by Ford, P. F.
‘Important?’ asked Slater.
‘Nah,’ said Norman. ‘Just some idiot salesman. What have you got there?’
‘It seems we’re going to kill two birds with one stone this morning. John Hunter’s secretary arrived this morning to find someone had been in their offices last night.’
‘What? No alarm?’ asked Norman.
‘On the contrary – they have a very sophisticated system, but it was disabled,’ said Slater.
‘That’s a bit clever for anyone local, so don’t hold your breath for any obvious evidence.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Slater said, sighing. ‘I suppose we’d better go take a look.’
A man was on his knees peering at the lock of the door emblazoned with the legend ‘John Hunter, Solicitor’. The man was dressed in one of the forensic team’s new blue paper romper suits, and he rustled quietly as he turned towards them. Once again, Slater pictured a smurf at work. He just couldn’t help it. The only thing that spoilt the image was the shape of the hood. He thought perhaps he should suggest a redesign. If they were going to look like smurfs, they might as well get it right.
‘Aha! The cavalry, at last,’ said the smurf. ‘Better late than never, I suppose.’
Slater realised it was Ian Becks, Tinton’s forensic wizard. Everyone in CID knew they were lucky to have him on their side, but just to make sure they never forgot, Becks thought it his duty to give them a hard time whenever the opportunity arose. The resulting banter kept everyone on their toes, and went a good way towards maintaining good morale between the two departments.
‘Morning, Becksy,’ Slater said, smiling broadly at him. ‘I take it this means you’ve found enough clues to solve the case all on your own and we’re not needed.’
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to find, mate,’ said Becks.
‘What?’ said Norman, sounding surprised. ‘You mean there was no break-in?’
‘Oh, someone’s been in here, alright.’ Becks gestured to the office within. ‘But whoever it was knew what they were doing. I’m pretty sure the alarm was switched off, or temporarily disabled using some sort of wireless jamming device, and if they didn’t use a key to get in, it was picked by an expert. They were almost certainly wearing latex gloves too, so I’m sure we won’t find a single worthwhile fingerprint.’
‘No prints at all?’ asked Norman.
‘Oh there are plenty of prints,’ said Becks. ‘But I’ll bet a month’s wages any possibles will belong to the people who work here.’
‘So it’s going to be brains and not science that solves this one then,’ said Slater.
‘Well, if you two are the brains in question, you might as well put it straight into the “unsolved” folder.’ Becks grinned at them.
‘I’ll have you know we’ve not had a single “unsolved” since we became a team,’ said Norman, proudly.
‘That’s because my team have been there with the science each time,’ said Becks, with an evil grin. ‘And you know it!’
‘I’d love to continue this discussion,’ said Norman, heavily, ‘but, maybe some other time. Now perhaps if you could step aside and let the professionals do their jobs…’
‘You carry on.’ Becks laughed as he stepped away from the door. ‘I think we’re about done here anyway.’
As if to confirm his statement, the door suddenly opened to reveal two more blue-suited forensic guys, carrying their cases of equipment.
‘All done in here, Boss,’ said the first. ‘Sorry, but we haven’t found anything promising.’
‘No worries,’ said Becks, and then in a voice loaded with sarcasm added, ‘The Dynamic Duo have arrived now so we might as well head off.’
‘You’re done then, right?’ asked Slater, ignoring the bait.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Becks. ‘Like I said before, this guy knew what he was doing. I’ll do a full report, but you’ve already got the gist.’
‘Okay, thanks guys,’ said Slater.
He stepped aside to let the forensics guys out, and then followed Norman through the open door.
‘And you’re quite sure there’s nothing missing?’ Norman asked.
‘No, nothing. Not as far as I can see.’ Sheila Bettsan, John Hunter’s secretary, looked a bit shaken. ‘But someone has logged on to our computer system.’
‘There must be some sensitive information on there,’ said Slater.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Mr Hunter has always been very aware of his responsibilities re: confidentiality. The last thing we do every day is back up everything onto a portable hard disk and then clean the system to remove everything from that day. The portable hard disk is taken home overnight.’
‘That’s quite impressive,’ Norman said. ‘A lot of people wouldn’t go to all that trouble.’
‘It is a lot of fiddling around,’ she agreed, ‘but Mr Hunter’s a bit of a computer buff. He likes to dabble with designing software in his spare time and he’s created a programme that creates the backup and cleans up behind it. All I have to do is click a mouse, wait ten minutes, and it’s done. It means whoever was searching last night wouldn’t have found anything worthwhile.’
‘Do you actually have any information that someone would go to all this trouble to find?’ asked Slater.
‘You’ll have to ask Mr Hunter that question. But, as far as the stuff I deal with is concerned, it’s mostly small stuff like wills and property conveyancing, so I wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Right. Thank you, Mrs Bettsan, you’ve been very helpful. We’ll let you get on now and we’ll talk to Mr Hunter.’
Slater’s first impression of John Hunter was of a kindly looking man, and he remembered that Jane Jolly had reported similar. Slater thought Mr Hunter looked the sort who wouldn’t get easily ruffled.
