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

by Ford,P. F.

  ‘But what happened to them?’ asked Jolly. ‘Where did they go? Surely when they grow up they have to move them on somewhere else.’

  ‘Or dispose of them,’ said Slater, ominously.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Norman said, sighing heavily. ‘I hate dealing with dead kids, even if they died fifty years ago.’

  ‘We can’t ignore the possibility, can we?’ said Slater. ‘We’re going to have to search the grounds.’

  ‘D’you want me to go and see Becksy?’ said Norman. ‘We’re going to need some fancy equipment, and a lot of search trained people, if we’re gonna search those gardens. They’re huge.’

  ‘Let me go,’ said Slater. ‘I think it’s time I went down there and made peace, don’t you?’

  ‘And what about John Hunter?’ asked Norman. ‘His name seems to be cropping up a bit too often for my liking. First he’s Winter’s solicitor. Now he’s Maunder’s solicitor.’

  Jolly had looked up at the sound of Hunter’s name.

  ‘So, he’s a solicitor,’ she said, quickly. ‘And Tinton’s a small town. I think you’ll find there aren’t exactly huge numbers of solicitors to choose from.’

  ‘How would you describe him, Jane?’ asked Slater.

  ‘What sort of question is that?’

  ‘Just humour me a minute.’

  ‘Well,’ she began, her face slightly pink. ‘He’s in his sixties, six feet plus, nice looking, with silver-grey hair, and blue eyes. He’s got a very reassuring manner that creates a sense of trust. Oh, and he smells nice.’

  ‘You fancy him,’ teased Norman. ‘Do you go around sniffing all the men you meet?’

  ‘No, I do not fancy him,’ she protested, but her cheeks blushed a deeper shade of pink. ‘I simply mean he wears nice aftershave. He’s a very nice man and, I’ll have you know, it makes a change to meet a real gentleman once in a while.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with us?’ asked Norman, looking offended.

  ‘You’re different,’ said Jolly.

  ‘Thank you, Jane,’ said Slater, jumping in before Norman got carried away with his “hurt and offended” act. ‘That’s almost exactly the description of the man who went to see Gordon Ferguson the night before last.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Norman. ‘Another coincidence. We’d better put him on our visit list. At least we don’t have to ask permission to speak to him, unless, of course, Jane here has a problem with that.’

  ‘Oh, hush,’ said Jolly. ‘If you want to waste your time, that’s your affair. I’m sure he’ll have a perfectly good explanation for being there.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Norman. ‘You really do think he’s special, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, turning back to her work. But the colour that had risen to her face told a different story.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After his earlier dressing down, Slater thought it might be prudent to inform Murray what they had unearthed, and of his intention to initiate a search of the gardens. To his amazement, Murray gave him the go-ahead without imposing any conditions. Before the Old Man could have a change of heart, he’d headed straight down to the basement to speak to Ian Becks.

  He had been expecting a hard time from Becks after their disagreement, but to his surprise the forensics chief appeared to have forgiven and forgotten. Or at least he said he had. Slater found this hard to believe from a man who had a reputation for sulking and bearing grudges, and he fully expected the situation to come back and bite him on the arse at some point in the future, but right now he was far more concerned with getting a team out to search the grounds at Hatton House.

  Half an hour later Becks was on the phone.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a team ready to start work this afternoon, and I’ve even managed to rustle up a couple of cadaver dogs to help us out.’

  ‘Will we need them?’ asked Slater. ‘If there are any bodies out there, they’ll have been underground for fifty years. It won’t be cadavers we’ll find, just skeletons.’

  ‘You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, mate. I think we were offered them because the dogs need the practise, but one of them is a bit of a legend and is supposed to have detected a skeleton before, so it can’t do any harm, can it? I’ve also managed to scrounge one of those GPR – ground-penetrating radar – systems. I did the training ages ago. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get the chance to put it into practice.’

  ‘Does it find skeletons?’

