An Unnecessary Murder

by

P.F. Ford

Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

Edited by KT Editing Services

© 2013 P.F. Ford

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

‘How are you today then?’ I said, patting his hand. ‘You’ve been out of it for a couple of weeks now, so I figured it might be a good idea to bring you up to speed with everything that’s been going on.’

I paused for a moment, wondering where to start. The hum of machinery was punctuated by the hiss and click of the respirator controlling his breathing. It was over two weeks since I had found my old friend Dry Biro stretched out on his kitchen floor, having apparently suffered a heart attack. My friend Positive Pete and I were the nearest he had to a family, so we were taking it in turns to visit.

It was now my regular morning routine to come and sit with him for an hour or two. Pete did the same in the early afternoon, and I sometimes came back in the evenings too. We had tried all sorts of things to get a response from the comatose body, but so far there had been nothing.

‘Now, let me see,’ I began. ‘You remember Tommy Nash, the guy we caught? Well, he’s been formally charged with murder. Then there’s his son, the detective inspector, Nasty Nash. Did I tell you he had been allowed back to work? Apparently they couldn’t find enough evidence to prove he was bent. It seems they’ve made an allowance for him being affected by what we found out about his dad. Sounds like a cover-up to me, but there you go.’

I paused for a mouthful of coffee. As I gazed through the window at the corridor outside, a face appeared going from right to left along the corridor. It was Rose, the old man’s nurse. She gave me a cheery smile and a little wave as she passed by. I wondered at the almost heroic ability of nurses to remain cheerful in spite of all they have to deal with.

‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, Nasty Nash back at work. I suppose I’ll have to start watching my back again.’

We had recently discovered Nasty Nash’s father, former Detective Inspector Tommy Nash, had covered up one murder and then committed one of his own, some thirty years ago. Needless to say, Nasty was none too pleased that we had ruined his father’s reputation and the word was he was unlikely to forgive us anytime soon.

‘And you don’t need to worry about Betty,’ I went on. ‘She’s being looked after by Daphne. Her dog seems to love having Betty around. They’re getting on like a house on fire.’

Betty was DB’s basset hound. When he had been rushed to hospital, we didn’t really know what to do with her. I would have been happy to take her, and so would Positive Pete, but she was used to having someone around most of the time and we couldn’t guarantee that. But then Daphne, whose little boy had been one of the murder victims all those years ago, had volunteered to take Betty, and the problem was solved.

‘Did I tell you about the funeral? I probably did, but I’ll tell you again anyway. It was just perfect – you would have loved it. And now it’s all settled Daphne seems to have a new lease of life. She thinks it’s brilliant that you were able to solve the puzzle after all these years.’

It had been a team effort really, but DB had been the one with all the background information that had set us on the way to solving the crime.

‘And here’s some news you definitely don’t know. Positive Pete and Daphne seem to be seeing a lot of each other since the funeral. He says he’s going up to her house to see Betty, but I know Daphne’s cooked dinner for him nearly every night. How about that? Yet another good thing that’s come about as a result of our investigations.’

And so it went on for the best part of an hour; me talking and him listening. Well, I hoped he was listening. And everything was punctuated by the monotonous hiss, click, hiss, click.

I always felt a sense of relief, and an equal sense of guilt, whenever I left the hospital. It was a relief because I hate hospitals, and the guilt was because I always felt as though I was abandoning my old friend. But what can you do? He was in a coma and I couldn’t spend twenty-four hours a day in there. Even if I did, it was unlikely to make any difference to the poor old guy’s recovery.

Positive Pete was the best friend I ever had. Ten years older than me, we probably would never have met at all if we hadn’t become brothers-in-law by marrying sisters. Sadly, they were the wrong sisters for us and we were both now single again. Not that either of us felt sad about the situation – we were both happy to have escaped from being unhappy. It had been an experience we both would have preferred to have avoided, but it was a mistake we intended not to repeat.

As a retired writer, DB had become my mentor – I wanted to be a writer – and as our friendship grew, so Pete had got know him. He was as fond of the old guy as I was, which is why he was happy to be a regular visitor to the hospital.

Later that day, it was Pete’s turn to visit DB.

‘I know Alfie’s been catching you up with all the news, but I bet he didn’t mention about him and Sophia.’

Pete knew a reply wasn’t coming, but he paused for it anyway before continuing.

‘You know how much he likes Sophia, right? And you know she invited him to dinner, and Jelena came home and caught them fast asleep on the settee? And then she helped him sort his flat out. Well, you would have thought they would be seeing each other more often now, wouldn’t you?’

Another pause. Click, hiss, click, hiss.

‘But Jelena tells me the opposite seems to have happened. It’s as if Alfie thinks Sophia doesn’t want to see him, and now Sophia thinks he’s avoiding her. It sounds like a complete mess. Jelena’s going spare. She tried so hard to encourage them to get together and now they’re keeping away from each other.

‘But you know what Alfie’s like with women – he always thinks he’s just not good enough. He needs someone like you to give him a good talking to. So now would be quite a good time for you to wake up really. Maybe you could talk some sense into him.’

Pete watched the old man hopefully – he wasn’t called Positive Pete for nothing –  but the old man remained inert. After five more minutes, Pete looked at his watch.

