by Ford, P. F.
‘What do you want to do next?’
‘I think it might be interesting to talk to Michael again,’ he said. ‘Just for a few minutes. I’d like to get his take on this fake pregnancy.’
‘D’you think it’s relevant to the murders, then?’
‘I don’t know about that, but I feel it’s very relevant to their relationship, and I think that’s what drives him.’
They were back up in the incident room, gathered around Norman’s desk.
‘What do you know, Norm?’ asked Slater.
‘I’ve been looking for Melanie Crump’s father, like you asked me.’
‘And?’
‘She said he was in this Meadowlands Nursing Home in Carrington, just outside Manchester, with some degenerative disease, right?’
‘That’s right,’ said Slater.
Norman was beaming.
‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not right. According to the research I’ve just done, her father is living in a private house down on the edge of the New Forest in a place called Ower. As far as I can tell, he’s getting on a bit, but he’s quite healthy. Her mother died a few years ago, but her dad’s alive and well.’
‘More lies,’ said Darling. ‘What’s wrong with this woman? Can’t she tell the truth about anything? She’s going to give women a bad name.’
‘One more thing,’ said Norman. ‘This guy is not a biological parent. She was adopted at the age of seven.’
‘What happened to her real parents?’ asked Slater.
‘No idea. I can’t find any record of where she came from.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Darling. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Don’t forget we’re talking about the sixties,’ said Norman. ‘Keeping records wasn’t the same back then.’
‘Maybe there was a reason,’ said Slater. ‘We change identifies now to protect people, maybe they did back then.’
‘Yeah, well wish me luck with trying to trace something like that.’
‘So why would she know the address of a nursing home up north?’ asked Slater, of no one in particular.
‘Lucky guess?’ suggested Darling.
‘Manchester’s a big place,’ said Slater, thoughtfully. ‘So there’s a good chance you might guess there’s a Meadowlands Nursing Home and be right, but Carrington isn’t a very big place.’
‘You think it might mean something to her?’ asked Norman.
Slater pulled a face.
‘Could be, but who can say? She tells so many lies, Norm.’
‘Why don’t I give them a call?’ asked Darling, ‘We need to check if she really has been up there.’
‘Yeah, good idea,’ said Slater. ‘It’ll be a lot quicker than going all the way up there.’
Darling made her way back to her own desk and picked up the phone.
‘I’ll see if I can find any history between her and that nursing home,’ said Norman, ‘and I’ll try and find out if there’s any reason why someone would have thought she needed an identity change.’
Slater’s phone began to ring. He headed for his desk and checked the caller ID. It was Steve Biddeford.
‘Yes, Steve, what have you got?’
As Biddeford began speaking, Slater reached for his notepad and a pen.
‘They have no record of Melanie Crump visiting that nursing home in the last week,’ announced Darling, a few minutes later. ‘They also say they have CCTV and we’re welcome to view it any time. The name Crump doesn’t ring a bell with anyone working there.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ said Slater.
‘Why would she tell us such an obvious lie, especially when she knows we’re easily going to be able to check with them and find out it’s not true?
‘It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’ said Norman. ‘Maybe she’s just told so many lies she can’t help herself.’
‘I don’t think she’s the sort who would make a mistake like that,’ said Darling. ‘On the other hand she’s so bloody devious, it’s impossible to figure out what she’s up to.’
‘And now the plot thickens further,’ said Slater. ‘That was Steve Biddeford on the phone. I asked him and Tony Ashton to go back to Lawrence’s and check Clive Morrison’s alibi again, only this time I asked them to make sure they talk to Lawrence senior, the real boss.’
‘Why are you checking Morrison again?’ asked Darling.
‘Just being thorough.’
‘He means he doesn’t think Crump’s guilty of killing Chrissy Morrison, and he’s trying to prove it,’ said Norman.
Slater smiled a half smile.
‘Apparently Clive Morrison no longer works for Lawrence,’ he said. ‘It seems the big boss doesn’t approve of his sales reps providing additional services to his clients, especially when the sales rep in question is cheating on the boss’s favourite daughter in the process. And it looks like his son has paid the penalty for covering all this up.’
‘Well, at least there’s some justice somewhere,’ said Darling.
‘It gets better,’ said Slater. ‘It turns out Mr Lawrence senior was up in London on the day Morrison committed his indiscretion, and his wife was with him.’
There was just the briefest silence before Darling realised the implication.
‘Hang on a minute! She told us she was with Morrison that afternoon.’
Slater’s smile was getting broader by the second.
‘It makes you wonder if any of these people know what the truth is, doesn’t it?’ he said.
‘But why would she lie for him?’ asked Darling.
‘Let’s go and ask her, shall we?’
‘Well, that was easy,’ said Darling, as she drove away from the Lawrence’s house. ‘I didn’t expect her to cave in quite so quickly.’
‘People who have no conscience find it easy to tell lies and live with it,’ said Slater. ‘Those who do have a conscience are still able to lie, but they find it difficult to live with. I think she’s one of those people. She’s probably glad to have it all out in the open.’
‘Do you think her husband knows?’