  ‘Only if we’re very lucky. But it can detect the sort of disturbance that would be made in the ground by digging a grave. It works hand in hand with the dogs.’

  ‘So we’re all set then,’ said Slater. ‘What time do you want to get started?’

  ‘Make it two o’clock. The dogs will be here by then, and everyone will have had time to eat before we start.

  ‘I’ll go on up there and make sure we can access the site without any hassle,’ said Slater.

  He hadn’t yet mentioned to Becks that they didn’t have the faintest idea where to start looking.

  As promised, by two o’clock Ian Becks and his team were on site and ready to go. They had all gathered around Slater, looking expectant, but there was a bit of a problem. The sky above them was a dirty grey colour. It wasn’t raining yet, but it was on the way.

  ‘What do you mean you have no idea where to search?’ Becks asked Slater. ‘Surely you must have some idea? You haven’t brought us out here on a wild goose chase, have you?’

  As the implications of Becks’ question sunk in, Slater found himself surrounded by hostile faces and accusing looks. He shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Alright everyone, I can see how this looks, but let me explain,’ he began, awkwardly. ‘We know, for sure, that at least five of the kids who were sent here back in the sixties were never registered as arriving, and seem to have disappeared without trace. The reason we’re so sure this is fact is because Mr Winter and his sister were sent here at the same time. He appears on the register but she doesn’t.

  ‘According to the evidence we have found so far, there was a group of kids called “The Special Ones”. We believe these were the pretty kids. Boys and girls, they were kept to one side and don’t appear on any register anywhere. So, officially they didn’t exist anymore. The Special Ones were being regularly abused.’

  He stopped for a moment to let this news sink in.

  ‘Surely someone would have noticed?’ asked one of the dog handlers.

  ‘You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? But what if the person who would be in a position to notice was part of the paedophile ring doing the abusing?’

  ‘Oh, no, you’re kidding,’ said the dog handler, looking horrified.

  ‘Not certain yet, but that’s how it looks,’ said Slater, grimly.

  There were a few angry murmurs, and Slater knew he had them on his side.

  ‘The question is,’ he continued, ‘what did they do with these kids when they finished with them? Presumably they reach a “sell-by-date” and have to be disposed of.’

  ‘And you think they were murdered and buried here somewhere,’ finished Becks.

  ‘We figure it’s the most likely scenario, so we can’t ignore it,’ said Slater. ‘But the problem is, I can’t tell you where to start looking.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to look everywhere,’ said the dog handler, with grim determination. ‘It’s not right they should just be dumped like so much useless rubbish. They deserve better.’

  The earlier murmurs had turned into full voices now, and they were all agreed.

  ‘Right,’ said Ian Becks, turning to his search team. ‘We will cover the whole place, but we’ll do it in sections, and we’ll cover each section thoroughly before we move to the next. As it’s surrounded by a wall, why don’t we start with the vegetable garden? Get those two dogs going and I’ll join you with the GPR gear.’

  The team headed off towards the vegetable garden, while Becks and Slater headed fo
r the vehicles, parked around the front of the old house; Becks to collect his GPR equipment, and Slater to find his wellies from the boot of his car.

  ‘But some of that ground must have been dug over, again and again,’ said Slater. ‘Surely that will affect the results.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Becks. ‘But if you had buried a body in there, and you knew exactly where it was, would you keep digging that particular bit of ground over?’

  ‘Ah, right. I see what you’re saying.’ Slater felt a little foolish.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re likely to make a mess of these gardens. Especially if it starts raining.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone will complain,’ said Slater, sadly. ‘The only person who cared is dead now.’

  ‘This has affected you a lot, hasn’t it?’ asked Becks.

  ‘It’s the old man and his sister, Becksy,’ said Slater. ‘Especially the sister. I mean, can you imagine? She had been in hiding since they were little kids. I’m like Norm, I hate dealing with stuff like this.’

