The Wrong Man (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 4) Page 4

  "Is he coming straight here?" asked Slater, looking at his watch.

  "That's what they told him to do," said Jolly. "If you want to go and speak to Diana's parents, I can look after him until you get back."

  "That sounds good to me, Jane," said Norman. "C'mon Dave, let's go meet the parents."

  The Coach and Horses was more of a big, old, pub with a few bedrooms, than a hotel, but it was comfortable, had a warm, welcoming atmosphere, and served good food. Slater thought it was infinitely preferable to many of the modern soul-less places that were now so widely available.

  They found Diana Woods' parents, Mr and Mrs Hanning, in the bar area. They appeared to be in their sixties and were sat together, holding hands and staring at the floor. They seemed to share a sort of caved-in appearance, as if their world had just collapsed around them.

  The two detectives had agreed Norman was taking the lead on this one.

  "I'm DS Norman, and this is my colleague DS Slater," he said. "First of all, let me say how very sorry we are for your loss."

  It was Mrs Hanning who acknowledged them. Her husband didn't even look up when Norman spoke.

  "Thank you," she said. "It was such a shock to find two police officers on our doorstep, and then to be told our daughter's dead. It doesn't seem possible."

  She squeezed her husband's hand.

  "Poor Arthur's taken it very badly," she continued. "She was the apple of his eye, you see."

  "She was so beautiful," said Mr Hanning, still staring at the floor, his voice barely a whisper. "Perfect she was. Absolutely perfect."

  His shoulders shook as he began to quietly weep, and Slater wished he could be anywhere rather than here, watching this man's heart breaking. He snatched a look at Norman who seemed equally uncomfortable.

  "We really don't want to intrude at a time like this," said Norman, quietly. "But we need to ask you a few questions. We can come back later if you'd prefer."

  For a moment it looked as though Mrs Hanning was going to take them up on Norman's offer, but Mr Hanning was too quick for her. He seemed to summon some inner strength from somewhere and, clearing his throat, he sat up straight and looked at them for the first time.

  "Let's get it over with," he said. "The sooner we tell you what you need to know, the sooner you can arrest that man."

  "Err, which man?" asked Norman.

  "Why that useless bugger of a husband of course," said Hanning. The sadness was gone for now, and his eyes sparkled as he saw the opportunity to avenge his beautiful daughter.

  "You mean Ian Woods," asked Slater.

  "Who else would I mean? He's the only useless sod she was married to," snapped Hanning. "I always knew he was trouble. I told her right from the start she could have done much better for herself, but would she listen? She'd still be alive now if only she'd listened to her old Dad."

  "She was an adult, dear," said his wife. "She was old enough to make her own choices."

  "But she wasn't old enough to make the right choice, was she?" he snapped.

  "So why do you think Ian's responsible?" asked Norman. He realised this was obviously something the Hannings had been arguing about, on and off, ever since Diana had married Ian Woods all those years ago, and he didn't want it to flare up again right now.

  "Have you ever heard of King Midas?" asked Hanning, without waiting for an answer. "Everything he touched turned to gold. Ian Woods was King Midas in reverse. Everything he touched turned to dust. He's bloody useless."

  "They seem to have a nice enough house," observed Slater, innocently.

  "That was all down to her, not him," spat Hanning. "She was a shining light and he spent twenty years doing his best to put that light out. Now it looks like he's finally done it."

  "I understand you don't like the man," said Norman. "But do you actually have any evidence to back up your assertion that he's a murderer?"

  "I'm just telling you, aren't I?" snapped Hanning. "The man spent years abusing her and now, after she finally kicked him out, he's come back and murdered her."

  "Did you ever see any signs of abuse?" asked Slater.

  "What's the matter with you people?" asked Hanning. "Don't you believe me?"

  "I'm afraid we need evidence, Mr Hanning, not just your opinion," replied Slater.

  "No," said Mrs Hanning. "We have never actually seen anything to prove he was abusing her, but after she kicked him out she told us how badly he had been treating her."