‘I’ve got to go now,’ he explained. ‘I’m off to Daphne’s to walk the dogs. Betty’s loving it up there. I know you’ll be worrying about her, but trust me, she’s in good hands.’

He took the old man’s hand. ‘I’ll be up again tomorrow I expect.’

An uncomfortable sadness came over him as he walked through the hospital, but then, as he neared his car, the sadness faded to be replaced by a sense of happy anticipation.

On the day DB had suffered his heart attack, Pete and Alfie had been at the funeral of Daphne Younger’s son, Simon. Simon had been murdered thirty years ago, but it was only because of the combined efforts of DB, Pete, and Alfie that his killer had been identified.

Pete and Alfie had escorted Daphne to the funeral, but when DB had failed to arrive, Alfie had gone to see what had happened to him, leaving Pete to look after Daphne and take her home. He had been Daphne’s rock that day.

With DB in hospital, they could have had a big problem with his dog, Betty basset, but Daphne had volunteered to have her and the problem was solved. Betty seemed to love being with Daphne and her dog Cissie, and they seemed to love being with Betty.

Now, under the pretext of helping to walk the dogs, Pete had been making the daily journey up to see Daphne. That’s where he was going now, and that’s why he was feeling the happy anticipation.

Chapter Two

They had just finished dinner. Another culinary triumph from Daphne meant a very satisfied Pete once again. He had never really mastered the art of cooking, so for the eight years he had lived on his own, he had made do with ready meals, takeaways, and his own, often disastrous, burnt offerings. Being fed by Daphne every evening was this hungry man’s heaven.

He told himself it was only right that as she had been prepared to temporarily house Betty basset, he should visit every afternoon to help walk the two dogs. In return, Daphne told herself it was only right that she should cook dinner for him for helping out with the dog walking.

The reality, of course, was that two lonely people had each found someone they enjoyed being with, plain and simple.

‘Err, I wonder if you could help me with something,’ said Daphne nervously.

‘Of course, I can,’ said Pete. ‘Just name it.’

‘It’s a bit embarrassing,’ she began. ‘I’m not sure where to start.’

She was standing before the kitchen sink, resplendent in a huge apron and up to her elbows in rubber gloves doing the washing up. Pete stood dutifully to her left with a tea towel. He might not be able to cook, but he had long ago mastered the art of drying up.

‘I usually find it’s best to start at the beginning,’ he assured her. ‘That way we both know where we are.’

She smiled. It was so good to have someone else around the house – she had been on her own far too long. Now her troubles were resolved, she was hoping she could finally look forward and start to enjoy life again. She felt she could do a lot worse than enjoy it with this kind man with his seemingly unlimited patience and understanding.

‘Well,’ she began. ‘I’m sure you know I turned to the bottle when I was at my lowest.’

He patted her gently on the shoulder. ‘We all need a prop sometimes. I had a close friend called Jack Daniels a few years back. You don’t need to be embarrassed about that.’

He picked up a plate and began drying it. ‘Anyway, unless you’re getting smashed every night after I’ve gone home, you don’t seem to have a problem with it now.’

It was true they had enjoyed a glass of wine with dinner some nights, but as far as he was aware, she hadn’t touched a drop apart from that.

‘Well no,’ she agreed. ‘But then I find I don’t need that particular prop anymore.’

If it had been intended as a hint, it was far too subtle for Pete. It sailed harmlessly over his head and, unnoticed, disappeared into the ether.

‘The thing is,’ she continued, ‘I developed a taste for sherry. You know the one? Comes in a blue bottle?’

‘Right,’ said Pete. He didn’t have a clue where this was going, but it didn’t matter really. He was quite happy to listen to Daphne whatever she wanted to talk about.

‘It’s the empties, you see.’

He didn’t see. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, according to the local council you can recycle white glass, green glass, and brown glass, but they don’t tell you what to do with blue glass. So I telephoned to ask.’ She looked a bit sheepish.

‘What did they say?’

‘They asked me how many I had. I told them I had hundreds in the garage, so they offered to send someone round to get rid of them.’

‘Well, that was okay, wasn’t it?’

‘It would have been,’ she said. ‘But they sent a pest control officer.’

‘What?’

‘They thought I meant bluebottles as in the type of fly. He came to kill a load of insects!’

For a moment, Pete thought he had heard wrong. Then comprehension arrived, dialling straight into to his sense of humour. He looked uncertainly at Daphne. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her by laughing at her. And she was looking him straight in the eye, almost defying him not to laugh.

But it was funny. And he knew he was going to laugh. He was trying really hard not to, but he was losing it. And now he could see Daphne was losing it too. It started with a smirk, then it turned into giggles, and finally they were both laughing out loud.

‘Do you know,’ she gasped eventually, ‘I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud like that.’

Pete sighed happily, pulled her close and giving her a hug. ‘You are wonderful,’ he said.

Then he froze, suddenly realising what he was doing. In all the time they had spent together he had never been so forward.

‘Oh! I’m sorry.’ He started to release the hug. ‘I didn’t mean-’

‘Shh!’ She looked into his eyes and placed a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t you dare let go.’