‘Mrs Bettsan is right,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine there’s a single thing in our files that would be of that much interest to anyone, and certainly nothing worth breaking in for.’
‘It does seem strange,’ said Slater. ‘But thanks to your back-up system, whoever broke in has wasted their time anyway.’
‘Yes.’ Hunter smiled, ruefully. ‘We’ve been doing it for years, but I always thought I would reach my retirement without ever knowing if it had been worth the effort. Well, I know now, don’t I? But I’m going to have to do something about the alarm. Your man said he thought it had been disabled with some sort of jamming signal.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Slater. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about that stuff, but Ian’s quite clued up. If he says that’s what happened, he’s usually right. At the very least you need to change your codes.’
‘So much for sophistication,’ said Hunter, sounding disappointed. ‘That’s supposed to be the latest, state-of-the-art system.’
‘The problem with these things,’ said Norman, ‘is that for every genius coming up with new technology, there’s another ten geniuses dreaming up ways of breaking it.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Hunter, gloomily. ‘It’s a pretty grim outlook, isn’t it? I wonder if anything is ever really secure. But then I suppose it’s up to us to try to stay one step ahead.’ He brightened. ‘Don’t let them grind you down, eh?’
‘It’s about all we can do,’ agreed Slater.
‘Anyway,’ said Hunter, ‘weren’t you coming to speak to me today anyway?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Slater. ‘It’s about a Mr Dylan Winter from 17 Canal Street.’
‘Ah, yes. I spoke to your PC Jolly. I had to arrange the funeral. It’s a bit sad when there’s no family or friends to contact and your solicitor is the only person left.’
‘So there’s definitely no family at all?’
‘Well, he’s left everything to his sister, Julia, but I have no idea where she is. He was adamant she was still alive when he came in to make his will a few weeks ago. I have to find her so she can have everything, but it seems she vanished years ago and I have no idea where she is. I’ve tried all the usual thin
gs, like adverts in all the newspapers, and even online searches. But so far I’ve drawn a blank.’
‘So he’s only just made the will?’ asked Slater.
‘Oh yes. I didn’t even know he existed until then.’
‘Did he say why he suddenly needed to make a will?’
‘He just said it was something he’d been meaning to do for years but he’d never got around to it. There didn’t seem to be any special reason at the time,’ said Hunter. ‘Although now it does seem rather prophetic, don’t you think?’
Slater agreed with Hunter, but chose not to say anything.
‘We can take look into this as part of our inquiry,’ said Slater. ‘I can’t guarantee we’ll find her, but we’ve probably got more data at our disposal.’
‘That would be very helpful, thank you, Sergeant.’
‘Did he have much to leave?’ asked Slater.
‘There’s his house in Canal Street,’ said Hunter. ‘That’s about it. There are no other assets, and no cash to speak of.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Can I ask a question?’
‘Sure,’ said Slater.
‘Do you usually send two detectives to investigate these things? Is there some problem with Mr Winter’s death? ‘
‘We have reason to believe Mr Winter’s death may not have been an accident,’ said Slater.
‘Good Lord. Really? But he was just a harmless little old man.’
‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?’ Norman pitched in. ‘That’s why we need to ask questions. What else can you tell us about him?’
‘Not much really,’ said Hunter. ‘As I told PC Jolly, he came to me to make his will, but he was a very private person so he didn’t really reveal anything about himself. I know he owned his house and he lived on his own with his dog. That’s about it.’
‘So you can’t tell us where he was born, or about his childhood, or anything like that?’ asked Norman.
‘I don’t have to know any of that to help someone make a will, Sergeant, and if he doesn’t want to share that sort of stuff with me…’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Norman. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you’re not doing your job properly, we were just hoping you might know a bit more about him than we do.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,’ said Hunter. ‘I wish I could.’
‘That’s okay, Mr Hunter,’ said Slater. ‘Thank you for your time and your help.’
‘Sounds to me like old Mr Winter knew he was going to die,’ said Norman a few minutes later, as they reached their car. ‘In view of what’s happened so far it has to mean he was threatened, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t think there’s much doubt about that,’ agreed Slater. ‘All we’ve got to do now is figure out who… and why.’
‘Do you think we should have told Hunter about the break-ins at Winter’s house?’
‘Right now, we suspect they might be linked but we have no clear evidence to suggest they are, do we?’
‘We don’t?’ Norman stared at him.
‘Not unless you know something I don’t,’ said Slater, opening the passenger door.
Norman shrugged his shoulders and climbed into the driver’s side.
‘Okay. Whatever.’
He sat in silence for a few seconds, but Slater could tell something was weighing on his mind, and it was only a few minutes later before he spoke up again.
‘So anyway,’ he asked. ‘How did Jolly Jane know Hunter was Mr Winter’s solicitor?’
‘She said one of his cards was pinned up in his kitchen. She took his phone number from there, I think.’
‘And she left the card where it was?’
‘As far as I know,’ said Slater.
‘So the guy who trashed Winter’s house could have seen the card and put two and two together just like Jane did, right?’ asked Norman.
Slater’s felt like a fool. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
‘Okay, but it’s not clear evidence, is it?’ he said, even though he knew it had been a good spot. ‘And why didn’t I think of that?’
