An Unnecessary Murder

by P. F. Ford

  The phone rang just twice before a bored voice answered.

  ‘Becks!’ said Slater. ‘How are you mate?’

  ‘Aha!’ said the voice over the phone. ‘If it isn’t the elusive D.S.D.S. How’s it hanging, my friend?’

  Slater smiled at Becks’ nickname for him, an abbreviation of Detective Sergeant Dave Slater.

  ‘Listen,’ said Slater cautiously. ‘I need a favour.’

  Becks laughed. ‘You’re supposed to solve the crimes up there. We’re just the geeks who do all the work that makes it possible. You’re not going to ask me to start solving them for you as well, surely?’

  ‘Be serious for a minute. I need your help.’

  ‘Okay, mate, okay. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need to come down there and have a look at a couple of reports,’ said Slater.

  ‘You haven’t lost the bloody things again, have you?’ said Becks, sighing. ‘You’re a bunch of wankers up there. It’s a wonder you solve any crimes at all.’

  ‘Just stop ranting for a minute and listen,’ said Slater patiently. ‘These reports haven’t been lost, they’re-’

  ‘The ones we’re not supposed to send to you,’ finished Becks.

  ‘You mean you know?’

  ‘Of course I know. It’s my department.’

  ‘Can you tell me why you won’t let me see them?’ said a frustrated Slater.

  ‘Did I say you can’t see them? I don’t recall saying that. I know my memory’s not very good, but I think I can recall what I said just a few seconds ago.’

  ‘Wait a minute. What are you saying?’

  ‘My instructions are quite clear,’ said Becks slowly. ‘Under no circumstances are any reports involving this case to be sent to DS Slater.’

  ‘So I can’t see them?’

  ‘Have you got cotton wool in your ears this morning? I didn’t say you can’t see them. I said I can’t send them to you. Is that the same thing? I don’t think so.’

  ‘So you mean-’

  ‘I mean if you get off your arse and walk down to my office you can see all the reports you want. Just don’t ask me to send them to you. I always follow my instructions to the letter. That way I keep out of trouble.’

  ‘I’ll be down in two minutes.’

  ‘Kettle should be boiling by then. You’re making the tea.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Slater said, laughing as he hung up.

  ‘This tea’s bloody terrible,’ said Becks, pulling a grim face.

  ‘You asked me to make it. I’ve told you before I’m useless at it.’

  ‘I reckon you do it on purpose so people don’t ask you to make it again.’

  Slater grinned. ‘And it works almost every time,’ he said. ‘Except down here.’

  ‘It’s worked this time.’ Becks poured his tea down the sink. ‘I won’t ask again.’

  ‘My first success of the day then,’ said a satisfied Slater. ‘So tell me, why can’t you send me those reports?’

  ‘According to our very own Inspector Clouseau, aka Detective Inspector Nash, Sergeant Slater is to be kept out of the information loop because of his close association with the main suspect, one Alfred Bowman. This is for Sergeant Slater’s own good on the basis of what he doesn’t know he can’t ‘accidentally’ pass on.’

  He made little quote marks in the air as he said ‘accidentally’.

  ‘He’s got a bloody nerve.’ Slater shook his head furiously. ‘Suggesting I’m bent. I’ve a good mind-’

  ‘You’ll do bloody nothing,’ snapped Becks. ‘I’m doing you a favour here, mate. You will not do, or say, anything that suggests I told you anything, or showed you any reports. By all means get Nash, but not at my bloody expense. I like my job and-’

  ‘Alright, alright.’ Slater held his hands up in surrender. ‘Point taken. I will not drop you in it. I promise.’

  ‘Good,’ said Becks, dropping a folder on his desk. ‘I’m just popping out for a couple of minutes.’ Then, pointing at the folder, he added, ‘I trust everything will be right where I left it when I get back.’

  Slater slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Becksy, you’re a real mate. Thank you.’

