by Ford, P. F.
‘Yeah, about that. How come my wallet has become the petty cash tin? I had to pay twenty quid for that poxy bunch of dead flowers. Twenty bloody quid!’
‘Yeah, well, I tend not to carry cash around,’ said Norman, knowing it was a lame excuse.
‘You don’t say,’ said Slater, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘I’ve never noticed.’
‘But it’s not as if you’re hard up.’
Slater sighed. ‘Norm,’ he said, clearly trying his best to be patient, ‘I’m not joking. I might still have a few quid left in my bank account, but I’ve just quit my job, and I have zero income right now. You, on the other hand, have a nice big pension payment coming in every month. Do I need to go on?’
Norman bobbed his head, and was honest enough to blush guiltily. ‘I guess, when you put it like that . . . I tell you what we need to do. When we set this business up properly, we’ll do all legal stuff and get it set up so we have equal shares and we share all the costs. How does that sound?’
‘When we set what business up properly?’ asked Slater.
‘S & N, Security and Investigations,’ said Norman, as if it was obvious. ‘This is like a test case.’
‘There’s just one problem, though,’ said Slater. ‘Or am I the only one of us that can see it?’
‘What problem?’ asked Norman, as he negotiated the car park exit, and set off along the driveway.
‘Well, as you don’t seem to have noticed, I feel I should point out something I consider to be fairly important. This may well be a test case, but it’s a test case we’re not being paid for. Apparently this isn’t a problem for you, but it raises one or two questions for me, such as how do I pay my mortgage? And how do I eat?’
‘Ah, right,’ said Norman, realising this wasn’t something he could joke his way through. ‘I see what you mean. But obviously we’d charge for our services once we were an official business.’
Slater looked across at Norman. ‘I admire your optimism, Norm, but do you really think we can get enough work around here?’
‘Sure we can,’ said Norman. ‘Okay, it might take a while to get established, but . . . What the hell’s this?’
Slater snapped his head back to the front as Norman slowed the car. Up ahead, a familiar-looking Jaguar was parked across the main driveway that led to the main road. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform stood on the right, watching them approach.
‘That’s Coulter’s driver,’ said Norman. ‘What does he think he’s doing?’
‘Well, his car’s pointing the wrong way if he’s taking old Stanley to see his son,’ said Slater.
‘I don’t see him anywhere,’ said Norman, glancing at Slater. ‘Am I the only one getting a bad feeling about this?’
‘Oh, I’m with you. Somehow I don’t see this having a happy ending, but there’s only one way to find out. You’d better wind your window down and ask him.’
As Norman’s window whirred its way down, the chauffeur stepped forward. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.
‘Okay, you can cut the crap,’ said Norman, looking up at him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Mr Coulter would like you to join him for coffee,’ said the chauffeur.
‘We’re busy,’ said Norman, ‘maybe some other time.’
‘He’ll be most disappointed, and he really doesn’t take kindly to being disappointed.’
‘What does he want?’ asked Slater, leaning forward to see the chauffeur’s face.
‘At the moment he just wants a quiet chat. If I were you, I’d accept his offer.’
‘What do you think?’ Slater asked Norman. ‘It might save us a lot of time in the long run. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?’
‘He could murder us?’ Norman meant to say it under his breath, but it came out much louder than he intended, and the chauffeur picked up on it straight away.
‘I have been told to assure you Mr Coulter only wishes to talk to you,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Norman, wearily. ‘Where is he?’
The chauffeur indicated an open gate just before the Jaguar on the right. ‘If you drive through the gate, you’ll see his house at the top of the drive.’
‘His house?’ asked Norman, quietly, as he drove through the gate. ‘He has a house here?’
Up ahead, about sixty yards away, they could see what Slater guessed must once have been the coach house and stables, only now it had been converted into a rather good-looking residence. Behind them, the chauffeur was following in the Jaguar, and Norman realised there was no way back.
