by Ford, P. F.
‘There’s talk of a takeover by a US company, but assuming they just want to get their hands on the best clients, all they need to do is poach Rossiter.’
‘What you’ve said certainly backs up your theory,’ said Slater. ‘A US takeover would be interesting. I’ve heard these US companies can be a bit narrow minded when it comes to that sort of behaviour. They might not be quite so keen on turning a blind eye.’
‘So that’s my news,’ said Norman. ‘What about those mobile phone records?’
‘Very interesting,’ said Slater, smiling. ‘She obviously used her mobile a lot more than the landline. I’ve taken out all the numbers that only get called once in a while and concentrated on the more frequently called numbers. One of those numbers is Ian Woods.’
‘Really?’ asked Norman. ‘Did she call him a lot?’
‘She bombarded his mobile with calls and texts a few months back, around the time when he walked out. If those calls were begging him to come back, it would back up what he told us. The calls get less frequent as time goes on, but that makes sense too.’
‘Okay. So who else is there?’
‘There’s a landline number I recognise as her parents, but apart from that it’s all mobile numbers,’ said Slater. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check them out yet, but there’s one number she sends a hell of a lot of texts to, Monday to Friday, mostly during office hours, but rarely in the evenings or at weekends. I’m guessing that could be Rossiter’s mobile number.’
‘But they work together. Why would they need to text each other?’ asked Jolly.
‘They often work in a group, or with clients. Perhaps it was their way of being discreet. Let’s suppose they wanted to arrange a little lunchtime nooky. Doing it by text means they can arrange whatever they want, in a roomful of people, without anyone else knowing what’s going on.’
‘Or maybe it was just for the thrill,’ suggested Norman. ‘A bit of secret dirty talk right under the clients’ noses.’
‘That sounds distinctly smutty, and extremely juvenile,’ said Jolly.
‘I’m sure you’re right, but apparently that’s what turns some people on. I guess there’s no accounting for taste.’
‘Or a complete lack of it,’ finished Jolly.
‘Whether it’s poor taste, bad taste, or no taste,’ said Slater, ‘it’s my guess that’s the sort of thing that was going on.’
‘Is there something wrong with me?’ asked Jolly, sadly. ‘Perhaps I’m just naive, but I seem to be the only one who finds this shocking. You two seem to think it’s quite normal.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Jane, and no, I don’t think it’s normal. It’s just that these people live by a different moral code. You might inhabit the same planet, but your world isn’t their world, if you see what I mean,’ said Slater.
‘Maybe I’m some sort of prude.’
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ said Norman then, almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, ‘but I sincerely hope you never have to work vice.’
‘D’you want to help me check out these numbers, Norm?’ asked Slater. ‘There’s only six. Three each, it shouldn’t take long.’
‘Okay,’ said Norman. ‘Last one to finish buys the coffees.’
‘Right, slowcoach,’ said Norman to Slater, twenty minutes later. ‘You’re buying. I’ve got Laura Pettit, Amanda Hollis, and Arthur Hanning. Not very exciting I’m afraid. What have you got.’
‘She certainly likes Bruce Rossiter,’ replied Slater. ‘So far I’ve got his work mobile number, and his personal mobile number. The one that’s holding me up is this mystery number she sends all the texts to during the day. It seems to be an unregistered pay-as-you-go number.’
‘I’ll bet my salary that’s Rossiter’s secret smutty text number.’ Norman grinned. ‘You have one mobile number anyone can use and one only your girlfriend uses. You never know when a suspicious wife might decide to take a peep at your phone. I bet his wife doesn’t even know this phone exists.’
‘You seem to know a lot about all this,’ said Jolly, suspiciously.
‘You seem to forget I wasn’t always a provincial copper, out in the sticks, where nothing happens. I spent most of my career up in the big City where you can’t help but get exposed to all sorts of shit you’d rather not know about. This stuff is nothing, believe me.’
