by Ford, P. F.
‘Do I get to ask you about your history?’ he asked, optimistically.
‘Probably not.’ She smiled at him. ‘Anyway, I think you’d find it rather dull and boring compared with yours.’
‘I could refuse.’
‘But why would you?’ she asked, her grin growing wider. ‘Unless you’ve got something to hide. You haven’t, have you?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he protested.
‘Good. So, come on, then.’
‘You could read all about it back at the station,’ Slater said, looking for a last-ditch attempt out of the situation he now found himself in.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I could. But, if I’m going to find out anyway, you might as well tell me yourself and save me the time.’
‘You’re not going to let up, are you?’
She flashed him another grin.
‘Alright.’ He sighed resignedly. ‘If you really want to know…’
Slater went through the whole sorry ordeal – from Biddeford’s affair with his colleague, PC Flight, to the anti-dogging operation where Slater had discovered she was the main attraction. Goodnews let out a sharp breath when Slater told her how PC Flight had then claimed Slater had sexually assaulted her, and how Biddeford had gone straight to Bob Murray without even asking for his side of the story. It had all been nonsense of course, but he still felt angry remembering it.
‘Wow! This PC Flight sounds the sort you wouldn’t want to cross,’ said Goodnews, when Slater had finally finished his story. ‘What’s happened to her now?’
‘Last I heard she was in some sort of rehab place,’ he said. ‘It was all a bit sad really, she just went right off the rails.’
‘She’s a potential bunny boiler,’ said Goodnews.
‘Fortunately I don’t have any bunnies for her to boil.
‘Just as well you didn’t have an affair with her,’ Goodnews said. ‘Who knows what she might have done.’
‘That was never going to happen,’ Slater said vehemently. ‘I happen to believe in loyalty to my mates, and I always try to steer clear of married women. It gets too complicated.’
‘So Biddeford was totally taken in by her.’ Goodnews sounded thoughtful. ‘You said he was naive.’
‘He still is naive,’ said Slater. ‘But he likes to make out he’s a man of the world and he’s seen it all and done it all.’
‘And that gets up your nose?’
‘I can’t stand that fake shit,’ said Slater. ‘All that “mine’s bigger then yours” and “I can piss higher up the wall than you” crap just leaves me cold. I don’t get it. That’s not what matters, is it?’
‘Whoa,’ said Goodnews, turning to look him up and down. ‘That’s a very grown up attitude for a man. You are a contradiction, aren’t you? One minute you’re stamping your feet and throwing your toys everywhere, now you’re proving that underneath all that you’re actually quite mature.’
Slater had no idea how to respond, so just sat in silence.
‘Should I take it, then, from that statement, that you’re not very competitive?’ Goodnews asked. ‘If so, it’s no wonder he pisses you off so much, and it’s no wonder you’ve never applied for DI.’
‘Sorry, but you’re wrong there,’ countered Slater. ‘If I couldn’t compete, I would have sunk without trace by now. I certainly wouldn’t have survived the SCU stitch-up. I just don’t see the need to keep telling everyone how big your nob is. It’s what you do with it that counts, isn’t it?’
‘You’re certainly different, I’ll give you that,’ said Goodnews. ‘It makes a change from the usual stuff I get.’
‘I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment. But I am what I am.’
‘Don’t apologise for being yourself.’ She smiled at him. ‘It makes a change not to have to deal with waves of testosterone coming my way. Usually they either want to impress me with how macho and brilliant they are, or prove I’m too weak to cope on my own. I even had one who thought he was going to sweet talk his way into my knickers.’
‘No chance of that happening,’ said Slater.
Then he thought perhaps that hadn’t come out quite right. She might think he was suggesting she was ugly or something.
‘Not that I wouldn’t want to,’ he blurted out.
Oh no. Now that sounded even worse. His face began to burn as he scrabbled around for a way to make it better.
