these murders.”
“But there is an added bonus,” added Slater. “We also get the chance to learn why our friend Rod is so keen to break the rules and fly at night. Maybe we’ll even get to find out who’s behind it all.”
“Yeah. We need to figure out how we’re gonna play this. Who’s going to interview who?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Slater. “Here’s what I suggest…”
Ten minutes later, meals finished, strategy agreed, they got up from their table and headed for the door. Slater was ready to roll. His mobile phone started to ring – it was Ian Becks.
“We’re just getting prepared to start hauling people in and interviewing them,” said Slater.
“Well this might be useful information, then. Depending on whom you’re going to interview, of course.”
“Well come on then, let’s hear it.” Slater was impatient to get started. “But make it the short version, because I haven’t got a lot of time, right now.”
“I thought mates always had time for each other,” said Becks, obviously trying to sound hurt.
“Not when we’ve got the first suspect nearly ready and the clock’s ticking,” said Slater. “When this is all over I’ll buy you a pint and you can talk to me all night, but not right now.”
“A pint?” Becks sounded indignant. “I think you owe me a damned sight more than one. It’s got to be at least half a dozen by my reckoning.”
“Becksy.” Slater sighed, impatiently. “I’ll keep you in beer for a whole night, alright. Now, either tell me what you know, or I hang up.”
“The signature on those cheques,” said Becks. “Lindy Fellows isn’t your forger.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why do you always ask me that?” said Becks, sounding irritated. “Of course I’m bloody sure. It’s my job. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure, you ungrateful sod.”
“Yeah, but,” It was too late. Becks had cut the connection. Slater looked gloomily at the now-dead phone in his hand.
“Lover’s tiff?” asked Norman.
“Looks like I’ve pissed him off,” Slater said, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“He thinks you’re questioning his judgement, right?” said Norman. “Because you always ask him if he’s sure.”
“Do I really?” asked Slater. “I don’t mean to. It’s just that-”
“Maybe you need to choose your words a little more carefully when he doesn’t come up with the answers you want. It would piss me off if you kept asking me if I was sure.”
The only reply Slater could think of was to make a “hmmph” sound.
“So what was the call about anyway?” asked Norman.
“It wasn’t Lindy Fellows who forged Sandra’s signature on those cheques.”
“Really?” said Norman, sounding surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m s-” started Slater irritably, then he saw the huge grin on Norman’s face. He’d been caught out…again.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was past 9pm, and Slater was dog-tired. He would have loved to have gone home, but Jolly had just delivered the bad news that Lindy’s niece, Melanie, was away on holiday and she was having trouble contacting her. This was a blow – Slater was convinced she could be key to their inquiry.
Now he was hoping Ashton was going to call at some stage, with some good news. He had settled into a chair in the observation room where he could watch, through a two-way mirror, as Rodgers was interviewed. They had decided over their earlier dinner that, as Biddeford had done all the work on this case, he should lead the interview, accompanied by Norman.
Through the mirror Slater was watching a very uncomfortable Rodney Rodgers fidgeting restlessly as he waited to be interviewed. It was almost as if Rodgers had the word “guilty” tattooed on his forehead; but Slater wondered what exactly they were going to be able to prove he was guilty of.
“I want to make a complaint,” said Rodgers, even before Biddeford had managed to sit down.
“Oh, really?” said Biddeford, unimpressed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Has someone upset you? We did explain down at the leisure centre why we were bringing you in.”
“Smuggling?” Rodgers looked incredulous. “It’s just ridiculous. And you marched me out in front of all those people.”
“Yes,” Biddeford said, nodding. “That was a bit embarrassing, wasn’t it? Maybe you would have preferred us to arrest you on suspicion of murder. That would have been something to be proud of, wouldn’t it?”
“Murder?” Rodgers voice rose to a shriek. “You can’t be serious. This is a nightmare.”
“Afraid not.” Biddeford smiled brightly at him. “You wake up in the morning and a nightmare’s gone. When you wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll still be here.”