  ‘Just remember what you promised,’ warned Becks. ‘I sent you nothing and I know nothing.’

  He closed the door behind him as he left.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was just gone midday. Slater needed to get out of the noisy office so he could think. He tidied his desk, stuck a ‘back later’ post-it on his computer screen, and legged it out to the car park. As he drove from the car park, he turned his thoughts to the two reports he had read downstairs.

  The pathologist had determined that Marie had died because her neck had been broken. In his opinion it had been broken by a single blow to the chin, delivered in such a way its sole purpose would have been to kill. The pathologist thought it unlikely the average person would know how to deliver such a blow. He was even prepared to speculate that the killer would be trained in martial arts. He didn’t say it in so many words, but he implied he thought it was a professional kill.

  The second report was general forensics from the scene of crime. They’d found plenty of evidence of many different people having been in the house, but there was not one single trace of Alfie Bowman or Positive Pete. Nash had suggested the possibility that Pete had been Alfie’s accomplice, but this unlikely theory now looked like pure fantasy, as did the idea that Alfie had killed her.

  Slater considered the likelihood of Alfie Bowman and Positive Pete being trained killers. Well, really! Serious as this situation was, Slater thought Laurel and Hardy would be better equipped…

  The other interesting thing he had learnt that morning was about Alfie Bowman’s mobile phone. Nash was insistent that this was the key piece of evidence, and the texts were there on Marie’s phone for all to see. But according to Alfie’s phone service provider, he hadn’t sent any texts to her. In fact, he rarely sent any texts to anyone. So how come the texts on Marie’s phone indicated they had been sent from Alfie’s number?

  Secretly, Slater was pleased to see their case against Alfie falling apart. He regarded him as a good bloke, and perhaps even a friend. Alfie and murder just didn’t fit. On the other hand, he was deeply concerned that someone was obviously trying to make them all think it was Alfie. Could it be Nash? He certainly had an axe to grind, and he had been quick to jump on Alfie as his prime suspect. But murder? Really?

  Much as he disliked Nash, Slater couldn’t see it. Yes, if he could prove it was Alfie he would jump at the chance, but to actually carry out the murder first was a step too far. Wasn’t it?

  Slater was disappointed to find the only space in the hospital car park was right at the far end, as far away from the entrance to the A&E unit as it was possible to be. If he’d been in a patrol car he would have parked right outside, but he was in his own car and he wasn’t in a hurry. He was actually relishing the peace and quiet of being out on his own and he enjoyed the walk.

  He ambled towards the desk where a feisty-looking receptionist appeared ready to repel all time-wasters. He was tempted to test her patience just for fun, but when he saw the way she dealt with a phone call, he decided to save them both a lot of time and grief, which he suspected would have been mostly his, by showing his badge. The immediate transformation from feisty to flirty took him completely by surprise.

  ‘Ooh!’ she said, fluttering her eyes theatrically. ‘A handsome detective sergeant. Have you come to arrest me?’

  Okay, I’m in no hurry. I can play this game.

  ‘Why?’ he said. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ she said, sighing. ‘But I’m sure I can think of something.’

  He smiled patiently. And she was quite good looking, he thought.

  ‘Have you used your truncheon lately?’ She winked. ‘What would I have to do to make you use it on me?’

  A whole host of answers flooded his mind and he grinned back. Then, rather reluct
antly, he dragged his mind back to the real reason he was here.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I would really like to pursue this conversation.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said testily. ‘You can’t right now because you haven’t got time. Typical!’

  ‘No, honestly. I would really like to pursue this conversation, but not right now.’

  She looked at him as if she was weighing up her options.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But first you have to promise you’ll arrest me. And take down everything I say. Absolutely everything.’

  This was no good. I’ve got to get control here or she’s going to drive me nuts.

  ‘I promise I’ll come back to you,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a job to do first. Is that a deal?’

  ‘You betcha.’ She pouted her lips. ‘But don’t you dare forget.’

