by Ford, P. F.
‘You have no right to talk to me like that,’ he said, quietly. ‘You have no idea what I have to deal with right now.’
‘I could argue that you have no idea what it’s like for us, trying to carry out a thorough investigation, while we have you breathing down our necks trying to make us cut corners and arrest the wrong man,’ replied Norman. ‘But what would be the point? You’ve stopped listening to reason.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘So tell us,’ said Norman. ‘Instead of treating us like little kids, how about you treat us like adults for once?’
‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Murray said. ‘I’m not one for sharing my problems. It’s a weak person who can’t deal with life on his own. It’s my business and I prefer to keep it that way.’
‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ said Norman. ‘It’s not weakness. It’s bloody common sense, especially if you’re not coping on your own and you’re just making everyone else suffer. Just talking about it can help.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Murray. ‘But it’s not my way.’
‘And you think making everyone else’s life hell is the right thing to do?’ asked Norman. ‘That takes away another slice of that respect I had for you.’
‘No,’ conceded Murray. ‘I admit I’m in the wrong there. But I’m sure it’s not that bad.’
‘Not that bad?’ echoed Norman. ‘There isn’t a single person in this station who wants to go anywhere near you at the moment. That’s how bad it is.’
Murray’s face hardened and he stared at Norman. It looked, for a few moments, as though he was going to start ranting again, but then his expression softened. It was hard to tell if he had taken on board what Norman had said, but at least when he spoke again it appeared he was no longer looking for a fight.
‘Let’s get back to this case,’ he said. ‘Explain to me why you haven’t charged Woods.’
‘Ian Woods has an alibi for the time of the murder,’ Slater told Murray, feeling it was safe to speak now. ‘And everything he’s told us seems to check out. On top of that, we now have another suspect in her boss, and lover, Bruce Rossiter.’
‘But does he have a motive?’
‘We think Diana was pushing to take his wife’s place, but all he wanted her for was sex. We’ve found a mobile phone which we think Diana gave him so they could keep in touch and arrange their sex sessions in secret. We’ve also discovered Rochester & Dorset keep a small white Peugeot van which anyone can use at any time. We believe this was the van seen leaving the scene of the crime.’
‘And you think he had the opportunity?’ asked Murray.
‘There’s a gap in his story,’ said Slater. ‘He says he was at home when the murder took place. His wife says he didn’t come home until after seven. He had plenty of time to murder Diana.’
‘You’re sure about this?’
‘It looks a better bet than Ian Woods,’ said Norman.
‘So why haven’t you brought him in yet?
‘We’ve only just found out about the van,’ said Slater. ‘We’re planning on getting a search warrant in the morning and taking a team over there. We want to bring him in and get Ian Becks and his boys to take the van apart.’
‘You want to nick him at home, and search his house as well,’ said Murray.
‘I’m not sure I’ve got the clout to get the search warrants at this time of night,’ said Slater.
‘If you give me the information, I’ll get the search warrants. You two organise the troops. I’d suggest Rossiter’s house at six am, then on to Rochester’s as soon as you can after that.’
Slater almost stepped back in surprise.
‘Well, don’t hang about,’ said Murray. ‘The clock’s ticking. If I’m going to help you, I need that information, now.’
Chapter 18
At six o’clock the next morning, a small convoy of police vehicles drove through the gates and up the drive to Bruce Rossiter’s house. If anyone was awake they didn’t show themselves, so Norman took great delight in hammering upon the door.
‘Police,’ he yelled into the letterbox. ‘Come on open up.’
He stood up and hammered on the door again.
‘You enjoy this bit, don’t you?’ asked Slater.
‘It’s like this,’ he explained, with a wicked grin. ‘I had to get up extra early to be here at this ungodly hour, and I had to be really quiet not to wake my neighbours. Now I think the least the Rossiters could do is make the same effort and be waiting to let us in, but they don’t seem to be awake yet, so I’m just letting them know we’re here. And now I can make up for having to be so quiet earlier.’
‘Ah. I understand,’ said Slater. ‘This is sort of restoring the noise balance in your life.’
‘That’s exactly right,’ said Norman, grinning. ‘Extra quiet before, extra noisy now, balance restored. Now I can spend the rest of my day at normal volume, knowing I don’t have to worry about a noise deficit.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ yawned a weary looking PC waiting behind them, ‘you’re talking a load of bollocks. There’s no such thing as noise balance.’
Norman looked around at the PC. He knew most of the PCs at Tinton well enough to address them by their first names, but this one was young and obviously new to Tinton.
‘If you weren’t so young I’d take issue with that statement,’ said Norman, beaming a big smile at the PC. ‘But I really can’t expect you to understand these complex principles at such a tender age.’
‘How can you be so bloody happy this early in the morning?’ asked the PC, grumpily. ‘It’s not normal.’
‘But you see that’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ explained Norman, cheerfully. ‘My happiness is a direct result of caring for my noise balance. You should try it sometime.’
The PC looked puzzled, but there were sniggers from the rest of the assembled officers.
There was the sound of a bolt being slid back on the inside of the front door.