‘Why don’t you just ring it and see if he answers?’ Jolly asked Slater.
‘I’m sure he’s not that stupid. Probably only one person knows that number, and she’s dead. If we ring it now, he’s not going to answer it.’
‘Dave’s right,’ added Norman. ‘The chances are he’s already got rid of it, but if he hasn’t, and we call him, we could spook him into dumping it.’
‘So how do we prove it’s his number?’ asked Jolly.
‘Like Norm says, he’s probably already got rid of it,’ said Slater. ‘But if he hasn’t I’ve got an idea that might just catch him out. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.’
‘Well, come on then, Baldrick.’ Norman looked at him expectantly. ‘Let’s hear this cunning plan.’
‘I hope it’s better than one of his,’ muttered Slater.
‘Yeah, so do I.’
‘Well, we’re going to see him tomorrow, right,’ began Slater. ‘Now I’m going to insist we see him at eleven o’clock...’
Chapter 10
They arrived at Rochester & Dorset’s offices shortly before eleven o’clock the next morning. Once again they were warmly greeted by Millie Gibson in reception, but then things quickly cooled down as Celia Rowntree, aka Frosty Knickers, who had obviously been waiting for them to arrive, appeared on the scene.
‘Why, good morning, Mrs Rowntree,’ said Slater. ‘Anyone would think you were waiting for us.’
‘I just happened to be passing.’ Her lips were set in a tight line. ‘I thought you might like to meet Mr Rossiter in my office.’
‘Oh, did you?’ replied Slater. ‘I’m afraid you got that wrong. Perhaps you weren’t listening when I spoke to you yesterday. I distinctly said we’d like to see him in his own office, and I also said we’d like to see Diana’s desk. And I understand they shared an office...’
‘Perhaps we could discuss this in my office,’ she said, through gritted teeth.
Slater made a big deal out of looking at his watch.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We can spare you five minutes before we meet Mr Rossiter, in his office.’
They followed her up the stairs, along the corridor, and through the door into her office.
‘That’ll be four minutes left,’ said Slater, studying his watch as they entered her office.
‘Are you naturally arrogant, and rude, or do you have to practise?’
‘Oh he hasn’t started yet,’ interrupted Norman. ‘And I can assure you I can be much worse. But let me ask you a question. Are you naturally obstructive to any police inquiry, or is it just this particular one you have a problem with? I wondered what you were up to yesterday, but it didn’t take too much working out once I did a little research.’
She looked momentarily horrified.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘Were we supposed to be too stupid to check things out? Oh dear. Now who’s guilty of being arrogant? The thing is we have been doing our homework, and it seems very clear to us that this whole company relies on Bruce Rossiter to keep it afloat. Ergo, he can get away with near enough anything he wants, and you’re happy to mop up any mess he leaves in his wake, just as long as he keeps on bringing in the clients to fund your salary. And let’s face it, you have to do something to justify that huge salary you earn, and that nice company car you drive.’
Celia Rowntree had gone very pale.
‘Now,’ said Slater. ‘You can step back out of our way, and allow us to do our jobs, or we can get seriously rude and come back with a search warrant and a dozen clumsy coppers with big boots and bad attitudes.’
There was a distinct look of alarm on her face at this suggest
ion.
‘This is police intimidation,’ she said.
‘Did you hear any intimidation, DS Norman?’
‘I certainly did not,’ said Norman. ‘Perhaps Mrs Rowntree didn’t hear you right.’
‘This is a disgrace.’
‘Obstructing a police inquiry is none too clever,’ said Norman, smiling pleasantly at her. ‘And I should remind you this is not some petty crime we’re talking about; this is a murder inquiry.’
Slater looked at his watch again.
‘Time’s up,’ he said. ‘What’s it going to be, Mrs Rowntree? The two of us in Bruce Rossiter’s office? Or twelve pairs of big boots going through the entire building?’
‘I think you’ll find you’ve made the right choice,’ said Slater as they followed her from her office, and along yet another corridor.