  "Thank you Mrs Hanning," said Norman. "You say Diana kicked Ian out. Are you sure that's how it was? Only we've been told Ian left Diana."

  "Rubbish!" snapped Mr Hanning. "She was the perfect wife. No man in his right mind would have walked out on her. I'm telling you, everybody loved her. You need look no further than her husband. He did this to her!"

  And so it went on until Norman decided they were wasting their time. He felt genuinely sorry for their loss, but Mr Hanning was so focused on blaming Ian Woods it was ridiculous. If he got his way they would simply string the man up the moment he appeared.

  He made all the right noises to keep the Hannings happy for the time being, made his excuses and nodded to let Slater know it was time to go.

  "If this was the Wild West that guy would have arranged a lynching by now," said Slater as they left the hotel. "And good ol' Woody would already be strung up."

  "From what we've been told so far this Woody guy should be easy to identify," said Norman. "He'll have horns, and be carrying a trident."

  "Either that, or he'll have several knives sticking out of his back," observed Slater.

  "So you don't buy all this stuff about him being an arsehole, then," suggested Norman.

  "It's not just that," said Slater. "I'm finding it just as hard to believe this idea that Diana Woods was so perfect. Maybe I'm being cynical, but in my experience no-one's completely flawless."

  They walked over to their car and climbed inside.

  "It was interesting to see Mrs Hanning wasn't quite as forthright as her husband when it came to condemning Woody," observed Slater.

  "Yeah, I noticed that," agreed Norman. "But does it mean anything significant? I mean there's often a strong protective bond between a father and daughter, right?"

  "That may be so," agreed Slater. "But I got the impression Mrs Hanning might not be quite so sure about her daughter's perfection as everyone else seems to be."

  "She said they're going to be here for a day or two," said Norman. "Maybe I should come back and see if I can get a chance to talk to her alone. She might let her guard down a bit further if 'Avenging Arthur' isn't around."

  "He arrived about twenty minutes ago," said Jolly. "I settled him in the interview room with a cup of tea and told him you wouldn't be too long."

  "You're becoming something of a slave driver, PC Jolly," said Norman, with a wry smile. "How am I supposed to maintain my energy levels if you don't ever let me stop to eat?"

  "I figured you had enough reserves that it wouldn't be a problem," she retorted, pointing at his waistline. "Of course, if you can't stand the pace, I could always ask for some help on your behalf."

  "Ooh! How could you," said Norman in mock horror. "You know how to strike me right through the heart with those cutting remarks."

  "How is he?" asked Slater, ignoring Norman's theatricals. "How does he seem?"

  "He seems genuinely upset," said Jolly. "And, in my opinion, for what it's worth, he seems like a nice man.

  "But you've only just met him," said Slater.

  "Okay," she said. "I'll qualify my statement by saying my first impression is that he's a nice man. Is that better?"

  "I didn't mean to question you, Jane," said Slater hastily. "Of course we value your opinion. But the fact is you have only just met him."

  "Yes," she said testily. "And my first impression makes me feel he's a nice man."

  "Okay," said Slater, warily. "Point taken. You think he's a nice guy. I've got it."

  Norman was grinning like the proverbial Che
shire Cat at Slater's discomfort.

  "You'll split your face in two if you're not careful," Slater warned him quietly.

  "It could even be worth it, seeing you squirm like that," laughed Norman.

  They stopped in the observation room and peered through the window at Ian Woods. He certainly didn't look like a thug. In fact he looked quite unremarkable in every way, except perhaps in his face. His hair was receding and thinning, and he looked haggard, like a man who hadn't slept properly in weeks. This made him look much older than the forty-six year old he was supposed to be. He didn't look a well man, and he appeared somewhat undernourished too, like maybe he wasn't eating well. Certainly there wasn't an ounce of fat on him.

  "What do you think?" asked Norman. "Does he look upset because his wife's dead? Or, because he thinks we're on to him?"

  "He didn't have to come here," Slater pointed out. "He could have done a runner and been well away by now. And anyway we don't even know where he was at the time. He might have a cast iron alibi."

