Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set Two
Page 1
Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set Two
P.F. Ford Ford
This collection:
© 2016 P. F. Ford
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Kit Foster Design
Editing by KT Editing Services
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
The Red Telephone Box
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
The Secret Of Wild Boar Woods
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
A Skeleton In The Closet
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
The Kidney Donor
Prologue
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
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About This Series
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About the Author
The Red Telephone Box
By
P. F. Ford
© 2015 P. F. Ford
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.
Prologue
Detective Sergeant Dave Slater’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared up at the block of flats in front of him. The flames licked and curled around the windows of one of the flats – and not just any old flat; it was DS Norman’s flat. As he stood, rooted to the spot, he heard the roar of the fire as it whooshed through the window, and saw the yellow flame and black smoke pouring from inside the building.
Slater felt helpless as around him, firefighters ran back and forth, carrying various types of complicated-looking equipment. Surely Norman couldn’t be in there, could he? Not Norman, with his crumpled shirts, his burgeoning belly, and his silly jokes. Slater refused to believe his friend was in that building – he was surely somewhere else, wasn’t he?
He thought about the situations he and Norman had found themselves in before. They had chased murderers, for heaven’s sake. Norman wouldn’t let something so dull as a house fire stop him in his tracks. But, as he tried furiously to think positively – wasn’t that what Norman always told him to do? – the logical side of his brain was nagging at him. It was the early hours of the morning; if Norman wasn’t inside, then where was he? He had tried calling, his fingers fumbling desperately over the keys, but there had been no answer. Norman didn’t have much of a social life, and he especially didn’t have one at half past three in the morning.
Just a couple of nights earlier they had been sitting chatting to each other across the table at their favourite Indian restaurant. Slater had been less talkative than usual, brooding slightly on the continual turmoil his personal life seemed to be in. That hadn’t mattered though – he and Norm had sat in companionable silence. They’d been friends long enough that sometimes conversation wasn’t necessary.
How could, just a couple of days later, Slater find himself staring up at Norman’s flat as the inferno raged, not knowing whether or not the man who had become his closest friend was trapped inside? He had to fight to control the absurd urge to race into the building himself; to climb the stairs and break down Norm’s door; to drag him from his bed if he was in there – which would be no mean feat, given Norman’s bulk – and haul him to safety. But all he could do was stand and watch. And wait.
Chapter One
It had been some time since detective sergeants Dave Slater and Norman Norman had spent an evening together, mainly because Slater had been preoccupied with his new relationship. Sadly, the gorgeous Cindy Maine had told him it was too difficult to adapt to the idea of sharing him with his job, and as a result, their relationship was currently on hold while they both took a step back and decided what they really wanted.
Slater hadn’t really been surprised when it all blew up in his face – Cindy wasn’t the first girl to find playing second fiddle to his job was too much to bear. She was currently travelling in an attempt to ‘find herself’. He was under no illusions as to what the outcome was likely to be, and he wasn’t expecting to see her again, except maybe to say goodbye.
This evening hadn’t been planned as a night out, but the two colleagues had ended up working late, they were both hungry, and neither had anything to rush
home for, so it seemed only right they should pay a visit to their favourite Indian restaurant before they went home.
Before they had left the office, they had tossed a coin to decide who was driving. Unusually, Norman had won – but then he had recently dramatically increased his chances of doing so when he had figured out Slater kept a double-headed coin for such occasions. Norman had decided, as an appropriate punishment for Slater’s subterfuge, he should be bestowed the honour of driving, and consequently not drinking.
The food had been excellent as always, but Slater had felt downbeat, and he could tell Norman felt the same, too. There was no rift in their friendship, Slater just got the impression they were both preoccupied. For a few weeks now, Slater had sensed Norman had something on his mind – but he didn’t seem inclined to share what it was.
It was just ten o’clock when they settled the bill and made their way towards the car park at the back of the high street where they had left Slater’s car. As they turned the corner into the open car park, two figures could be seen across the far side, beating a hasty retreat.
‘Don’t you just love teenagers,’ Norman said. ‘Why don’t they seem to understand they’re always going to look suspicious if they’re seen running away, even when they’ve done nothing wrong?’
Most of the shops accepted deliveries at the back, and part of the car park had been allocated as an approach road for this purpose. The lighting wasn’t exactly brilliant along the back of the shops, but in the gloom a selection of industrial wheelie bins could just about be made out halfway down the access road. They had been pushed together for emptying next morning.
‘What’s that?’ asked Norman, pointing across to the bins.
‘What?’ Slater peered uncertainly into the gloom.
And then he saw what had attracted Norman’s eye. At first, it was just a quick lick of flame from the nearest bin, but then in a matter of seconds the bin seemed to become a roaring inferno.
‘Looks like that’s what they were running from.’ Slater started running towards the bins. ‘Those kids looked suspicious because they were.’
He sprinted across the car park towards the blazing bin. He could hear Norman shuffling along behind him at the fastest pace he could manage, which was only slightly faster than he could walk.
