A Skeleton In The Closet (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 7) Page 6

  ‘Yeah?’ called a voice.

  ‘Can you come up a minute?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She came back to her desk and sat down. ‘He’s just coming. His name is Justin Wells. He’s one of our more reliable drivers,’ she said, conspiratorially. ‘I wouldn’t give house room to some of them, but Justin’s a good one.’

  The door squeaked open and a fresh-faced young man appeared, dressed in black leather motorcycle trousers and a denim shirt. Slater guessed he was in his mid-twenties. He certainly didn’t look like a bomb-maker.

  ‘Ah, Justin,’ said Angie. ‘This is Sergeant Slater. He’d like to ask you some questions about that late delivery you made yesterday afternoon.’

  Slater nodded. ‘Hello, Justin.’

  ‘What’s this about?’ asked Justin. ‘I just deliver the packages. I don’t know what’s inside them.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Slater. ‘No one is accusing you of anything. I just need you to tell me what happened when you delivered a package to Tinton Police Station yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. What’s supposed to have happened?’ Justin looked uncertain.

  ‘Why not start from when you got the job?’ suggested Slater. ‘Everything you can recall.’

  ‘Angie gave me the job just after five,’ he began.

  ‘Five-oh-five,’ she said, reading from her diary.

  ‘I whizzed down to P&P,’ continued Justin. ‘I got there about twenty-past. The package was waiting at the reception desk so I was in and out really quick.’

  ‘D’you know what was in the package?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Not for sure, but then, like I said, I don’t have to know, I just deliver it. It felt like a big wodge of paperwork, like a manuscript. I think that’s what we usually carry for them. They are a publishing company, after all. There was a note on it to say the guy at Tinton would be in a hurry to get away and he might meet me outside.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’ asked Slater.

  ‘It is a bit,’ said Justin, ‘but then it seemed as though it was all a bit last minute so I saw no reason to question it. Instructions are instructions, you know?’

  ‘Okay. So what happened when you got to Tinton.’

  ‘I gave the guy the package, he signed for it, and I came straight back here.’

  ‘You’re quite sure you came straight back here?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Of course I am,’ said Justin. ‘I got back just after six-thirty.’

  ‘Blimey, you must have been going some,’ Angie piped up. ‘I hope you didn’t trip any speed cameras.’

  Justin looked suitably embarrassed.

  ‘You’re quite sure about this, are you, Justin?’ asked Slater. ‘Only we’ve got you on CCTV coming into our reception area at 18.11. You met the guy the parcel was for and followed him into the back of the building. You were still carrying the package at that point.’

  ‘No way, mate!’ said Justin, indignantly. ‘I never even went in the building. The bloke met me outside on the front steps, as per the instructions. He signed for it there and then.’

  ‘What did this guy look like?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I didn’t see his face. He was in his leathers with a crash helmet on. I assumed he was in a hurry to get home.’

  ‘What colour were the leathers?’

  ‘Red,’ said Justin. ‘You don’t see them that colour very often. Most people wear black. Look, he was waiting for me and he signed the right name. That’s good enough for me, especially at that time of day.’

  Slater was confused. This didn’t make sense but Justin seemed genuine enough. He would bet good money he wasn’t lying, so what was going on here?

  ‘And you’re sure you were back here at six-thirty?’

  ‘Thereabouts,’ said Justin. ‘Andy’ll tell you. He was here when I got back.’

  Slater looked at Angie. ‘Who’s Andy?’

  ‘Andy Armstrong,’ she said. ‘He owns the business.’

  ‘You say the guy at Tinton signed for the package,’ said Slater. ‘Can I see the signature?’

  ‘It’ll be on his job sheet.’ Angie got up from her desk and walked over to a filing cabinet. She opened a drawer, pulled out one of the files, and carried it back to her desk. She opened it and turned a couple of pages over.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, laying it down for Slater to see and pointing to the bottom of the sheet.

  Slater stared at the form. The time was noted down as 18.10 and the signature read ‘I. Becks’.

  Slater scratched his head. Something was definitely not right, but he couldn’t argue with the evidence before his eyes. ‘D’you think I could have this job sheet?’ he asked.

  ‘Let me take a copy,’ said Angie, ‘just to keep my records up straight. Then you can take it.’

  ‘Right, thanks,’ he said, absently, his mind struggling to understand what he had just heard.

  ‘D’you need me any more?’ asked Justin, ‘Only I’ve got a job in a few minutes.’

  ‘Err, no. I think that’ll do for now,’ said Slater, not sure if he should let the courier go or not. ‘You’ve been very helpful. If I need to speak to you again, I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Justin.

  Slater turned back to Angie. ‘Can you give me the address of P&P Publishing?’

  ‘I’ll write it down for you,’ she said. ‘It’s across the other side of town.’

  Slater climbed back into his car, closed the door, gripped the steering wheel, and stared through the windscreen at nothing in particular. It was gone 4pm and he had been on duty for more than twenty hours. That would have been enough to make his head ache, but on top of that he’d had a bust up with Goodnews, and now he had another problem. How had Ian Becks managed to sign for a package on the doorstep of the police station at 18.10 when they had footage clearly showing a courier entering the reception area and meeting him at 18.11?

