The Secret of Wild Boar Woods (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 6)

by P. F. Ford

  But when they got there, Michael Crump was still missing, and his wife wasn’t prepared to offer a single suggestion as to where he might have gone.

  ‘He could be anywhere,’ said Darling, gloomily, as they headed back to base.

  ‘My feeling is he hasn’t gone far,’ said Slater. ‘We’ve got his car, and he had no cards in his wallet, so there’s a good chance he’s on foot, in which case he’s probably still local. We’ll get the night shift to keep an eye out for him tonight, and then, in the morning we’ll step things up. If I’m right and he’s still in the area, he’s got to surface sooner or later. I mean, he’s got to eat, hasn’t he?’

  Chapter Eight

  Slater cursed as he felt the phone slip through his fingers and onto the floor. As he leaned from the bed and began searching in the dark, he wondered what it must be like to go to bed every night knowing the only thing that was going to disturb your sleep was an alarm clock going off at a time of your own choice.

  He found the phone, raised it to his ear, and grunted into it.

  ‘And good morning to you, Captain Sunshine,’ said a cheery voice. ‘This is your favourite early morning caller with today’s breaking news.’

  ‘Piss off, Sandy,’ said Slater, wearily. ‘You always call at the wrong time. Nicole had just slipped under the covers next to me-’

  Sandy Mollinson laughed down the phone.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘That’s exactly my point,’ said Slater. ‘It’s the only time I ever get near a woman these days, and you always seem to interrupt just when things are getting interesting.’

  ‘That’s a subliminal thing, mate. Your subconscious knows when I’m going to call, so it delays the dream until just before. It knows she’d be disappointed if you did the deed, so it’s conspiring to make sure it never happens, thus saving you from an embarrassing failure.’

  ‘Was your degree in Total Bollocks, by any chance? Anyway, I’ll have you know, back in the day-’

  ‘Oh, back in the day,’ interrupted Mollinson. ‘Yes, I remember that. Back in the day I had a full head of hair, but now there’s just a few frazzled strands. It’s an age thing. You can’t avoid it. Even a thoroughbred racehorse stud gets put out to grass when he’s past his sell-by-date and, frankly, I doubt there’s ever been anything thoroughbred about you. If you want to know why you have to rely on dreaming about film stars, it’s probably got something to do with you being such a miserable bugger first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I’m not past my sell-by date,’ said Slater, indignantly. ‘I’m in my bloody prime.’

  ‘I’ll put a bulletin out, shall I? Detective Sergeant Slater is alive and well and would like to advise all desperate women that he’s not getting any right now, but he is available and willing. I could do it as a leaflet and get them handed out for you.’

  ‘And it’s not first thing in the morning, it’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘Actually it’s five-forty-five,’ said Mollinson. ‘That’s hardly the middle of the night.’

  ‘Is it?’ Slater wondered where the night had gone. He was sure he had only just gone to sleep.

  ‘Do you want to hear my breaking news, or not?’

  ‘You mean the sole purpose of this call wasn’t just to advise me I’m zooming down the wrong side of the hill?’

  ‘I’ll have you know it’s part of my remit to offer life coaching where it’s needed.’

  ‘And I’ll have you know I don’t need bloody life coaching,’ said Slater, raising his voice. ‘Especially not before six in the morning. Just tell me why you called.’

  ‘Shouting at me when I’m being so helpful rather proves my point about you being a miserable bugger, doesn’t it?’ said Mollinson, cheerfully. ‘What I called to tell you is that we’ve found your missing person, Michael Crump. Or perhaps I should say he’s found us.’

  ‘What? Where?’ asked Slater, still not quite fully awake, despite Mollinson’s teasing. ‘Did he hand himself in?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s been pretty quiet so we’ve been keeping someone posted up at the Wild Boar Woods crime scene. Your mate Crump was apprehended up there a short time ago.’

  ‘What was he doing up there?’

