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

by Ford,P. F.

‘Jane,’ said Norman, moving across and gently taking her shoulders. ‘She was in there when the canal froze last night. There’s no way she’s still alive.’

  He guided her towards the bench, sat her down and sat next to her.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ said Jolly, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘I must have scared her. She didn’t run away, she committed suicide, didn’t she?’

  She held the dog close and buried her face in his neck. Then she began to sob quietly into his fur. Norman placed an arm gently around her shoulders.

  ‘Hello, Jane. Have you found her?’ Slater asked into his phone, a few minutes later. ‘If she’s a witness to what’s on this CD we’ve got a real case.’

  ‘It’s Norm. I’ve got no signal out here, so I’m using Jane’s phone.’

  ‘Oh, right. So have you found her?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘I think it’s her. You’d better get over here with a full forensics team, SOC tent, lights, the lot. She’s not going to be a witness to anything. She’s in the canal.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell, no!’ said Slater.

  ‘And I think we need a paramedic or a doctor. Jane’s in shock. She thinks this is all her fault.’

  ‘Okay. Norm I’m on it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘It might be best if you lead the guys in through the front gates,’ said Norman. ‘You know the way, and it’ll be quicker than taking hours to walk all their gear along the towpath.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By the time Slater had led the forensic team up the front drive and shown them where the site was, Norman had managed to coax Jolly away from the scene of the crime and down to the main house. She was still clutching the dog tightly in her arms when he handed her over to a paramedic and a concerned WPC colleague to get her fixed up and then taken home.

  Now they were back at the small clearing which, being the crime scene, was now a hive of activity. The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees in the hour or so they had been on site, and everyone was puffing huge clouds of vapour. In the glow of the hastily erected emergency lights, and the glow of light from inside the SOCO tent, it created an eerie sight. The rattle of the small generator powering everything seemed to add to the effect.

  Florence’s body, still wrapped in her dirty white coat, had been removed from the icy water and lay inside the tent awaiting the arrival of the pathologist.

  They were all dressed in the new blue paper suits, but for once Slater didn’t picture the familiar swarm of smurfs.

  ‘All this bloody snow doesn’t help us, does it?’ he observed, moodily. ‘It’s hiding any evidence on the ground.’

  ‘We’ll thaw that out and see what we can find,’ said Ian Becks. ‘The bigger problem is the fact that we’ve had detectives, divers, and who knows bloody who, wandering all over the site. If there is any evidence under the snow, it’s probably ruined by now.’

  ‘It couldn’t be helped, Ian,’ said Slater. ‘We didn’t know we were looking for a body when we first came up here.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Becks. ‘I’m not trying to blame anyone, I’m just saying.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything yet?’ asked Norman.

  ‘I can tell you we’ve fished the body of an old lady, in a dirty white coat, out of the canal. And the doctor has justified his existence by assuring us she’s dead, but you didn’t need a medical degree to work that one out.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s not exactly the friendliest of guys,’ agreed Slater. ‘I thought warmth and compassion were supposed to be part of a doctor’s armoury.’

  ‘Not that one,’ said Becks. ‘Someone should tell him there’s no “I” in team. I’m sure it’s his fault the temperature’s dropped so much since we’ve been here. It must have gone down a good ten degrees when he arrived.’

  ‘Is he still here?’ asked Norman.

  ‘You must be joking. He couldn’t wait to get away.’

  ‘I was hoping he might have some idea what happened.’

  ‘Oh he did,’ said Becks. ‘He said to tell you, she died. I suppose that’s in case you were in any doubt. And that’s about it so far, I’m afraid. We’re not going to be able to work very quickly in these conditions, so I wouldn’t expect a major breakthrough anytime soon. The pathologist is on the way. Maybe we’ll know a bit more when he gets here.’

  ‘There’s not much we can do up here to help,’ said Slater, grimly. ‘So we’ll get out of your way and have a poke around in the cabin.’

