by Ford, P. F.
Norman plipped the car locks as they approached and they both climbed in.
‘It has to be something that was expected to be found on a computer, right?’ ventured Slater.
‘For sure,’ agreed Norman. ‘But that means it could be on a CD or a memory stick. It could even be stored somewhere in the cloud.’
‘Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack,’ said Slater, sighing and wondering how anything could be stored in a cloud. ‘And right now we don’t have a bloody clue who, what, where or why.’
‘I think this calls for some abstract thinking,’ said Norman, starting the car. ‘We might not have Mr Winter’s computer, but maybe he had some sort of online account that would give us a clue.’
‘But we don’t have that sort of expertise,’ said Slater. ‘And the waiting list for that sort of help will be a mile long.’
‘Only if we go through the official channels.’ Norman smiled, putting the car in gear.
‘What?’ said Slater, with dismay. ‘You’re not suggesting we involve your friend Vinnie again, are you?’
Vinnie the Geek, as he called himself, was a young man Norman had helped way back in the past, who just happened to be a genius with computers. Apparently, Norman had helped to turn his life around, so he always seemed ready to help whenever Norman asked. It just so happened he was also someone Slater found particularly difficult to get on with.
‘Have you got any better ideas?’ asked Norman. ‘Cos I think we need to act now before this gets out of hand. We already have one murder on our hands...’
He left the sentence unfinished.
‘Do you really think the risk is that high?’ asked Slater.
‘I think desperate equals dangerous,’ said Norman. ‘So yes, I do.’
‘But what if there’s nothing to find?’
‘We can’t take that chance,’ said Norman. ‘There must be something for someone to go to all this trouble. Maybe Winter was threatening to expose someone.’
‘A geriatric blackmailer?’ asked Slater. ‘Do you really think that’s likely?’
‘We have to consider the possibility. Like I said before, we can’t afford to take any chances,’ persisted Norman. ‘You know how good Vinnie is. If he can access Winter’s email account, or any online accounts he might have, who knows what we’ll find? We’ve got his bank statements so we should be able to see who he was paying for stuff like that. Vinnie doesn’t even need to come down here – I’ll send him the information and he can get onto it from home.’
Slater knew Norman had a point. It couldn’t hurt to take look, now could it?
‘D’you think this will convince the Old Man we have to put some sort of guard on John Hunter’s house?’ he asked.
‘I know he won’t like it,’ said Norman. ‘But yeah, I do.’
‘So do I. But he’ll be going spare about it. He’s trying to keep the overtime bill down, and we’re going to be spending it hand over fist.’
‘He’ll go ballistic for sure.’ Norman grinned wickedly. ‘I’m glad it’s not me that has to ask him. I’d love to be a fly on the wall, when you have that conversation.’
Chapter 13
‘Coffee!’ announced Slater, coming backwards through the door into the incident room. In his hands, he balanced a tray with three cups of coffee and a plate of assorted doughnuts. He placed the tray down on his desk, set the coffees and cakes into three places around the desk and dragged up two more chairs.
‘Come on, over here’ he called to the other two. ‘Jane, get away from that screen for ten minutes. Norm, leave that paperwork and get your backside over here!’
‘I can’t eat all those doughnuts,’ cried Jolly in alarm, looking at the two cakes Slater had placed alongside her coffee. ‘What about my figure?’
‘I think your figure’s fine.’ Norman smiled as he eased himself into a chair next to her. ‘But if you really don’t want to eat all of those doughnuts, don’t worry. Whatever you don’t eat won’t go to waste.’
‘That’s very gallant of you,’ said Jolly. ‘But I really don’t think you need them either.’
‘It’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make, for a lady,’ said Norman, letting out a theatrical sigh. ‘It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.’
Slater let the conversation become a discussion about the wisdom of Norman’s diet, and then on to what TV they watched last night and then their varied opinions about the latest news. After about fifteen minutes, he felt it was time to get back to the matter in hand.