Then she placed her own arms around his waist, laid her head against his chest, and hugged him close. For a split second he was uncertain, then he held her tight and buried his face in her hair. They stood like that for what seemed an eternity, enjoying a feeling of warmth and security that neither had known for such a long time…

Chapter Three

I don’t get many visitors, especially at eight-thirty in the morning. I thought maybe it was a letter that needed signing for, so when I opened the door, I expected to make eye contact with the regular, six-foot-tall postman.

But, there was no one. Well, there was, but not at the six-foot level I expected. However, at a slightly lower altitude I found a very attractive face with a pair of beautiful brown eyes glaring at me. It was my neighbour Sophia’s niece, Jelena.

‘Jelena?’ I said, surprised.

‘You surprised see me?’ Her English was better than when we first met, but it wasn’t the finished article just yet.

‘Err, well, I, err…’ I was both surprised and pleased to see her but, to be honest, her aggressive stance made me think maybe I should play this carefully.

‘It seem long time, yes?’

‘Sorry? It’s only been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it?’

‘You not think that long time when live next door?’

‘Err, well, yes, I suppose it is when you put it like that.’

‘I think you avoid, yes?’

I couldn’t think how to answer that. It was an accusation, not a question, and at this time of the morning I was ill-prepared for a confrontation. I wondered how I could defuse the situation a little so I could think. Perhaps using my manners might be a good start.

‘Come in, come in,’ I said, stepping back to make room.

She didn’t so much walk as stomp her way in. She obviously wasn’t in the best of moods and I wondered what exactly it was I had done, but I didn’t have long to wait before I found out. As I closed the door, she rounded on me right there in the tiny hallway. I was so surprised I took an involuntary step back and found myself with my back pressed against the door.

‘What is with you?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You and Aunt Sophia.’

I couldn’t tell if this was meant as a question or another accusation so I kept quiet.

‘Have nice time, yes? When have dinner?’

I’m one of those people who takes a little time to get going in the morning so I was puzzled for a moment, then I realised she was referring to the time, two or three weeks ago now, when Sophia had cooked dinner for me.

‘Well, yes, of course.’

‘Aunt Sophia nice time also. Then she help sort flat, and go to shopping with you, yes?’

‘Err, yes, she was very kind.’

‘You have fun, yes?’

‘Yes. Very much so. She’s wonderful company.’

‘So why not see again?’

‘But I thought-’

‘What? What you think?’

‘Well, I thought your Aunt Sophia had had second thoughts.’

‘She tell you this?’

‘Well, no, but-’

‘So, now you know what she think? You read mind?’

‘Well-’

‘Have you ask her?’

‘Well, no, of course not, but-’

She gave me a look of pure contempt that made me feel about six inches tall.

‘Huh!’ she said, tossing her head back. ‘Idiot!’

‘Now hang on a minute-’

‘She beautiful woman, yes?’

I certainly couldn’t argue with that. ‘Yes, I know, but-’

‘She not spend time with man for many years.’

I decided there was no point in trying to say anything.

‘Not trust many man – bad thing happen in past.’

This was a lecture, not a conversation.

‘Yet she happy help you, spend time you. She cook dinner. Even sleep with you.’

‘Well, yes. But you know damned well we didn’t actually sleep together like that. We literally both fell asleep, together. It’s not the same thing at all. It was late, we’d drunk a lot of wine. All we did was fall asleep in front of the fire-’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said impatiently. ‘But don’t you see? That mean she trust you.’

‘But she didn’t say-’

‘Of course she not say!’ She gave me a look that said ‘how could you be so stupid?’ ‘She not know what say. Don’t you get? She scared of men.’

Ah! Shit! 

‘But how am I supposed to know that?’ I protested. ‘She always seems comfortable enough to me. And she was fine that night. You said yourself, she had a nice time.’

‘She have nice time because you not sexy man.’

I was a bit taken aback by that, to be honest. I mean, was it supposed to be an insult, or what? If it wasn’t an insult, it was the best back-handed compliment I had ever heard. I mean, I know I’m no James Bond, and I’ve never regarded myself as a sex symbol, but ‘not sexy man’? She was right, of course, but to come out and say it. Go on, love, put that boot in good and hard, why don’t you?

I genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say, but my expression must have said a lot because for the first time, Jelena’s expression softened.

‘Ah!’ she said. ‘No right. No mean “not sexy”. You know my English not good sometime.’

She concentrated furiously to find the right words. ‘Remember when I here, I think you want have sex, yes?’ she began.

‘Yes,’ I said warily. ‘But you were wrong. I was just offering you my spare bed in my spare room.’

‘Is right. You not sexy man, you nice man.’

She looked pleased enough with her explanation, but my ego had been hoping for something much better than that.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I think you’ve not quite grasped the concept of “sexy”.’

Now it was Jelena’s turn to look puzzled. I considered trying to explain, but then, realising that it may take far more patience than I actually had at that moment, I decided my ego would just have to make do for now.

‘What you mean,’ I said carefully, ‘is that Sophia had a nice time because I didn’t make her feel as though I was expecting her to have sex with me. Is that right?’

