Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

  ‘What bloody case?’

  ‘Ruth Thornhill.’

  ‘Who?’ Slater could tell by the tone of Donovan’s voice that he knew exactly who, yet he was stalling, playing for time. Now that’s interesting, thought Slater. Why would he do that?

  ‘Ruth Thornhill,’ said Slater, playing along. ‘She went missing about six months ago. Her sister reported her missing, but you decided she was a runaway and took no further action.’

  ‘Did I? You’re probably right. We get so many of them I can’t be expected to remember them all.’

  ‘I am right.’ Slater was enjoying Donovan’s discomfort. ‘I’ve got a copy of your report in front of me now.’

  It was rather like lighting the blue touch paper on a firework. For just a short moment it seemed nothing was going to happen, then Slater heard a hiss as Donovan drew in his breath. This was followed by what could best be described as an explosion of profanity down the line. Apparently DS Donovan didn’t approve of Dave Slater getting hold of his report.

  Slater held the phone away until Donovan finally began to slow down sufficiently to become coherent, eventually re-joining the conversation at a point he felt was appropriate.

  ‘And just who the bloody ‘ell do you think you are, to be checkin’ up on me?’ finished Donovan.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight shall we?’ said Slater, smiling broadly to himself. ‘It’s not my idea to be checking up on anybody. But, just like you, I have superiors, and just like superiors everywhere, every now and then they like to hand someone a pile of shit just to see how they deal with it. Right now, your case is my pile of shit and I have to deal with it whether I like it or not.’

  ‘But what makes you think you can do any better than me? We don’t have time to fart around, so when we found there was no body and no sign of anything untoward it was put on the backburner. Then when we saw the text messages sent to the boyfriend from the missing girl’s phone, that was good enough for us. Case closed.’

  ‘I quite agree.’

  ‘You do?’ said Donovan in surprise.

  ‘I’ve read the file and I agree with your conclusion,’ Slater said, trying to pacify him.

  ‘Oh. That’s alright then,’ said Donovan, evidently beginning to calm down. ‘So, why the call?’

  ‘The reason I’ve been handed this particular pile of shit,’ explained Slater, ‘is because the missing girl’s sister, Beverley Green, won’t let it go. She’s even got the local bloody MP involved now.’

  ‘That cow,’ agreed Donovan. ‘If you’ve got to deal with her you have my sympathies, mate. She’s a real pain in the arse. Drove me mad she did.’

  ‘She’s been driving my bosses mad too,’ said Slater. ‘And now I’ve been given the job of trying to convince her there’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘Huh! Good luck with that. We told her exactly that back then, but she just wouldn’t accept it.’

  ‘Yes, I know you did,’ Slater said. ‘But she still doesn’t believe it, and I’ve still got to do what I can and hope I can convince her. I’ve read your report and it certainly looks open and shut to me.’

  There was silence from the other end of the line so Slater decided it was time to apply a little pressure.

  ‘I just wanted to check in with you before I go to see her. I thought letting you know was the right thing to do. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been happy if you found out I was creeping around behind your back.’

  Donovan’s apology sounded grudging, and it took a long time coming, but finally he began to back down.

  ‘Look, I was probably a bit hasty.’

  ‘Probably?’ said Slater. ‘Do you know how many different names you called me? Do you think I want this job?’

  ‘Ok. Point taken,’ conceded Donovan. ‘It’s just, you know, when someone starts checking up on you…’

  ‘Whoa. Hold on a minute. I’m not Professional Standards looking to catch you out. But I am going to have to go through the motions. I’m sure you understand that?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I suppose you’ll have to do that,’ agreed Donovan, reluctantly.

  ‘Here’s how I was thinking of playing it,’ explained Slater. ‘I’m going to see the sister later today. I’ll listen to her story and let her think I’m going to re-investigate. Then I’ll just go through the motions, basically confirming all your findings and reaching the same conclusion. It should be a doddle if I’m careful, and both you and my boss will end up happy. What do you say?’

  ‘Are you going to be poking around up here?’

  ‘Well, I may have to just to keep up appearances and make it look like I’m being thorough, you know? It’ll be a nice day out for me,’ Slater said, laughing.

  ‘You’re not such a bad bloke for a yokel, Dave Slater,’ said Donovan, relaxed now. ‘Let me know if you’re coming up here. I’ll buy you a pint. I know some good places, know what I mean?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Slater. ‘Now, before I go to meet her, what can you tell me about the sister?’

  As Slater had suspected, DS Donovan had no time for Beverley Green. As far as he was concerned, she was clearly a total waste of space who just wouldn’t accept the facts. He basically advised Slater to disregard everything she had to say.

  ‘Look mate,’ he had finished. ‘Ruth Thornhill is just a runaway. She’s an adult and she’s allowed to do what she wants, when she wants. As far as we’re concerned she’s run off with another feller. There’s no law against it, even if she didn’t tell her sister. Maybe her sister didn’t know her quite as well as she thought she did. Whatever, we’ve got better things to do with our time.’