‘So how’s your search going, Jane? Anything interesting?’ he asked.
‘This is what I’ve got so far,’ she began. ‘Henry Winter was born in 1946 and lived with his mother in Andover. His sister Julia arrived in 1951. Then in 1958, both parents were killed in a car crash. Neither of the parents appear to have had any relatives, and all the grandparents were dead, so the two children were sent to an orphanage.’
‘I thought his name was Dylan,’ said Slater, confused.
‘Bear with me,’ said Jolly. ‘I’ll come to that in a minute. Henry Winter resurfaces when he joins the Army in 1964. While he was in the Army, he built up quite a substantial property portfolio which he sold for over a million shortly after he left in 1993. He bought the house in Canal Street then, and appears to have been existing quietly there ever since, presumably living on his pension and the interest from the proceeds of his property sale.’
‘Now that’s a shrewd investor,’ said Norman, admiringly. ‘I bet he spent near enough all his wages on houses and they just sat there growing in value. And that was the period when house prices were growing like crazy.’
‘So where’s all that money now?’ asked Slater. ‘Didn’t John Hunter say the only asset mentioned in his will was the house in Canal Street?’
‘He certainly didn’t spend it on a lavish lifestyle,’ said Jolly. ‘Not if his house is anything to go by.’
‘We didn’t look back very far into his financial affairs.’ Norman sounded thoughtful. ‘I’ll go back to the bank and ask for more information on Monday.’
‘So how come he’s now called Dylan?’ asked Slater.
‘In 1994 he also changed his name from Henry to Dylan, by deed poll,’ said Jolly.
‘Do we know why?’
‘No idea. But people change their names for all sorts of reasons. Maybe he just fancied a change.’
‘What about the sister, Julia?’ asked Slater. ‘Where’s she been?’
‘I can trace her going into the orphanage in 1958 with her brother, but then after that she seems to disappear.’
‘Was she adopted?’ asked Slater. ‘Or did she die? It wasn’t unheard of for kids to die in those places back then.’
‘I’ve found no record of either so far,’ Jolly said.
‘Where was this orphanage, and when did it close?’ Slater’s curiosity was well and truly aroused.
‘That’s my next job,’ she replied.
‘See what you can find out about it. Maybe there will be some records stored away somewhere.’
‘Okay. I’m on it,’ she said, heading back to her desk.
An hour later, his thoughts were interrupted from across the room.
‘This orphanage,’ Jolly said. ‘It was called Hatton House. It’s only about five miles from here. It was closed back in 1964 and fell into disrepair.’
‘Good work, Jane,’ said Slater.
‘That’s very interesting,’ chipped in Norman, ‘but I’m not sure it helps us much.’
‘Ah! But that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Jolly, beaming. ‘I haven’t finished telling you what I’ve found yet. Here’s the really interesting bit. It was bought for £600,000 in 1995, by one Dylan Winter of 17 Canal Street, Tinton.’
‘What?’ said Slater and Norman in unison.
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Slater of no one in particular. ‘Does it say what he’s done with it?’
‘Now that I can’t tell you,’ said Jolly. ‘I’v
e just checked the local council website, and there are no planning applications associated with Hatton House, Dylan Winter, or Henry Winter.’
‘So what does that mean?’ asked Slater. ‘Is it still derelict? Why would you buy an old wreck of a house and do nothing with it?’
‘To stop someone else buying it?’ ventured Jolly.
‘Maybe there’s something in that old orphanage that he wanted to make sure no-one else could get hold of,’ Norman said. ‘Maybe that’s what the big secret’s all about.’
‘Perhaps it has something to do with his sister’s disappearance,’ Jolly added, quietly.
‘I hope you’re wrong.’ Norman shook his head. ‘I really don’t need another kid’s death to deal with.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Slater. ‘Listen to yourselves! I thought I was supposed to be the negative person here. Right now we have no evidence to suggest any kids have died.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Norman, sighing. ‘But I’m getting a bad feeling about this case.’