  ‘I won’t forget, honestly.’

  She was suddenly as business-like as she had been flirty. ‘Now, then. How can I help you?’

  He told her what he wanted to know and her fingers whizzed across the keyboard of her computer as she very quickly, and efficiently, found the answers for him.

  ‘Here we go,’ she said, reading out loud. ‘Alfred Bowman. Unconscious on arrival. Multiple bruising, broken arm, stitches in a head wound, stitches in an eyebrow, blah, blah, blah. The general feeling was that he had been assaulted with a baseball bat or something similar.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Slater. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Do you know who looked after him?’

  She looked at the notes again. ‘Gillian,’ she said, pointing to a tiny nurse tidying a cubicle. ‘Over there. She was one of them. She’s okay, and I bet she’ll remember. She’s got a memory like an elephant that girl.’

  ‘Do you think I could have five minutes with her?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll ask her. Just remember you’re saving the truncheon for me.’ She gave him another dirty wink, adding, ‘She’s not that kind of girl anyway.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Gillian. ‘I remember. He asked me to make a phone call for his friend to pick him up. I spoke to his friend and he said he would come, and then this awful woman arrived. She said she was his wife. She was evil.’

  ‘His wife? Why was she so angry?’

  ‘She just seemed to be a genuinely unpleasant person. Then he ran off while she went for her car. It would have been quite funny, but then she came back in here looking for him. Oh my! Talk about swearing like trooper. In fact, she was so abusive she’s been added to the banned list now.’

  The banned list was a list of all those people who had entered the A&E unit and behaved in a way deemed inappropriate by the staff. This included those guilty of drunkenness, violence, being abusive etc.

  Having spent a further few minutes flirting with the tasty receptionist, and arranging a date, at which she had insisted she would get to inspect his truncheon, Slater was now back in his car. He sat, thinking about what he’d just heard.

  So, the hospital phoned a mate of Alfie’s to come and pick him up, and then his wife turned up. He thought maybe being a policeman had made him naturally suspicious, and of course he could be wrong, but in his mind this seemed to point to one rather obvious conclusion.

  He was just about to drive off when his mobile phone rang. Bugger! Couldn’t they leave him in peace for once? He thought about ignoring it, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if it was important.

  A frightened voice stammered down the line.

  ‘Who is this?’ Slater didn’t recognise the voice.

  ‘Err, it’s PC Biddeford, sir.’

  PC Biddeford? Who’s PC Biddeford?

  ‘What can I do for you, Biddeford?’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

  ‘This isn’t a bloody helpline.’

  ‘You think you’re annoyed now, sir, but you wait until I tell you what’s happened.’

  ‘What? What’s happened? And where are you?’

  ‘I’m on surveillance, sir. Alfred Bowman, the murderer.’

  Slater vaguely remembered Nash talking to a PC who looked as though he should still be at school…

  ‘Possible murder suspect, Constable,’ he corrected. ‘We don’t have any evidence yet. You sound like he’s already convicted and waiting for the hangman. He’s Alfie Bowman, not Jack the Ripper.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge. Sorry, Sarge.’

  ‘Well, come on, what’s the problem? What’s happened?’

  And so PC Biddeford tried to explain, quoting from his notebook and ably assisted by exclamations from Slater. The conversation from Slater’s end became more and more animated.

  ‘9.02. A lot of screaming, yes.’

  ‘You thought what? He’s a potential suspect, not a serial killer!’

  ‘A spider? A bloody spider? What are you, pest control?’

  ‘There was a car, right. What sort of car?’

  ‘And what did the driver look like?’

  ‘But the car and driver didn’t ring any bells with you?’

  ‘Do you have the notes you were issued?’

  ‘Have you actually read those notes and looked at the photographs?’

  ‘Don’t you think it might have been an idea to read them before you started?’

  ‘Alright, alright, don’t panic! What happened next?’