  Chapter Four

  The Glades was a private, gated, and rather exclusive, estate to the south side of Tinton. The whole site occupied 12 acres, but such was the size of these houses, and their gardens, there were only 12 properties in total. An intercom outside the gates controlled access to the estate. Fortunately for Dave Slater, Beverley Green was expecting him and she buzzed him through straight away.

  The properties were all quite new, but that was their only similarity. The whole site had been developed as a collection of individual houses, all set in different places within their individual plots. This estate was less than five years old, yet Slater found he was driving along a lane with mature trees either side. It was as if the whole thing had been there for many years.

  It certainly wasn’t his style; all this money made him feel rather uncomfortable, but he could appreciate just how much these properties must be worth. If there was any change out of two million quid, he’d be very surprised. It was definitely a case of “how the other half live”.

  As its name suggested, Old Shrubs Cottage was at the end of a driveway bordered by an array of shrubs, which hid the house from view until he rounded a corner and found himself approaching an enormous six-bedroom house.

  Slater knew Beverley Green was 37 years old, with three small children, and from his conversation with Donovan earlier, he was rather expecting to be greeted by some sort of harassed housewife figure. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find the confident, good-looking woman who was waiting at the front door. She was dressed for tennis, her short skirt revealing a shapely pair of tanned legs finished off with expensive-looking tennis shoes.

  ‘If you’re just off to the tennis club, I can always come back later,’ he said, as he introduced himself.

  ‘Good heavens, no, Sergeant. We have our own court in the garden, behind the house. It’s an indulgence of mine, but I enjoy it and it keeps me fit.’

  Slater thought she was definitely right about that. In modern parlance, she was indeed “fit”.

  She looked Slater up and down.

  ‘Do you play, Sergeant?’

  ‘Who? Me? Err, no. I never seem to get much time for sport.’

  ‘You should try it.’ She smiled saucily. ‘I could teach you. It would be fun to play a game with someone different now and then. Don’t you think?’

  Her face told him
nothing, but Slater had been round the block enough times to know an invitation when he heard one. This was a completely unexpected turn of events, and for a few moments it threw him, but he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted now. In different circumstances, he might even have been prepared to play her little game, but today he wasn’t interested.

  ‘Maybe another time,’ he said, his expression deadpan. ‘Now. About your sister.’

  Slater noticed a little pout of disapproval momentarily cross her face, but it was gone almost straight away.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘My missing sister. Come on inside and I’ll tell you what I know.’

  She led him through the front door into an elegant hallway. As he followed her, he took in the photographs in the hall. This must be the three children, he thought, and that’s got to be dad. And, of course there’s mum, and finally the happy family group photo. Then they were through into a fabulous kitchen; Slater thought he could probably have fitted his entire house in this one room.

  ‘This is a beautiful house,’ he heard himself say.

  ‘Only the best.’ Beverley Green indicated the superbly equipped kitchen. ‘I suppose I’m what you could call a kept woman. My husband has a very good job up in the City and he likes me to play the dutiful housewife and raise the children. I’d be a fool not to, really, wouldn’t I? Especially when I can live like this.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Some sort of investment management. I’m not really sure, and I don’t really care if I’m honest. As long as the money keeps rolling in, I’m happy.’

  She must have taken in Slater’s expression.

  ‘Oh don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those embittered women who feels she’s treated like a doormat. I regard myself as very lucky to have a husband who looks after me so well, and he’s a wonderful father to our three children. He works hard Monday to Friday, often away midweek, but come Friday evening work stops and he’s very much a “hands-on” dad until the next Monday morning. He’s a good man, Sergeant.’

  ‘You must get a bit lonely if he’s away in the week.’

  ‘Oh I manage.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘There’s a very good babysitting service in Tinton. That means I can always go out with the girls on a Wednesday. That’s good enough for me. And, of course, there’s always my tennis.’

  She licked her lips and gave him that innocent look again, but he ignored it.

  ‘About your sister,’ he reminded her, pulling out a stool and perching on it at the breakfast bar. ‘I know you’ve done all this before, and I have read the reports from the earlier investigation, but I want you to imagine I’m completely new to this investigation and I know nothing. Can you do that?’

  She nodded, and perched herself on a stool alongside him. Then she jumped down again.

  ‘Before I forget,’ she said, ‘I found these for you.’

  She opened a drawer and handed Slater two photographs.

  The girl in the photos was rather frumpy looking, with dowdy clothes that made her resemble a refugee from the 50s. She had long, lacklustre, brown hair, and dull brown eyes. In a crowd, she would have stood out as the one with the least amount of fashion sense.

  ‘Did she always dress like this?’ asked Slater in surprise. With Ruth working for a magazine, he had expected to see someone rather closer to the cutting edge of fashion.

  ‘She wasn’t exactly a sexy dresser in the family tradition, I’m afraid.’ Beverley said, climbing back onto her stool.

  Slater looked thoughtfully at the photographs for a moment, but then decided to let it lie.

  ‘Ok,’ he said instead, setting down his notebook and pencil. ‘I need you to tell me everything you know. Start by telling me about Ruth and her job.’