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands, but it made no difference – when he opened his eyes again, the problem was still there.

  Chapter Twelve

  Half an hour later, Slater was climbing back into his car, no less confused. His visit to P&P Publishing had only proved Ian Becks had actually written a novel and submitted it to P&P for review. So the package really was a manuscript, and it really had been a last-minute job because there had been a cock-up in the dispatch department. And, as far as he could see, there didn’t seem to be any way he could connect it to Serbia, no matter how he tried. The only thing he was sure about, right now, was that he needed to get away from this job for a while before his head exploded.

  He reached for his mobile phone and tried Norman again. This time he answered after just three rings.

  ‘Norman Norman, style guru and freelance detective at your service,’ said the familiar voice in his ear.

  ‘Norm! Jeez, I am so pleased to hear your voice,’ said Slater.

  He heard Norman laugh down the phone. ‘Don’t tell me, you miss me so much you don’t know how you can ever live without me.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Slater. He let out a big sigh.

  ‘Wow. You sound like shit. Do you want to tell Uncle Normy all about it?’

  ‘You haven’t heard, have you?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Ian Becks got killed last night. Blown up in his own lab.’

  ‘No way,’ said Norman. ‘If this is your idea of a joke—’

  ‘It’s no joke, Norm. He’s dead, seriously.’ For the first time, there was a lump in Slater’s throat as he spoke about Becks.

  ‘It sounds to me like maybe you do need to come and have a chat with someone,’ said Norman. ‘How long have you been on duty?’

  ‘Since seven last night,’ said Slater. ‘I was supposed to be having a nice, easy first night back at work.’

  ‘You wanna come over?’

  ‘Are you okay with that? I could certainly do with a frie
ndly face right now. I just need to go and report back, and then I’ll get away.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Norman. ‘I’ll be here when you arrive.’

  No sooner had Slater ended his call and tossed his phone down onto the passenger seat than it started to ring. He picked it up and looked at the incoming number. He sighed heavily. It was Goodnews. What the hell did she want now? For a few moments he considered ignoring her, but his professionalism soon won out over his inner child. She might not be his favourite person right now, but they still had a case to solve. He owed it to Ian Becks.

  ‘Boss?’ he said into the phone.

  ‘Are you coming back here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I want to write these notes up while it’s all still fresh in my mind.’

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘Interesting and confusing.’

  ‘I know you want to get off home,’ she said, ‘and I know you’re hacked off with me, but there’s something you need to know. Can you make sure you come up and see me before you go home?’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ he asked. ‘Only this case—’

  ‘It’s about this case, and if I thought it could wait I wouldn’t ask.’

  Slater closed his eyes and cursed quietly. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way back now.’

  It was well after 6pm by the time Slater was standing before Goodnews’s desk. She was sitting before a huge pile of paperwork.

  ‘The gist of it,’ he told her, ‘is that Becks had written a book and sent the manuscript to P&P Publishing in Winchester. It seems the package that was sent yesterday contained the manuscript which was being returned to him with their report. The reason it was late was because of a cock-up in their dispatch department.’

  ‘You said you were confused,’ Goodnews reminded him.

  ‘The confusing bit comes when the package is delivered. We’ve got Ian on CCTV meeting the courier in reception and taking him through to the basement. The courier I spoke to swears he met Ian Becks on the front steps and he signed for the package there and then. The courier says he never even came through the front doors and certainly didn’t go down to the basement. I’ve even got the job sheet with Ian’s signature on it.’

  ‘He must be lying,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Slater. ‘His sheet is signed at 18.10. He was on his way back to Winchester when our CCTV says he came through the doors. I would swear he’s telling the truth. He certainly convinced me.’

  ‘A minute or two either way can be very significant and some people can be very convincing,’ she said, thoughtfully.

  Slater frowned. He felt he’d been doing this long enough to know when someone was lying to him. Goodnews obviously caught his expression.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you’re stupid or anything. Look, I know you’re not happy with me, but we still have to work together to solve this case.’

  ‘That’s not going to be a problem,’ he said. ‘What’s happened has happened and it can’t be undone. I still think I need to warn Norman, and I still think you and I need to watch our backs, but the most important thing is we owe it to Becksy to find out if they really are behind this.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’

  ‘Is that what was so important to tell me before I went home?’

  ‘I wish it was that simple,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Come and sit down for a minute.’

  She led him across her office to a pair of comfy chairs either side of a small coffee table.

  ‘This is starting to look serious,’ he said. ‘Are you going to suspend me too?’

  Goodnews flared her nostrils angrily. This was obviously a sore point.

  ‘DC Darling has been suspended pending an investigation into allegations she beat up a suspect causing grievous bodily harm,’ she said sternly. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do, but I have no choice when it comes to the procedure I have to follow. You know that.’

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Whoa! Sorry,’ he said. ‘Now who’s taking offence at nothing?’