  ‘Where is he anyway?’.

  ‘He’ll be here soon. He just had to make a call on the way.’

  They had reached the forensic team’s Transit van. Becks swung the back doors open.

  ‘Thanks for this, Ian,’ said Slater. ‘I’m sorry I can’t point you in the right direction.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Becks. ‘If those dogs are as good as they’re supposed to be, and there are kids buried here somewhere, we’ll find them.’

  He looked up at the sky, then reached inside, grabbed the portable GPR machine, and began to sling the straps over his shoulders.

  ‘With two dogs and this magic machine, we can’t fail,’ he said, smiling confidently. ‘It just might take a bit longer, that’s all. Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t start raining too soon. It’ll get a lot more difficult if that happens.’

  Slater watched him march off towards the vegetable garden and then ambled across to his own car. He flipped up the boot and began to rummage through the heap of assorted coats, shoes, and general paraphernalia he carried around until he eventually found two wellies and a waterproof coat.

  As he stood the wellies on the ground and eased his feet into them, he could hear a car approaching up the drive. The unique assortment of sounds confirmed it must be Norman’s. It had to be. No one else he knew would be seen dead in that car. Sure enough, a few seconds later Norman’s car appeared coming up the drive. He waved nonchalantly as his car rattled up alongside the others, then he crunched it into reverse gear, and the car whined and squeaked into position alongside Slater’s.

  Slater stood and watched as the driver’s door swung open, dropping a good inch or two on its worn hinges as it did so. As his colleague eased himself out of his seat, Slater was sure he heard the car breathe a sigh of relief, and saw the suspension rise a couple of inches. He then watched as Norman failed to slam the door shut three times before he remembered he had to lift it to make up for the worn hinges.

  ‘You should sell that car to the nearest circus,’ said Slater.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my car,’ said Norman, indignantly. ‘It works just fine.’

  ‘Yeah, right. But it would look much better in a circus ring. The clowns would love it.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. Look and learn. This is a piece of British engineering, history.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve looked,’ said Slater, laughing. ‘And I’ve learnt this car is from the period when we were making really shite cars.’

  ‘I’m just gonna rise above such ignorant remarks,’ Norman muttered.

  Slater had just noticed a faint odour that seemed to be surrounding Norman. He stepped closer to Norman and took a cautious sniff.

  ‘Blimey, what’s that stink?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Norman, haughtily. ‘I can’t smell anything.’

  Slater stepped closer still and sniffed again.

  ‘Have you been and bought some new aftershave?’ he asked, suspiciously. ‘You weren’t wearing any earlier.’

  ‘I might have nipped into a shop on the way over,’ admitted Norman, blushing slightly.

  ‘Ha!’ Slater let out a roar of laughter. ‘You’re not trying to impress Jolly Jane, are you? Cos if you are, you’ve made the wrong choice there, mate. That stuff stinks!’

  ‘Well that’s where you’re wrong, Mr Philistine. I’ll have you know this is the very latest-’ Norman began.

  ‘Is this because of what she said about John Hunter?’ interrupted Slater.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’re sweet on her aren’t you?’

  ‘Crap,’ said Norman. ‘She’s a colleague. I am not-’

  ‘I always thought you had a soft spot for her,’ interrupted Slater again. ‘You’ll be ironing your clothes next.’

  ‘Don’t you have any work to do? I didn’t come up here so you could take the piss.’

  ‘Well, if you didn’t want me to take the piss you shouldn’t have come up here smelling like a polecat,’ said Slater, beaming.

  ‘Like a polecat!’ Norman’s face drooped. ‘Do you know how much this stuff cost?’

  ‘You paid for it?’ said Slater. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Oh, screw you. Your problem is you have no taste. I’ve told you this before.’

  Looking at the offended expression on Norman’s face, Slater thought it was probably time to stop teasing him and get back to work. But it had been good to have a laugh for a couple of minutes to lift their mood, even if it was at Norm’s expense.

