Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

“And you’re sure it was a woman?”

  “Yeah. They seemed to be in a big hurry and there was a bit more light than usual. I could see she had a nice figure coz she had a tight-fitting outfit, like one of them cat suit things. And she sounded like a woman.”

  “You heard her voice?” asked Norman, almost climbing from his seat in surprise.

  “I couldn’t hear exactly what she said, but I know a woman’s voice when I hear one,” Billy said.

  “And you’re sure you don’t know what she said?”

  “It was only a few words, and it were as if she was a bit foreign,” said Billy, screwing up his face. He was evidently trying his hardest to remember.

  “A bit foreign?” asked Biddeford, looking puzzled. “What do you mean ‘a bit foreign’?”

  “Well, you know,” said Billy. “It was English, like, but not spoke proper like what an English person would.”

  “So not the Queen’s English as spoken by you,” said Norman, but the irony was totally wasted on Billy.

  “So how did she sound?” asked Biddeford.

  “Like someone from Russia,” said Billy, shrugging. Then his face brightened. “I’ll tell you who she sounded like,” he said, his voice more certain now. “You know that tea shop in town? The one that’s run by that little foreign bird with the funny voice that all the fellas fancy? Well, that’s just what she sounded like. They coulda been twins goin’ by the voice.”

  Norman knew exactly who Billy meant.

  “And you’re quite sure about this?” asked Biddeford.

  “Oh yes, Mr B.” Billy smiled proudly. “I often goes into that shop just to hear her talk. Lots of fellas do. It gives me the horn, listening to her-”

  “Alright, Billy,” said Norman, wincing at the image Billy had just created in his head. “We get the picture. Unfortunately.”

  For his own protection, Norman decided to lock Billy up for the night. In the morning, they would make it obvious to any visitors that the police had raided Billy’s house and put the word out that he’d been arrested along with his loot. That should make sure Allison didn’t get any unwelcome visitors.

  “Can you believe what he was saying about the girl sounding like Jelena?” asked Biddeford.

  “Yeah, it seems a bit weird, but then he only said ‘sounded like’,” said Norman. “But she’s from Serbia or somewhere like that. I reckon anyone from that part of Europe would sound similar. At this stage, I’d put my money on Albania. I thought I’d left all that East European gang stuff in London, but maybe it’s followed me down here.”

  “So what next?” asked Biddeford.

  Norman looked at his watch. It was 11pm.

  “Let’s go home and sleep on it,” he said wearily. “We’ll plan our next move in the morning.”

  Chapter 30

  As Slater and Norman set off for the home of Lindy Fellows the next morning, Slater felt a tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t yet heard back from Dr McCall. McCall was a heart surgeon, and when he’d called yesterday afternoon he’d been told the doctor was in surgery and could expect to be there until late into the night. He was assured the surgeon would be informed when he came out of theatre, but Slater had been told not to expect a call back before this morning.

  It would have been nice to have his suspicions about Bressler and Lindy Fellows confirmed before they spoke to her, but Slater knew well enough that heart surgeons often operated for many hours, and he could hardly expect the surgeon to set everything aside just to talk to him.

  Norman had appeared to be rather preoccupied during this morning’s briefing, and even though he’d taken the time to go off and talk to Steve Biddeford before they’d left, he still didn’t look entirely happy.

  “You’re quiet this morning, Norm,” Slater said, observing him. “Has it got anything to do with Alison and Billy Bumble. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be involved,” said Norman, moodily.

  “I don’t recall saying anything like that,” said Slater. “I’ll admit I’m not exactly keen to work with Steve Biddeford right now, but if you want my help I’m not gonna refuse, am I? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” said Norman, with a heavy sigh, “is that my itty bitty little counterfeit handbag case that never was, has the possibility of becoming one huge case that originates far away from Tinton and involves some seriously heavy crooks.”

  “What? Are you trying to tell me Billy Bumble has suddenly become some sort of criminal mastermind?” Slater laughed, thinking how ridiculous it all sounded.

  “This is no laughing matter,” said Norman.

  “Seriously?” asked Slater, sceptically.

  “Seriously,” said the unsmiling Norman. “I’m not quite sure how Billy got involved with these people, but he’s made a serious mistake helping himself to their hookey cigarettes.”

  “Who are ‘these people’, Norm?”

  “I think they may be Albanians, or at least some sort of East European gang.”

  Slater thought about this for a moment.

  “What was Billy’s explanation for the cigarettes ending up in his garage?” he finally asked.

  “He says he got lost on his way to make the delivery so he took the stuff home and stashed it in his garage.” Norman sighed in exasperation.

  “Yeah,” said Slater. “That sounds like the sort of crap Billy would come out with. And he expected you to believe that?”

  “Yes,” Norman said, nodding. “He did.”

  “And if the people in this gang find him that’s what he’ll tell them too.”

  “The thing is, if they find him, they’ll probably smash his kneecaps for fun, and then kill him. I’ve seen what these people are capable of,” said Norman.

  “So what have we got so far?” asked Slater.