‘See if you can find us a map or some directions, Jane, please,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll take a drive out there on Monday, or Tuesday, and have a poke around.’
Before Norman could say anything more, his mobile phone began to rattle out its terrible ringtone. He looked at the incoming number and cursed quietly.
‘I have to take this,’ he said, standing up and heading for the door.
Slater watched him go through the doors and turned to Jolly.
‘Does he have a girlfriend or something?’ he asked.
‘Not that I know about,’ she replied, looking up. ‘Why?’
‘He just seems to be getting a lot of private calls all of a sudden,’ said Slater absently, returning to his work. He knew it was none of his business, but Norman was his friend as well as his colleague.
It was a good five minutes before Norman came back into the room.
‘You’re popular all of a sudden,’ joked Slater. ‘Have you got yourself a woman?’
‘Sorry?’ said Norman. He looked distracted, turning his mobile phone over and over in his hands.
‘All these phone calls?’
‘Oh, right. Yeah,’ said Norman, with a grim look. ‘I guess I’m just Mr Popular all of a sudden.’
Norman sat back down at his desk and kept his head down, focused on the screen. Slater got the hint.
Chapter 14
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Norman. ‘You think we should blackmail this guy by suggesting we think he’s the murderer?’
They were on their way to the Station Hotel to see Geoff Rippon again.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ Slater said, smiling. ‘I think it sounds much better if we say we’re going to focus his attention on the matter in hand.’
‘By suggesting we think he murdered Winter,’ added Norman.
‘I’m just going to present our evidence,’ explained Slater. ‘He was making phone calls to Winter when we believe the threats were made. He paid someone to poke around and find out what’s going on this end, and now he’s here in person claiming there was a big story. That’s a powerful motive for a greedy journalist, don’t you think?’
‘It’s a bit flimsy, is what I think,’ said Norman. ‘And if he’s half the journalist he’s supposed to be, he’ll know how vague it sounds. If you want to focus his attention, you’re probably going to have to make it worth his while.’
‘What?’ cried Slater, in dismay. ‘You think we should make some sort of deal with this guy?’
‘Look, I don’t like the idea, either,’ said Norman. ‘But, unpleasant as it seems, it may be the only way we’re going to find out what he really knows. Believe me, I’ve had to deal with these guys before. In their world, if there’s nothing in it for them, there’s no deal. Like you said yesterday, the guy’s a vulture.’
‘I’m not sure I like this idea,’ said Slater, gloomily.
‘I promise you I’m not exactly ecstatic about this myself,’ said Norman. ‘But here’s the thing. If you start suggesting he’s a suspect, he’s gonna think we’re as bent as all the other coppers he knows, and that we’re just trying to stitch him up. And if that happens, it’ll be end of story before it even starts.’
Slater brooded on this stark reality for a few moments. He knew Norman was rarely wrong in his assessment of these situations, but even so…
‘Alright,’ he agreed, finally, and reluctantly. ‘You’re probably right. You lead the interview and I’ll try not to put his back up.’
‘If I get the slightest inkling I’m wrong, I’ll step back.’
‘You’re going to get it wrong one day, you know,’ said Slater, with a grim smile.
‘Ha! In your dreams.’ Norman grinned back at him. ‘You know it makes sense. That’s why you like working with me.’
Slater thought of a smart retort, but he chose not to use it. After all, he couldn’t argue. Norman was right.
They found Rippon in exactly the same place he had been before. Everything about him seemed to be exactly the same, Norman thought; he even seemed to be wearing the same clothes. The look on his face when he saw them made him look as if a bad smell had just drifted under his nose. Obviously his attitude hadn’t changed, either.
‘Oh!’ he said, sarcastically. ‘You two again. What a pleasant surprise.’
‘And good day to you too!’ Norman smiled broadly at him and pulled out a chair.