  "Okay," said Norman. "This is how we'll play it then. You be the good cop, and I'll be the bad cop."

  "Or we could just wing it, like we usually do," suggested Slater.

  "I'm sure we'll end up that way," agreed Norman. "But how about we start like we know what we're doing, and then see how it goes from there."

  "Okay, let's do it," said Slater, opening the door and stepping aside to let Norman lead the way.

  "Lead on Macduff," he said, as Norman squeezed past him.

  "Yeah. Once more into the breach and all that jazz," muttered Norman.

  He led the way up to the door of the interview room, stopped briefly outside to compose himself, then swung the door open.

  "Good afternoon, Mr Woods," he said, as he entered the room. "My name's DS Norman, and this is my partner, DS Slater. We're leading the investigation into your wife's death."

  Woods had jumped awkwardly to his feet, not sure if he should offer a handshake or what he was supposed to do in this situation.

  "Please, sit down," said Norman. He smiled to try and put Ian Woods at his ease, but it was obvious the guy was like a fish out of water.

  "I'm sorry," said Woods. "I'm not sure if I'm coming or going right now. This is a situation no-one ever prepares you for, you know. When the police arrive at your door you think maybe you've been caught speeding or something silly like that. Then they said my wife was dead and, well, it was like getting a kick in the guts. I've just driven two hundred miles to get here, but I don't remember a single thing about the journey."

  He looked uncertainly at Norman and then at Slater. They could see he was all over the place. Slater thought if he was acting he was pretty good.

  "I suppose I shouldn't tell you that, should I," Woods continued, now completely unsure of himself. "About driving like that, I mean."

  "Look, Ian," said Slater. "Is it alright if I call you Ian?"

  "Sure," nodded Woods. "Ian or Woody, that's what my friends tend to call me."

  "Okay Woody," said Slater. "We're not here to talk about your driving. I understand it must have been one hell of a shock when you found out, and we're sorry for your loss, but we need to ask you some questions about what's happened."

  "Can I see her?" asked Woods. "Don't I have to identify her, or something?"

  "Her parents have already done that," said Norman.

  Woods looked a bit miffed about this, so Norman explained.

  "We found your number last night and tried ringing you, but there was no answer. That's why I left a message on your voicemail asking you to call us," he said.

  "Ah, yeah," said Woods. "I turned my phone off while I was driving, and there's no signal at home. In fact the signal's pretty pathetic all around where I live. It's a pain in the backside, I can tell you."

  "Anyway, we couldn't get hold of you, so we called her parents," finished Norman.

  "So you were driving yesterday," said Slater. "Where did you go? Anywhere nice?"

  "I've got a small van," said Woods. "I used to work as a courier for a company based in Tinton, until I split from Diana and moved to Wales. But my old boss called me. He had a pickup in Swansea. Some documents to be taken to Southampton. I'm not far from Swansea so he asked me if I'd like to help him out. It would have taken one of his guys four hours to drive across, you see, whereas I'm less than an hour down the road. I fancied a run out, so I said yes."

  "How come he got hold of you?" asked Norman. "I thought you said there was no signal."

  "He sent me a text. I got it when I went out to the shops and then I called him back."

  "What's this guy's name?" asked Slater.

  "Jim Brennan," said Woods. "I've got one of his cards here somewhere."

  He fumbled his wallet from his pocket and found a card which he handed to Slater.

  "Okay, so you were doing this job," continued Norman. "And you got to Southampton at what time?"

  "I can't remember exactly, somewhere between two and two-thirty I think."

  "What did you do after that?" asked Norman.

  "I stopped for a cup of coffee, filled up with diesel and made my way slowly back home," said Woods. "I knew I was going to get caught up in the motorway traffic approaching Bristol so I stopped for a meal before I got that far."

  "What time did you reach the Severn Bridge?" asked Norman.

  "It wasn't until about nine pm, I think," answered Woods.

  "You must have got home pretty late," suggested Slater.

  "It was about eleven," said Woods. "There wasn't any need to rush."