‘Is right,’ she agreed, happily. ‘You not sexy man. With you, Aunt Sophia relax. Have nice time. When I with you, I relax. Not sexy. Is good.’

My ego was still screaming for an upgrade, but it looked as though ‘Not sexy. Is good’ was the best I was going to get.

‘So Sophia is scared,’ I said, just to make sure I understood what she was saying.

‘Yes. Is not good, but that how is. You understand?’

‘Yes, I do understand,’ I said, embarrassed.

I was thinking to myself that I understood only too well what Jelena was saying. Much as I would like to have a girlfriend, I was also terrified of the idea. Should I try to explain that to Jelena? Would she understand?

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I understand much more than you realise. I’m scared too.’

She gave a theatrical roll of her eyes. ‘What to be scared? Aunt Sophia not force you have sex.’

Now there was an image to play havoc with my imagination. I could see myself being distracted for the rest of the day with that idea charging around in my head.

I was beginning to wish I had kept my fear to myself, but at the same time, I couldn’t let Jelena leave my flat thinking I was scared of Sophia forcing me to have sex. Good grief she might even go and tell Sophia.

‘No, I don’t mean that.’ And then the words just came pouring out of me. ‘I mean I’m scared of getting involved with someone. I’m scared that I might be a disappointment - as a person, as a lover, as anything.’

Jelena’s mouth hung open.

‘Ever since my marriage broke up and I left my wife, I’ve had all these doubts-’

‘Ha!’ she said. ‘You mean poison witch I meet in hospital?’

I’d forgotten Jelena had had the misfortune to meet Gloria, my ex-wife.

‘You do good thing leave her. She big mistake.’

She shook her head at the idea of me making such a mistake, then she gave me a reassuring smile before adding, ‘No need doubt. Trust me.’

If only life was so simple.

‘But you said it yourself,’ I said. ‘Sophia is a beautiful woman.’ I spread my arms. ‘And look at me. Let’s be honest, I’m not much of a catch, am I? And I’m so scared that I say the wrong things, and I do the wrong things. I’m no use to anyone. I’d be a disappointment.’

‘She hear that talk, you not get chance disappoint.’

She looked at me like I was a three-year-old.

‘I spell out, make simple for you. You like Aunt Sophia, Aunt Sophia like you. Is no problem, yes?’

I must have looked doubtful.

‘Trust me, she like you. My opinion she need you, get back trust. And now, think maybe you need her too.’

I felt more than a little stupid. Being lectured by someone young enough to be my daughter was bad enough, but now she had spelt it out for me I could see what she meant. Of course, whether I had the courage to do anything about it was another matter.

Jelena decided she had said her piece, now it was time to go.

‘What you want say when old?’ She didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘You want say ‘I wish I had’? Or you want say ‘I happy I did’?’

I opened the door and stood aside to let her out. As she passed me, she stopped to offer another pearl of wisdom.

‘Remember, when I need help, you forget fear, be hero for me. Now Aunt Sophia need hero. Is fear stop you? I hope not. Trust me, is right.’

She stood on her toes and kissed me gently on the cheek, closing the door softly as she left.

Chapter Four

I hadn’t been in The Cask for weeks. I used to be a regular, but the landlord Dave Burnham, who had once been a good friend, had become very distant. It was as though I’d done something to offend him and he was holding some sort of grudge against me. The Dave I knew as my mate would have been quick to tell me if I was out of line, but now when I tried to broach the subject, he just made an excuse and avoided me.

Consequently, my visits had become much less frequent, and so when I’d been invited to come down this evening, I’d been in two minds. I had come anyway as I didn’t want to let Jelena down. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. Her text message had just said to be here because she had someone she wanted me to meet.

As I pushed through the door into the back bar, I wondered if I was going to get another cold reception from Dave. I was almost pleased to see he wasn’t behind the bar. Then I felt guilty that I was feeling pleased. How had our friendship come to this, and why wouldn’t he tell me what I was supposed to have done? Maybe I would see him later and get the chance to ask.

The only other people in this quiet back bar were a couple canoodling cosily on a small two-seater settee in the furthest corner of the room. They were lost in each other and didn’t notice my arrival. I hung my coat up, paid for my pint, and settled to wait on another two-seater close to the blazing log fire. I tend to find fire-gazing quite therapeutic so I was quite happy to sit, pint in hand, watching the flames while I waited.

The noise from the front bar is so loud at the weekends you can hardly hear yourself think. Even here in the back bar you can usually hear how noisy it is, but today was Wednesday so the noise level out front was quite low. All I could hear now was a low background hubbub. It was still early, not quite eight o’clock, but this background murmur, combined with the cosy warmth of the fire, was quite soporific, and I soon began to doze off. As I did, I slouched lower and lower in my seat…

The light tap on my shoulder made me jump just enough for my backside to slip off the edge of the seat and I only just managed to stop myself sliding down into a crumpled heap on the floor. There was a good half pint in my glass, which could easily have ended up in my lap, but by means of some quite spectacular juggling I managed to save the situation.

‘Can I join you?’ asked a familiar voice.

