The Red Telephone Box (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 5) Page 4

  He looked at Slater uncertainly.

  ‘We are mates, aren’t we?’ he asked.

  ‘What happened has happened,’ said Slater. ‘Things will never be quite the same as before, but I’m not holding a grudge, if that’s what you mean. When the guvnor told me you were coming to help I was pleased to know I was going to get some real help. Come on, let’s go and grab a coffee and I’ll bring you up to speed.’

  ‘So basically we know nothing,’ said Slater when he’d finished explaining the situation to Biddeford.

  ‘Well, at least we know he left at about seven-thirty,’ said Biddeford. ‘That’s a start.’

  ‘And we know that, at some stage, after he left here yesterday, he dropped his car off at Porters. Of course, he could have dropped it off on the way home, but my feeling is he still had his car at seven-thirty. It’s possible he went somewhere by train. The railway station’s not far from there. He could easily have dropped his car off and then walked the rest of the way to the station.’

  ‘It’s only a five-minute walk from there,’ agreed Biddeford. ‘If he dropped his car off on the way home from work he would have needed a taxi or something to get home.’

  ‘And he would have needed a taxi again, later,’ said Slater. ‘Unless someone picked him up. If the Old Man would only let me get my hands on his mobile phone records, we could soon work out which way it was.’

  ‘Okay,’ Biddeford said. ‘So what do you want me to do first? Start ringing around the taxi companies or go and check out the station? It might not be manned at that time of the evening, but there should be CCTV.’

  ‘I need to bring the Old Man up to speed later,’ said Slater, ‘so I’d like you to go down to the railway station. I’ll see if I can persuade him to let me have someone to start ringing round the taxi companies.’

  ‘Right. I’m on it.’ Biddeford, climbed to his feet. ‘I’ll call you if I find anything.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘It’s PC Bateman, Sir, up at the flats,’ said the voice on Slater’s office extension a few minutes later.

  Bateman was one of the two PCs canvassing the flats where Norman lived.

  ‘What can I do for you, Bateman?’ said Slater.

  ‘You said to let you know if we heard anything that might be useful,’ began Bateman. ‘Well, this might be something, and then again it might not.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Slater said, encouragingly. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Gregory at number 5A on the top floor,’ explained Bateman. ‘She reckons she’s seen a man hanging around the place. She says she saw him last night, before the fire. And she says she saw him after the fire had started too.’

  ‘You sound doubtful. Can I ask why?’ asked Slater.

  ‘She’s getting on a bit, Sir. And she’s a bit, you know, paranoid. Seems to think the place is crawling with suspicious people who want to do her harm. I’m not sure she’s all there, if you know what I mean.’

  Slater couldn’t help smiling to himself.

  ‘You mean she’s old and batty, and it could all be bollocks,’ he said.

  ‘Err. Yes. Sir,’ said Bateman, sounding uncertain.

  ‘It’s alright, Constable,’ said Slater. ‘We’ve all met them. And yes, she could well be batty, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s all bollocks and we shouldn’t listen to her. Well done, and thank you for letting me know. Can you tell her I’d like to speak to her and would she mind waiting? I’ll be there in about 20 minutes or so.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Thank you, Sir.’ PC Bateman sounded both surprised and pleased. ‘I’ll do that, right now.’

  As Slater put the phone down and gathered together his keys and phone, he smiled, ruefully. Bateman was right; it could all be a figment of the old lady’s imagination, but they couldn’t afford to ignore her. They had precious little else to go on so far.

  Slater made his way up the stairs to the top floor. As he passed Norman’s flat, he couldn’t help but stop and look. The doorway had been boarded up but even so, the scorch marks on the concrete floor where the petrol had flowed back out under the door and ignited were proof of the ferocity of the fire. If Norm had been inside…

  But Norm hadn’t been inside, had he? If whoever had done this wanted Norman dead, wouldn’t they have made sure he was inside before they started the fire? And if he had been lured away, or even kidnapped, why start the fire? It didn’t seem to add up. He was still wondering what he was missing when he arrived at flat 5A.

