by Ford, P. F.
The photograph clearly showed Rudy Bressler dressed up to the nines in dinner jacket and bow tie, obviously attending a dinner of some sort.
“It was taken at a cardiology conference.” Jolly pointed to the list of names. “This is a list of those who attended. Apparently this was taken at the grand dinner on the final evening.”
“So, who’s the blonde?” asked Norman. On Bressler’s arm in the photo was a stunning looking blonde, straight out of the “Sandra lookalike” mould.
“According to the blurb,” said Jolly, reading her notes, “her name is Lindy Fellows. She was one of the doctors attending the conference.”
“She was also Bressler’s first girlfriend after Sandra disappeared,” Norman said, recognising the name. “He says she didn’t come into the picture until six months after Sandra left, but they look pretty cosy to me.”
Norman sensed someone peering over his shoulder, and turned to see Slater had returned.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t necessarily mean there was anything going on,” Slater said.
“No, but I’d be willing to bet a whole lot of money I’m right,” said Norman. “Jane, can you check out the conference Bressler was on when Sandra disappeared. See if you can find a list of attendees. Maybe Lindy Fellows attended that one too, and see if you can find anyone else who attended both. I’d like to speak to them and see if they can remember anything about Bressler and Fellows back then.”
“Okay,” said Jolly. “Would you like me to look into Lindy Fellows while I’m at it?”
“Now you’re thinking.” Slater smiled at Jolly. “Well done, Jane.”
As she left, Tony Ashton came rushing back.
“Just had BT back on the phone.” He was grinning widely. “According to their records, Sandra did report the line not working, but when they did a line test it was working just fine, so they didn’t send an engineer out.”
“So why would Sandra report the phone not working if it was okay?” asked Slater, thoughtfully.
“What if someone had tampered with it?” Ashton said. “Maybe they rigged the phone so it seemed like it wasn’t working but still passed a line test?”
“I wonder if Ian Becks would know about that sort of thing,” said Slater. “I’ll go and pick his brains and see if he knows.”
When Slater found Ian Becks, he was interested to discover that Ashton’s suggestion about rigging the phone was, in fact, possible.
“Anyone could do it if they had the right equipment,” Becks assured him. “You’ll also be pleased to know that it’s not going to take long to get your signatures verified.”
“But I thought you said it would take at least a week,” said Slater.
“Normally it would,” Becks said, “because I would have to send it away to be analysed. But it just so happens, it’s your lucky day. Nadira, our tiny, travelling pathologist, also happens to be an expert at handwriting.”
“You’re kidding me,” said Slater, hardly able to believe his luck.
“She’ll let us know tomorrow, before they head back home.”
“They’re going already?” asked Slater.
“They’re very expensive to maintain, mate,” Becks said, shrugging. “Unless you can come up with another body we can’t afford to keep them here any longer.”
“That’s okay,” said Slater. “We’ll pass on a fourth body. We already have too many for my liking.”
It was a pretty happy Dave Slater who made his way back to the incident room and across to where Jane Jolly was tapping away at her keyboard.
“Have you found anything else?” he asked.
“I’ve got the list of attendees for the second conference,” she said. “Lindy Fellows was supposed to have been there but she dropped out the day before it started. Other than that, there were only two other people who attended both. I’ve highlighted their names on the list.”
“So,” said Slater. “Only four people were booked to attend both conferences, and two of those happen to be Rudy Bressler and Lindy Fellows. That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“It’s a bit too much of a coincidence for me,” Jolly said, nodding.
Can you find contact details for the other two-”
“Already done,” interrupted Jolly, with a grin.
She handed Slater another sheet of paper.
“I’ve confirmed the top one is still working at the same place, but I don’t know about the second one.”
“That’s very impressive work, Jane,” said Slater, impressed. “I’ll go and try the top one, maybe we won’t even need both.”
“By the way,” said Jolly. “I also found that same photo of Bressler and Lindy on her profile. She’s not working as a doctor any more. Apparently she retired when she came into a lot of money about 15 years ago.”
“Which would have been when she hooked up with Bressler,” said Slater thoughtfully, as he walked off to make his phone call. He looked down at the names on the sheet Jolly had handed him, and wondered if Dr John McCall would we able to remember anything about those conferences all those years ago.
Chapter 29
Slater was huddled over his desk, preparing the next morning’s briefing when Norman shuffled his way in. He looked quite pleased with himself, but there was obviously something bothering him too.
“You look like the cat who got the cream and then found it tasted sour,” said Slater.
“Ten out of ten for the analogy,” Norman said, smiling slightly. “That’s pretty much how I feel right now.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You know Allison Beatty, don’t you?”
“Oh yes.” Slater repressed a shudder. “Angry Allison. Has she been maiming people again?”
“On the contrary,” said Norman. “Apparently she now has medication that actually works to keep her calm. Steve Biddeford went up there today with two PCs and she was as sweet as you like. And I owe her an apology for suggesting she was an illiterate counterfeiter.”