‘What I mean is-’
‘Stop digging that hole before you bury yourself completely.’ Goodnews was grinning at his discomfort. ‘I understand your point, but if you keep trying to explain it you’ll just embarrass both of us.’
At that moment, to Slater’s relief, a car appeared coming up the road towards them.
‘Here we go,’ said Goodnews. ‘You’ve not been saved by the bell, but by a rusty black car. This looks like it might be our man.’
They ducked their heads down and waited as the car drove past them.
‘He’s stopping right outside the entrance,’ said Slater, watching in the mirror. ‘He’s getting out and going inside.’
‘That’s handy,’ said Goodnews, straightening up in her seat. ‘He must be going inside to wait for the train to come in. Now we can go and wait by the entrance and grab him when he comes out.’
As they ambled back up the road in bright, warm sunshine, a train could be heard pulling into the station. Slater hoped they didn’t look too much like plain clothes police officers. When he’d first moved into plain clothes he had gone out and bought a leather jacket, which he’d worn with great pride for a couple of days until someone had pointed out that if he was going to continue wearing it he might just as well have ‘I’m the Fuzz’ tattooed across his forehead.
Slater leaned back against the driver’s door while Goodnews wandered all the way around the car, taking in the state of it. Old Mr Grimmond had been right; there was more rust than metal. It was a miracle it hadn’t fallen apart. There was no indication, anywhere, that it was a taxi.
‘I wouldn’t lean against that if I were you,’ she said, when she got back to Slater. ‘It’s liable to fall apart at any minute. If that car’s roadworthy, I’m the Queen’s granny. I guarantee it hasn’t passed an MOT test in years, and I bet its owner has no insurance.’
‘That’ll be a full house then,’ said Slater, moving away from the car. ‘No MOT and no insurance means no tax either. My guess is he works as a taxi from here because he’s confident the police will never check up on him out in the middle of nowhere. He knows he wouldn’t last five minutes anywhere busy.’
‘We’ll find out in a minute,’ said Goodnews, as they heard the train pulling out of the station.
They stood together by the car, for all the world looking like a couple waiting for a taxi. After a minute or so, the taxi driver emerged from the station carrying a small case. An elderly lady puffed along beside him, struggling to keep up.
‘I told you this guy looked familiar,’ said Slater.
‘You know him?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Slater sighed and shook his head. ‘You could say we’re acquainted. But he was going bald last time I saw him. That’s why I didn’t recognise him. He’s wearing a rug.’
The man’s eyes widened when he saw Slater, and he faltered momentarily, then he seemed to rally. Perhaps he thought his new wig would throw Slater off the scent.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the man. ‘I have a passenger already. If you’d like to wait I’ll come back for you.’
‘Tell them to go away,’ wheezed the old lady. ‘You’re my taxi. I got here first, and I’ve already paid.’
‘This sounds like a scam already,’ Slater said out the corner of his mouth. ‘I wonder how much he’s charged her.’
They stepped to the side so the driver and his passenger could pass between them.
‘We’re police officers,’ said Goodnews, as the man reached her. ‘We need to talk to you.’
The man dropped the case and made to run, but Slater had been half-expecting that and gra
bbed him before he could escape.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said to the man, twisting his arm up behind his back and pushing him up against the car.
‘How dare you?’ asked the now irate old lady, who was a little hard of hearing and had missed Goodnews announcing herself. ‘I’ve already paid my fare. That’s the trouble with young people these days. You think you can just barge in-’
‘We’re police officers,’ said Goodnews, loudly, showing her warrant card. ‘We need to speak to this man about a serious matter.’
‘Oh.’ The old lady paused for a second. ‘But can’t it wait? I’m in a hurry.’
‘No, I’m afraid it can’t wait,’ said Goodnews. ‘Can I ask how much you’ve paid?’
‘Fifty pounds,’ she said indignantly.
‘And where are you going?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Greater Balding.’
‘It’s less than three miles,’ Slater told Goodnews. ‘A fiver would cover it easily.’