  The door was opened by PC Bateman, who showed him through to Mrs Gregory’s living room. She must have been 80 if she was a day, with stick thin arms and wispy white hair that was doing its best to escape from the headscarf she had over her head. But her eyes were bright and they sparkled with life when she saw Slater.

  ‘You must be the detective,’ she said. ‘Here. Come and sit down

  She pointed to a chair opposite her own.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Gregory,’ said Slater, taking the chair she had indicated. ‘I’m DS Slater. I understand you may have seen someone suspicious in the area.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be very nice, thank you,’ said Slater.

  ‘Andy,’ said Mrs Gregory to Constable Bateman. ‘Be a dear and make the tea, will you?’

  Bateman’s face turned a nice shade of red, and he looked helplessly at Slater.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Slater, wickedly. ‘Go on, Andy. Be a dear. No sugar in mine.’

  Bateman hurried off to make the tea.

  ‘Have you caught him yet?’ Mrs Gregory asked Slater.

  ‘Have we caught who?’

  ‘Well, whoever started the fire, of course,’ she said.

  ‘We don’t know for sure if anyone did start the fire,’ said Slater.

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ she said, dismissively. ‘I saw that man who was here this morning. The grumpy one. From the way you were talking to him, he must be your boss. Now you can’t tell me someone of that rank would be called out to a simple house fire. And you wouldn’t be asking all these questions, would you?’

  ‘There’s no flies on you, Mrs Gregory,’ said Slater.

  ‘You can call me Vi,’ she said, conspiratorially. ‘If we’re going to work together we should be on first name terms, don’t you think?’

  ‘Err, work together?’ said Slater, awkwardly. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

  She suddenly got up from her chair and, using a walking frame, tottered across to another chair next to a small table over by the window. There was a small pair of binoculars and a notebook on the table.

  ‘Here’ she said. ‘Come and take a look.’

  He did as she asked and took a look, over her shoulder, out through the window. He could see right across the car park and to the play area beyond it. There was a small group of trees to one side. As he looked out he realised that Norman’s flat was just two flats away.

  ‘I can’t get out much these days,’ she said, ‘and there’s not much worth watching on TV, so I sit up here and look out of the window. You’d be amazed what you can see from up here.’

  She picked up the notebook from the table.

  ‘And I write it all down in here,’ she said as she handed it to him. ‘Dates, times, even people’s names if I know them. Who did what, who they did it to. I knew it would come in handy sooner or later.’

  Slater flipped through the book. He thought some of these people would be horrified if they knew they were being spied on. There were some guilty secrets in here. He thumbed through to the last entry. It was from last night. He read it twice just to make sure he’d got it right.

  ‘You say this man was just watching the flats. Are you sure?’

  ‘Not just the flats,’ she said. ‘He was watching Mr Norman’s flat. And last night wasn’t the first time. If you look back, you’ll find he’s been here several times. I call him the Russian.’

  ‘Why do you call him that?’ asked Slater.
>
  ‘Because I think he looks like a Russian,’ she explained. ‘He’s got those Slavic features that Russians have. And he smokes like a chimney.’

  Slater didn’t think that was quite enough detail to convince him the man was Russian, but it did create an impression in his mind.

  ‘Do you think if I sent an artist over you could create a likeness?’

  ‘I can try,’ she said. ‘But I have to admit my eyesight’s not what it used to be so I’m not sure how good it would be.’

  Slater was looking at the book again.

  ‘You’re quite sure he was out there before the fire started?’ he asked. ‘It would have been dark.’

  ‘He was out there before it was dark,’ she said, pointing out at the group of trees. ‘Over there. And he was still there later. I could just about make him out in the light from the street lights, and I could see his cigarette glowing in the dark before the fire started.’