Slater listened with interest as Norman explained how they had no grounds for arresting her for counterfeiting. Then he told how they’d found a garage full of smuggled cigarettes and had to arrest her for that instead.
“What does she say about it?” asked Slater.
“She said absolutely nothing until her appropriate adult turned up,” said Norman. “And now we’ve got some mental health guy here telling us we’re persecuting her. Steve says she was genuinely shocked when she saw the garage stacked to the roof with cartons. You know her. Would she be involved in cigarette smuggling?”
“No,” said Slater with conviction. “I don’t think so. That’s not the Allison I know. That’s going to be Billy. Mind you, it’s a step up for him. Nicking one packet out of someone’s pocket is more his style. This sounds like big boy stuff.”
“You reckon I should get a search going for Billy?”
“No need,” said Slater. “Just hold onto Allison overnight. She won’t like it, and nor will the do-gooders, but when Billy gets home he’ll be scared shitless if she’s not there. He’s like a headless chicken without her. He’ll come down here to report her missing. And, if he finds out she’s been dragged down here because of something he’s done, he’ll be down here like a shot to give himself up. He’d admit to murder if it meant getting her out of trouble.”
“Now that’s true love,” said Norman.
“Oh, he worships her.” Slater said, thinking there was an odd sweetness to their relationship. “He really would do anything for her.”
“And there’s another thing you need to bear in mind,” he added, as the thought suddenly occurred to him. “If you let her go now, and she gets to him before we do, she’ll beat the crap out of him. She might even kill him if she gets carried away.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” asked Norman, looking shocked.
“It’ll be a good test for how effective that medication is,” said Slater grimly. “I’ve always thought she’ll snap one day.
This could be the day. Do you want to risk it?”
Just then, the phone on the desk buzzed.
Slater listened, finishing the conversation with “Great, I’ll be down in two ticks!”
“It’s okay. You can send Allison home,” he said, turning to Norman. “Billy’s downstairs. He says he wants to talk to me.”
“Oh. Right,” said Norman, looking somewhat miffed. “This is gonna get to be a mess if everyone’s taking turns at doing the interviews.”
“It’s okay, Norm. I don’t want to interview him. I’ll remind him he knows Steve. He’ll be okay to talk with him. I’ll just keep him busy while you and Steve get yourselves ready.”
“Should I tell Allison he’s here?”
“Yeah, you’d better,” Slater said. “Otherwise she’ll be worrying about him. But first make sure she understands she can’t see him and she has to go home. Get the mental health doctor guy to take responsibility for getting her home and getting her settled.”
It was almost an hour later when Norman and Biddeford finally sat down across a table in an interview room with Billy Beatty, aka Billy Bumble. Norman had told Biddeford to lead the interview. After all, it was his case – and he thought the young officer perhaps needed lifting a bit after what had happened the other day.
“Right, Billy. You understand why we had to arrest Allison earlier?” Biddeford began.
“Not really, no, Mr Biddeford” mumbled Billy.
“It was because there was a garage full of cigarettes and she couldn’t explain how they got there,” Biddeford said, slowly and deliberately.
“But that weren’t nothin’ to do with ‘er,” said Billy.
“So how did they get there?”
“They’re mine,” said Billy, looking and immensely proud. “I’m lookin’ after ‘em for a friend.”
They had made sure before they started that Billy understood his rights, but Norman felt now might be a good time to re-iterate the part about being represented at this interview. He didn’t want anyone saying later that Billy had been denied his rights.
“You do understand you are entitled to have a solicitor here to represent you if you want one?” he asked.
“Yeah, I know that,” said Billy. “But wha’s the point? All you legal people are the same. Yer all out to stop people like me makin’ a livin’.”
“We’re only here to stop you making a living illegally,” said Biddeford. “We’d be happy to help you get started making a living if it didn’t involve breaking into people’s houses and nicking stuff.”
“So why am I ‘ere, then, Mr Biddeford? I didn’t break into no-one’s house this time. I got a proper job now drivin’ a truck. I’m jus’ storin’ some goods for a while.”
“I didn’t know you could drive a truck, Billy,” said Biddeford, dubiously. “Do you have a license? When did you pass your test?”
“I can’t remember,” mumbled Billy. Norman noticed he was very careful to avoid eye contact with both him and Biddeford.
“Okay, we’ll worry about that later,” said Biddeford. “Why don’t you tell us about this ‘friend’ of yours?”
As far as Norman knew from what Slater had told him, Billy didn’t actually have any real friends. His known associates were all fellow petty criminals.
“I don’t know his name. I only jus’ started workin’ for him. I only done two jobs before this one,” said Billy, looking even more shifty. Norman had the sense of a tower of lies being constructed around him, but he thought it probably wouldn’t take much to bring them tumbling down.
Biddeford sighed heavily.
“Alright. How about telling us where this friend comes from?”
“Dunno,” mumbled Billy.
“Let me get this straight,” said Biddeford. “You’re working for a friend you don’t know, who comes from somewhere you don’t know. Presumably, they know just as much about you, and yet they are happy for you to look after thousands of pounds worth of cigarettes. Have I got that right?”