  “We know it’s a sophisticated operation,” Norman said. “There are lots of people involved, but no one ever gets to see anyone else, so no one knows who’s who. Billy knows bugger all really, but he did tell us it all goes down on a Monday night and the stuff comes into Trapworth airfield.”

  “Sarah dropped from an airplane on a Monday night.” Slater racked his brain. “What if that’s what she was on to? What if it somehow ties in with Sandra’s murder?”

  “I think you may be asking one too many ‘what ifs’ there,” said Norman. “I don’t see how it’s likely to tie in with Sandra. That would have been too long ago. But, there again, it would be one hell of a coincidence if there were two light aircraft flying that low over Tinton last Monday night, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Slater was becoming more and more interested in what he was hearing. “Does the timing work?”

  “Billy reckons they usually fly in between one and two in the morning. But if they’re flying out of Trapworth, picking up somewhere close to the coast in France, and then returning, I reckon they could well be flying out of Trapworth around 11pm.

  “Steve says the kid who logs all the aircraft reckons he heard a plane at 11.10pm last Monday. That’s close enough for me. I’ve got him going through all that stuff again right now, and he’s going to speak to the kid again and see if he’s got any record of the return flights. A kid that age would probably be asleep at that time of the morning, but you never know.

  “The thing is, if this turns out to be as big as I think it could be, Steve’s going to need some help. He can’t deal with something that big all on his own.”

  “Have you told Bob Murray yet?” asked Slater.

  “I was planning on seeing him when we get back,” said Norman. “If that’s okay with you?”

  “Of course it’s okay with me, Norm.” Slater smiled reassuringly at him. “If there’s a link to Sarah’s murder, then we’re all involved anyway.”

  “Right,” said Norman, uncertainly. “Fine.”

  Slater could tell he had reservations about him being involved in a case with Steve Biddeford, after what had happened
between them. But they were all adults, weren’t they? And anyway, if Billy Bumble was linked to their murder investigation in any way, he had to be involved, regardless.

  “Anyway, what makes you think they’re Albanians?” he asked, suddenly.

  “I don’t know for sure,” said Norman, tentatively. “It’s just something Billy said.”

  “Well go on, tell me.” Slater was puzzled by Norman’s evident reluctance to tell him. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “He says there’s usually just one guy at the airfield. This time there was a second person. He reckons it was a woman.”

  Slater was sure there must once have been a time when women were never involved in this sort of thing, but now they seemed to be involved in everything, even armed robbery. But then that’s equality for you, he thought.

  He realised Norman had stopped talking.

  “So, just because there’s a woman, that makes you think they must be Albanians?” asked Slater, confused. “Since when did that become a reliable indicator of the nationality of a gang?”

  “No. Of course it’s not that,” said Norman. “But the woman spoke. Billy says she had an Eastern European accent.”

  “Billy wouldn’t recognise an East European accent if it bit his arse,” Slater said, scoffing. “He’s having you on.”

  “Sorry, but you’re wrong.” Norman let out a heavy sigh. “Billy knows exactly what that accent sounds like. It seems he’s a big fan of Tinton’s favourite tea shop, which just happens to be run by what he described as ‘that little foreign bird with the funny voice that all the fellas fancy’. Does that ring any bells with you?”

  “What? Jelena? You’re kidding?” said Slater, in disbelief.

  “According to Billy, he only heard a couple of words, but he says the voice was so similar they could have been twins.”

  “Okay,” said Slater. “So it sounds like her, but then so would any woman from that part of Europe. Wouldn’t they?”

  “No one’s saying she’s involved, and as far as I know there’s nothing to suggest she’s ever done anything illegal,” said Norman.

  “It’s a coincidence, that’s all,” said Slater, and busied himself with his work. He didn’t want to discuss it any further.

  As Norman sat, watching his colleague engross himself in paperwork, he wondered if he should point out that, only a couple of minutes earlier, his partner had insisted he didn’t believe in coincidences. No, probably not the right time for that. He also didn’t feel it was the right time to mention that he’d asked Steve Biddeford to take a good look into Jelena’s background when he had time.

  Norman was well aware Slater thought Jelena was one seriously attractive young woman, and to be honest, he doubted there were many men in Tinton who would disagree. As far as Norman knew, though, they had never actually been on a date together. In fact, Slater had actually told him that his gut instinct had been to steer clear of her despite the physical attraction he felt for her.

  Norman also knew for sure that she had asked Slater out on more than one occasion, and he’d always found an excuse not to go. Now Dave Slater was a good-looking guy and most women seemed to find him attractive, but how many would be happy to accept being rejected and then keep coming back for more?

  Norman had wondered about her chasing after Slater before. It didn’t make sense. She could charm the pants off any guy, so why keep going after him if he wasn’t interested?

  Perhaps he was being extra suspicious because he felt protective towards Slater, but it suddenly made a lot more sense if you accepted it had nothing to do with his good looks and was much more to do with what he might know in his position as a police officer.