‘I hope I’m not going to regret this,’ he said. ‘It feels like a trap.’
‘Relax,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘You think?’
‘If he wanted to do us any harm he could do it anywhere, couldn’t he? And there’s no way he could have known we were going to turn up here today, so I don’t see how he could have had time to plan a murder and arrange to dispose of our bodies.’
There were parked up in front of the house now, and Norman swung his door open. ‘If that was supposed to reassure me,’ he said as he climbed from the car, ‘I’m afraid you failed miserably.’
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ said Slater, climbing from the passenger side. ‘A nice positive attitude.’
‘This way, gentlemen,’ said the chauffeur, indicating a path that led around to the side of the building. ‘Mr Coulter is waiting in the garden.’
Chapter Fifty-Five
‘How nice to see you two boys again! Do come and have a seat.’
Coulter, looking every inch the English gentleman in his immaculate white shirt, cream trousers and panama hat, was sitting on one of three easy chairs arranged around a table set upon a small patio area at the back of the house. A cream parasol kept the table and chairs in the shade. He looked genuinely pleased to see them.
‘Oh dear, Norm, your friend looks a little damp,’ he observed, as they walked over to join him.
‘I got caught in the thunderstorm,’ said Slater, ‘I was just going home to change.’
Coulter beamed his best smile in Slater’s direction. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about the delay,’ he said, ‘but I won’t keep you long. You can always put your chair in the sun if you’re cold.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m getting used to it now.’
‘I don’t know your name, do I?’ asked Coulter, pleasantly. He looked distastefully at Norman. ‘I think Fat Norman has forgotten his manners and failed to introduce us.’
‘Dave Slater,’ said Slater, but he didn’t offer to shake hands.
‘I’m Stan Coulter, but I’m sure Norman’s already told you that.’
They took the two empty chairs. They had been arranged so they were opposite Coulter and were both smaller and lower than his chair so he could look down on them. They were also given a clear view of two familiar-looking, besuited heavies hovering in the background, about ten yards behind Coulter. They both wore stereotypical aviator shades.
‘Coffee? Or would you prefer tea?’ asked Coulter.
‘I’ll pass,’ said Norman.
‘Coffee for me,’ said Slater, affably. He had decided that whatever was going to happen, there was no point in trying to rile Coulter just yet. He was going to go with the flow and see how it panned out, and besides – he genuinely fancied a cup of coffee.
Coulter made a big show of pouring Slater’s coffee and handed it over to him. He pushed a plate of biscuits in his direction, and then poured another cup of coffee for himself. He lifted the cup from its saucer and sat back in his chair.
‘Isn’t this nice?’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Norman, ‘so you’ve had your fun and hijacked us . . .’
‘Hijacked?’ said Coulter, sounding horrified at the idea. ‘I didn’t hijack anyone. I merely invited two acquaintances in for coffee. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Norman, wearily. ‘So, why are we here?’
‘Now that’s funny,’ said Coulte
r, his voice no longer quite so friendly. ‘That’s exactly what I was going to ask you.’
‘We’re here because your chauffeur gave us no choice,’ said Norman.
Coulter looked at Norman as if he was a bad smell that had just drifted under his nose. He shook his head, sighed, and placed his cup carefully back on its saucer.
‘Tut, tut, tut, Norman,’ he said, patiently. ‘If you’re really determined to try my patience, this little chat could turn into something that takes a lot longer, and I don’t think your friend Dave here would be too pleased if that happens. I mean sitting there in wet clothes? He could end up catching a chill’–his voice suddenly changed from affable patience to serious threat–‘or something a whole lot worse could happen to both of you.’
There was brief standoff where Coulter and Norman glared at each other, but no one said anything until Coulter spoke again, his voice once again full of patience.
‘Now then, let’s start again, shall we? What were you doing in my son’s bedroom?’
Norman glanced in Slater’s direction.