‘I would imagine he feels he can’t trust anyone at the moment. And then we appear asking questions about his wife’s whereabouts. I should think he’ll get the gist quick enough.’
‘D’you think they’ll get through it?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Slater. ‘I haven’t met her old man, but I got the impression from Biddeford that he’s got a strict moral code. Anyway, marriage guidance isn’t our problem. We need to focus our attention on Clive Morrison.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Darling.
‘Good question. He’s not just out of work, he’s also homeless. Apparently Tuffy’s kicked him out.’
‘Good for her. She’s obviously not quite as dim as she first appears to be.’
‘The boys have got everyone looking for him so it’s just a question of time.’
‘He’ll have done a runner, if he’s got any sense,’ said Darling.
‘He’s got no car,’ said Slater. ‘It was the company’s. Old man Lawrence took the keys off him when he sacked him.’
‘I’d be on a train if it was me.’
‘The boys are checking out the train station CCTV as we speak,’ said Slater.
‘All under control, then,’ said Darling.
‘Let’s hope so.’ Slater’s phone began to ring. He fumbled in his pocket, found the phone and raised it to his ear. He listened for a moment. ‘Okay. We’re on our way. We should be there in about ten minutes.’ He put the phone back in his pocket with a huge sigh.
‘Where?’ asked Darling.
‘The railway station,’ he said, wearily. ‘They’ve found Clive Morrison. Apparently he’s sitting on the bridge over the main line from London waiting for the express. He’s threatening to jump.’
‘Jesus! Why?’
‘He hasn’t said, yet.’
‘How long have we got?’
‘There’s no panic. They’re going to stop the train back up
the line but, of course, Morrison doesn’t know that,’ he said.
‘He’ll soon work it out, though,’ said Darling. ‘He might be a nob, but he’s not completely stupid.’
The old bridge over the railway was a Victorian, brick-built affair, just a short distance down the road from the railway station. Its span was about a hundred feet across, and it was so narrow, there was barely room for two cars to pass. The wall on each side stood about four feet high. It had been sealed off at each end, and as Slater approached from his end, he could see a small crowd had gathered to watch proceedings from the other end closer to the town. Like vultures jostling to get near the carcass, they pushed and shoved to get the best view.
The hunched figure of Clive Morrison sat on the wall, his legs dangling. He was almost halfway across the bridge, directly above the southbound line, with his back to the track. It appeared he intended to go out in style, doing a back flip off the wall, when he threw himself in front of the next express which was due in less than four minutes.
As Slater walked onto the bridge, Darling following close behind, he called out to Morrison.
‘Clive? It’s DS Slater, and DC Darling. We’re going to come out there and talk to you. Is that okay?’
Morrison looked up and glanced in their direction when he heard the voice, but he made no other sign of acknowledgement.
Slater started to walk, slowly and deliberately, Darling just a couple of feet behind. He’d had no formal training in handling this sort of situation, so he wasn’t sure what the correct procedure should be. He figured just standing back and waiting for someone who had been trained was a luxury they didn’t have time to indulge. They got to within ten feet of Morrison, before the other man spoke.
‘That’s close enough,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to come any nearer. I can hear you just fine from where you are. Come any closer and I’ll jump. I’ve only got to lift my feet and I’ll go over backwards. Even without a train I’ll probably smash my head in.’
Slater thought he sounded completely frazzled, nothing like the cocky sod they had spoken to before.
‘What do you hope to achieve by doing this, Clive?’ he asked. ‘It’s not going to bring Chrissy back, is it? We’re close to catching the person who killed her. Don’t you want to see us get some justice for her?’
Slater knew this wasn’t exactly true, but he thought it was a card worth playing. However, he was quite unprepared for Morrison’s response.
‘You’re not, you know,’ said Morrison, his voice trembling. ‘You think you’ve got the right man, but you’re wrong. That old bloke didn’t kill her.’
Slater heard a sharp intake of breath from Darling, just behind him.
‘You know who killed her?’ he asked.
‘It’s a funny thing, conscience,’ said Morrison. ‘When it comes to women I can lie and cheat without even thinking about it. So I thought it would be easy to sit back and let the old guy take the blame for killing Chrissy, you know? But it turns out even my conscience has a limit.’
Slater took a moment to think before he replied.
‘Tell me what happened, Clive? Why did you do it?’
He watched in alarm as Morrison began weeping – big, heavy, sobs shaking his body.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ he said, in between sobs. ‘It was an accident. I had the rest of the afternoon free, and I thought, just for a change, I’d meet her from school. Janet was late, and Chrissy was stood at the gate waiting when I got there. She was so happy when she saw me. She came running up and threw herself into my arms. It was just perfect...’
His voice trailed away to silence. Slater looked at his watch. The four minutes were up. The train should be passing under the bridge right now. It wasn’t coming, of course, but he wondered how long it would be before Morrison realised it was overdue, and what he would do when that happened.
‘So what happened after that, Clive?’ he asked. ‘Why did you kill her if it was perfect?’
Slater had managed to creep a couple of feet closer, but now Morrison was getting agitated.
‘I told you not to come any closer!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll jump!’
Slater put his hands in the air.