  ‘So what did Mr Hunter have to say for himself?’ he asked, returning to the more serious business at hand.

  ‘His story is that he’s Gordon Ferguson’s solicitor,’ replied Norman. ‘Apparently he’s been doing Gordon’s will. He went to see him to finalise the details.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Slater, sceptically. ‘So it’s just coincidental he was there the night before me.’

  ‘Right,’ said Norman. ‘And did you know, in my spare time I’m the Queen of Sheba?’

  ‘Well, that would explain the smell,’ muttered Slater, as Norman creaked open the boot of his car and fished out his own wellies and raincoat.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said that boot creaks real bad when you open it.’

  ‘I need to know a bit more about John Hunter,’ said Norman. ‘And I intend to do just that when we’ve finished up here.’

  ‘According to the nurse I spoke to, Gordon doesn’t get any visitors,’ said Slater. ‘So how has he been working on Gordon’s will?’

  ‘That’ll be one of many questions I’ll be asking,’ replied Norman, slipping on his wellies. ‘In the meantime, let’s go see how good these dogs are.’

  The walled vegetable garden must have been an impressive sight in its heyday but even now, it was still quite a sight. Whatever difficulties Florence might have had, an ability to grow plants and look after a huge garden was not one of them. When Norman and Slater had been here before, they had only glanced at the vegetable garden in passing. Now they were able to take a closer look it was obvious, even to these two non-gardeners, that she must have put an enormous amount of work into keeping these gardens neat and tidy.

  At the far end, almost fifty yards away, Ian Becks was marching around pointing his GPR equipment here and there, while the two spaniels were working busily away at the behest of their handlers, noses to the ground and tails wagging furiously. Three more men were in attendance, armed with a pick, spades, and shovels should they be needed. Slater and Norman took the opportunity to poke around in the two long lean-to greenhouses that ran along the south facing wall. Along one shelf, various seeds had been sown in trays and, on another shelf, small plants were being nurtured and prepared for the coming spring.

  ‘Jeez, look at this,’ said Norman, a look of awe on his face. ‘Are you sure she was doing all this on her own?’

  ‘Can’t be sure about it,’ said Slater. ‘Bu
t who the hell else could have been helping her?’

  ‘I can’t believe she did this all on her own. I mean, lots of people can manage to grow a few fruit and veg, but run a garden this size? And look after the rest of the gardens too? It takes training to learn all this stuff.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe isn’t it?’ agreed Slater. ‘From what I’ve seen and heard she wasn’t exactly all there, was she?’

  ‘If there isn’t anyone else, who’s going to grow these on now? What a waste.’

  ‘She was even growing fruit trees against the wall in the other greenhouse.’ Slater peered through the window in the wall dividing the two glasshouses.

  ‘If she was a veggie,’ said Norman, ‘she surely would have been self-sufficient with all this lot.’

  ‘Maybe she found the gardens good therapy,’ said Slater. ‘I mean, the TV show might have helped, but there’s only so many times you can watch the same thing over and over, right? But looking after these gardens would be a full time job, and it changes with the seasons, so it’s not the same thing all the time. Perhaps immersing herself in the gardens helped to keep out her demons.’

  ‘And there’s the satisfaction of creating. Like growing stuff and eating it. That has to make you feel good, even if it’s only at a subconscious level.’

  Slater looked to the far end of the garden. Everyone seemed to be gathering in one area.

  ‘Looks like they might be on to something,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see.’

  They stomped across to the search team, which seemed to have become focused around the compost heap.

  ‘Have you found something?’ asked Slater.

  One of the handlers pointed to his spaniel, which was sitting at one corner of the compost heap.

  ‘There might be something here,’ he said. ‘But I can’t guarantee it. With the compost heap being here it could be there’s something inside giving off the same smell.’

  The heap was about four feet high. Ian Becks was stood on top, studying the small screen of the GPR, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.’