  She looked a little sheepish but she obviously wasn’t going to apologise. ‘This afternoon,’ she began, ‘DC Biddeford took two uniforms and a couple of forensics guys over to Ian Becks’ flat.’

  ‘I bet they’ve never seen anywhere in such good order,’ said Slater. ‘Even the tins in the cupboards all face the same way.’

  ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t all perfect,’ she said. ‘They found a large amount of cash and some evidence that had obviously been removed from the lab.’

  Slater’s mouth dropped open, and he sat in stunned silence for few moments. ‘No, that can’t be right.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know he was your mate—’

  ‘There’s no way he was bent,’ said Slater. ‘I don’t care what was found, you couldn’t meet a more honest bloke. He wasn’t capable of stepping outside proper procedure.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but ten thousand pounds in cash and a bundle of evidence says otherwise,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I don’t want to believe it, but you can’t argue with the evidence.’

  ‘Where did they find it?’ he asked.

  ‘In his desk.’

  ‘Then there’s been some sort of mistake. I checked his desk when I went over there early in the morning. I couldn’t have missed that amount of cash.’

  Goodnews looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know it’s hard to believe...’

  ‘I’m telling you, that stuff wasn’t there earlier.’

  ‘So how come they found it?’ she asked, gently.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe someone’s fitting him up,’ Slater said, aware he sounded just a little desperate. He raised his hands and rubbed his face. None of this made sense. It made no sense someone had seen fit to end Becks’ life, and it was inconceivable he could have been a crook. He suddenly became aware of just how highly he had regarded Ian Becks, and felt a pang of sadness alongside his desperation.

  ‘I know none of this makes sense right now,’ said Goodnews, ‘but you’ve been here for nearly twenty-four hours. I think maybe you need to get off home and get some sleep. Perhaps in the morning we can take look at all the evidence afresh.’

  Slater dropped his hands and looked across at her. ‘You started almost twelve hours before me,’ he said. ‘When are you going to sleep?’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, with a sad little smile. ‘That’s a good question. With the CC breathing down my neck I have to be seen to be doing, but that’s all the more reason to make sure my second-in-command gets some sleep. I’ve got a camp bed in here, maybe I can steal a few hours later.’

  Slater winced at the idea of anyone trying to sleep on an uncomfortable camp bed, knowing they could be interrupted at any minute. But then it was her choice to chase after the top job.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you up on the offer to go home for a few hours. Maybe I need to sleep on it to start making some sense of it.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Norman’s flat had been incinerated, his insurance company had been happy to pay for him to stay in a hotel, pending their investigation into the fire and what had caused it. This situation had dragged on for some time as they argued against his claim, until eventually they had withdrawn their support on the grounds that his policy didn’t cover him for arson.

  Norman didn’t see it that way and intended to go on fighting them. There was no way he could afford to carry on paying the hotel bill himself, however, and he now resided in a room above a pub. It wasn’t ideal, but it included a cooked breakfast every morning, and in exchange for helping out behind the bar occasionally, the landlord and his wife had reduced his rent to just a few pounds a night.

  On top of that, he had discovered a hidden talent for singing, and with his raw, soulful tones he had become a big hit singing karaoke on a Friday night. However, there was a downside; being in such close vicin
ity to a ready supply of beer and lager was doing nothing for his already oversized waistline. The jeans he was wearing were struggling to meet in the middle, and would surely have failed without the belt that was straining to hold everything together. A white t-shirt that hadn’t seen an iron in years and Norman’s tatty but much-loved denim jacket completed his ensemble.

  He was waiting in the bar when Slater arrived. It was almost 8pm.

  ‘Have you looked in a mirror lately?’ he asked, as soon as his friend appeared.

  ‘Haven’t had time,’ said Slater.

  ‘Well, prepare yourself for a shock,’ said Norman, ‘because the good-looking young guy I used to work with is starting to look like an advert for the disadvantages of being homeless. In fact, I know plenty of homeless people who look a whole lot better than you.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that. I came here to have my spirits raised, not get kicked in the teeth. Can I get you a beer?’

  ‘You’re so late we haven’t got time for that,’ said Norman.

  ‘What? Where are we going?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Have you eaten lately?’

  ‘Not for hours.’ Slater’s stomach let out loud rumble. ‘Are you taking me for a meal?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ said Norman, noting the look of anticipation written all over Slater’s face.

  ‘Where?’ said Slater. ‘Indian or Chinese?’ He thought for a moment and looked down at his clothes. ‘Do I need to get cleaned up?’ he asked.

  ‘No, definitely not,’ said Norman, looking the dishevelled Slater up and down. ‘I reckon you’ll blend in just fine. Come on, let’s go.’

  He led the way out to the car park, plipped the locks on his car, and they climbed in.

  ‘So where is this place?’ asked Slater.

  ‘We’ll be there in just a few minutes,’ said Norman. He looked at Slater’s puzzled face. ‘This is gonna be something quite new for you. Trust me, the food is fantastic. I think you’ll love it. You can tell me all your worries when we get there, and I promise you, by the time you get home you’ll realise it’s not as bad as you think.’