by Ford, P. F.
‘I’ll take Norman for a ride. That way he can’t keep distracting you,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll be at the Station Hotel if you need us.’
Chapter 11
They found Geoff Rippon in the bar at the Station Hotel. He was on his own at a corner table, pecking away at a laptop. A cigarette smouldered away in an ashtray next to his half-empty pint of beer. Slater thought there was something sleazy about him, although he couldn’t have said exactly why. Perhaps it was just that Geoff Rippon looked rather cold and hard. He seemed to be painfully thin and had extraordinarily white skin. His greasy, black hair was plastered across his head in a vain, but futile, attempt to hide its sparseness.
He appeared to be engrossed in his writing and didn’t notice their approach.
‘Geoff Rippon?’ asked Slater.
Rippon glanced up but continued typing. He had a large hooked nose and sharp, beady eyes, which glared at them from behind huge spectacles. In that moment, Slater thought there was something of the vulture about him, and somehow that seemed appropriate.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Detective Sergeants Slater and Norman.’
They produced their warrant cards. Rippon didn’t appear to be unduly interested in them, but he did stop tapping at his keyboard and gave them his attention.
‘Have I broken any laws?’ he asked.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ replied Slater.
‘I didn’t think I had,’ said Rippon, returning to his keyboard. ‘Now, if you don’t mind I’m rather busy.’
‘We’d like a few words, if that’s ok,’ said Slater, ignoring the rebuff.
Rippon sighed heavily then sat back in his seat and looked at Slater and then at Norman.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re not going to give me any peace, so what do you want to talk about?’
‘Mind if we sit down?’ asked Norman, pulling out a chair opposite Rippon. Slater did likewise and they both sat.
‘They’re nice trainers,’ observed Slater, pointing at Rippon’s shoes. ‘I fancy a pair of them myself, but I can’t afford them on my salary.’
‘I do a lot of running,’ said Rippon. ‘And I can afford the best, so I buy the best. Is there a law against that, now?’
‘Not at all,’ said Slater. ‘What size are you?’
‘Nine,’ said Rippon, ‘I’ll take one off so you can check if you don’t believe me. I’m blessed with small feet, but I make up for it in other areas.’
He gave them a sickly grin and Slater felt disappointment wash over him.
‘We’re curious,’ said Slater. ‘We can’t help but wonder why someone like you would have come down here to attend a funeral. It’s not as if you knew Mr Winter, is it?’
‘I just wanted to see what it’s like when someone with no friends gets buried,’ said Rippon, seeming completely unfazed by the question. ‘It’s a bit of research for something I’m writing about sad and lonely old people.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Norman smiled at him. ‘Like you don’t have many examples up in London.’
Rippon smiled right back at Norman.
‘There’s no law against attending a funeral.’
‘We’re also curious to know why you employed a local youngster to nose around and interfere with a crime scene,’ continued Slater.
‘I didn’t ask him to do that,’ snapped Rippon. ‘He was just supposed to let me know if anything significant happened.’
‘He thinks you’ve employed him as co-writer,’ said Norman.
‘Well, he thinks wrong. He’s just a runner. If he did more than I asked, that’s his problem, not mine.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Slater. ‘We didn’t think for one minute you’d actually care about what happened to him, and we certainly didn’t expect you to accept any responsibility for what he’s done.’
‘You’re not going to be disappointed then, are you?’ sneered Rippon.
Slater looked hard at him. He really did seem to be a most unpleasant human being.
‘So what is so interesting about Dylan Winter’s death?’ asked Norman.
‘You really have no idea, do you?’
‘So why don’t you give us a clue?’
‘What’s in it for me?’ Rippon’s lips pressed into a tight line.
‘Ah!’ Norman smiled pleasantly. ‘What a surprise. And there I was hoping you would be a public-spirited citizen willing to help us.’
‘Why should I?’ Rippon sneered again.
‘So you don’t think you should help us solve a murder?’ asked Slater.