‘What a surprise,’ said Goodnews.
‘You,’ said Slater, shaking the man just in case he should be in any doubt who Slater was talking to. ‘Give the lady her money back.’
‘It’s in my jacket pocket,’ said the man, unhappily. He attempted to struggle free, but Slater wasn’t stupid. He dipped his hand into the man’s pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. He handed it to Goodnews who peeled off two twenty pound notes, and one ten pound note, which she handed to the old lady.
‘I’ll get someone to give you a lift,’ she said. ‘But I suggest you don’t trust people like this man again.’
While she called up one of the team to take the old lady home, Slater slapped a pair of handcuffs onto the still-protesting man, led him over to their car, and shoved him into the back seat, insisting he move right across so Slater could climb in beside him.
‘But why have you got me in handcuffs?’ he bleated.
‘Because you’re a bloody crook,’ said Slater.
‘But I just gave her back her money.’
‘No,’ said Slater. ‘Let’s get it right. We gave her back her money. You were quite happy to take 50 pounds for a job that costs no more than five – if you’re being greedy.’
‘But I have to charge high prices. I offer a premium service.’
‘Premium service?’ Slater laughed. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘Mine is a unique service,’ the man said, firmly. ‘There’s nothing else like it around here.’
‘I can’t argue with that.’ Slater smiled as he glanced at the rusting heap the man called a taxi. ‘There can’t possibly be another taxi service in the country that offers what you offer, and at such reasonable prices, too. Have you actually got a licence to operate?’
The man looked furtive.
‘Well, not exactly,’ he began.
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Slater.
‘But that’s why it costs so much. I’m not a taxi, I’m a chauffeur.’
‘Yeah, right. I thought chauffeurs drove limousines, not ancient rust buckets that ought to be scrapped.’
‘It’s a classic that car,’ said the man indignantly.
‘It’s a classic case of death on four wheels,’ Slater indicated the man’s clothes. ‘‘And jeans, trainers and a tee shirt isn’t exactly what I’d call an executive chauffeur’s uniform.’
‘But I am wearing a jacket,’ he said, puffing himself up.
‘Listen, it doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a bloody tiara,’ said Slater. ‘You still need a licence to operate, which you haven’t got. You also need to have a car that has passed an MOT test and is taxed and insured. I’m sure you can’t meet any of those requirements, so I want you to understand you are in deep shit right now, very deep shit.’
Goodnews had finally pacified the old lady and was striding across to the car.
‘Now,’ Slater said to his prisoner. ‘Sit there and stop whining. That nice lady, heading our way, wants to ask you some questions.’
‘Will my answers get me out of the shit?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Slater, grimly. ‘But it’s always a possibility. You’ll just have to wait and see what she says.’
Chapter Twenty-One
The passenger door opened and Goodnews climbed in. She turned to face the unfortunate prisoner sitting behind the driver’s seat.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ she addressed the man. ‘Conning old ladies like that.’
The man sat there in guilty silence.
‘So, what’s your name?’ asked Goodnews. ‘I’m sure we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, so we might as well get acquainted.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’ until we discuss a deal,’ he announced.
She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
‘Oh, really? And what makes you think we’re gonna do that?’
‘I have information you need,’ he said rather grandly.
‘And what would that be?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Cut me a deal and you’ll find out.’
‘I still don’t know your name.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’ until you agree to a deal,’ the man said.
‘His name’s Slowly,’ said Slater.
‘Don’t tell her that,’ the man said, sounding appalled.
‘Slowly? What sort of name is that?’
‘Slowly Does It, to give him his full title,’ said Slater. ‘Aka. William Slodden, perpetrator of numerous, assorted, cons over the years. This dubious taxi business is just the latest in a long line of equally pathetic ventures. He’s well known to us.’
Slowly looked crestfallen.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Slater smiled and tried to sound apologetic. ‘Was that ridiculous rug you’re balancing on your head supposed to be an effective disguise?’