  ‘So let me get this straight. What you’re saying is Positive Pete arrived in his car, the spider thing was just a diversion, and while you were being distracted, Bowman drove off with Positive Pete. Have I got that right?’

  ‘If I was you, Biddeford, I would stop worrying about what I think, and start worrying about what DI Nash is going to think.’

  ‘Now, stop that blubbering. I’m on my way. Just stay there and don’t do anything. D’you hear me?’

  Slater threw his mobile phone down on the passenger seat. Sodding, bloody hell! Now he had a blubbering wreck of a PC to deal with. Bloody Nash. Why did he have to pick a young PC, still wet behind the ears, to do a job like that?

  Cursing loudly, he put his car into gear and shot out of the car park, heading for the scene of their latest cock-up – Alfie’s place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Slater pulled into the car park and stopped. The ‘surveillance’ vehicle stood out like a sore thumb. It was an aged, rather battered, well past its sell-by-date hatchback. Slater thought it would never blend in anywhere except, possibly, in a scrapyard. The fact that there was obviously someone sat inside made it even more conspicuous. He sighed heavily. They might just as well have put a sign up with a big arrow pointing to the car.

  He swung his own car in alongside. The young PC in the driver’s seat turned in his direction. He looked as if his world had come crashing around his ears, never to be rebuilt.

  Slater heaved the door opened and dropped into the passenger seat. Biddeford flinched as though he’d been slapped. Without speaking, Slater picked up his notebook and started thumbing through it. Only two pages had been used. The first page was completely filled. Page two had just one entry.

  It said: 11.58 am, suspect vehicle returns, deposits suspect in car park.

  It was almost two-thirty now, and Slater thought about asking why no more entries had been made, but then he looked at the young officer and realised he had probably suffered enough angst for one day.

  Now it was time to try to repair the damage. Carefully, he tore the pages out, screwed them up, and tossed them over his shoulder into the back of the car.

  Biddeford looked at him. ‘But-’

  ‘But, what?’

  ‘You can’t do that! It’s evidence. You’ve just destroyed my evidence.’

  ‘I can do it,’ said Slater, calmly. ‘And I just have.’

  ‘But aren’t we supposed to be transparent? I thought that’s what it was all about.’

  ‘Do you want to get sacked?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then listen to me, and listen good,’ said
Slater, with great deliberation. ‘You’ve just started in the force, right?’

  Biddeford nodded.

  ‘So you’re inexperienced and, really, not yet ready for surveillance work. DI Nash should have been aware of that and he should not have put you in this position. This isn’t even proper surveillance – it’s bloody ridiculous. You might as well be sat on the guy’s doorstep you’re so visible. We shouldn’t be doing bloody surveillance here anyway. This bloke’s no more a murderer than I am.’

  Biddeford gawked at him.

  ‘This isn’t your fault. But Nash won’t care about that. If you hand in that written evidence, he’ll sack you as soon as look at you. It’s what he does. If you look up to him I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong direction. Nash is a vindictive git who likes to set people up for a fall just so he can have the pleasure of shouting at them, bullying them, and then sacking them. But we’re not going to let that happen, right?’

  ‘But what about Bowman? He escaped. I let him go. The only consolation is that he only went shopping.’

  ‘It sounds to me like you taken in by a clever, well-planned operation which, I have to say, I find quite impressive. I can think of plenty of experienced officers who would have done exactly the same as you, so don’t start losing sleep over it. Another thing; he might have come back holding a couple of shopping bags, but don’t you think that was a lot of trouble to go to just for a bit of shopping?’

  He let Biddeford stew on that for a few moments while he considered what they could do about this situation. Alfie wasn’t under house arrest, there was no law against someone picking up his mate and going for a ride, and there was no law against being scared of spiders. So playing the heavy would get them nowhere.

  On the other hand, from what Slater had seen of Alfie he seemed a reasonable man, and he didn’t come across as the sort of guy who would want to see a young PC’s career ruined. Maybe a different approach would work to everyone’s advantage.