by Ford, P. F.
‘So, if anything, the abuse and cruelty came from Diana and not from Woody,’ said Slater.
‘I think it’s fair to say she was torturing him for most of their marriage.’
‘And everyone thinks she’s a saint.’ Slater sighed.
‘If she’s such a saint,’ said Brennan. ‘Why did she proposition me?’
Slater didn’t know what to say to that.
‘I’ll tell you why.’ Brennan was in full flow now. ‘It was because she thinks I’ve got a bit of money and I’d be prepared to spend it on her in exchange for a shag. She tends to think just because a bloke has a bit of cash he’s willing, you know? To my mind that’s nothing more than prostitution when you think about it. And before you ask, no, I did not take her up on her offer.’
‘And all this stuff about Woody beating her up-’ began Slater.
‘Is complete bollocks. That’s all rubbish she’d been putting around since they split up to make sure she looked like the victim and he looked like the villain. She couldn’t have her “Little Miss Perfect” image ruined by the truth coming out, now could she?’
‘Shit,’ said Slater, almost to himself. ‘Fancy putting up with that for all those years.’
‘Yeah. Not many blokes would, would they?’ said Brennan. ‘But ask yourself this – if he was going to kill her, don’t you think he would have done it the day he caught her out? If it was me, I would have killed them both, I can tell you. But Woody’s not like that. He didn’t want revenge. He didn’t even tell the other bloke’s wife.’
‘Your logic is flawless,’ said Slater. ‘But unfortunately it’s not really much help if he doesn’t have an alibi. Are you sure there’s not another woman in his life?’
‘In a way I wish there was. The poor bloke deserves a bit of happiness. But even if there is another woman in his life, I can assure you he’s never told me about it.’
As Slater drove away from Jim Brennan’s office he felt that, at least now, he’d managed to fill in a few blanks about Woody and Diana’s past. But he was still none the wiser when it came to where Woody had been on the afternoon Diana was killed.
‘Morning, Jane. Morning, Norm,’ said Slater as he pushed his way through the doors into the incident room.
Both Jolly and Norman were at their desks, Jolly looked up and smiled when he walked in, but Norman merely grunted, keeping his head down and his back to the door. Slater’s spirits were, in turn, raised by Jolly’s smile, and then depressed by Norman’s back.
‘Good morning,’ said Jolly. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got some messages.’
‘I hope they’re good news.’
‘One of the neighbours along Bishops Common claims to have seen a white van in the lane around the time of the murder, and DCI Murray would like an update on the case so far, as soon as you’re ready.’
Oh great, thought Slater. Norman’s going to be gloating, and Murray’s probably going to be griping because the budget’s run out and we haven’t made an arrest yet. What a way to start the day.
‘What time does the Old Man want to see us?’ he asked.
‘Oh you’ve got a good half hour,’ said Jolly. ‘I’ll go and get some coffees.’
She stopped at the door and, catching Slater’s eye, she nodded towards Norman. The message was clear enough.
‘I’ll just be a couple of minutes,’ she said, as she left the room.
Crap, thought Slater. How do I start this conversation?
But it was Norman who swung his chair round to face him.
‘Err, I think I owe you an apology,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I was well out of order yesterday, snapping your head off like that. It’s just that, well, I have some personal stuff going on right now, and I let it get to me yesterday. It’s a piss poor excuse I know, and I’m sorry I took it out on you.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Slater, with a big sigh of relief. ‘I can be pretty snappy myself at times, so I can hardly make a big deal if you get your own back now and then.’
‘But I’ve never seen you stomp off home like a five-year-old. That was unforgivable behaviour on my part. I’m sorry.’
‘Hey, look,’ said Slater. ‘It’s done, and it’s forgotten. If there’s anything I can do to help with your problems, you only have to ask. And that’s not interfering, right?’
‘I know, I know,’ said Norman. ‘And don’t think I’m not grateful for your offer, but this is something I have to deal with on my own.’
‘Okay, whatever you say. But the offer stands. You only have to ask.’
Jolly backed her way through the door bearing a tray of coffee and bacon sandwiches. When she turned to face them, she obviously could tell from the look on their faces that they had cleared the air, as she beamed at them both.
‘Breakfast is served,’ she announced.
‘Jane Jolly you’re an angel,’ said Norman, fervently.
He grabbed a sandwich and a coffee.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’d better decide what we’re going to tell the Old Man.’
‘What about this neighbour?’ asked Slater. ‘Shouldn’t we speak to her first?’
‘We don’t have time. We’ll have to drive out there after we’ve seen him. I don’t wish to gloat, but it looks as if she’s going to put Ian Woods at the murder scene. That rather proves it for me.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Slater. ‘There must be hundreds of white vans in and around Tinton every day. Unless she has a registration number it doesn’t prove anything.’
‘You really don’t want this guy to be guilty, do you?’ asked Norman. ‘I don’t see why you’re so keen to save him.’
‘I’ve just been talking to Jim Brennan. According to him, everything we’ve been told about Woody and Diana is arse about face. She was a cheat, and she’d been cheating on him for years. The reason he left was because he caught her screwing her boss, in his own house and his own bed.’