‘Ha! Cover up a murder, more like! You lot are all the same. You’re all bent as nine bob notes. He contacted me in the first place because he didn’t know if he could trust you lot!’
‘Winter contacted you?’ asked Slater in surprise. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he had a story to tell, of course.’
‘And you’re telling us he would trust someone like you with this story,’ scoffed Norman.
‘When did he contact you? What story?’ asked Slater.
Rippon said nothing.
‘Why didn’t he trust us?’ Norman furrowed his brow
‘I never actually found that out,’ said Rippon. ‘But I suspect it was because he crossed swords with some bent coppers in his past. Same reason I don’t trust you.’
‘So that means we’re all bent, does it?’ asked Norman, sighing heavily.
‘If the cap fits.’ Rippon smiled unpleasantly, showing yellowing teeth.
‘Actually it doesn’t bloody fit.’ Slater smacked his hand down on the table, making Rippon jump. ‘Yes, unfortunately there are some bent coppers, but we’re not. In fact, we’ve both been the victims of bent coppers.’
‘Yeah, sure you have,’ said Rippon, raising an eyebrow.
‘If you’ve got some information that will lead us to his killer, and there’s any police involvement, we’ll be happy to bring it out into the open. We’ve done it before,’ explained Norman.
‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ muttered Rippon.
‘You’re the journalist,’ said Norman. ‘Do your homework and you’ll see we’re telling the truth.’
Rippon looked doubtfully at Norman and Slater.
‘I tell you what,’ said Norman. ‘How about we give you a couple of days to check us out and think about it?’
‘And how am I supposed to do that?’
‘Like I said,’ answered Norman, as he rose casually to his feet, ‘you’re the journalist. And somehow I can’t believe you don’t know how to access that sort of information.’
‘We’ll be back.’ Slater, taking his cue from Norman, stood up too. ‘Same time, same place.’
They turned together and walked from the bar, Slater feeling Rippon’s eyes burning into his back as he left.
‘That guy gives me the creeps,’ he said, as they approached their car. ‘He reminds me of a vulture.’
‘You’re exactly right,’ Norman said, snorting with laughter. ‘I knew he reminded me of something, but I couldn’t think what it was.’
‘D’you think he actually knows anything?’
‘I can’t imagine Winter would want to talk to a creep like that.’ Norman unlocked the car, and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘But even if he did, I don’t think he told him much. Let’s be honest now, if you were old and on your own, and that guy turned up at your home, would you feel you could trust him?’
‘Good point.’ Slater nodded as he buckled up his seatbelt. ‘He certainly wouldn’t put me at ease.’
‘He knows something, though,’ said Norman. ‘And I guess anything would help, right now. Let’s see what a couple of days does for us. If he still doesn’t want to talk to us, we’ll have to think again. He obviously wants this story or he wouldn’t have come down here.’
‘Did he want it so badly he murdered for it?’ suggested Slater, as Norman started the car and pulled out of the space.
‘That would have
to be one seriously big story to want to murder someone for it,’ said Norman. ‘To be honest, I can’t see it. But even if he did, he wouldn’t have taken the risk of involving the kid, would he?’ said Norman.
‘Having a pair of eyes and ears down here would keep him informed.’
‘Hmm, maybe, but I’m not convinced,’ said Norman, after a moment. ‘If Winter had the story, why would Rippon kill him? Surely that would rather defeat the object.’
‘Do you think he’ll do a runner?’
‘No. I don’t think so,’ Norman said, chuckling quietly. ‘Because if he does, he’s going to promote himself from possible suspect to definite suspect, and that would be pretty stupid. Whatever our Mr Rippon might be, he certainly ain’t stupid.’
Chapter 12
It was 6am on Saturday morning and it was still dark. A mobile phone was ringing incessantly somewhere close by.
For God’s sake, thought Slater. It’s so bloody annoying. Why don’t people answer their phones?
He felt a finger jab sharply into his ribs.