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘Some of those PCs are all thumbs. They’re so clumsy.’
She swung round to face them, eyes blazing.
‘Alright,’ she snarled. ‘You’ve got your way, and you’ve made your point. Can we just leave it at that?’
‘Sure,’ said Norman, with an amiable grin. ‘Whatever you say, Mrs Rowntree.’
‘You can rest assured I’ll be having words with your superiors.’
‘For doing our jobs?’ Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘Then you’ll need DCI Murray. He’s probably waiting for your call, right now.’
‘Don’t forget to mention how you’ve been obstructing our inquiry,’ added Norman.
‘He’s in there.’ She pointed to a door just ahead of them.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Slater, but she was already stomping back down the corridor, and she definitely wasn’t listening.
‘I wonder what’s upset her,’ said Norman, grinning.
‘Maybe it was something we said.’
‘C’mon,’ said Norman, reaching for the door. ‘This is turning out to be much more fun than I thought. I could even get to like this place.’
‘You think?’ asked Slater, sceptically.
Norman paused for a moment and then turned back to Slater.
‘No, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m just getting carried away by the moment.’
He gave his colleague an exaggerated wink and then, with a theatrical flourish, he swung the door open and stepped into the office.
It was a large open-plan office with a cluster of six occupied desks at the far end and two desks much closer to the door. One of those desks was a normal size and was clearly empty, the other was enormous and obviously belonged to the king of this particular territory.
Rossiter was facing them as they entered, casually leaning back against the enormous desk, arms folded across his chest. Slater wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting, but the man who stood before them certainly wasn’t it. He had pictured a handsome, roguish womaniser, but what he saw before him was a be-spectacled fifty-something who looked as if he would easily beat Norman at a weigh-in.
However, that’s where any similarity between Norman and Rossiter ended. Whereas Norman looked worn out by life, and his suit appeared to have been stolen from the nearest clothes bank, Rossiter looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world. By contrast, his suit had obviously been expensively tailored, and probably cost more than Norman had ever spent on clothes in his entire life.
Rossiter looked them both up and down, smiling – although Slater thought it bordered on a smirk. He oozed confidence and gave the impression he was used to dominating the proceedings, getting his own way, and enjoying the very best of everything life had to offer. The gold Rolex watch on his wrist glinted as the light caught it.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ he purred. ‘Only you look a little lost, and I’m expecting two detectives at any minute.’
‘That’s very good, Mr Rossiter,’ said Norman. ‘I’ll try not to burst my sides laughing.’
He produced his warrant card and waved it vaguely at Rossiter.
‘I’m DS Norman, and this is my colleague DS Slater, as you already know. You also know we’re here because of the death of Diana Woods.’
‘I’m not sure I can help you much,’ said Rossiter. ‘I was up in London addressing clients most of the day she died. By the time I got back she had already gone home.’
‘What time was that?’ asked Slater.
‘About five-fifteen.’ Rossiter yawned loudly.
‘And what did you do after that?’
‘I was tired, so I dumped all my paperwork and went home.’
‘And you got home when?
‘About five-forty-five,’ said Rossiter, sounding irritated.
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’ asked Slater, enjoying the effect his questioning was having.
‘Yes,’ said Rossiter. ‘My wife will. I think you’ll find that’s an alibi. I know what you’re trying to do.’
‘I’m just doing my job,’ said Slater. ‘Trying to establish facts. Didn’t anyone ever tell you? It’s what police officers do.’
The other occupants of the office were far enough away they would have had difficulty hearing the conversation, but it was obvious Rossiter was keeping his voice down to make sure.
‘I understand you and Diana worked together quite closely,’ said Norman. ‘You must have got to know her quite well. I wonder if perhaps she had mentioned anything that might have had a bearing on why she died.’
‘We had a very productive, efficient, and professional relationship,’ said Rossiter, haughtily. ‘Diana was probably the best PA I have ever had work for me. But we didn’t become such a good team by sharing our private lives. If she had any problems, she didn’t discuss them with me.’