‘I’m sure you would have thought of it, too,’ Norman said, smiling. ‘Of course, it’s possible I might be way off course and talking through my backside.’
‘No,’ said Slater, ‘I don’t think you are. Maybe our burglar thinks Mr Winter passed whatever he was looking for on to Hunter for safe keeping.’
‘It fits, doesn’t it?’ Norman’s smile broadened. ‘And who better to leave it with than your own solicitor?’
‘We’ll have to go back and ask him,’ said Slater.
‘Go on. ‘I’ll wait here.’
‘He says Mr Winter definitely did not leave him anything to look after,’ said Slater, five minutes later, as he climbed back into the car.
‘Rats!’ said Norman. ‘So much for that brilliant idea. I told you I might be talking through my arse.’
‘It was good thinking,’ Slater said, encouragingly. ‘And I think our burglar thought so, too. And at least now we know for sure that Mr Winter hadn’t given anything to John Hunter.’
‘Yeah, that’s true enough,’ agreed Norman. ‘But if we assume all this theory is correct, it means we still have no idea what we’re looking for, and even worse, we haven’t a clue where it might be hidden.’
‘But this guy seems to be desperate. If you thought Hunter had the thing you were looking for, where would you look next?’
‘You mean his house?’ Norman let out a whistle. ‘We could always stake it out. Maybe we’d get lucky.’
‘I doubt Bob Murray would agree with you, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask,’ said Slater, not looking forward to that particular conversation.
Chapter 9
As they were just a very small three-person team, they didn’t have use of the main incident room. Instead, they were crammed into a much smaller room with barely enough room to swing a cat. The single window hadn’t been cleaned in years and permitted just a small amount of light to penetrate the layers of grime.
‘So,’ Slater had asked Norman, mischievously, ‘how are you going to apply your positive spin to this particular situation?’
‘It’s sort of like an old telephone box, but with barely any windows,’ Norman had said, glumly. But then, he brightened and with a beaming smile, added, ‘On the bright side, it’ll give us a good incentive to get out there and do some real investigating.’
Slater rolled his eyes, and Norman laughed.
It was almost eleven when they got back to the tiny office, which had undergone something of a transformation at the hands of the ever-efficient Jane Jolly. When they had looked in earlier, it had resembled a store room with desks and chairs all pushed to one side. Now it looked like a reasonably orderly workspace for three people.
On the basis that she had done all the work sorting out the room, Jolly had chosen to place her own desk under the window, where she now sat pecking away at the keyboard of her computer.
‘Wow!’ said Norman, as they walked in. ‘You know you should be on TV, Jane. Magicians are really popular right now.’
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Slater said, gazing around the room.
‘Application,’ said Jolly. ‘That and an acceptance that no one else was likely to do it.’
‘Any calls, Jane?’ asked Slater, ignoring the implied slur.
‘No, sorry. Deathly quiet,’ she said.
‘Don’t apologise,’ said Norman. ‘Deathly quiet is okay. How’s your search coming on?’
The two detectives huddled behind her desk so they could look over her shoulder.
‘I’ve got a result,’ she said. ‘I’ve been through every car registration number on my list, and there are just two that belong to people who don’t live in Canal Street. Then I called in a favour with the traffic division and got them to run the two registration numbers through their search programme on the date in question. One of those cars was picked up on CCTV heading towards Canal Street and then away again a bit later. The recorded times are
a good fit for this car to be the one our intruder was driving.’
‘Have you got a name and address?’ asked Slater.
‘I certainly have.’ With a broad grin, she waved a sheet of paper in the air.
‘Look out, Tinton,’ said Norman appreciatively, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Jolly Jane strikes again!’
He took the sheet of paper she offered and looked at the address.
‘Do you know where this is?’ he asked her.
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded.
‘Want to come with me and ask our new friend some awkward questions?’
‘I’ll just finish my tea,’ she said, beaming. ‘And I’ll be with you!’
‘And I suppose that while you’re gone, I’d better go tell the boss we want to mess up his overtime budget,’ said Slater, gloomily.
While Slater set about trying to convince Bob Murray that it would be a good idea to blow his overtime budget, Norman hoped he and Jolly would make some progress in their enquiries via a nice quiet chat with Danny Trent, the owner of the vehicle in question.
‘What if he does a runner out the back?’ asked Jolly, as they drove down the road towards his house.
‘I thought of that,’ said Norman, from the passenger seat. ‘There are two uniforms waiting out the back just in case.’
‘Thinking ahead,’ said Jolly, approvingly. ‘I like it. At least now I know I’m not going to have to do all the chasing if he does make a break for it.’
Norman smiled broadly, and tilted his head to acknowledge the truth in that statement. He didn’t do running.
‘Just looking after my partner,’ he said, as she eased the unmarked car into a handy space right outside Trent’s house.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said. ‘He’s only nineteen and I’m old enough to be his mother. I’d never be able to catch him.’
In the event, they didn’t need to worry about their suspect doing a runner.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Norman and this is PC Jolly,’ Norman announced, showing his warrant card when the door opened. ‘We’d like to speak to Danny Trent.’