  ‘But you say he was there after the fire started as well,’ Slater reminded her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When they woke us up to evacuate the building I looked out again. I could still see the cigarette glowing. I told you, he smokes like a chimney. As I watched, he seemed to throw the cigarette down and then I saw him walking off. He went away from the fire as if he was going to cross the play area. I had to leave then so I didn’t see where he went after that.’

  Slater thought this could be a promising lead. He stayed for a few more minutes to drink his tea with his new friends Vi and Andy, and listened as Mrs Gregory gave a wicked description of what it was like to be carried down four flights of stairs by a fireman. It seems this had been the highlight of her year so far, and possibly of her whole life.

  When he finished his tea, he felt he’d done his duty and it was time to move.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to go now, Mrs Gregory,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to steal Andy and take him with me.’

  ‘Oh. Must you?’ she said. ‘We were getting on so well.’

  PC Bateman’s face turned a nice shade of beetroot red.

  ‘I know,’ Slater said, sympathetically. ‘He’s such a nice lad, isn’t he? But I’m afraid we have work to do.’

  ‘Oh well, if you must, I suppose I’ll have to let you go.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘But I hope you’ll let me know what happens.’

  ‘I’ll call you to let you know when the artist is coming to see you,’ Slater said. ‘And we’ll catch up when I bring your book back.’

  ‘Oh good,’ she said. ‘I’ll look forward to that. It’s not often we have any excitement around here.’

  ‘Right, you can stop being embarrassed now,’ Slater said to Bateman as they made their way down the stairs.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bateman. ‘It was a bit awkward.’

  ‘Much better they take a shine to you like that than spit venom at you,’ said Slater. ‘When you meet someone who hates the police, you’ll look back fondly at people like Mrs Gregory.’

  ‘Oh she was nice enough,’ said Bateman. ‘But, really? A Russian?’

  ‘You think she’s making it up?’

  ‘I think maybe she’s a bit confused.’

  They pushed their way out through the main door.

  ‘Okay, so let’s see if we can prove her story,’ said Slater.

  ‘Sir?’ asked a puzzled-sounding PC Bateman.

  ‘Follow me, Constable,’ said Slater.

  He led Bateman across the car park to the group of trees Mrs Gregory had indicated from her window. He stopped a few yards short of the trees and turned back to face the flats.

  ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘If you wanted to watch those windows up there on the top floor, where would be the best place to stand? Bear in mind you’re going to be here for hours.’

  Bateman looked back at the block of flats. He walked backwards and forward until he thought he had found the place.

  ‘Anywhere around here would do,’ he said.

  Then he looked back at the trees.

  ‘But, if I wanted to make myself less obvious, and maybe have a tree to lean against, I’d probably stand about there.’

  He pointed to a tree that leaned back slightly. Slater looked at the tree and nodded his head.

  ‘That’s what I figured, too,’ said Slater. ‘That’s the tree I noticed from Mrs Gregory’s window. Now let’s see if Mrs Gregory’s as daft as you think she is.’

  He led the way to the tree they had both identified.

  ‘Of course,’ he explained, ‘if our “Russian” is a real professional, he’ll have cleared up behind him. But if he’s been coming unnoticed for some time he might have got a bit complacent. You never know your luck.’

  Slater could tell Bateman hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, and smiled as he started walking slowly around the tree. With a cry of ‘Aha’, he squatted down and pointed at something on the ground at the base of the tree.

  ‘Maybe Mrs Gregory’s not as daft as some people think,’ Slater said, proudly. ‘Have you got an evidence bag?’

  ‘Yessir,’ said Bateman, fumbling through his pockets.

  ‘See this?’ Slater pointed at the ground.

  ‘What? You mean that tuft of grass?’ asked Bateman, leaning forward and squinting.

