by Ford,P. F.
“Hello?” He snatched up the phone, excitedly.
“Hello, Sir,” said Jane Jolly.
“What are you doing at Gatwick?” asked Slater. “Why aren’t you here?”
“I managed to track down Lindy’s niece,” she said.
“I thought she was away on holiday.”
“She flies out any minute now.” Slater could hear the airport tannoy in the background. “She’s been staying with friends for a couple of days and they’re all flying out today. So I used my initiative, and arranged to speak to her before she flies out. So here I am.”
Just as Norman had said, thought Slater.
“Has anyone told you you’re amazing, PC Jane Jolly?” he said.
“That’s what my husband says when I-” she began, then stopped suddenly. “But you don’t want to know about that.”
“No, you’re right. You’ll make me blush,” Slater said, smiling.
“Anyway it was worth the journey,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you want to hear it?”
“I’d better,” said Slater. “We were just going to start interviewing Bressler again. Trevor Bastion’s not amused that we’ve been interrupted already.”
“Then I’m just in time,” said Jolly. “You’re going to love this…”
Almost exactly 15 minutes after they had stopped the interview, Slater and Norman re-entered the room. Slater knew he was looking particularly smug, and Bressler looked a bit concerned.
“Have you ever met Lindy Fellows’ niece?” asked Slater, once they were ready to resume.
“I didn’t even know she had a niece,” said Bressler. “I’ve certainly never met her and she never talks about her.”
“Melanie,” continued Slater. “She graduated from Cambridge last year. Languages. First class degree with honours. Lindy has a photo of her on graduation day.”
“Clever girl,” said Bressler, admiringly. “But I don’t see what that’s got to do with me.”
“She’s pretty, too,” said Norman. “With beautiful, curly, ginger hair. She’s about the same age Rose would have been, if she was still alive.”
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” said Bressler, clearly getting annoyed.
“Sergeant,” said Trevor Bastion, menacingly. “I thought you wanted to ask questions about a possible murder.”
“There’s no possible,” interrupted Norman. “It’s definitely a murder.”
Bastion looked at Norman in distaste.
“Let’s not split hairs,” he said. “I fail to see why you’re asking my client about someone’s niece. Either get to the point, or we’re out of here.”
“Okay,” said Slater. “It’s like this. On the day Sandra and Rose disappeared, a taxi driver collected a young woman, a little girl, and some suitcases from your house, Mr Bressler, and took them to Gatwick airport. The assumption made by everyone at the time was that this was Sandra and Rose.”
“Yes, yes,” said Bastion, impatiently. “We know all that. They were heading off into the sunset.”
“That’s what we were all supposed to think back then.” Slater nodded. “But that was before we found their bodies buried in a shallow grave at the Haunted Copse. Now we’ve found the bodies and made some proper enquiries, we’re beginning to see things a little differently. You see, we got to thinking it would be a bit strange for a murderer to let them fly away, kill them, and bring them back here to bury. It makes no sense.”
He let Norman take up the story.
“Then we thought, suppose they never actually left. Suppose they were murdered here, and then someone else who looked like Sandra, with a little girl who looked like Rose, called a taxi to make everyone think they’d run away. All you’d need is a nice looking blonde, say like Lindy Fellows, and a pretty little ginger-haired girl, aged about five, like Lindy’s niece.
“Sandra and Rose had only just moved to the area, so the taxi driver wouldn’t know them well enough to give a good description. But as long as he was asked if he remembered a nice looking blonde, and a little girl with ginger hair, that’s going to be good enough for the purpose of our murderer. And sure enough, that’s what the original inquiry asked him.”
“No. This can’t be true,” Bressler began.
“Say nothing.” Bastion snapped.
Slater smiled at Bastion, seeing he was cottoning on to what their end game was. What else could he advise Bressler to do?
“The thing is,” Slater continued. “We now know the blonde and the little girl that got in that taxi weren’t Sandra and Rose. We know that from the little details we managed to get from the removals company and the taxi driver.
“Yes, the two women looked alike, but one was nice and friendly, the other was anything but. One little girl was very shy, hardly said a word, and had long straight hair. The other was a real live chatterbox with a mass of ginger curls.”
“It was a long time ago,” said Bressler. “They could easily be mistaken.”
“That’s right,” said Norman. “They could easily be mistaken. But then we spotted the photograph at Lindy’s house.”
“What photograph?”
“The one of her niece. Her graduation photo.”
“I still don’t know this photograph you keep on about,” said Bressler.
Slater placed the photo, complete with frame, on the table. Bressler looked at it, and then looked up at them in surprise. It was obvious from the look on his face that he had genuinely never seen it before.
“I promise you I’ve never seen this before in my life.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” asked Slater.
“Sergeant,” warned Bastion. “My client has already said, more than once, that he is unaware of the existence of this girl, and that he’s never seen this photograph before. If you’re not going to believe anything he says, there’s no point in going on with this interview.”
“I’m sorry to keep on Mr Bastion,” Slater said. “But I’m sure you’ll understand why when I tell you this girl recalls spending a day with her Aunt Lindy at a big house near Tinton.