  ‘According to the two lads who caught him, he was walking around as if he was looking for something, but they tell me they can’t get any sense out of him. They’re bringing him in as we speak.’

  ‘When they get there, tell them well done from me,’ said Slater.

  ‘What do you want me to do with him?’

  ‘Stick him in a cell for now, Sandy. He can wait until I get there.’

  It was another bleary-eyed morning meeting, and Slater was finding it hard to focus on the task at hand. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to worry about, he just seemed to be finding enthusiasm in short supply this morning. They had two suspects to interview, so he would normally be raring to go, and yet this morning it all seemed to be a bit of an effort. He looked at Goodnews and wondered how she managed to look so good first thing every morning when the rest of them looked like the living dead.

  ‘Is that right you’ve got two people sitting in the cells, waiting to be interviewed?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘Why is Clive Morrison here?’

  ‘There’s a gap in his story,’ explained Slater. ‘There are nearly three hours he can’t account for on the afternoon his daughter went missing. That would give him plenty of time if he was involved in her disappearance. Yesterday evening, we gave him a chance to explain where he was, but he refused. I felt he might be a bit more talkative after an evening on his own.’

  ‘I hope we’re not going to be accused of persecuting a grieving father,’ said Goodnews.

  Slater shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It was his choice. We would have been quite happy to listen last night but he wouldn’t talk to us. What else could we do?’

  Slater knew he sounded rather petulant, as if he didn’t give a damn what Goodnews thought, and for a moment it looked as though she was going to make something of it, but then Darling spoke and broke the moment.

  ‘He was given every opportunity to explain where he was, Boss, but instead of doing that, he tried to string us along and play the grieving father card. It seemed to us he was just paying lip service to it. If he’s a grieving father, I’m a Teletubby.’

  They all managed to smile at that idea.

  ‘Do you think he killed her?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to care she’s dead,’ said Darling. ‘And he’s definitely hiding something. I agree with DS Slater’s decision to bring him in for the night.’

  Goodnews looked suspiciously at her, and then at Slater.

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like a team. That’s good,’ she said, keeping her eyes on him. ‘Do we know what Crump was doing up at Wild Boar Woods last night?’

  ‘I’m told he hasn’t said anything coherent since he was arrested,’ said Slater.

  ‘So, you’ve got two to choose from. Which one do you fancy as the murderer?’

  ‘Crump has to be the favourite. He’s the one with the carpet fibres that match. I suppose it is possible they’re both involved, but we’ve nothing to suggest that so far.’

  ‘I’ll do some digging,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe I can find a connection somewhere.’

  ‘Interviews,’ said Goodnews. ‘Who’s up first?’

  ‘I thought we’d get Morrison out of the way first,’ said Slater. ‘I reckon he’ll be quite talkative this morning.’

  ‘Have those old case files come in yet?’

  ‘They should be here this morning,’ said Norman.

  ‘Right. Good,’ said Goodnews. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  She gathered her things and left the room.

  ‘I’ll go and get the coffees,’ said Darling.

  Norman spoke as soon as the door closed behind her.

  ‘Can I ask a questi
on?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Slater. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘What’s the point of these morning meetings?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it seems to me they serve no purpose other than to allow the Queen Bee to let us all know she’s in charge.’

  ‘She just wants to know what’s going on,’ said Slater.

  ‘You think?’ said Norman. ‘That’s what you write reports for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not following. What’s your point?’

  ‘My point is it seems like a big ego trip to me. It’s like she comes in every morning just to show us how fabulous she looks, knowing we’re all going to look like frazzled shit because we’re at the sharp end doing all the graft. Take this morning for example, what did we gain by having her here?’

  ‘It’s supposed to be good for morale to know the boss is here early too,’ said Slater. He couldn’t really see what Norman’s problem was.

  ‘Oh yeah, right,’ said Norman. ‘Are you telling me you really think that would have been good for morale if she’d taken up your invitation for an argument?’