  "So, let me get this straight," said Norman. "It took you over six hours to get to the bridge, and the another two hours after that. So that's eight hours in all, and yet you've just driven here in four hours."

  "Like I said, I wasn't in any rush yesterday," said Woods, not quite realising what Norman was implying.

  "Southampton's not far from here, is it?" observed Norman. "What is it? Less than an hour?"

  "I used to reckon an hour and a half to allow for traffic," said Woods, innocently. Then a look of panic flashed across his face.

  "Now wait a minute," he said. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm just saying you would have had plenty of time to call in to see your wife on the way back, that's all," smiled Norman.

  "What? You think I murdered my own wife? Why would I want to do a thing like that?" Woods was really panicking now.

  "Well, you weren't exactly getting on too well, were you?" suggested Norman. "I heard she kicked you out."

  "What? No. That's rubbish," said Woods. "She didn't kick me out. I left her. I couldn't take any more, right? Sure I felt I had to get away, but I would never hurt her. I mean, why would I?"

  "The fact you left her suggests to me there were some problems between you," explained Norman. "Maybe you needed to fix the problem for good."

  "I did that by moving out," protested Woods. "I didn't need to kill her."

  He looked desperately at Slater and Norman. Surely they didn't think he could kill his own wife. But all he got in return were blank stares. No-one said anything for almost a minute until Norman broke the silence.

  "Okay, Woody, let me be honest with you," he said. "I'm having a problem understanding how it could have taken you so long to get back to Wales yesterday. You see, the thing is, Diana was killed at around five-thirty yesterday afternoon. Now it seems to me you would have had plenty of time to make a little diversion to Tinton on the way home. And that would explain why it took you so long to complete the journey home."

  He stopped for a moment or two to watch the remaining colour drain from Woody's face before he continued.

  "What you're telling us about your journey home seems to be conveniently vague, and your version of events that led to you being in Wales seems to be at odds with what we've heard. So now we have to consider why there should be these discrepancies. You're not a stupid man, are you, Woody? I'm sure you can see how we wouldn't be doing our jobs if we didn't look a bi
t deeper into this. You understand, don't you?"

  Woods gulped loudly. He understood alright, but he hadn't done anything wrong. This was like some sort of nightmare.

  "Help us out here, Woody," said Slater. "If you stopped at motorway services we may be able to find you on CCTV and prove it. Where did you stop for coffee and fuel in Southampton?"

  "It was just a roadside petrol station," said Woody. "I don't know what it's called but I can show you on a map."

  "Okay," said Slater. "How about the meal? Where did you stop for that?"

  "Leigh Delamere services," said Woody. "I got there around five-thirty and left at about eight-thirty."

  "Three hours?" Norman whistled. "You spent three hours in the motorway services? What did you do that took three hours?"

  "I took my book," explained Woody. "They have some comfy seating in there. I got settled. Like I said, I don't have anything to rush home for."

  Norman was obviously sceptical about Woody reading a book for three hours in the motorway services, but he decided they didn't need to pursue the matter any further right now. They could come back to that later.

  "We'll be checking CCTV at all these places," warned Norman. "We'll find out if you're lying."

  "I'm not lying," Woody insisted, frantically. "I'm telling you I didn't murder my wife. I loved her."

  Woody shouted the last three words and then there was a hushed silence.

  "So, if you loved her so much, how come you live two hundred miles away?" asked Norman, breaking the silence.

  Woods stared at the table in front of him, still not quite able to believe what was happening to him.

  "Come on Woody," said Slater, gently. "If you want us to believe you, you need to help us to understand what was going on between you and Diana. How about you start by telling us why you and Diana split up."

  "If you've met Diana's parents I expect you've already heard chapter and verse about how it's all my fault," said Woody. "And if you think she threw me out, you must have believed them."

  A look of comprehension spread across his face.

  "Of course," he said, looking hard at Slater. "Now I get it. I bet he told you I killed her, didn't he? And you believe him. Whatever happened to 'innocent until proved guilty'?"