“Tha’s about right, yeah.”
Billy shifted, looking uncomfortable. Norman knew it was because of him, and he scowled to emphasise his point. He knew very well that if they both just sat in silence now, eventually Billy would start talking. He would feel he had to. And, sure enough, after a few minutes, he did.
“I got this job, right? All I have to do is collect the truck, drive it up to Trapworth airfield, sit and wait while it’s loaded up and then take it to where they tell me. Fing is, last time I got lost, so I took the stuff home and put it in me garage.”
“So where’s the truck?” asked Biddeford.
“I dumped it down in Southampton, like I was told.”
“Where d’you get it from?”
“I picked it up from the M3 services at Fleet.”
“Who met you there?”
“I don’t see no one,” said Billy. “I get told the registration number and I have to find it. The keys are on top of the front wheel.”
Norman felt it was time he got one or two things clear.
“So someone steals a truck,” he said aloud, thinking it through. “They leave it at the services where you collect it, then you drive it to Trapworth and get it loaded, then you drive it to where?”
“Instructions to where I’m goin’ are always left on a piece of paper,” said Billy. “It’s ‘idden under the passenger seat. I jus’ take the truck to where it says, unlock the back, wait until someone comes along and empties it, then I drive it to where I have to leave it, put the keys on top of the wheel an’ scarper. I swear I never sees no-one, not even at the airfield.”
Norman was getting a deja-vu feeling about this. It was beginning to sound like an operation he’d come across when he worked up in London.
“I think we need to have a few words outside,” said Norman to Biddeford.
Biddeford looked surprised as Norman explained what he was thinking.
“Wow!” said Biddeford, when Norman had finished. “You really think this could be a London gang?”
“As I recall,” said Norman, “the truck would be stolen to order just a few hours before it was needed. Then, the number plates were switched, the job was done, and within a few hours the truck was dumped somewhere else. Sometimes it was all over before the truck had even been reported stolen.
“By using lots of different people, all recruited separately, each one doing just a tiny part of the job and then leaving, no one ever saw anyone else who was involved. So, if one got caught no one else could be easily incriminated.”
“It’s interesting he should mention Trapworth airfield,” said Biddeford. “When we were poking around up there, I was pretty sure there must have been something going on at night. The security’s non-existent.”
“This is not good,” said Norman. “The problem for Billy is that he’s got himself involved with some serious criminals. Whoever’s behind this is going to be looking for their missing loot. And they’re not going to believe Billy got lost and decided to look after their goods until they reclaimed it.”
“Crap,” said Biddeford. “What do we do now?”
“I think we need to explain to Billy just how deep the hole is that he’s dug for himself.”
“Detective Sergeant Norman thinks you’ve really done it this time Billy. You’ve managed to get yourself caught up with the big boys and pissed off some real hard men. When they find out you’ve stolen their cigarettes, you’re in for a serious hiding,” Biddeford said, looking intently at him. “These people won’t be messing about. You might even be a dead man walking.”
“But what about Allison?” Billy asked, looking horrified. “This has got nuffin’ to do wiv ‘er. They won’t ‘urt ‘er will they?”
“They will if they think she knows where the cigarettes are,” said Norman. “But we can do something about that if you’ll help us.”
“But I don’t know anyone else involved,” Billy sounded and looked desperate. “I’d tell you if I did.”
&n
bsp; “Alright,” said Biddeford. “We understand you don’t know anyone, but what about how the operation works. You mentioned Trapworth airfield. You can tell us things like, what happens up there? What time? How often?”
“I’ve only done it three times, and this is all I know,” said Billy, misery etched on his face. “They always pick a night when they know it’s going to be cloudy. They usually fly in between one and two in the morning. I park where they tell me. They load the truck and when I get the signal, I leave. That’s it.”
“Does anyone see you back into your parking place?”
“Nah. They drive the airplane up to the back of the truck. It’s only one of them little things, you know.”
“How regularly does it happen?”
“It’s usually on a Monday night, but not every week.”
“When was the last time?”
“A week ago.”
And so they went on, asking short questions and getting short answers until finally they thought they’d probably got all they were going to get. Norman decided to try one more question before they called it a day.
“Can you remember anything about last Monday night? Was there anything different from usual?”
Billy creased his face up in concentration.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “There was two of ‘em.”
“What do you mean two?”
“Usually there’s just the pilot. He’s all dressed in a black one-piece suit thing, and he wears a balaclava so I never actually gets to see his face or anyfing, and he keeps far enough away so I can’t see anyway. He bangs on the side of the truck when he’s finished loadin’ an’ sticks his thumb in the air. I can just about see it in the wing mirror, like.”
“But this time there was someone else?” Biddeford asked, and Norman could tell he was getting a bit more excited. He was too.
“Yeah. I reckon it must have been his girlfriend.”
“A woman?”
“Was a bit small if it was a bloke,” said Billy. “She only came up to his shoulder. She was definitely in charge though.”