  ‘I wasn’t looking for an argument.’

  ‘You sounded like you couldn’t give a damn, and the Celtic Queen picked up on it straight away. Lucky for you, Naomi was quick enough to step in and distract her.’

  Slater knew he looked sheepish. He knew Norman was right.

  ‘You know you’re a moody bugger first thing,’ continued Norman. ‘With her in here too, looking to show everyone how fantastic she is, it’s only a matter of time before you rub each other up the wrong way and there’s one almighty bust-up. When it happens, I’m going to be asking you to remind me how that’s gonna help morale.’

  Slater didn’t quite know what to say to that. He’d never considered the idea that Goodnews was on some sort of ego trip, but there was no denying Norman was right on the mark saying he was never at his best first thing. Perhaps Norm had a point, but then, if it was right there in front of him every morning, how come he wasn’t seeing it?

  ‘You really think it’s an ego trip? Only you’ve never really taken to her, have you?’

  Norman smiled a wry smile.

  ‘You have to remember she’s a high flyer. She hasn’t come here for our benefit, we’re just a stepping stone on the way up. She’s here to make a name for herself.’

  ‘I never thought of her like that,’ said Slater. ‘But then I’ve had the benefit of working with her and getting to know her a bit.’

  ‘Maybe that’s how come I saw through her straight away. I wasn’t dazzled by the good looks and the great figure.’

  Slater was annoyed that Norman should suggest he was so shallow, but he was even more annoyed to think there might be an element of truth in what his friend was saying. He couldn’t deny he thought Marion Goodnews was a good looking woman, and she had that very attractive hint of a Celtic accent. But was he dazzled by her?

  ‘That’s bollocks,’ he said, indignantly. ‘I haven’t been dazzled by anyone. Are you sure it’s not just the case that you’ve got an axe to grind?’

  ‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ said Norman. ‘You can think what you like, I’m just telling you how I see it. If you don’t agree, well that’s fine, we can agree to disagree.’

  Before either of them could say another word, the doors burst open and Darling walked in. She picked up on the atmosphere instantly.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Have I come back too soon? I can always leave your coffees and go away again if you want.’

  ‘No, Darling,’ said Slater, ‘that won’t be necessary. We were just discussing the case, and what Norm should focus on this morning.’

  ‘Right,’ said Darling, but she didn’t sound convinced. ‘Of course you were.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Morrison,’ said Slater, leading Darling into the interview room where Morrison sat waiting. ‘Did you have a good night’s sleep?’

  He was sounding a lot more cheerful than he felt, but that was solely for Morrison’s benefit.

  The prisoner looked up as they walked over to the table and sat down opposite him. The bags under his eyes were testament to just how well he’d slept.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll take that as a “no” then, shall I?’

  Darling reached forward to switch on the recorder, and make the introductions. Morrison glared at Slater and started speaking as soon as she had finished.

  ‘You’re enjoying this aren’t you?’ he snarled. ‘What are you, some sort of sadist?’

  Slater sighed and gave Morrison what he hoped was an inscrutable look.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I am,’ he said, irritably. ‘I’m pissed off.’

  Morrison sat back as if he felt threatened.

  ‘I’m pissed off with people like you,’ continued Slater, ‘who think they’re being clever, when all they’re really doing is wasting our time. I’m especially pissed off in this case because, as the victim’s father who claims to have loved his daughter, I would expect you to do all you can to help us, but you didn’t get even slightly involved with the search, and you won’t tell us where you were when she was abducted. And then, just to make matters worse, you wonder why that would make you a suspect!’ He slammed his hand down on the table, making Morrison jump.

  ‘It’s a difficult situation,’ said Morrison.

  ‘It’ll be a lot more difficult if I charge you with murder.’

  ‘I’m just trying to protect someone’s honour.’

  Slater laughed.

  ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘That sounds good coming from you. I thought your game was all about taking that away.’