Only now did I look up to see who had tapped my shoulder, but I already knew who it was. That velvety dark-chocolate voice told me it was Sophia. She looked lovely as always, in blue jeans, huge fur boots, an expensive-looking sweater, and a scarf tied loosely around her neck. She gave me the benefit of one of her beautiful smiles, her nose glowing slightly red from the cold outside.

‘Of course,’ I said, shuffling across to make room for her.

She sat next to me, and there was a brief, awkward silence. I wondered if she, too, had been given the Jelena lecture, but I wasn’t sure it would be right to ask.

The silence was broken by a squawk from my mobile announcing the arrival of a text message. I winced at the sound. How was that for bad timing? I should have turned the damned thing off but I had forgotten.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘I meant to turn it off.’

‘It’s ok,’ she said. ‘Answer it.’

‘It’s just a text. It’ll keep.’

As if on cue, Sophia’s phone beeped. Now it was her turn to look embarrassed. Then we both laughed.

‘Just in case it’s important,’ I said, ‘how about you get yours, I’ll get mine, and then we’ll both switch them off?’

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Jelena’s not here yet anyway.’

I fumbled my phone from my pocket and read the message while she did the same.

‘It’s from Jelena,’ I said, looking at her.

‘Yes, so’s mine.’

‘It says “now meet, now talk”,’ I said, reading the message.

‘Yes, so does mine.’

‘She has a way with words, doesn’t she?’ I said, switching off my phone and placing it on the table to the side of me, well out of the way.

‘She gave you a lecture?’ she asked.

I nodded.

‘Me too!’ she said.

‘She told me some things about you that I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘I made some assumptions, and I was wrong to do that. I’m sorry.’

Sophia smiled sadly. ‘No. Don’t be sorry. Maybe if I had been a little more honest with you…’

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, both staring into the fire, until finally I said, ‘Jelena’s right, you know.’

She turned to face me.

‘In her abbreviated English, she sums it up very neatly. ‘Now meet, now talk’ says it all really. So how about it, Ms Ingliss?’

‘Yes, Mr Bowman.’ She smiled. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea. I would love to sit and talk to you again, but this time I think we need to talk about the things we didn’t mention before, don’t you?’

Normally, it was barely a five-minute walk back to our flats, but it’s surprising how slowly two people can walk when they’re enjoying themselves and in no hurry for the night to end. Sophia was a perfect fit under my arm, which was draped around her shoulders, and she made sure she kept as close as possible by wrapping an arm around my waist and holding tight.

We had spent time together before, of course, but before we had both managed to talk about ourselves without ever mentioning how we really felt about what had happened to us. Now that we each had more of an understanding of our individual problems and hang-ups, we had to agree that perhaps Jelena was correct.

While neither of us was openly prepared to admit that we might actually need each other, we did agree that maybe we could help each other move forward. On that basis, we agreed our relationship was simple friendship. We would spend some time together but as friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

During the evening, Sophia had told me that Jelena’s surname was Samartesr. On the way home, I had realised it was an anagram for ‘smartarse’ so you could guess what I was going to be calling her in future. Jelena Smartarse it was.

We thought it might be a good idea to make sure Jelena didn’t get too big for her boots, so we had decided I would walk Sophia home tonight but I wouldn’t go in for coffee. We would keep Miss Smartarse guessing. For the time being, anyway.

Chapter Five

Detective Sergeant Dave Slater gripped the phone tightly and groaned.

‘A disturbance?’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t that a job for uniforms?’

‘Yes,’ came the weary reply. ‘Normally it would be, but you’re all I’ve got spare right now.’

‘Oh come on, Rob,’ Slater appealed to the harassed voice. ‘I’ve just collected my dinner from the takeaway.’

‘Well you’re bloody lucky you have time to visit the takeaway,’ snapped the voice. ‘We’re supposed to be one big happy team, remember? Now get your arse in gear and be a member of the team. Go do your bloody job.’

Grumpy sod, thought Slater. Where does his attitude fit into the ‘one big happy team’ thing? Just because his wife had cleared off. There’s no need to take it out on everyone else.

In his mid-thirties, Slater was a good, if somewhat pissed off, police officer. He was pissed off was because someone, somewhere in the corridors of power had decided he should have two arseholes. He had been quite happy with the usual one, which he had been born with like the rest of us, but then a decision had been taken to lumber him with another one. The second arsehole even came with a name. It was Detective Inspector ‘Nasty’ Nash, Dave Slater’s boss.

Nash had been more or less the total arsehole package from day one, but the size of his arseholeness – Slater thought this was an excellent new word he’d invented to describe his boss – had been magnified in the wake of recent events. Alfie Bowman had furnished him with the evidence to prove that, thirty years ago, Nash’s father Tommy (a retired detective inspector) had covered up one murder and committed another.

Nash had been suspended for a few weeks, suspected of corruption, but nothing had been proven. Now he was back, he was making sure he lived up to his nickname. ‘Nasty’ Nash had returned to duty filled with even more venom than before. He was a man on a mission and he had two goals in mind. The first was to make Dave Slater’s life difficult whenever he got the chance. The second was to satisfy his burning need for revenge by nailing Alfie Bowman as soon as an opportunity arose.