‘Bollocks,’ said Slowly.
‘Right,’ said Goodnews, leaning closer to Slowly so she was right in his face. ‘We’ve wasted enough time here, so let me make myself very clear, Mr Slowly Does It. You might think you’re in a position to do a deal, but here’s the reality of the situation: you have one chance to answer my questions. Any pissing about and you’ll be charged with the several offences I know you have committed, and then I might invent a few more to add on. You will then be carted off and locked in a cell so quick you won’t know what happened. Understand?’
He gulped loudly.
‘Do. You. Understand?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded his head furiously. ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Okay. Goodnews smiled, pleasantly. ‘Here’s the only deal that’s on offer. Play your cards right, and I’ll make sure DS Slater here doesn’t arrest you for the numerous offences you’ve already committed this morning.’
Slater was quite disappointed to hear this. Surely she wasn’t going to let this slimy sod off the hook that easily.
‘So what do you want to know?’ asked Slowly, clearly eager to get out of there.
‘For a start, where were you between eight and nine, the night before last?’ said Goodnews, before adding, ‘And before you start telling lies, we have you on CCTV.’
‘Where?’ asked Slowly.
‘No,’ Goodnews said, sighing. ‘That’s not how this works. I don’t tell you where you were, you tell me.’
‘But you said you already know,’ Slowly pointed out. ‘So why do I need to tell you?’
‘Are you really that thick, Slowly?’ asked Slater. ‘No wonder you get caught so often.’
‘Look.’ Goodnews’ patience was obviously now beginning to wear thin. ‘Just in case you really are as stupid as you’re making out, I’ll explain. I need to know if you’re telling me the truth or just off-loading bullshit. It’s really not rocket science. If you’re telling stories I will know you’re just wasting my time, in which case DS Slater here can charge you with fraud-’
‘Alright, alright,’ said Slowly. ‘There’s no need to go on. I’ve got the message.’
Goodnews waited, but Slowly didn’t seem to
want to say any more.
‘How about I get the nice sergeant to hold you down while I do a tap dance on your goolies?’ she said, eventually. ‘Because I’m fast running out of patience here, and I’m sure Sergeant Slater would just love an excuse to rough you up.’
Just for fun, Slater cracked his knuckles and balled his hands into fists.
‘You can’t do that,’ said Slowly. ‘Can you? I mean I ain’t resisted arrest or nuffin’ like that.’
‘Look,’ said Goodnews, managing to get even more into Slowly’s face. ‘We really don’t have time for this. We have an officer missing, and you were seen on CCTV chasing after him. I want to know why?’
‘I was at the station here,’ said Slowly, eventually. ‘I’m often here during the day, but I thought I’d try me luck at night. I just tout for business that’s all.’
‘So why were you chasing him?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Who?’ asked Slowly, and Slater could detect a note of panic in his voice. ‘Who did I chase?’
Slater showed him a photograph of Norman.
‘This guy. A little under average height, overweight, wild hair. He got off the southbound train and walked out of the station. You’re on CCTV chasing after him.’
‘Oh, him. Yeah, I remember him. I usually catch people as they get off the train, but I was on the other platform so I missed him. I ran from the other side and caught him up outside. It’s a long way over that footbridge, you know. I was worn out by the time I caught up with him, and then when I offered him my taxi he told me to eff off. That’s why I remember him. I mean, there wasn’t any need for language like that, was there?’
‘So you didn’t attack him?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Of course not,’ said Slowly, indignantly. ‘What do you take me for? Some common thug who resorts to violence to get what I want?’
Slater nodded his head thoughtfully. It was true Slowly was as bent as a nine bob note, and he would quite happily con his own mother, but there had never been so much as a hint that he was capable of violence.
‘So now you’re telling me you’re one of the good guys, are you?’ asked Goodnews, sarcastically.
‘I don’t care what you think,’ said Slowly. ‘I have never raised a finger to anyone.’