‘Don’t look at him for a bloody answer,’ snapped Coulter. ‘I know he was your diversion to get past the receptionist, but you were the one who was found in my boy’s room. I want to know why.’
Despite their rather precarious situation, Slater found himself thinking it was actually a perfectly reasonable question for Coulter to ask. After all, he was the sick guy’s father. He just hoped Norman was going to see it the same way, or he was pretty sure things could soon get nasty, and he hadn’t finished his coffee yet.
‘We heard he was ill, and I wanted to know what was wrong with him,’ said Norman.
‘So why didn’t you ask me, if you were so concerned?’ asked Coulter.
Slater had to admit this was another perfectly reasonable question.
‘I figured I wasn’t likely to get the truth out of you about any of it,’ said Norman.
‘About any of what?’ asked Coulter. ‘My boy’s sick, that’s all there is to it. You make it sound like you’ve discovered I’m involved in some huge conspiracy.’
‘I’m not sure exactly what you’re involved in, but one thing’s for sure – it won’t be anything good.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ said Coulter, innocently.
‘So how about all that money you’ve been pouring into this hospital?’ asked Norman.
‘They’ve taken very good care of my son,’ said Coulter, indignantly. ‘He could easily be dead by now if it wasn’t for the way they’ve looked after him, so yes, I’ve shown my appreciation by investing money that will allow them to become even better. What’s wrong with that?’
‘What about this house? How has this happened?’
‘You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you?’ said Coulter. ‘But it’s not my house, dickhead. It belongs to the hospital. I wanted to be near my son, they had an empty property, so I rent it for as long as I need it. It’s a win-win for both of us.’
‘And what about Clara Sterling and her husband Fabian?’ persisted Norman. ‘That’s all a bit cosy, isn’t it?’
Coulter smiled genially. ‘Now, I have to admit that’s a bit embarrassing, but like I said before, there’s no law against a man having a bit on the side. It just happens to be the case that her husband, Fabian, is a brilliant surgeon and we need one at this hospital.’
Slater could see Norman was getting wound up by the way Coulter always had a seemingly innocent answer to all his questions, so he decided to step in.
‘Look, we really are sorry about your son, Mr Coulter, we wouldn’t wish that sort of situation on any family, and you’re no different. What exactly is his prognosis?’
Now Coulter looked genuinely sad. ‘His kidneys are as good as useless,’ he said, ‘and to make matters worse, he’s now got a tumour growing in one.’
‘Jesus,’ said Slater. ‘Can’t they remove that one?’
‘They might have to,’ said Coulter. ‘The problem is he’s so ill he might not survive the surgery.’
‘Is there no hope at all?’
‘The only hope is a transplant, but somehow he’s managed to get himself a rare blood type and it’s almost impossible to find a donor who would be a good enough tissue match to make it worth the risk. We’ve all been tested, but none of us are a good enough match. We even thought we had a donor a couple of weeks ago, but it turned out he wasn’t a match after all. The real bugger is he had a brother who was the same blood group, but he was a soldier – got killed in Afghanistan, God rest him.’
‘Now that’s interesting,’ said Norman. ‘A guy turned up dead in Tinton recently. He had just had a kidney removed.’
Coulter briefly looked shocked but managed to keep his composure. ‘What are you suggesting? Do you think you can just go around hacking out people’s kidneys and hope they’ll be a good fit? It doesn’t work like that, you ignorant prick.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ said Norman, ‘but I’m not a father with a dying son.’
‘Are you suggesting I took one of his kidneys and then killed him? Why would I kill someone who had donated a kidney to my son?’
‘How about because it didn’t match?’ asked Norman. ‘I mean, that would be really frustrating for you.’
‘It would be worse than frustrating, but killing they guy wouldn’t help my son, would it?’
‘So, does the name Morgan mean anything to you?’ asked Norman.
It was obvious it did, and Norman sat back, clearly waiting for Coulter to splutter and deny it all.