  ‘We’re going to move down there when we’ve finished up here,’ said Becks. ‘But I expect we’re going to be up here for a good while yet. Can you try not to destroy any evidence before we get down there?’

  ‘I should warn you me and Jane were in there earlier,’ said Norman. ‘We were looking for any clues that might tell her where she could have gone.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful.’ Becks sighed. ‘So you’ve already contaminated it down there.’

  ‘Sometimes Becksy, you can be an insufferable arse, do you know that?’ said Norman, angrily. ‘Dave’s already told you we didn’t know we had a death on our hands until a couple of hours ago.’

  Ian Becks looked stunned by Norman’s comments.

  ‘It just annoys me that you lot seem to think we can still do our job when you’ve already trampled all over a crime scene,’ he began.

  ‘You know what, Ian?’ Slater interrupted. ‘Norm’s right. You’re bloody brilliant at what you do, and we all appreciate it, but we have a job to do as well. I’m sorry if we’re not perfect like you seem to think you are, but we don’t yet have the ability to see into the future. We have to make decisions based on intuition, experience, and procedure. We don’t have the benefit of hindsight.’

  He pointed to the tent.

  ‘Right now, there’s a little old lady lying dead in that tent and we, as a team, have a duty to find out what happened. Just now you said someone should tell the doctor there’s no “I” in team. As the head of this investigation I think I should tell you you’d do well to remember that yourself.’

  Ian Becks face had gone scarlet, whether from rage or embarrassment it was hard to say, but before he could take the argument any further, a familiar figure loomed into view carrying a medical bag.

  ‘Evening all,’ said Dr Eamon Murphy, the pathologist. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’

  He offered a beaming smile to one and all, even though Slater thought the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

  ‘Hello, Eamon,’ said Slater. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘What else could I possibly want to be doing on a freezing February night?’ said Murphy, cheerily. ‘It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘She’s in the tent,’ said Slater.

  ‘Let’s have a look, then.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Becks, shortly. ‘There’s one of my guys in there if you need a hand, doc.’

  The two detectives led the pathologist across to the makeshift tent where Murphy slipped into one of the blue suits and then they eased their way inside, stepping aside to allow Murphy access to the body. A blue-suited forensic guy nodded to them as they entered.

  ‘Do we know who she is?’ asked Murphy as he knelt next to the body.

  ‘Her name’s Florence,’ said Norman. ‘We believe she’s the sister of Dylan Winter.’

  ‘Isn’t that the guy whose PM you asked me to reconsider?’ asked Murphy, looking up at Slater.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him. She’s been in hiding for years, but we’re pretty sure she’s his sister.’

  ‘A DNA sample will check that easily enough,’ said Murphy. ‘I’ve still got samples of his.’

  He turned his attention back to Florence’s body. She was lying on her back, her long, wet hair, plastered across her face.

  ‘So you don’t think this one’s an accident.’

  ‘You’d need to rule that out,’ said Slater. ‘It could even be suicide, but we don’t think so.’

&nbs
p; ‘Can you give me a hand to roll her over?’ Murphy asked the forensic technician.

  They carefully and gently rolled her over and revealed the ugly mess that was the back of her head. Murphy leaned in closer for a better look.

  ‘As you know, I’m not a forensic pathologist,’ he said. ‘But I think even I can say, with a fair degree of certainty, that it’s unlikely she bashed herself across the back of the head and then threw herself into the canal.’

  ‘Could it be an accident?’ asked Slater.

  ‘There’s no way you could accidentally do that much damage to your own head,’ said Murphy, standing up. ‘I think I’d be happy to say we can probably rule out suicide or an accident as the cause of death.’

  ‘I was sort of expecting you to say that,’ said Slater, grimly. ‘But at least we know what we’re dealing with. Thanks for confirming that for us.’