‘Heads up,’ said Slater. ‘Someone’s awake.’
They heard two more bolts being slid back, and at least two locks being undone.
‘It sound like Fort Knox,’ muttered one of the PCs. ‘I’m glad we didn’t have to break it down.’
‘No problem. We could throw Norman at it,’ suggested someone, to a series of loud guffaws.
‘Alright, pipe down,’ said Slater, as the handle turned and the door finally began to open, revealing a tousle-haired, bleary-eyed Bruce Rossiter in a pair of red tartan pyjamas.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ he cried. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
‘I certainly do,’ said Norman, smiling. ‘It’s time for you to come and answer some questions.’
‘At this time of the morning? Are you mad? And does it really need six PCs and two detectives to ask me these questions?’
‘Oh, they’re not here to ask questions, Mr Rossiter.’ Slater was grinning. ‘Two of them are here to escort you to Tinton police station, and the other four are going to search your house.’
‘I know my rights,’ said Rossiter, angrily. ‘You can’t search my house without a search warrant, and unless you’re some kind of magician you’re not going to get one at this time of the morning.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Slater. ‘Well, it just so happens...’
He pulled the search warrant from his pocket with a flourish.
‘Now, that’s magic,’ said Norman, slipping into a very poor impression of magician Paul Daniels.
There were sniggers all round from the six PCs.
‘Give me that,’ snapped Rossiter, snatching the search warrant from Slater’s hand.
‘It’s genuine,’ said Slater, leading the way through the front door. ‘D’you really think we’re that stupid? Come on lads, let’s get on with it.’
‘What’s going on,’ called a voice from the top of the stairs. ‘Bruce? Why are there policemen in the hall?’
‘It’s
DS Slater and DS Norman, Mrs Rossiter,’ Slater called up to her as Norman began directing the search team. ‘We have a search warrant to search the house. I think it might be best if you come down to the kitchen.’
‘But why are you here?’ she asked as she walked slowly down the stairs. ‘What are we supposed to have done?’
‘It’s to do with the death of Diana Woods,’ explained Slater. ‘I’m afraid we need to ask your husband some more questions.’
‘It’s a bloody joke,’ said Rossiter. ‘They’re trying to set me up. I’ve already told them I was here with you when she died.’
‘Yeah,’ said Slater. ‘You did tell us that. But I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem there. You see, your wife says you didn’t get home until after seven.’
‘What?’ Rossiter turned to his wife. ‘What did you tell them that for?’
‘I can’t lie to the police, Bruce,’ she said. ‘It’s against the law. I don’t know what they think you’ve done, but I can’t lie for you, can I?’
She turned her back on him and marched off into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Rossiter called after her, desperately. ‘You know I was here with you. We had dinner just after six!’
‘I think that’s enough questions for now, Mr Rossiter,’ said Slater. ‘We’re going to take you down to the station where you will be formally interviewed.’
‘You’ve put her up to this, haven’t you? I don’t know why, but she’s lying. I was here before six o’clock that night, just like I told you!’
He made to lunge at Slater but the two PCs waiting to escort him away were far too quick for him and they easily held him back.
‘I think you need to calm down, Mr Rossiter,’ said Slater. ‘Assaulting a police officer isn’t going to help you, now is it?’
‘This is a joke,’ snarled Rossiter. ‘You’re making a big mistake. I already told you I had nothing to do with Diana’s death.’
Slater nodded his head at the two PCs and they released Rossiter’s arms.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Slater. ‘So you did, but unfortunately for you we keep finding evidence that points to you being a whole lot more involved than you claim. And you’re not averse to a bit of lying, are you? You lied about your affair with Diana, didn’t you?’
‘But I’ve already admitted that,’ said Rossiter. ‘Wait a minute. Is that it? You told my wife, didn’t you? You told her about me and Diana. That’s why she’s lying for you.’
‘If she knows about your affair, Mr Rossiter, she didn’t hear about it from us,’ said Slater. ‘And she’s not lying for us. I don’t know what makes you think that.’
‘Because she’s not telling you the truth! I was here way before six, just like I told you. You have to believe me!’
‘I don’t have to believe anything, and I don’t take orders from the likes of you,’ said Slater. ‘Now I think it’s time you left. You can have five minutes to get dressed, before these two officers take you in, but they go where you go.’
‘You can’t do this. I demand to see my solicitor.’
‘All in good time, Sir. You can call him when you get to the police station. Now do you want to get changed? Or would you like to go dressed as you are?’
‘You’ll regret this,’ said Rossiter. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ said Slater.
‘And I don’t know what it is you’re hoping to find,’ continued Rossiter. ‘But I can assure you it’s not here.’
‘They all say that as well.’
Slater nodded to the two PCs.
‘Take Mr Rossiter upstairs to get changed,’ he said. ‘And then take him to the station. And remember he doesn’t leave your sight, even if he wants to relieve himself.’
They moved towards Rossiter, but he turned and made his way towards the staircase. As the prisoner slowly made his way up the stairs, accompanied by his two new friends, Slater decided he ought to find out what Angela Rossiter was up to in the kitchen.