‘Tell them to answer that bloody phone or I’ll arrest them for disturbing the peace,’ he mumbled, sleepily.
There was another jab, but much harder this time.
‘What the-’ he began.
‘Issyourphone,’ mumbled an even sleepier voice up close behind him.
‘What?’ he said, only half awake but totally confused.
‘It’s your phone,’ repeated the voice, a little less sleepy this time. ‘And if I have to answer it for you I’m going to throw it out of the window.’
He slipped an arm behind his back and felt the cosiness of the soft, warm body pressed up against him. For the briefest moment, he wondered where he was and who was sharing his bed. Then he smiled to himself as he awakened sufficiently to recall exactly where he was and who was snuggled up next to him. He fumbled around until he found her hair, and then the softness of her face.
He had met Cindy Maine during a case and had been attracted to her right from the start. To his surprise, she had seemed to be equally attracted to him. Once the case had been solved, they had started dating, and now, three months later, they seemed to have become something of an item. They didn’t see each other every night, and each had their own house, but they seemed to be spending more and more time together. It just seemed right somehow. He smiled to himself as he thought about how lucky he was to have her as a girlfriend. Then he yelped as she bit his hand.
‘Ouch!’ He grimaced. ‘Jeez, that’s not very friendly.’
‘Nor’s poking your fingers in my face and allowing your phone to keep ringing. If you don’t answer it right now, I’ll show you just how unfriendly I can be!’
He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, switched on the bedside lamp, and grabbed the phone.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ said Norman in his ear. ‘Only it’s been ringing for ages.’
‘You’re only interrupting my beauty sleep,’ said Slater, yawning.
‘And mine,’ shouted Cindy, loud enough for Norman to hear.
‘Now, in her case I can believe it’s beauty sleep.’ Norman chuckled. ‘But I have to say, it’s not working anywhere near as well for you.’
‘That’s because people keep calling me in the middle of the night and waking me up.’ Slater yawned again. ‘Anyway, if you’ve just called to share your beauty tips, I have to tell you not to bother. They don’t work. Just look in any mirror and you’ll see what I mean.’
‘You’re only jealous,’ said Norman. ‘I don’t know what that beautiful young woman sees in you. I mean she coulda had me. It was just lucky you got there first-’
‘Ha!’ Slater laughed loudly. ‘In your dreams, mate, in your dreams. She fell for the one with brains, as well as looks, and you know it.’
Cindy was now wide awake, and seemingly none too happy about it.
‘I don’t believe you two,’ she snapped in Slater’s ear, loudly enough that Norman could no doubt hear too. ‘It’s six o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I should be sound asleep, but instead I have to listen to you two sad people twittering on about how good looking you are.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Norman. ‘I appear to have set fire to the blue touchpaper. I guess the safest thing for me to do now is deliver my message and get the hell away.’
‘Yeah, right. Thanks for that, Norm. So what is it that’s so important, anyway.’
‘They had another break-in at Hunter’s last night. This time the place has been taken apart.’
‘Oh crap!’ Slater sighed. ‘So much for my lie in. Okay, give me half an hour and I’ll be there.’
He shut the phone off, stood up, stretched, and yawned so expansively he nearly turned his head inside out.
‘I’m sorry, love, I’m going to have to go in,’ he said, turning to face Cindy, but she’d pulled the covers over her head and Slater didn’t think she would be coming out anytime soon.
‘Cindy?’ He tugged gently at the covers. ‘I know you’re in there.’
‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I’m asleep.’
‘Okay,’ he said, moving away towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll leave you to it-’
‘No. Wait,’ she said, pushing the covers back from her face. ‘You can’t just go off and leave me like this.’
‘But I have to,’ he pleaded. ‘You know how it works.’
‘Yes, I think I’ve known you long enough to know exactly how it works,’ she said. ‘Work comes first, and I come a poor second.’