  ‘I’ll have her taken down to the hospital now,’ said Murphy. ‘When I get back, I’m going to flag this one up the line and get a proper forensic pathologist to do the PM. I’ll book it for tomorrow at eleven. I’ll let you know if that changes.’

  After Murphy had left, Slater and Norman were left without much to do. Ian Becks seemed to have split his team so they could make a start on the log cabin so they decided against getting in his way and instead headed back to the main house.

  ‘I’ve probably pissed Becks off big time,’ said Slater to Norman. ‘And I really don’t need to start another argument right now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I think he’s had it coming for a long time. It’s okay to know you’re good at what you do, but a little humility now and then wouldn’t go amiss. If he’s as professional as he claims he is, he should be able to accept a little constructive criticism and make use of it.’

  A generator had been set up outside the front of the main house and someone had set up some lights in the hall. It was probably that same someone who had erected a table and set up a tea urn which was puffing its excess steam up at the ceiling. Slater was impressed with this attempt at providing some sort of refreshment for the workers and he made a mental note to find out who had been responsible so he could thank them.

  ‘So what was on the CD?’ asked Norman, as he poured two cups of tea from the urn.

  ‘There are four files,’ Slater told him. ‘The first one is like a report about what went on at the orphanage. You’ll need to read it yourself, but basically what it says is that new kids arriving at Hatton House went through a sort of selection process. The cute looking ones went into a group called the Special Ones. Florence was a Special One.

  ‘They were kept apart from the other kids and got treated much better, but in return they were subjected to regular sexual abuse at the hands of a group of men which included the man who ran the place and assorted dignitaries from Tinton and the surrounding area. Mr Winter is pretty sure these kids never appeared on any register at Hatton House, so officially they didn’t exist. ‘

  ‘Jesus,’ said Norman, in disgust. ‘So that would explain why he lost track of his sister. But surely there must have been some record of those kids being sent there.’

  ‘Mr Winter reckons the people responsible for those registers were also the abusers, so they were able to cover their tracks quite easily. It makes grim reading, and of course he’s had to speculate about some of it. He also claims they were disposed of once they reached their sell-by date.’

  ‘What, you mean murdered?’ asked a horrified Norman.

  ‘Well, I guess that would be one way,’ said Slater. ‘Or they could just have been sold on, I suppose.’

  ‘So how come Florence was still around?’ asked Norman.

  ‘He didn’t know the answer to that one, but that’s why Florence would have been a great witness. She could have told us what really happened and filled in some of the gaps for us.’

  ‘I’m not sure we would have got much out of her, to be honest,’ said Norman, sadly. ‘She wasn’t exactly living in the real world. But it’s irrelevant anyway. She can’t tell us anything now.’

  They sipped their tea in silence for a minute or two.

  ‘Did he name any names in this report?’ asked Norman.

  ‘There are two or three names who were supposedly involved in the abuse. None of the names jump off the page at me, but then it’s all before my time. A bit of research should help though.’

  ‘So what else is there?’

  ‘There’s a list of names, supposedly staff who worked there, but we’ll have to check. If it is, maybe we can find someone who can corroborate this story.’

  ‘It’s definitely worth a try,’ said Norman.

  ‘Then there’s a copy of a letter,’ added Slater.

  ‘From way back then?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Oh, no. This is much more recent. It’s dated just a couple of months ago. It’s addressed to the man Mr Winter thinks was the ringleader way back then, so it gives us a suspect for these two murders.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Norman. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Sir Robert Maunder,’ said Slater.

  ‘You’re kidding me.’ Norman’s mouth was hanging open. ‘I met him just a few days ago when his house got broken into. The guy’s a total arsehole, that’s for sure, but I’m not sure he’s fit enough to murder anyone. He’s over eighty years old.’

  ‘It’s amazing what people can do when they feel threatened,’ said Slater.

  ‘Well I’ll certainly look forward to questioning him. I owe him a hard time.’