‘Whoa!’ he said, taking a step back. ‘Alright, Clive, I’m sorry. I’m just getting bit concerned about you being on that wall. I don’t want you to get hurt. Tell me why you killed Chrissy.’
Slater knew as soon as he uttered those last few words he had made a mistake.
‘I didn’t kill her,’ shrieked Morrison. ‘It was an accident!’
‘Alright, alright, I’m sorry,’ said Slater, desperate to calm Morrison down, and becoming somewhat frazzled himself. ‘I didn’t catch that before. I got the wrong end of the stick. Why don’t you tell me about the accident?’
‘The train should be here by now,’ said Morrison. ‘Why can’t I hear it coming?’
‘You know what they’re like these days,’ said Slater. ‘They’re always running late. Apparently this one’s running about ten minutes behind schedule. It’ll be here soon.’
He tried to think of something that would distract Morrison from the train.
‘Didn’t you think it would worry Janet if she got to the school and couldn’t find Chrissy?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘Janet tried to stop me having any access to Chrissy, you know,’ said Morrison, becoming quite animated. ‘If she’d had her way I would never have seen my daughter at all. I got one weekend a month. I ask you, is that fair?’
For the first time since Slater had come across Morrison, he felt a pang of sympathy for the man. It certainly didn’t sound fair that he should only see his daughter for one weekend a month. Then he remembered where they were, and why they were here.
‘Tell me about the accident,’ he said.
‘I took her down to the playground,’ said Morrison, the words rushing from his mouth. ‘She was on the swings. “Push me dad,” she kept saying. “Push me harder.” So I did, but I pushed her way too hard, and she lost her grip. She slipped off the swing and fell. She missed the safety landing area and hit her head on the safety rail. That’s ironic, don’t you think?’
The rush of words stopped without warning and there was a sudden hush. Slater was sure he could hear Darling breathing hard, right behind him. Then Morrison was off again.
‘I thought I could let that other bloke take the blame,’ he said. ‘I thought it would be easy and I wouldn’t care what happened to him. But, I can’t. I’m glad I’ve told you really, because it wouldn’t be right, letting him take the blame, would it?’
‘No,’ said Slater. ‘It wouldn’t have been right to let him take the blame. You’ve done the right thing by telling us.’
‘She was dead the moment she hit that railing, you know,’ said Morrison. ‘I held her tight against me for ages. I didn’t know what to do. In the end I just panicked.’
Slater toyed with telling him the truth, but perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, given his precarious position. Morrison was weeping even more loudly now, his whole body shaking.
‘Where’s that train?’ he asked, suddenly. ‘It’s not coming, is it? You’ve stopped it, haven’t you?’
Slater couldn’t think quickly enough to speak before Morrison started again.
‘It’s a pity you’re not a priest,’ he said, suddenly at peace with the world. ‘But I suppose a policeman’s the next best thing, eh? At least someone’s heard my confession. I can go now.’
Slater watched helplessly as, in one movement, Morrison smiled at him, gave a little wave, said ‘Bye, then,’ and disappeared backwards over the wall.
Slater and Darling rushed to the wall and leaned over. Thirty feet below, an intensely disappointed Clive Morrison stared back at them, circled by an assortment of police officers and firemen. The sheet they had used to catch him was being lowered to the ground. A sergeant lifted his head and gave them a thumbs up. Slater waved back, then casually slipped his hands into his pockets.
‘I thought that went quite well, didn’t you?’ he said, as he turned away from the wall and headed back across the bridge towards their car.
‘Hashtag: ice cool Slater,’ she said, as she walked alongside him
He didn’t like to spoil the moment by telling her his hands were in his pockets so she couldn’t see how much they were shaking.
‘He’s going to be even more upset when he finds out the truth.’
Darling nodded, sadly.
‘Yep. I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him that Chrissy was actually alive after she banged her head, but that he suffocated her by holding her so tightly. That’s what happened, right? That’s why the pathologist said she had been asphyxiated?’
‘That’s what happened,’ said Slater, and he shook his head as they trudged back towards their car.
Chapter 13
It was Saturday. They had breathed a quiet, collective sigh of relief when Goodnews had announced she would be going up to Scotland for the weekend to attend a wedding, and with her out of the way, Slater had decided to allow their now much reduced team to have a lie-in and start work at eight.
‘What’s on today then?’ asked Darling.
‘You’re going to drive me down to the New Forest,’ said Slater. ‘We have some unfinished business.’
‘Oooh, goody. A nice day out in the country.’
‘If you play your cards right I might just let you have the afternoon off,’ he said. ‘But only if you behave.’
She stood cheekily to attention and saluted.
‘Yes, Sir,’ she said. ‘Best behaviour it is, all day. I promise.’
Slater had to admit he was quite enjoying having Darling as a partner. She was never going to be another Norman, and obviously the banter wouldn’t be quite the same, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He didn’t think there would be too many dull days with her around.
‘You know, that’s what I miss being stuck in here,’ said Norman, interrupting Slater’s thoughts. ‘I never get to go anywhere. I’m bored out of my mind.’
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ said Slater, ‘but you knew the deal when you started.’