Slater got in his car, swearing and grumbling as he drove up to the roundabout, and drove all the way around it. He then swore and grumbled his way back in the opposite direction towards the scene of the reported disturbance. If his dinner was going to get cold just because of another stupid domestic, he was going to be well fed up.

But, he reflected, every cloud does have a silver lining. At least being on duty at night meant he got some much-needed relief from Nash. The detective inspector considered night duty beneath his dignity. Tonight, Slater would be accompanied by just the one arsehole, and that was the one he took everywhere with him.

He crept slowly along the road, squinting at the house numbers in the dark. None of the street lights seemed to be working. It would have made sense to get out and identify at least one number to start with, but it was cold out there and he wasn’t going to leave the warmth of his car until he really had to. But where the hell was number forty-one?

The road curved around to the right. Up ahead, a figure which had been pacing up and down began frantically waving to him as he approached. He’d found number forty-one. He pulled the handbrake on, switched off his engine, and opened the door. A blast of cold air rushed inside.

‘You the police?’ asked the figure, which seemed to be doing its best to remain unrecognised but appeared to be a young woman in a hoodie.

‘Detective Sergeant Slater,’ he said, climbing from the car. ‘Did you report the disturbance?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘In there.’ She pointed at the house, which was in darkness.

‘Looks quiet to me,’ said Slater, hoping it was going to be a false alarm and that it would only be a minute or two before he could get started on his dinner.

‘There was a lot of screaming and shouting earlier and I saw this bloke run away. I just looked through the window and I think there’s a body lying on the kitchen floor.’ She pointed again. ‘That window on the end.’

‘You sure they didn’t just have a row and now they’ve gone to bed to make up?’ asked Slater hopefully.

‘Nah. The bloke done a runner, and there’s a body. I saw it lying on the floor.’

‘Alright, alright. Let’s find a torch and I’ll take look.’

He rummaged around in the boot of his car and emerged with a torch. He was pleasantly surprised to find it worked. He made his way down the path to the house, stepping onto the wet grass to reach the kitchen window. He aimed his torch and peered inside. It all looked neat and tidy enough.

Optimistically, he thought to himself that the couple who lived here had probably had a row and were now upstairs, apologising in the time-honoured fashion of so many couples, by giving each other a good seeing-to. He was sure some couples had rows on purpose because the shagging was better after a good argument…

But hang on a second. What was that? Standing on tiptoes, holding the torch at arm’s reach and pointing it down into the kitchen at a really sharp angle, he could just make out a pair of feet. From their position, he could see that the body they belonged to must be lying face down.

So they weren’t upstairs shagging then. Bugger! So much for dinner! Then his years of training kicked in and all thoughts of dinner were gone.

He rang the doorbell and hammered on the door, but there was obviously no one inside. Or at least, no one alive enough to answer the door. How was he going to get in? There was an upturned flower pot close to the door. It was always worth a try.

Not for the first time, he wondered at the stupidity of people, leaving a spare key in such an obvious place, but in this case, he was grateful too. At least he could get in without having to break any doors down.

He charged through the door, switching lights on as he went. Tearing into the kitchen, he knelt by the prone figure and felt for a pulse. Nothing. And now he knew there was no need to rush. She wasn’t exactly stone cold, but he knew well enough that she must have been dead for a while. Her head was at a funny angle, too. He was no doctor, but he would have put money on her neck having been broken.

Automatically, he reached for his mobile phone and started organising the processes that would launch what seemed to him, at this stage, to be a probable murder enquiry.

Chapter Six

By seven-thirty next morning, Dave Slater had been on duty for almost twelve hours and he was dog tired. He’d had hardly any sleep yesterday and he was more or less running on empty already, but he knew Nash wasn’t going to be sending him home to catch up on his sleep anytime soon.

On the plus side, they were making progress. They knew who the victim was, they knew what the cause of death was, and, as an added bonus, they had the victim’s mobile phone which had revealed some very interesting text messages and a potential murder suspect, much to the delight of Detective Inspector Nasty Nash.

‘Err, don’t forget you’re supposed to keep away from Alfie Bowman, guv,’ warned Slater.

‘Yes, thank you, Sergeant,’ sneered Nash, emphasising the ‘sergeant’. ‘I understand you may have divided loyalties over this issue’ – this was a reference to the fact that Slater had been the one to use Alfie’s evidence to arrest Nash senior – ‘but my orders are to not “harass” Mr Bowman, am I right?’

‘Yes, guv,’ said Slater, with a sigh.

‘So let me give you a little scenario and then you tell me whether you think it constitutes harassment, alright?’

Slater slumped in his seat. It was going to be impossible to work with Nash if he was going to carry on like this. Was it Slater’s fault that Tommy Nash had covered up one murder and then committed another? What was he supposed to do when he was presented with overwhelming evidence? Ignore it?

‘Right. Scenario,’ said Nash. ‘I have a murder victim. I have the victim’s mobile phone which clearly shows no less than seven text messages from Alfie Bowman, the last one of which was sent less than an hour before the murder was committed. In that message, Bowman tells the victim how he can’t wait to be with her and that he’s on his way.’