‘Now you know it’s not like that,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing I’d like more than to spend all my time with you, but I have a job to do, and a duty-’
‘I know,’ she interrupted with a sigh. ‘I know you have to go, but surely you can spare a few minutes, for me, before you go.’
She had that look on her face. The one that he just couldn’t resist.
‘It’s all warm and snuggly in here. Look,’ she said saucily, raising the covers just enough to suggest what he was missing.
Oh my, thought Slater. This just isn’t fair. But what can a poor boy do?
‘Five minutes, and that’s it,’ he said.
‘Oooh!’ she teased. ‘Does this mean I’m going to get the extended version?’
‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ he said, huffily. ‘Of course, I could just say I don’t have time, and leave you to it.’
She poked her tongue out at him and raised the covers a bit further so he could now see exactly what he was missing.
‘Mmmmm. I don’t think so, do you?’
And he had to admit, she was right…
‘I won’t ask what took you so long,’ said Norman, over an hour later, when Slater finally arrived at Tinton police station.
‘I got held up,’ said Slater. ‘I can explain.’
‘Please don’t,’ said Norman.
‘But, my car wouldn’t start,’ began Slater.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Norman. ‘You forget I’m a trained detective, and right now I detect a shedload of bullshit heading my way. I think I can probably guess what happened, and I have to point out that telling me about it is totally inappropriate. It’s also going to make me jealous, so please, let’s just say the matter’s closed, okay?’
That suited Slater just fine because he had no excuse anyway. Well, at least, not one that he was going to tell Norman about.
‘So what’s this about Hunter’s?’ he asked instead.
‘I got a call at 4.30 this morning,’ said Norman. ‘The duty sergeant thought we should be told as we were there yesterday. I went down to take a look, and I can tell you there was no subtlety about it this time. They ignored the alarm, smashed the door down, and tore the whole place apart. By the time anyone responded to the alarm they were long gone.’
‘Is there anything missing?’ asked Slater.
‘How can you tell when the place looks like it was hit by a bomb?’ Norman shrugged. ‘Forensics are on their way down there now, and I’ve cal
led Hunter. He’s going to meet us there at eight o’clock. In the meantime, two uniforms are guarding the place. You wanna go take a look now?’
‘Might as well,’ agreed Slater. ‘Otherwise there was no point in me getting up so early. I’ll buy us a coffee on the way.’
When Norman had said it looked like a bomb had gone off, Slater had thought his friend was exaggerating. Perhaps he was annoyed about having to get out of bed so early. However, now that he could see the damage for himself, Slater thought it was actually a pretty accurate description.
At first glance, it appeared that nothing had been left untouched. Every cupboard, filing cabinet, and drawer appeared to have been emptied and then flung across the office. But, despite the appearance that this had been some sort of frantic, drug-fuelled robbery, Slater was convinced Ian Becks and his forensic team wouldn’t find a single shred of evidence to indicate who was behind it.
Slater had felt a huge amount of sympathy for John Hunter when he had arrived and seen the damage. He had been deeply shocked by the scene, and Slater had been wondering how he was going to cope with sorting the mess out, but then the cavalry had arrived in the form of Hunter’s formidable secretary, Sheila Bettsan, and his wife, Belinda. It seemed the two women were made of sterner stuff than Mr Hunter, and by the time Slater and Norman were leaving they had the situation firmly under control.
‘I take it you’re now prepared to accept this break-in is related to the previous one here and at Canal Street?’ asked Norman, as they walked back to their car.
‘It would be hard to think otherwise, wouldn’t it?’ agreed Slater. ‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s a very strong link. It can’t be a coincidence.’
‘I think there’s no doubt now that someone thinks Winter had some information, and now they think Hunter’s got it.’
‘But Hunter’s adamant he’s not been given anything.’
‘Well, someone doesn’t believe that,’ said Norman. ‘And that someone doesn’t care that we know they’re looking for it. In my experience, if someone doesn’t care we know, that means they’re desperate to get their hands on whatever it is they’re looking for, and desperate means dangerous.’