  ‘No,’ said Slater, patiently. ‘I mean that little heap of cigarette butts behind the tuft of grass.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ said Bateman. ‘But that hardly proves there was a Russian standing here last night, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t prove it was a Russian,’ said Slater. ‘But it adds a lot of weight to her claim that someone has been standing here watching the flats and smoking cigarettes, don’t you think?’

  He fished a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and took the evidence bag Bateman was offering. He carefully picked up one of the cigarette butts and held it up.

  ‘This could be gold,’ he told Bateman, as he placed it carefully into the bag. The he collected several more before standing up and carefully sealing the bag.

  ‘You’ve done very well, Bateman,’ he said. ‘This could prove to be vital evidence. And let it be a lesson. You should never judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,’ said Bateman.

  ‘I’m going to take my treasure back to Tinton.’ Slater jiggled the bag with the cigarette butts in it. ‘You can go and join your colleague. And tell him that thanks to you, we’ve made some progress.’

  ‘Right. Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you,’ Bateman said, beaming.

  Chapter Nine

  The forensics department at Tinton Police Station was hidden away in the basement. Commonly knows as Becks’ Lair, it housed a small team led by Ian Becks, who somehow managed to perform miracles with the meagre equipment he had at his disposal. He and Slater had at one time been very good mates, but a falling out had somewhat cooled their relationship to the point where work had become their only common ground. However, that had been some weeks ago, and Slater rather hoped that in the intervening period Becks had come to share his view that it was just a storm in a tea cup.

  He took a deep breath as he pushed the door open. It had been three or four weeks since he had last had cause to come down here, but he immediately noticed things had changed. The place was a whole lot tidier for a start. There didn’t seem to be anywhere near as much stuff about the place, but there were lots of boxes stacked neatly near the entrance.

  He could see Becks at the far end of the lab, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. As he approached, Becks looked up and smiled broadly. Slater breathed a quiet sigh of relief. This was a good start.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t my old friend DSDS,’ said Becks, grinning at him. ‘I thought you were avoiding me.’

  ‘It’s been so quiet lately I haven’t needed your services,’ said Slater. ‘But that’s all changed now. I expect I’ll be driving you round the bend over the few days.’

  He held up the evidence bag containing the cigarette butts.

&
nbsp; ‘I’ve got a present for you.’

  ‘This is for Norm, right?’ asked Becks.

  ‘Found across the road from his flat,’ explained Slater, handing over the bag. ‘I believe someone may have been watching him. Obviously, anything you can tell me from these will be a big help.’

  ‘Right,’ said Becks. ‘Your timing’s not exactly perfect, but I can unpack the necessary equipment for this.’

  ‘Unpack?’ asked Slater. ‘What do you mean, unpack?’

  ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know what?’ Slater was confused. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘We’re being closed down,’ said Becks. ‘Apparently Tinton is now classified as too small to warrant its own forensics department. It’s all being centralised. In future, all the scientific stuff is going to be done at Berrymead House.’

  Berrymead House was the home to the County’s science labs. They had everything there you could think of, but it was well over an hour from Tinton.

  ‘But how can they do that without telling us?’ asked Slater. ‘Talk about keeping us in the dark.’

  ‘I only found out myself a couple of weeks ago,’ said Becks, grimly. ‘Apparently it’s been planned for months, but no one thought to tell any of those who might be affected by it.’

  ‘What’s happening to your team?’

  ‘Oh, we’ve all still got jobs,’ said Becks. ‘It’s just that we all live up here and now we’re all going to be based down there. We’ll be driving down there to sign in, and then quite possibly driving all the way back up here to work. It seems ludicrous to me, but what do I know?’

  ‘When’s this happening?’ asked Slater.

  ‘It would have been at the end of this week,’ said Becks, ‘but since we have one of our own missing, they’ve given us permission to stay for a bit longer.’

  ‘Officially, Norm’s not classed as missing yet,’ said Slater. ‘According to Murray, he might just have just gone AWOL. Apparently having your flat incinerated by an arsonist isn’t cause for concern.’