Nash leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the back two legs, placed his hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. It was a position Nash adopted when he was feeling superior. Slater called this Nash’s ‘I’m a smug arsehole’ position. Right now, it perfectly matched his ‘I’m a smug arsehole’ attitude.

‘Now I don’t know what you think, Sergeant, but, to me, this evidence tends to suggest that we should talk to Mr Bowman.’ He gave Slater a condescending smile, then added his catchphrase. ‘Understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, guv.’

‘I don’t see how that can be harassment, do you, Sergeant?’

‘No, guv.’

‘Tell me,’ continued Nash, clearly keen to press home his advantage. ‘Do you really think it’s the job of a detective sergeant to tell a detective inspector how to do his job?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Slater, wearily. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just don’t want you getting into trouble again, that’s all.’

Nash returned slowly to an upright position and regarded Slater as if he was a bad smell.

‘Your concern is very touching, Sergeant, but perhaps it would be better if you paid more attention to doing your own job properly. For example, have you found that girl yet?’

‘No, guv.’

Nash was referring to the girl who had been at the murder scene last night. It was only after Slater had made all his calls to organise the support staff he needed that he realised she had disappeared. He had no idea who she was or where she had gone. He hadn’t even got a good look at her, so he couldn’t give more than the vaguest of descriptions. As Nash had been only too keen to point out several times already, she was their only witness and he, Detective Sergeant Slater, had allowed her to vanish into thin air.

Slater slowly became aware that Nash seemed to be waiting for something more, but he was so tired he was almost past caring. A huge yawn threatened to break his head in half.

‘Am I boring you, Sergeant?’

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’

‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

Slater was confused. ‘Sir?’

‘Go and arrest bloody Bowman. I want to interview him. Get a search warrant and take a crowd of our clumsiest constables with you. I want his flat turned upside down. With any luck, he might try to resist. If he does, make sure they know they can rough him up a bit.’

Slater had a reply on the tip of his tongue but thought better of it. He knew he couldn’t argue with Nash’s summary of the evidence. Even though he couldn’t picture Alfie as the murdering type, there was no denying what those text messages said, nor the fact that Alfie knew the victim. And according to Nash, he had a motive too, although he wouldn’t actually share what he meant by that.

Quite frankly, Slater didn’t know what to think, but he knew what his duty was.

Chapter Seven

I couldn’t find my mobile phone anywhere. I couldn’t remember where I’d put the damned thing last night when I got home. But then I couldn’t really remember anything after kissing Sophia goodnight. That was something I could recall in great detail, but after that – nothing.

I seemed to have searched everywhere this morning, but could I find it? I was sure the bloody thing had a mind of its own.

The doorbell rang.

A very unhappy-looking Dave Slater was outside. And he was not alone. A small army of police officers seemed to have gathered outside my door.

‘What’s this?’ I said, unable to stop myself. ‘Back again so soon? It’s only been a few weeks since you lot last smashed up my home. It can’t be my turn again already.’

‘Mr Bowman, I have a search warrant to search these premises,’ he said, very formally, slapping the search warrant into my hand.

He led his personal army into my flat and began to disperse them in different directions. The unwelcome, but familiar, sounds of police officers trampling through my life once more began to fill the flat. Slater himself came back and stood in front of me, a look of grim accusation on his face.

‘Have I committed another robbery without knowing it?’ I asked sarcastically.

‘This isn’t a laughing matter,’ he said, stony-faced.

‘Can you tell me what you’re looking for?’ I asked him. ‘Maybe I can save you trashing the whole place.’

‘We could start with your mobile phone and the clothes you were wearing last night,’ he said grimly.

‘Clothes are in the laundry basket waiting to be washed,’ I said helpfully, ‘but I haven’t a clue where my mobile is.’

The expression on his face made it obvious I’d offered the wrong answer.

‘What am I supposed to have done?’ I asked. ‘Committed a murder?’

His face darkened even further. ‘This isn’t bloody funny,’ he snarled.

‘Do I look amused to have your untrained elephants back in my flat?’

He grabbed the front of my sweater and marched me outside, where he pinned me up against the wall. A uniformed head popped out to see what was going on.

‘It’s okay,’ said Slater. ‘I’m just getting him out of your way.’

The head popped back in again and Slater turned back to me.

‘Now listen up,’ he hissed. ‘You’re in deep shit. Your sister-in-law was murdered last night and you are number one suspect.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘What, Marie? Murder? Me? Why would I murder Marie?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But Nash thinks he does know. And you’ve been texting her, you bloody idiot. Did you think we wouldn’t find those messages on her phone?’

This was unbelievable. ‘Me? Text Marie? You must be bloody joking. I wouldn’t text her if I was drowning and she had the only bloody lifeboat.’

‘I hope you can come up with something better than that,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve got to take you in for questioning and Nash is gunning for you. He might look like an idiot, but you’d be wrong to think of him that way. You’re in deep shit, take it from me.’

‘And if I refuse to come in for questioning?’

‘Then I have his permission to beat the crap out of you for resisting arrest.’

‘You’re just as bad as him, aren’t you?’ I said, disappointed. ‘I thought you were different but you’re not.’