  Lindy Fellows lived in a small village about half an hour from Tinton – certainly close enough, in Slater’s opinion, for her and Bressler to get together, if they ever felt the need. Her house was a good-sized cottage with a large garden and a paddock adjoining. The short drive ran alongside the paddock and up to the front of the house. Three horses lazily interrupted their grazing to watch their arrival, before returning contentedly to the grass. At the end of the paddock nearest the house, a small, but expensive-looking, stable block provided shelter should they need it.

  “You don’t get much change out of a million when you buy one of these.” Norman let out a low whistle as he surveyed the house.

  “And they’re not cheap to maintain, are they?” Slater gazed admiringly as he manoeuvred the car up the drive.

  He parked the car on the drive in front of the house and he and Norman made their way to the front door. He rang the bell three times, but it was soon obvious they weren’t going to get an answer any time soon.

  “Can you hear something?” asked Norman.

  “No,” said Slater, listening hard.

  “There,” said Norman. “Did you hear that?”

  “I can’t hear anything.” Slater strained his ears.

  “It’s not a constant noise,” Norman said, turning his head this way and that. “It’s every 30 seconds or so. It’s coming from over there somewhere.”

  He pointed to the stables and began to head that way. Slater followed, listening hard.

  Thwock!

  It was faint, but he definitely heard it that time. Norman was right, there was a sound, and it was coming from behind the stable block. They kept walking, following the path down the side of the house.

  Thwock!

  There it was again, much louder this time as they got closer. It was coming from a barn behind the stables.

  Thwock!

  This time he recognised the sound. Someone was chopping logs. They took the last couple of steps down the side of the barn and turned to their left. The barn was open-fronted and Slater could clearly see the source of the noise now.

  Thwock!

  The oak log split neatly in two, right down the middle. They could only see the back of the person wielding the axe, but they didn’t need a degree in anatomy to see it was a woman.

  “Miss Fellows?” called Slater.

  Startled, she spun round at the sound of his voice, axe held ready to defend herself.

  “I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

  He produced his warrant card and Norman followed suit.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Slater, and this is Detective Sergeant Norman. We’re from Tinton CID. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you could spare the time.”

  Now she had turned around, her tight leggings and skimpy t-shirt made it easy for them to see she was a perfect fit for the Bressler mould. The passing years had done nothing to spoil her good looks, and her figure was still as good as it was in the photo from 15 years ago that Slater had in his pocket.

  “I didn’t hear you coming,” she said, lowering the axe. “A girl can’t be too careful living out here on her own.”

  “Do you always chop your own logs,” asked Norman. “It’s unusual to see a lady swing an axe like that.”

  “I enjoy it,” she said. “It helps keep me fit, and there’s something very satisfying when the axe hits home with that lovely noise. My parents owned a farm when I was a child and we always chopped our own logs. My father taught me when I was about 10. I’m still using the same axe, as it happens. When you have good technique and a well-balanced axe, it’s just like an extension of your arm.”

  She lifted the axe and swung it smoothly. With another resounding “thwock”, she embedded the head in her chopping block.

  “See?” she said. “If your technique’s right, it’s no effort at all. I can split any log, any size. And I can keep going for hours.”

  She walked past them, leading the way to the back of the house.

  “I take it you’d like a cup of tea,” she said. “Let’s go into the kitchen, we can talk in there.”

  “So what is it you want to ask me about,” she asked.

  Slater looked round the lavish kitchen as she pottered about making a pot of tea.
There was money here, all right.

  “We’re investigating a couple of murders in Tinton,” said Slater. “One concerns Sarah Townley who was murdered just over a week ago. The other concerns the murder of her sister Sandra Bressler and her daughter 15 years ago.”

  “Murdered?” said Lindy. “I thought she’d just walked out and left. That’s what Rudy told me.”

  “So you do know Mr Bressler?” asked Norman.

  “Well, of course I do. I was in a relationship with him for five years, as I’m sure you must already know.”

  “Did you know Sandra?” asked Norman.

  “Good heavens, no. I didn’t meet Rudy until about six months after she disappeared.”

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Slater.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” she said, bristling with annoyance.

  Slater produced the photograph and laid it down in front of her.

  “This was taken several months before Sandra disappeared,” he said.

  She looked guiltily at the photo.

  “Ah, well,” she stammered, and her face reddened. “When I say I didn’t meet him until after Sandra disappeared, what I mean is I didn’t become involved with him until then. We had met at one or two medical conferences. We shared the same area of expertise, you see?”

  “You’re a doctor too?” asked Norman.

  “No, not anymore,” she said, smiling. “I stopped practising when I came into some money.”

  “When you moved in with Mr Bressler?” Slater asked.

  “It was around that time, yes,” she said. Slater could tell she was trying to remain tight-lipped.

  “And you’re quite sure you and Mr Bressler weren’t in a relationship before you moved in with him?” he asked.

  “I’ve already told you, no,” she snapped.

  “It’s just that it doesn’t seem to have taken very long for you to decide to move in with him and quit being a doctor,” said Slater.

  “There’s no law against making your mind up quickly, is there? We hit it off right away and he asked me to move in and share his luxury lifestyle. What was there to think about?” she said, sulkily.