  ‘I also spoke to the people who sent us the CD,’ said Slater.

  ‘Learn anything?’

  ‘Quite a bit, actually.’ Slater grinned, feeling pleased with himself. ‘It turns out Mr Winter only opened his account a few weeks ago. He paid for a year upfront, and apparently he was very concerned about security and anonymity. He wanted to make sure there was no way anyone else could find out what he was doing.’

  ‘Just a few weeks ago,’ said Norman. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Maybe Sir Robert didn’t like the letter he was sent,’ said Slater.

  ‘And he threatened Winter,’ finished Norman.

  ‘He must have felt he was in a lot of danger,’ continued Slater, nodding his agreement. ‘So he set up the back-up system to make sure his information stayed safe, even if he didn’t.’

  ‘And now we can see why he invited the big story journalist to tell his story,’ said Norman. ‘No wonder the guy’s still sniffing around.’

  ‘He’s not off the hook yet. We know he was making phone calls to Mr Winter at the time. We’ve only got his word for it that he wasn’t threatening the old guy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Norman. ‘But we haven’t found anything to contradict what he told us. I don’t fancy him for it, and I don’t think you do deep down inside. Don’t forget what he said about killing the golden goose. It wouldn’t make sense for the scandal-mongering journalist to kill the guy with the juicy story to tell, would it?’

  ‘Yeah, it makes much more sense for the subject of that scandal to kill him, doesn’t it?’ agreed Slater.

  ‘We’ll need to tread carefully if we’re gonna catch the old guy,’ warned Norman. ‘He seems to have a direct line to the chief constable, and I’m sure he’s got lots more friends in various high places. He’ll run squealing to them as soon as he gets a sniff we’re on to him, then they’ll all close ranks, and we’ll be left, high and dry, right in the middle of a shit storm.’

  ‘We’d better make sure we’ve got it right before we show our hand then, Norm,’ said Slater.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was a tired, sad, and depressed team that gathered next morning. Slater and Norman had been up at Hatton House until way past midnight, and had each managed about four hours sleep. Jolly had been administered a rather heavy duty sedative to make sure she slept, and it was obvious to everyone she encountered that she was still half asleep when she arrived at the station that morning.


  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Slater, when she walked in. ‘We weren’t expecting you to come in today.’

  ‘Like I can sit at home knowing Florence would still be alive if it wasn’t for me,’ she said glumly. ‘I’m here because I feel I have to help you two solve this case.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘We understand if-’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she interrupted. ‘And I do appreciate your concern, but I really can’t sit back and do nothing.’

  ‘Okay, I can understand that. But the deal is you let us know if you’re finding it difficult, alright?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Honestly. Where’s Norm?’

  ‘He’s gone downstairs to see what forensics have got for us. He’ll be back in a minute.’

  When Norman came back, he was even more concerned for Jolly’s welfare. Slater felt he should indulge him for a couple of minutes, but it was Jolly who was quick to point out that she was still alive and that it was Florence they should be focusing upon.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Slater, finally. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got to work with and where we go from here. If we assume the information on the CD is correct, we now have a prime suspect in the form of Sir Robert Maunder. However, because of who he is, we can more or less guarantee barriers will be erected all around him as soon as his name comes out. So we need to build a much stronger case than we have right now.

  ‘We need to find anything we can that links him to the orphanage. We have a list of names that appears to be staff members. Maybe we can locate someone who can back up Mr Winter’s story.’

  ‘What if we find someone who says it’s all crap?’ asked Jolly. ‘I don’t want to find these two people have died for nothing.’

  ‘That’s a risk we have to take,’ said Norman. ‘I can assure you Maunder is a complete arse, but at the moment he’s an innocent arse unless we can prove otherwise. And anyway, we can’t ignore the possibility that Winter just had it in for him and this is all fiction.’

  Jolly didn’t look at all happy at Norman’s suggestion that Mr Winter was making the whole thing up.