There was no way Slater was going to try to put the blazing bin out, but he thought maybe he could at least push it away from the others and stop the whole lot going up. The air was already thick with smoke from the burning plastic bin as he began to push at the side of it. Then, just as Norman wheezed his way onto the scene, he realised he was wasting his time.
‘Call the fire service, Norm. Someone’s tied all the bloody bins together. The whole lot’s gonna go.’
Just as he said it, another bin began to send flames shooting up to the sky.
‘They’re on their way,’ said Norman a minute later as he ended his call. ‘So much for my early night. I’d better call it in and ask everyone to keep an eye open for two teenage fire-starters.’
‘There’s not really much we can do here,’ said Slater, as Norman waited for his call to be answered. ‘But I suppose we’d better wait until the fire service guys get here and tell ‘em what we know.’
‘Yo, Sandy,’ Norman called into his phone. ‘It’s Norm. I need to report another one of those fires.’
Recently there had been an outbreak of small fires in and around the town. There had been nothing major so far, just a few litter bins, and two or three industrial wheelie bins. But both the police, and fire service, knew it was only a matter of time. The longer it went on without anyone being caught, the more likely they were to start experimenting with bigger targets. Between them, they needed to stop it before it became serious.
The official line was that the police had no leads, but in reality everyone knew it was bored teenagers who had, so far, evaded capture. However, until they could actually produce concrete evidence to back it up, they were forbidden from mentioning teenagers for fear of driving a wedge between them and the police.
Chapter Two
‘So, did Sandy thank you for being a model citizen and reporting what you saw?’ asked Slater an hour later, as they drove away from the car park and headed towards Norman’s flat.
Sergeant Sandy Mollinson was a recent newcomer to Tinton station. A uniformed officer of many years’ experience, he seemed happy to be more or less on permanent night shift as duty sergeant.
‘Not exactly,’ Norman said, grinning. ‘He said my description was way too vague to be much use, but he did pass it on to the whole night shift. Apparently, there are hundreds of teenagers in Tinton who are average height and own a dark hoodie. I suppose he has a point.’
‘He certainly has a way with words,’ said Slater. ‘But I get the feeling he was just what was needed to take control of that night shift. It seems a lot more organised these days.’
‘Yeah, you’re right there.’ Norman nodded. ‘Now we just need someone to take control of the day shift and we might start to work like a proper police station.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Slater, and then, after a pause, added, ‘Is it?’
‘You only say that because you’ve never worked anywhere else,’ said Norman. ‘Quite honestly, this place is a shambles. I mean, look at us. We shouldn’t be working together all the time, and why don’t we have a DI? I reckon it’s all gonna change soon.’
‘But we get results,’ Slater said.
‘But one day someone’s going to challenge our procedures,’ Norman replied. ‘And sod’s law says that’ll be the time we’ve bent one rule too many because we didn’t have a DI to direct the investigation correctly.’
‘Yeah, but Bob Murray-’ began Slater.
‘Bob Murray,’ interrupted Norman, ‘is just trying to keep his head down until he gets his early retirement package. He knows what needs doing but he doesn’t have the stomach for it. Mark my words, the people up above can’t wait for him to go so they can send in a new broom.’
‘But he’s a good, old school copper,’ said Slater.
‘Yeah, but they don’t want good, old school coppers anymore. They want pen-pushers, spin doctors, and accountants, who can figure out how to make do with an ever decreasing budget. Murray’s a dinosaur in their world and he knows it. You’ve seen how stressed he is. He can’t wait to get away.’
These were sobering words for someone like Slater, who didn’t deal well with change. The imposing figure of Bob Murray had been at the helm ever since he had become a detective, and even though Slater no longer had a great deal of respect for his boss, the idea of a replacement was something he didn’t really want to have to think about.
And as for the general air of chaos at Tinton – well, Slater had never given it that much thought. He had assumed that’s how it was everywhere, and yet he’d been the first one to acknowledge the improved efficiency at night since Sandy had arrived.
Norman occupied a small flat, in a block of 20, on a relatively new housing estate near the edge of town. The road that ran past the entrance to the estate was quite well lit, and as they approached the turning onto the estate, two figures could be seen running across the road about 50 yards ahead.
‘Heads up,’ said Slater. ‘Isn’t that kid carrying a fuel can?’
‘How stupid is that?’ Norman sighed, shaking his head. ‘Shall we guess what his hobby might be?’
‘Shall we go for it?’ asked Slater.
‘You really want to chase them in the dark? You know I don’t do running, and they’ll know all the back alleys on this estate.’
‘Fine,’ said Slater. ‘When I pull up, you take over the driving from me and I’ll do the running. I know this estate pretty well. And get some back-up. With a bit of luck, we might just catch the buggers.’
He turned into the estate. The two teenage boys were walking along up ahead, apparently without a care in the world. The boy on the inside carried a plastic fuel can in his left hand. As Slat
er pulled up alongside them, Norman’s window slid down.
‘Hi boys,’ said Norman, leaning out of the window. ‘That looks like a fuel can you’re carrying there. You wouldn’t have been anywhere near the centre of town earlier this evening, would you?’