“She remembers how Lindy had lots of bags packed. She clearly remembers how a taxi came to collect them and take them to Gatwick airport. She remembers it vividly because she thought she was going to fly away on holiday. That’s what her Aunt Lindy had promised. But, in fact, they spent about 20 minutes wandering around the airport, changed their clothes, and then went back outside to get a different taxi back to Aunt Lindy’s house.”
“This can’t be true,” said Bressler, looking horrified. “You’re mistaken. These people have got it wrong. Lindy wouldn’t have done that to me.”
“But didn’t you dump her to go back to Sandra?” said Norman. “Remember, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Bastion’s eyes narrowed. Slater thought he was probably about to call for a timeout for his client.
“Melanie says she remembers it so well because she’s never been so disappointed in her life,” Slater said quickly, before the solicitor could speak.
He looked at Bressler, waiting for him to say something.
“What do you say to that, Mr Bressler?” prompted Norman.
“He’s saying nothing,” said Bastion. “And I’d like some time with my client now, in private.”
“I think we’re okay with that,” said Slater, looking at Norman, who nodded his assent. “We could do with a break anyway. I’ll get some tea sent down.”
Norman breathed in deeply. The smell of bacon sandwiches and hot coffee filled the canteen. He, Slater, Biddeford, and Ashton had gathered to discuss the progress so far, and their strategy for the upcoming, resumed interviews.
They had already decided to allow Biddeford to continue interviewing Rodgers, but with Ashton as support. It was a compliment to the way Biddeford had conducted the interview so far.
Norman could see Slater’s resentment for Biddeford appeared to be fading, but he couldn’t be sure if this was a genuine softening of
attitude, or if it was simply the case that Slater was being very professional. He knew Biddeford hoped it was the former.
“So where exactly are you with Rodgers and his smuggling?” Slater asked Biddeford.
“To be honest,” said Biddeford. “We’ve hardly mentioned the smuggling. That’s almost become a side issue. We sort of focused on the murders, didn’t we?”
He looked across the table to Norman, who nodded his agreement.
“Yeah.” Norman swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “He’s protesting his innocence, of course, but even he can see there’s plenty of reason for the finger of suspicion to be pointing his way.”
“But something doesn’t add up.” Biddeford looked slightly puzzled. “He admits Sandra came to his gym before she moved down here, and he admits her membership was transferred to Tinton, but then he says he never saw her again. He claims all he knows is what he read in the paper when she disappeared.”
“How’s he coming across?” asked Slater. “Still the big I am?”
“He was quite confident when we were talking about 15 years ago,” said Biddeford. “But when we got to Sarah and recent events he sort of fell apart. I think he’s terrified of something, and he knows flexing those big muscles isn’t going to get him out of whatever mess he’s in.”
“Have you found anything to link him with Bressler or Fellows?” asked Slater.
“Not a sausage.” Norman shook his head sadly. “Apart from the admission he flies odd jobs collecting antiques.”
“And Bressler’s confirmed that,” said Slater, thoughtfully. “I’ll get Jolly to check that out later, but they’re so open about it that part must be true.”
“Has Rodgers seen the solicitor yet?” asked Norman.
“First thing this afternoon,” said Biddeford. “It’ll be interesting to see how he has advised his new client.”
“So how do you want to play it today, Steve?” asked Slater.
“A change of tack might be interesting,” Biddeford said. “We focused his attention onto the murders last night, and that’ll be on his mind now. But I’m sure whatever he’s scared of is related to more recent events.
“If we change the line of questioning back to the smuggling he won’t be expecting it. He could slip up and tie himself in knots. Then we can go back to the murders later, and see if he can remember all the lies he told us yesterday.”
Slater nodded. Norman could see he was impressed. Norman was impressed, too.
“What do you think, Norm?” Slater asked.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Norman said, smiling. “I’d be quite pleased with myself if it was mine.”
“Yeah, me too.” Slater grinned back at him. “Looks like Biddeford and Ashton might just prove to be a formidable force.”
“I don’t know if we got anything that might help you yesterday,” he continued, addressing Biddeford and Ashton. “Bressler’s still adamant he has nothing to do with Sandra’s death, and he says he didn’t even know Sarah was in the area. We can’t decide if he’s really the brains behind all this, or if he’s totally innocent.
“He says he split with Lindy as soon as Sandra suggested starting over. Lindy says it wasn’t quite like that. She says he told her to pose as Sandra and take a taxi to Gatwick.”
“We’re having a lot of trouble deciding what’s truth and what’s fiction,” said Norman, taking over now. “We definitely know Lindy’s involved because of what her niece has told us. And she knows about the axe. That’s not been made public yet, so that’s pretty damning. She must be involved to know about it. But she says it was Bressler who was the killer and she had no choice but to go along with it.
“Personally, I think she’s Sandra’s killer. But if I’m right, we need to figure out did she do it on her own or was Bressler part of it all along? I have to say, I find it hard to believe Bressler would have killed the wife he loved, and obnoxious as he is, I don’t see him as a child-killer.”
He stopped for breath, and a mouthful of coffee, so Slater took over again.