‘Christ! He’s dead? What happened?’ said Coulter, incredulous.
‘Someone set fire to the skip he was sleeping in,’ said Slater.
‘You mean he was homeless? Ex-services, and he was homeless? How the hell does that happen?’
‘You know who he is, you know he was ex-services, but you don’t know how he died?’ said Norman. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Why would I kill the guy?’
‘Why not, if you thought he’d let you down?’ asked Norman.
Coulter looked as though he was struggling to decide how much he should tell them. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what happened,’ he said. ‘But I swear I didn’t kill him.’
‘Go on then,’ said Slater. ‘What did happen?’
‘This guy contacted me. He said his name was Morgan.’
‘Christian name?’ interrupted Norman.
‘He just said his name was Morgan. He said he had been there when my other son, Bobby, got killed in Afghanistan. He said he felt responsible for Bobby’s death, and he knew nothing could bring him back, but he’d heard Terry was sick. He offered to donate a kidney to make up for what had happened to Bobby.’
‘If he was responsible for Bobby’s death, you’ve got another reason for wanting him dead,’ said Norman.
Coulter looked at him as if he were completely stupid. ‘Don’t be an idiot. If I was going to hold anyone responsible, I’d start with the people who sent him out there, not the poor sods who were sent out there to fight alongside him.’
‘We think his kidney was taken against his will,’ said Norman.
‘He donated it,’ said Coulter. ‘I can assure you. He signed a consent form and everything.’
‘Why wasn’t he tested before the kidney was removed?’ asked Slater. ‘Isn’t that how it normally works?’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Coulter. ‘You’d have to ask the surgeon who removed it.’
‘I will,’ said Slater. ‘What’s his name?’
Coulter opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it shut. After a moment, he spoke again. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything, and I’m not going to. You’re not even the police are you? Just two nosey busy-bodies. I can’t afford to have you going upsetting the people who might be able to save my son’s life.’
‘Where was this?’ asked Norman. ‘Which hospital?’
‘I just told you, I’m not saying, a
nd what does it matter?’ said Coulter. ‘It wouldn’t have worked whichever hospital it was in. The guy didn’t match, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘D’you know a guy called Doddsy?’ asked Slater, deciding this might be a good time to change direction.
Coulter seemed thrown by the sudden change in trajectory. ‘I don’t think I do,’ he said, looking genuinely puzzled. ‘Is there any reason why I should?’
‘He’s another homeless ex-services guy who was found dead recently,’ said Norman.
‘What is this, some sort of witch hunt?’ asked Coulter, the patience that had been present earlier now completely gone. ‘Do you really think I’ve got nothing better to do than go around bumping off homeless people?’
‘Not just homeless people, but homeless ex-soldiers,’ said Norman.
‘Let me tell you something,’ said Coulter. ‘I think it’s a sin that these people are homeless. If they’ve been prepared to fight for this country, they should be treated like heroes, not dumped on the scrapheap. I actually donate to put a roof over these people’s heads. Why would I do that if I wanted to kill them?’
There was an uncomfortable silence as Slater and Norman considered what little they had learned so far, and how they weren’t likely to learn any more even if they continued all day.
‘I think it’s time you left,’ said Coulter, then he turned to call over his shoulder, ‘Gus, see these two out to their car. Make sure they go straight there, and say nothing.’
‘Okay, boss,’ said one of the two heavies, and he stepped forward to escort Slater and Norman back to the front of the house. Slater thought about challenging the guy about the night at the church hall, but then thought better of it.
‘You got that, right?’ said Norman when they were back in car, pulling away from the house.
‘You mean the two heavies, one called Gus? Yeah, big coincidence, huh? One minute they’re shaking down the church hall, and now they turn up here.’
‘But, of course, these deaths have got nothing to do with Coulter. I mean him being here with his two goons, and people dying, they’re not connected, right?’