‘Oh,’ said Norman, raising his voice. ‘We must have got it wrong. We were under the impression you and Diana were very close.’
‘Can you keep your voice down?’ hissed Rossiter. ‘There’s no need for everyone else to hear this, is there?’
‘We can make it quiet, or we can make it louder still if you want,’ said Slater. ‘It’s up to you.’
Rossiter scowled at him and opened his mouth to speak, but Norman interrupted him.
‘Well? Were you close?’
‘I don’t know where you got that idea from,’ said Rossiter. ‘It’s preposterous.’
‘Actually we got it from Diana’s husband,’ said Slater. ‘He seems to think you caused his marriage to break up.’
‘That had absolutely nothing to do with me. Like I said, my relationship with Diana was purely professional.’
‘Really?’ said Norman. ‘Ian Woods seems to think it was you he caught in bed with Diana, and that was why he walked out on her.’
Rossiter’s face had gone an interesting shade of red, and he didn’t seem quite so confident all of a sudden.
‘I can assure you that’s rubbish,’ he spluttered. ‘I think you’ll find Ian Woods is a dreamer, a fantasist who seems to think he can make money staying at home messing about on the internet. The man talks a lot of nonsense.’
‘And you found this out how?’ asked Slater. ‘I thought you said you and Diana didn’t discuss personal problems.’
‘And I should tell you we find we are inclined to listen to what Ian Woods says,’ added Norman. ‘You might think he talks a load of rubbish, but he’s actually making a living “messing about on the internet”, as you call it.’
Rossiter looked genuinely surprised to hear this piece of news and seemed briefly confused. Diana had obviously convinced him her husband was a totally useless waste of space.
‘Look. I know nothing about any of that, and I bet you don’t have a single witness other than Woods, do you? So it’s just his word against mine, and I deny it.’
‘How many mobile phones do you own, Mr Rossiter?’ asked Slater.
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business.’
‘It’s our business,’ said Slater, firmly, ‘because your secretary has been murdered, and her mobile phone records show several numbers she called
and texted regularly. Obviously we need to figure out who these people are and eliminate them from our enquiries. I would have thought you’d want to help us, Mr Rossiter.’
‘Of course,’ said Rossiter, contritely. ‘Of course I want to help. I have two mobile phones. One is provided, and paid for, by the company for company business, and I have a personal mobile that I pay for.’
‘Do you mind if I see them?’ asked Slater.
‘If you must.’ Rossiter sighed impatiently, but he made no effort to move.
‘Maybe we need to start talking real loud,’ Norman suggested to Slater. ‘Perhaps that’ll make him more co-operative.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ snapped Rossiter. But he moved around his desk and produced two mobile phones from his top drawer. He tossed them onto the desk.
‘Here, help yourself,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you now there’s nothing to see. I have nothing to hide.’
Slater smiled a false smile at Rossiter.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your co-operation. Sir.’
He took the phones in turn and checked the contacts. He knew from Diana’s phone records that he was unlikely to find anything incriminating, but he was curious to see if she was listed under his contacts.
‘Thank you,’ said Slater, returning the phones to the desk. ‘You don’t seem to have Diana Woods’ number listed in either phone. Surely you must need to call her sometimes?’
‘Her number was in my work phone,’ said Rossiter. ‘But it seemed a bit pointless now, so I removed it.’
‘So you didn’t have her number on your personal phone?’ asked Norman.
‘Why would I? I have already told you our relationship was purely business.’
Slater checked his watch. It was eleven thirteen. Two minutes to go.
‘We haven’t managed to find Diana’s mobile phone,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have any ideas would you, Mr Rossiter?’
‘I seem to recall she took it everywhere with her,’ said Rossiter. ‘She was very secretive about it. She didn’t want other people to get their hands on it.’
‘Maybe she left it in her desk.’