“And then we come to Sarah’s murder,” he said. “We know she fell from an airplane, and we know Lindy has a pilot’s licence, but we’re also pretty sure Rod was in the sky that night. It would be quite a stretch to think there were two light aircraft in the same airspace at the same time.
“So we’ve got to try and find out if there was ever any contact between Sarah and Lindy, or Sarah and Bressler. And where does Rodgers come into it?”
“He did admit he met her,” said Biddeford. “But the reason he gave for it was a load of old cobblers. I reckon she had him sussed as the real father of Sandra’s baby, but I don’t know how we can prove it.”
“We need to keep in contact while we’re doing these interviews. If Rodgers gives you anything that seems relevant to us, or if we learn anything relevant to you, we let each other know, okay?”
“Right,” echoed Biddeford and Ashton.
“We’re going to tell Lindy what her niece remembers about that day 15 years ago,” said Slater. “Now that’s going to be an interesting conversation.”
“We’re nearly there, I’m sure.” He drained the rest of his cup. “We’ve just got to put the final pieces in place and then we’ll see the whole picture. So good luck boys. Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jerry Brannon, the duty solicitor, was young and ambitious, and Biddeford could see he was incredibly keen to be dealing with a possible triple killer. But, once he’d spoken to Rodgers, Biddeford saw some of his confidence drain away. He wondered what the muscly pilot had told his solicitor. Brannon disappeared from the room to make a phone call and then returned, looking slightly more confident again.
“My client would like to make a statement,” he told Biddeford and Ashton as soon as the interview started, and before they could ask a single question.
“Oh!” said Biddeford in surprise. “Is it a confession?”
He looked at Rodgers, who gave the all the appearance of a man about to face the gallows. He still looked terrified, but now he also looked haunted and haggard.
“It is,” said Brannon. “But it’s not a confession to three murders, and he wants a guarantee of protection before we start.”
“Protection?” said Biddeford and Ashton, in unison.
“Protection from what?” asked Biddeford.
“He’ll tell you that once he knows he’s protected,” said Brannon.
“This is all a bit chicken and egg,” said Biddeford, in exasperation. “How can we offer him protection if we don’t even know what we’re supposed to be protecting him from?”
“That’s the deal.” Brannon shrugged.
“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” asked Biddeford. “Perhaps you’ve been watching too many TV dramas. This isn’t how it works, and anyway I don’t have the authority to grant that sort of thing. You should know that much at least.”
“You can speak to your boss,” said Brannon.
“He’ll laugh in your face with what we’ve got so far.” Biddeford smiled, shaking his head. “I would at least need to offer him some sort of clue.”
“A smuggling gang,” said Rodgers desperately. “I’ve not murdered anyone, but I have got involved with these people. If I tell you what I know and you don’t protect me I’m as good as dead. I know how ruthless they are. I’ve seen it for myself.”
“I think that’s a big enough clue for now,” interrupted Brannon, putting his hand on Rodgers’ arm to indicate he should stop talking.
“Well, I can ask the boss,” said Biddeford. “But I’m making no promises.”
“No protection, no statement,” said Brannon, firmly.
“They killed that girl,” blurted Rodgers, panic written all over his face. “The one you found in the field. They drugged her. I thought we were just going to take her to France and leave her there. But they pushed her out of my airplane as soon as we took off.”
“I think you should stop now,” said Brannon.
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“I can’t live with this any longer,” said Rodgers, tears of desperation streaming down his face. “She haunts me. I see her face every time I close my eyes. It’s all my fault. If only I had talked to her she wouldn’t have followed me up there, and they wouldn’t have seen her, and, and, oh God, it was awful…”
At this point, he dissolved into floods of tears and great, wracking sobs shook his body.
“I think we’d better take 15 minutes so you can compose yourself, Rod,” said Biddeford, reeling from the sudden flood of information. “Then I think we’d better start at the beginning, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Rodgers said, sniffing. “That would be good. I just need a few minutes and I’ll be alright.”
“I’ll fetch some tea,” said Ashton.
This had all happened so quickly, Slater and Norman were still up in the incident room, preparing for their interviews with Rudy Bressler and Lindy Fellows, when Biddeford found them.
“You did say we should let you know if we hear anything that might be relevant to your investigation,” said Biddeford. “Well, Rodgers says he knows what happened to Sarah Townley, and he wants to make a statement.”
Slater looked at Norman.
“What do you think, Norm? Can we afford to make them wait while we watch Rodgers make his statement?”
“Well, we’re gonna charge Lindy, so that won’t take long, and technically we can hold Bressler until the morning if we need to. His solicitor won’t be too happy having to hang around waiting for us, but if we tell him it’s in his client’s interest to wait an hour or two, I don’t see he’s got much choice, do you?”
“Okay,” agreed Slater. “Let’s do it.”
“Rodgers also says he’s going to need protection,” said Biddeford.
“From what?” asked Norman.
“He claims he can put us onto a smuggling gang, but if he does, his life will be in danger,” explained Biddeford.
“That sort of thing can’t be arranged in five minutes,” said Slater.
“I know that, and you know that,” said Biddeford. “But we’re dealing with a keen young solicitor who seems to have watched way too many TV shows.”