Slater did likewise but said nothing.
‘So, did you do your homework?’ asked Norman, looking Rippon straight in the eye.
‘Now, why would I do that? I don’t take orders from the likes of you.’
‘I don’t suppose you do,’ said Norman. ‘But then I didn’t order you to do anything. I just suggested you could confirm what I told you, if you wanted to.’
‘But why would I want to?’ Rippon sneered unpleasantly.
‘Because without our help you’ve got zero chance of writing this story.’ Norman looked more confident than he actually felt about this statement, but he reasoned Rippon would have written the story by now if he knew what it was.
‘Oh, and you’re going to help me, are you?’ Rippon’s sneer seemed to be getting worse.
‘You know as well as I do that we can’t just hand over our files,’ said Norman. ‘But if you help us, we can probably help you. We can certainly make sure you get it before anyone else does.’
‘How do I know I can trust you,’ asked Rippon, sounding a little less hostile now.
‘You don’t,’ said Norman. ‘But then how do we know you’re not going to give us a load of bullshit?’
Rippon stared at Norman but said nothing.
‘You have to make a judgement,’ continued Norman. ‘Doing your homework should have helped you to do that. And you have done your homework, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t need advice from you about who to trust,’ said Rippon. ‘You’ll be telling me how to write next.’
‘That would never do. Your stories just wouldn’t sell without all the exaggeration and hype.’
‘You do your job, and I’ll do mine.’
‘We are doing our job,’ said Slater, sounding irritated. ‘But you don’t seem to want to help.’
‘And why should I?’ said Rippon.
Slater looked at Norman, and Norman nodded. He knew what Slater was about to say next.
‘Because you’re a possible murder suspect,’ said Slater.
‘What?’ said Rippon, his face reddening and his fists clenching. ‘You’re making this up! I thought you said you guys aren’t bent. How can you possibly suggest I’m a suspect?’
‘If you’d just answer a few questions instead of trying to prove how clever you are, perhaps you’ll understand,’ said Slater.
‘This is bullshit,’ said Rippon angrily.
‘Did you get a phone call this morning, Mr Rippon?’ asked Slater.
‘I get loads of calls every day,’ said Rippon, glaring at him.<
br />
‘Did the caller hang up when you answered?’ asked Slater, ignoring Rippon’s smart remark.
‘How did you know?’ Rippon sounded surprised.
‘How do you think I knew?’ Slater sighed and shook his head. ‘It was me. I was going through Mr Winter’s phone records and this number kept cropping up, so I dialled it to see who it was.’
‘My, my,’ said Rippon, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Well done, Sherlock Holmes. Aren’t you the sharp one? But I already told you he had been in contact with me.’
‘That’s the funny thing, you see,’ said Slater with a wicked grin. ‘There’s not one call made from him to you. All the calls are from you to him. It’s almost like you were stalking him.’
‘Bollocks,’ growled Rippon. ‘The first contact was made by him, in a letter.’
‘Oh good.’ Norman pounced. ‘I take it you’ve still got the letter so you can prove it.’
‘I’m not sure,’ mumbled Rippon, looking at the floor. ‘I might have thrown it away.’
‘How convenient,’ said Norman.
‘It’s the timing, you see,’ Slater went on. ‘We believe he was threatened into believing his life was in danger, and we also believe that threat was made four or five weeks before he died. That’s when you were making all these calls.’
‘But he contacted me,’ said Rippon. ‘I didn’t even know the bloke existed until then.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘He said he had something really big, and that he needed someone who would tell his story to the world. He thought I would be a good person to do that.’
‘It’s a sleazy story, then, is it?’ asked Norman.
Rippon scowled at him.
‘So what’s the story?’ asked Slater.
‘I dunno,’ said Rippon, shrugging. ‘I never found out. He didn’t get around to telling me.’
‘So you threatened him, and when he wouldn’t tell you, you came down and killed him,’ suggested Slater.