‘Okay,’ said Norman. ‘So there’s a lot of mist and fog to fight our way through. But that doesn’t prove he’s innocent. If anything it just gives him a really good motive for murder.’
‘I know how it looks,’ said Slater. ‘But I still think we’re missing something. And now we know more about Diana. According to Brennan she’s slept with half the men in Tinton, so there could be dozens of suspects.’
‘But only one whose van was at the scene at the right time. Jane told me about your “other woman” alibi theory. Did Brennan know anything about this woman?’
‘No,’ conceded Slater. ‘But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist, does it? Maybe it’s someone else’s wife and Woody knows what discreet means.’
‘Even if it means being discreet gets him accused of murder?’ asked Norman, cynically. ‘Seriously?’
‘Chivalry’s not completely dead,’ Jolly chipped in. ‘There are still some men alive who know what it means.’
‘Yeah, but you’re biased,’ said Norman. ‘Your first impression was that he was a nice man. Remember?’
‘I’m a good judge. I have woman’s intuition on my side.’
‘Yeah, but I have evidence on my side,’ said Norman. ‘And I just keep getting more and more of it.’
Detective Chief Inspector Bob Murray massaged his temples with his fingertips. He was tired, as he always seemed to be these days. The mound of paperwork on his desk seemed never-ending, and he imagined himself suddenly standing up and shoving it all onto the floor, leaving the mess for someone else to deal with. As Norman and Slater stood awkwardly in front of his desk, like schoolboys in the headmaster’s office, Murray wondered if he would miss any part of this job when he left. If he ever left. He had applied for voluntary redundancy, but hadn’t heard a thing yet. Every morning he woke up wondering if today would be the day he would be free at last.
His thoughts snapped back to the present as Slater cleared his throat.
‘So, where are we with this Diana Woods murder case?’ Murray asked.
‘I think that rather depe
nds on your point of view,’ said Norman, cutting off Slater who had just opened his mouth.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Murray, impatiently. ‘Do you have a suspect?’
‘Yes,’ said Norman. ‘Ian Woods.’
‘Evidence?’
‘He’s the husband. He moved out a few weeks ago after he caught the victim in bed with another man.’
‘So that’s a good motive,’ said Murray.
‘Woods was in the area on the afternoon she died, and there’s a big hole in his story that would give him plenty of time to have committed the murder,’ continued Norman.
‘So there’s the opportunity,’ said Murray. ‘What more do you need? Arrest the man.’
‘Err, with respect,’ said Slater. ‘All we have is circumstantial. We have no hard evidence to prove he was even in the house that day. There are no forensics to put him at the scene, and no witnesses.’
‘But we do have his boss’s testimonial,’ said Norman. ‘He says Woods told him he was going to see his wife that very afternoon to collect some records and CDs.’
‘Yes,’ argued Slater. ‘But Woods says he chickened out and didn’t go.’
‘And we’ve just had a witness come forward to say she saw Woods and his van in the lane at the time of the murder,’ said Norman.
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ protested Slater. ‘We haven’t even spoken to this witness yet!’
‘Do you know this man Woods?’ Murray thought he might have whiplash from the way the conversation was flying back and forwards between Slater and Norman. ‘You seem very keen to argue in his defence.’
‘No, I don’t know him,’ replied Slater. ‘I’m just not convinced he’s guilty. I admit he looks possible, but I’d be a whole lot happier if we had some real evidence to connect him to the crime scene.’
‘It seems open and shut to me.’ Murray waved a hand. ‘He went to the house to collect his records and CDs, got into an argument with his wife, lost his rag and murdered her. If it was me I’d have hauled him in here and charged him by now. I don’t know why you haven’t.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Slater. ‘We don’t have enough evidence to do that.’
Murray looked Slater up and down. He was a good detective, but he had a habit of speaking his mind, which could be quite irritating. Even more irritating if you were exhausted and fed up.
‘I’m sorry if things aren’t going quite the way you would like, Slater,’ he said. ‘But I think you’ll find I have a bit more experience than you in these matters. I’m not asking you to arrest this man, I’m giving you an order.’
‘At least let us speak to the witness who’s just come forward,’ pleaded Slater. ‘She could be wrong.’
‘She could be right,’ pointed out Norman.
‘And if she is,’ said Slater. ‘At least we’ll have some concrete evidence to back up this assumption that he’s guilty. Give me that, and I’ll arrest the guy myself.’
Murray gave Slater his most intimidating death stare, but he knew from experience that Slater wasn’t going to back down.
‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘You go and see this witness first, and then you go and arrest Woods. And I’m not having you run off doing your own thing, Slater. Do you understand?’
Slater nodded.
‘Just in case you don’t understand,’ continued Murray. ‘DS Norman will take the lead on this. At least I know he’ll do his duty as directed.’
He returned his attention to the pile of paperwork on his desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slater open his mouth to speak, only for Norman to shake his head furiously. Murray looked up.
‘Are you two still here?’
‘Just going,’ said Norman. ‘Come on, Dave. Let’s go.’
‘Is he in a good mood this morning, or what?’ said Slater as they made their way down the stairs from Murray’s office.