  Darling suddenly cut in.

  ‘Mr Morrison,’ she said. ‘I’m finding it difficult to understand why you’re not helping us with our investigation.’

  Morrison gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘You clearly have an alibi for the afternoon in question,’ she continued, ‘and yet you won’t tell us what it is.’

  ‘I don’t see how it’s going to help you. I didn’t kill my daughter, and telling you where I was isn’t going to help you find out who did.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Slater. ‘Our job is as much about proving who didn’t kill her as it is about proving who did kill her. It would be great if we knew who it was from the start and we just had to prove it, but it’s usually the case we have no idea who it is, but we do have a list of suspects. Then it’s a process of elimination.’

  ‘But I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘With respect,’ said Darling, ‘that’s what they all say. What we need is proof. Until we have that proof we can’t afford to cross you off our list.’

  ‘Trust me,’ added Slater. ‘We will find out where you were sooner or later. But we could waste a lot of time in the process. You could save us all a lot of trouble.’

  Morrison looked thoughtful, but he said nothing. Slater gave him a full minute.

  ‘Right.’ He pushed back his chair and started gathering up his things. ‘This interview is over. Darling, arrange for Mr Morrison to be returned to his cell.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute,’ said Morrison. ‘You can’t put me back in that cell.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Withholding information,’ said Darling. ‘Obstructing an inquiry, wasting police time. Shall I go on?’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Morrison, holding his head in his hands. ‘This is bloody crazy. How did it come to this?’

  ‘It’s come to this,’ said Slater, ‘because you won’t tell us where you were. Reversing the situation seems pretty simple to me.’

  ‘Alright, alright. I’ll tell you where I was, but you can’t tell anyone else.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I was with Mike Lawrence’s wife, Fiona.’

  ‘Your boss’s wife?’ said Darling. ‘What, you were-’

  ‘Of course he was,’ said Slater. ‘It’s what he does.’<
br />
  ‘My God.’ Darling shook her head. ‘His daughter and his wife?’

  ‘I can’t help it if they like me,’ said Morrison. ‘It’s not my fault.’

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ said Slater. ‘You’re telling us you spent the early afternoon with Lucy Morgan, and then you went from her bed to Fiona Lawrence’s bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d better give us her address,’ said Slater. ‘We need to speak to her.’

  ‘Write it down on here,’ said Darling, sliding a notepad and pen across to Morrison.

  ‘You won’t let Mike find out, will you?’ said Morrison, as he wrote down the address.

  ‘I can’t make any promises,’ said Slater. ‘That’s not how it works.’

  Morrison looked up.

  ‘But you said-’

  ‘No, I didn’t. You said, but you don’t get to make the conditions.’

  Morrison looked as if he might cry.

  ‘Well, at least let me call her and warn her you’re coming.’

  ‘Oh yeah, right,’ said Darling. ‘How stupid do you think we are?’

  Realisation began to dawn on Morrison’s face.

  ‘At least I can get out of here now,’ he said, gloomily.

  Slater gave him a small smile.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll be going back to your cell, until we’ve spoken to Mrs Lawrence,’ he said, ‘Come on, Darling, let’s go and see if Mr Morrison’s alibi checks out.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Darling. She had been quietly thoughtful ever since Clive Morrison had made his revelation about he and Fiona Lawrence. Now they were on the way to see her.

  ‘What don’t you get?’ asked Slater.

  ‘This Morrison guy. Am I missing something? I mean, he’s not even good looking, is he?’

  Slater couldn’t help but smile at her apparent naivety.

  ‘I don’t think I’m in a position to judge,’ he said. ‘He certainly doesn’t appeal to me, but then I tend to prefer women.’

  ‘And he’s got the morals of a sewer rat,’ she continued.

  ‘You’re probably not being fair on the poor old rat there.’

  ‘You know what I mean. How could he screw both mother and daughter?’