  ‘Ruth was my little sister,’ Beverley began. ‘I was 10 when she was born and I think she was a mistake. My parents never seemed to have any time for her so I always seemed to be the one who looked out for her…’

  Beverley spoke for the best part of an hour. Slater prompted her with a few questions here and there, but by the time they had finished, it seemed he had an extensive amount of background information to work on.

  Ruth Thornhill had virtually been raised by her sister, to the point of living with her on and off for years, even after Beverley had married. She led a pretty unremarkable life for her first 25 years, but then, apparently, she had discovered a desire to become a journalist. She had managed to secure a job with a magazine up in London, working as a receptionist/clerk. At that time, she had been travelling to London by train every day.

  But Ruth was ambitious and hard working, and about 15 months ago, the magazine had promoted her to staff writer. Of course, at first she got little or no credit for her writing, but then she was given the chance to write small features which she did under the pen-name of ‘Ruby Rider’.

  As she began to develop her career, she began to benefit from some of the perks of the job. One of these perks included the magazine paying for her to stay in a small hotel (Beverley wasn’t sure, but she thought it was called The Mistral) during the week, meaning she only had to travel up on Monday morning and then home again on Friday afternoon.

  She was having a relationship with a Tinton man called Tony Warwick. Beverley didn’t seem to know much about him, and she certainly didn’t seem to like him, but she also didn’t appear to have any particular reason for her dislike.

  Everything had seemed to be going well for Ruth, and then, suddenly, about six months ago she had disappeared. Apparently, she had sent text messages to her boyfriend in the days following her disappearance, which indicated she had run away with another man; but Beverley insisted it couldn’t be true. She claimed Ruth was crazy about her boyfriend and would never have run away. She had a good job and had everything going for her. Why would she have thrown it all away?

  He left with Beverley’s final words ringing in his ears. ‘And she would have told me first whatever she had decided to do. She had even told me when she got pregnant a few years ago. I had helped her arrange an abortion. So, you see, we had no secrets. She would have told me.’

  Slater knew people rarely told each other everything, and he thought it more than possible that a girl spending the week in London on her own could meet someone else and decide to run away, but he had kept his own counsel, deciding he wasn’t prepared to argue the point just yet.

  As Slater was saying goodbye, a young man came cycling up the drive. He was dressed for tennis.

  Slater looked at Beverley Green, who looked back at him straight-faced.

  ‘My tennis coach and sometime mixed doubles partner, Sebastian,’ she said, her face giving nothing away. ‘Come to play with me.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. Of course he has,’ said Slater.

  As he climbed into his car he thought about the frumpy looking girl in the photographs Beverley had given him. A girl who dressed like that working as a receptionist for a magazine – it seemed rather unlikely, didn’t it?

  Chapter Five

  Next on Slater’s list was the boyfriend, Tony Warwick. He rented a tiny, rather tatty looking, terraced house near the centre of town. Whoever the landlord was, he clearly didn’t seem to think he should spend any of the rent on improvements. The front door was old, not the “antique, worth preserving” sort of old, but the “should be condemned and replaced” sort of old. It didn’t even fit the frame properly.

  Dave Slater was a great believer in his ability to quickly size people up, and he wasn’t often wrong. He quickly took in the tall, thin figure in the doorway and his first impression was that there was something distinctly odd about Tony Warwick. And, whatever Beverley Green might say to the contrary, Slater just couldn’t imagine Ruth, or anyone else for that matter, being crazy about this man.

  The first thing Slater noticed when he was invited through the rickety front door was the huge crucifix hanging from the wall. Two candles burned on a sideboard beneath it. Beverley hadn’t mentioned anything about Ruth b
eing religious and Slater was already struggling to see how she would have become involved with this rather strange man.

  Tony Warwick’s version of events was a good match for Beverley’s, as far as Ruth’s job and disappearance were concerned, but Slater was interested to learn a bit more about their relationship.

  ‘So how did you come to meet?’ he asked.

  ‘At church. After Ruth committed her sin, she came to the church to repent. I met her there and took pity on her.’

  ‘Her sin?’ Slater was puzzled.

  ‘She had intercourse with a man outside of marriage, and was with child. Then she had that operation,’ explained Warwick.

  ‘Ah, right,’ said Slater, not sure if Ruth had committed one, two or three sins in Warwick’s eyes. ‘And you took pity on her?’

  ‘I offered to stand by her and help her achieve repentance.’

  Slater didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘And how exactly was she going to do that?’

  ‘Through prayer, of course,’ said Warwick, as though he were addressing an idiot. ‘She used to come here and we would pray together.’

  ‘And that was the full extent of your relationship?’

  Warwick looked shocked by Slater’s question.

  ‘What are you suggesting, Sergeant?’

  ‘I mean, were you in a sexual relationship with Ruth?’

  ‘Sex outside of marriage is a mortal sin, Sergeant. I was trying to help Ruth repent,’ replied Warwick, clearly trying to be patient. ‘She had already committed that sin once, it would have been a terrible thing if I had committed the same sin with her, don’t you think? If that had happened, then I, too, would have been a sinner.’

  His holier-than-thou attitude was beginning to get under Slater’s skin, but before he could speak, Warwick continued talking.

  ‘Sadly Ruth couldn’t control her lustful urges. She ran off with another man.’