“That’s if you can sleep at all, in one of our cells,” Norman pitched in, with a smile.
“So, what was it you wanted to complain about?” Biddeford asked.
“Someone has been poking their nose into my affairs without my consent.”
“Oh dear,” said Biddeford. “That’s not good, is it? But that’s what happens when we investigate crimes.”
“But what about the data protection act?” Rodgers’ face was red with anger.
“Yes?” Biddeford smiled again, more icily this time. “What about it? I’ve got a better idea, Mr Rodgers. What about you stop wasting our time, and start answering some questions?”
“I understand you own a Lincoln Beaver aircraft,” said Norman, studying a sheet of paper on the table in front of him.
“That’s right,” Rodgers said.
“Not a very fuel efficient engine is it?”.
Rodgers looked rather puzzled by this line of questioning, but he answered quickly enough.
“Actually it’s very economical to run,” he said. “One of the best around.”
“Oh really?” said Norman, sounding surprised. “What sort of figure does it return?”
“In car terms I guess a Beaver does about 20 miles to the gallon,” Rodgers said.
“Something wrong with yours, is there?” Biddeford took the lead again.
“I’m sorry?” said Rodgers, looking even more confused.
“The thing is,” Biddeford said, forcing himself to be patient, “I’ve been looking at the fuel log at Trapworth, and the flight log. According to the flights you’ve logged and the fuel you’ve used, I estimate you’re getting less than five miles to the gallon. Why do you think that is?”
“I had a fuel leak,” said Rodgers, but Biddeford wasn’t fooled at all. “It must have been worse than I thought.”
“Or perhaps you’ve forgotten to log all your flights?” Biddeford asked, setting a trap. He wondered if Rodgers would spring it.
“Yes,” said Rodgers. “That must be it. I’ve forgotten to log a couple of flights.”
“Now, I understand.” Biddeford smiled at him. “No wonder my maths is up the creek. Perhaps you could fill me in with these missing flights.”
“Err, yes. Alright,” said Rodgers. Biddeford could tell he was becoming desperate.
“Let’s start with the night flights you make.” Biddeford crossed his arms and looked
at Rodgers intently.
“What?”
“The night flights you make,” repeated Biddeford. “We’ve even got the dates you made them here somewhere.”
He nodded to Norman, who began looking through the documents on the table in front of him. He handed a sheet of paper to Biddeford, who glanced at it and then placed it on the table before Rodgers.
“Here we are,” he said. “A regular little fly-by-night, you might say.”
Rodgers looked at the list, and his face turned to horror.
“But I don’t fly at night. We’re not allowed to,” he said, mumbling. “It’s against the rules. There’s no safety certificate.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Biddeford said, nodding. “The thing is, we tend to find criminals aren’t the sort of people who worry about rules, or safety certificates.”
“But, I’m not a criminal,” said Rodgers.
“Oh, I think you’ll find you are,” said Biddeford. “But that’s another thing about criminals. They tend to be in denial all the time.”
“And they tell lies.” Biddeford had to repress a smile at Norman’s cheery demeanour.
He knew Slater was in the observation room, watching the interview. He hoped that seeing him in action, using the skills that Slater had helped him hone, perhaps made up, just a little, for how Biddeford had treated him. But he had to stay focused on the interview now. He felt like he was getting somewhere.
“We’ll come back to the matter of your night flights a bit later, shall we?” Biddeford asked. “It’ll give you a chance to think about whether denying you’ve made them is really a good idea.”
Rodgers didn’t know what to say to this so he chose to say nothing.
“So, what shall we talk about now,” continued Biddeford, thoughtfully. “I know. Why don’t you tell us about Sarah Townley?”
“Who?” said Rodgers.
“This girl.” Norman slid a photograph across the table in front of Rodgers. “Now do you know her?”
Rodgers stared down at the pretty face in the photo.
“I’ve never seen this girl before in my life,” he said, but Biddeford was unconvinced.