‘He’s a man under a lot of pressure,’ said Norman. ‘Getting into an argument with him will only make it worse. You should know that by now.’
‘Yeah. I know that. But surely we need to make sure we have enough evidence if we’re going to charge a man with murder. I want to be able to sleep at night, you know.’
‘Let’s go and talk to this witness. Maybe she’ll provide the proof you need to get a good night’s sleep and keep the Old Man happy.’
Chapter 6
‘Plum Tree Cottage,’ Norman said, checking the address written on the sheet of paper he was holding. ‘This is the house.’
‘But didn’t we speak to her yesterday?’ asked Slater. ‘Wasn’t she one of the ones who said she didn’t hear or see anything?’
‘We spoke to her husband yesterday. We didn’t actually see her. He said she was ill in bed.’
‘So how did she see a van driving past?’
‘Perhaps she wasn’t ill at the time,’ said Norman, wearily. ‘Or maybe she can see out of the window from her bed. Jeez, how the hell do I know?’
‘I just think it’s a bit fishy, that’s all,’ said Slater.
‘I seem to recall her husband was no spring chicken. Maybe she’s a not so young and her memory’s a bit slow.’
‘You’re not filling me with confidence, Norm.’ Slater sighed.
‘Instead of trying to second guess what’s caused her to remember, why don’t we just go and ask? ‘Isn’t that why we’re here?’
‘Yeah. You’re right,’ admitted Slater. ‘We have to keep open minds.’
‘We?’ spluttered Norman. ‘I don’t think it’s a question of “we”, do you?’
But he really wasn’t in the mood for an argument this morning.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘We’re much more effective as a team when we’re not arguing, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘So let’s not argue about it. Let’s just go and ask some questions and then draw some conclusions. That’s what we do best, isn’t it?’
‘You’re right,’ Slater said, nodding. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Mrs Turner was a very old-looking sixty-four. If she hadn’t told them, Slater would have guessed she was at least ten years older. She had seemed surprised to see them on her doorstep, and Norman had to remind her she had called the police station earlier that morning.
‘Did I?’ she asked him in surprise.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Norman patiently. ‘You spoke to a young lady officer called PC Jolly. You told her you had some new evidence about the death of Diana Woods.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right. I remember now. Amanda told me I should call you.’
‘Amanda? Do you mean Amanda Hollis?’
‘Oh yes,’ enthused Mrs Turner. ‘She’s such a lovely girl. She always looks in to see if I’m alright. She even does a little shopping for me. Diana was the same. Like angels, they are, the two of them.’
Slater’s heart sank. It seemed Mrs Turner was confused to say the least, and, on top of that, she appeared to be yet another member of the Diana Woods fan club, so the chances are she was going to be a member of the Ian Woods hate club, too. He thought it would be great if they could find someone who might actually offer some impartial evidence.
‘Is Mr Turner here today?’ asked Norman.
‘Oh no. He only stays home when I’m having one of my bad days. It’s the drugs you see. I have chemotherapy to keep the tumour at bay, but the side effects can be dreadful. We’re lucky his employer is so understanding.’
Slater felt an immediate stab of guilt for judging her. No wonder she didn’t seem one hundred percent.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Norman. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Turner.’
‘It’s a bugger alright. But I’ve got a saying to help me cope. Don’t let the bastard grind you down. That’s my motto.’
She gave them a sad smile. Then there was one of those awkward silences when no one really knows what to say next. It was Mrs Turner who rescued the situation.
‘Well,’ she said, suddenly becoming
all business-like. ‘You didn’t come here to hear about my illness, did you? You’d better come in.’
She led the way through to a spacious lounge. At one end a set of folding doors opened out onto a beautiful garden.
‘That’s some garden,’ said Norman, admiringly.
‘Isn’t it?’ Mrs Turner’s voice was filled with pride. ‘Being able to enjoy my garden is what keeps me going.’
She ushered them towards two comfortable armchairs and then settled down on one opposite.
‘PC Jolly tells me you think you saw something significant at around the time Diana died,’ began Norman.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’d had a bad day, and I spent most of it in bed sleeping, but I woke up at around five forty-five. I was feeling much better so I decided to get out of bed. Our bedroom is at the front of the house so the window overlooks the lane. I heard a car going past so I looked out of the window. Only it wasn’t a car. It was a small white van.’
‘You’re quite sure about the time?’ asked Norman.
‘I know that was the time because I looked at the clock, wondering where the day had gone. It’s become a habit. When you spend as much time sleeping as I do, you really do wonder where all the time goes. You resent it, so you tend to keep a check on it. It’s silly I know. It’s not as if I can get it back, is it?’
‘No,’ agreed Norman. ‘You can’t get it back, but I can see why you’d want to know how much you’ve lost every time you wake up.’
‘When I was talking to Amanda,’ she continued, ‘she told me I’d seen Ian Woods driving away and that I had to tell you as much.’
‘And did you see Ian Woods?’ asked Norman.
‘Well it must have been him,’ she said. ‘He killed Diana, he has a white van, and it was the right time. Who else could it possibly have been?’