He found her, sipping tea from an oversized mug, staring out at her garden. She looked round as he came through the door. To his surprise the beginnings of a smile began to creep across her face, then, seeing his expression, she seemed to think better of it.
‘What exactly is it he’s supposed to have done?’ she asked.
‘It’s to do with Diana’s death. That’s all I can tell you really.’
‘But why search the house? What are you looking for?’
‘Anything that might help us with our enquiries,’ he said.
‘You surely don’t think he murdered her, do you?’ she asked. ‘Bruce is a lot of things that aren’t very nice, but I don’t think even he’s capable of murder.’
‘I really can’t comment on that.’
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘You do, don’t you? You think he murdered Diana. But why would he do that? She was the best PA he ever had.’
‘How well did you know Diana?’ asked Slater.
‘I told you before,’ she said. ‘I met her at a couple of work events. She was a nice person and we hit it off. I really liked her. She was very good with people. She even helped me out with a couple of fundraisers, and we were planning another one.’
‘What about her relationship with your husband? Was it just professional?’
‘She was his PA, end of story. Why are you asking me about her relationship with Bruce? What are you implying?’
Slater sighed. He really didn’t want to have to tell her, but she knew what he was getting at.
‘It’s been suggested your husband and Diana were, well, let’s say their relationship may have been more than just professional.’
‘Well, whoever told you that is wrong,’ she said, emphatically. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I know Bruce is no saint, but we have an agreement. I don’t care what he does when he’s away, but he doesn’t do it in my backyard where I could end up getting humiliated.’
‘And you’re sure he sticks to that agreement?’
‘Bruce loves his money, and his lifestyle, Mr Slater. If I catch him out, I’ll divorce him, and take him to the cleaners in the process. And, trust me, I know enough about the way he works and who he’s shafted over the years to be able to ruin his career. He wouldn’t risk all that for a bit of nooky, would he? You don’t shit in your own nest. That’s the saying, isn’t it? Besides, I’m quite sure Diana wouldn’t have found him attractive physically. No one else does. Anyway, she was much too nice to sink that low.’
Slater didn’t quite know what to say to that. Like Norman had suggested last time they spoke to her, he was finding it hard to believe what he was hearing. But he was spared having to say anything by a knock on the door. It opened a little way and a beaming face appeared. It was Norman. He held up an evidence bag.
‘Looks like we hit the jackpot,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’ asked Angela Rossiter. ‘What have you got? Is it a mobile phone? It’s not mine, is it? Where did you find it?’
‘Whoa,’ said Norman. ‘Too many questions, Mrs R. That’s our job. I can tell you we found it in a drawer next to your husband’s bed, and I can tell you it’s not yours. But that’s all I am going to tell you.’
‘How’s it going out there?’ Slater asked Norman.
‘We’re just about done.’
Slater looked at his watch. It was just after seven. They were making good time. They might even be able to snatch a quick breakfast before they went on to Rochester & Dorset if they got a move on.
‘We’re going to leave you in peace now, Mrs Rossiter,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to do this, and I apologise for any mess we’ve left behind us.’
‘No, no. It’s alright,’ she said. ‘I know you’re only doing your jobs. It’ll give me something to tell the girls at the W.I.’
‘She seemed to take that rather well,’ said Norman, when they were back in their car. ‘What happened to the usual indignant rage abou
t over-zealous policing, human rights, and all that stuff?’
‘It was pretty weird,’ agreed Slater.
‘Did you tell her why we were there?’
‘Well, I had to. But she seemed to have more or less figured it out anyway.’
‘Does she believe old Porky was sharing his sausage with Diana now?’ said Norman.
‘That’s the strange thing,’ said Slater. ‘She insists they had this agreement. He was allowed to do whatever he liked when he was away, but he couldn’t do it back here where he might embarrass her. She’s adamant he wouldn’t risk it, and she’s equally adamant Diana was way too nice to do such a thing.’
‘Was she for real?’
‘Like you said before, I think she’s either really intelligent, or really stupid.’
‘So, come on, which one is it?’ asked Norman. ‘Sitting on the fence will only give you splinters in your backside.’
‘I can’t believe she’s really that naive,’ said Slater.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Norman.
It was a slightly different team that descended upon the headquarters of Rochester & Dorset (Marketing) Ltd at precisely eight o’clock that morning. Although they were quite sure there would be plenty to find, should they wish to look, they had decided to focus solely upon the things they knew related to the murder of Diana Woods. This included the Peugeot van, Rossiter’s office and desk, Diana’s desk, and the CCTV footage.
Slater led the way to the reception area. Of course, there were none of the usual staff around that early, but that was the plan. It took five minutes of ringing and banging on the door, but eventually the caretaker appeared.
‘We’re closed. There’s no one here,’ he mouthed through a window. ‘Come back at nine.’
Slater slapped his warrant card and the search warrant against the window, making it clear he was in no mood to be messed around. The caretaker squinted through the window briefly, and then started unlocking the door.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled to Slater, as he opened the door and waved them into the reception area. ‘Only I’m not supposed to let anyone in who’s not staff.’