‘You’ve got a short memory haven’t you?’ he said. ‘Do you think it was easy arresting Nash’s father and doing him for murder? Do you really think I enjoyed doing that to my boss? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just sweep it under the carpet and forget it?’

He still had me pinned against the wall and he leaned a bit more heavily, digging his elbow into my ribs for added emphasis.

‘Just forget your little moral crusade for a minute and listen,’ he continued. ‘We have a murder victim. We have evidence indicating the strong possibility that we have a suspect. That suspect is you. Do you really think I can ignore that evidence just because I don’t like my boss, or because I do like you?’

He had a point, but I was beginning to get sick and tired of being lectured. Then again, I figured being lectured was probably the least of my worries right now.

‘But it wasn’t me,’ I protested.

‘That’s what they all say,’ he finished, letting go of me. ‘Now, are you going to come quietly or what?’

‘But-’

‘Alright,’ he said, impatiently, producing a pair of handcuffs. ‘Just to keep you happy, we’ll do it all official.’

And then, like I was in some sort of nightmare, he spun me around, clapped on the handcuffs, and began to read me my rights. Surely this couldn’t be happening to me, could it? I mean, less than half an hour ago I was thinking about Sophia and I didn’t have a care in the world. Now I was being arrested and carted off in handcuffs as a murder suspect.

Just as I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, just as Dave Slater was saying ‘…under arrest, on suspicion of murder…’ I heard a door close, and Sophia appeared around the corner.

I wondered what she must think. I mean, last night I’d been telling her how she could trust me and how I was totally anti-violence. Yet it wasn’t that long ago I’d been beaten up for being a ‘wife-beater’ – which wasn’t true – and now here I was being arrested on suspicion of murder – which also wasn’t true. What was she to believe? I could hardly blame her if she had doubts, now, could I?

‘Sophia,’ I said, ‘this isn’t what it seems.’

For what seemed like an age, she stood, mouth agape, seemingly horrified. Then she turned and ran back around the corner in the direction of her own flat.

Chapter Eight

‘I’ve got all day you know,’ said Detective Inspector Nash, happily. ‘I’ll take as long as it takes, Bowman. Understand what I’m saying?’

He’d been banging on like this for hours now. He seemed to think I was just going to fold up and confess to murdering Marie. There was just one little problem that he seemed intent on ignoring – I hadn’t done it.

‘Yes,’ he said, sighing. ‘You didn’t do it. I know, I know. If I had a pound for every person we’ve dragged in here who has insisted they were innocent, I would have retired a long time ago. But we both know that you did do it, and we both know why, don’t we?’

‘Do we?’ I said wearily. ‘You seem to be way ahead of me, Inspector. So perhaps you’d like to enlighten me as to how, and why.’

‘I’m not exactly sure how,’ he conceded. ‘But the pathologist is working on it right now. I’m sure we’ll know before too long. As for motive – well, we both know that Marie didn’t have a very high opinion of you, now, don’t we?’

‘There are plenty of people who don’t have a very high opinion of me. It’s a free country. People can think what they like. There’d be a huge pile of dead bodies if I went around murdering everyone who didn’t have a very high opinion of me.’

He smiled broadly. ‘Indeed, there would be,’ he agreed. ‘But isn’t Marie the reason so many people don’t like you? Isn’t she the one who was telling the world you were a wife-beater? Didn’t you get beaten up as a result of her big mouth?’

I was staring at Nash but out of the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw Slater sit up a bit straighter and pay a little more attention. Nash was referring to an incident in which I had been attacked by three guys armed with baseball bats, but when Slater had tried to find out about it once before, all references seemed to have disappeared. At that time, Nash had denied ever hearing about the case yet here he was using it as evidence.

‘I find it very convenient,’ said Nash, enjoying his superior position, ‘that you can’t find your mobile phone this morning. You used it to send all those text messages to Marie yesterday, and yet this morning you can’t find it. Funny that, don’t you think?’

‘I’ve never texted Marie in my life,’ I said. ‘Even when I was married to her sister, I never had any reason to send her messages.’

‘Not even saucy ones?’ Nash winked at me. ‘I mean, she wasn’t bad, was she? And a bit of a goer, apparently. And you are on your own these days. You must get a bit lonely. Know what I’m saying?’

‘Not bad? She was a bloody slapper,’ I said, appalled at his suggestion. ‘I can assure you I could never be that lonely. I wouldn’t have touched her with yours.’

‘Why don’t you just admit it and then we can all go home,’ said Nash. ‘Or at least, Sergeant Slater and I can go home.’ He smiled theatrically. ‘And you can go back to your cell.’

‘So let me get this clear,’ I said. ‘You want me to confess to a murder, right?’

‘In a nutshell.’ He smiled.

‘But you have no evidence that I was ever in the victim’s house, have you?’

‘Well-,’ started Nash.

‘No,’ interrupted Slater.

‘Not yet,’ corrected Nash, looking daggers at Slater, ‘but we’re still searching. We’ll find it.’

‘You won’t,’ I said, ‘because I’ve never been there. I don’t even know where she lives.’

‘Of course you do.’ Nash grinned. ‘You were there last night.’

‘Talking about last night, you don’t seem to have bothered to check my alibi yet. If you had, you would know I was with Sophia Ingliss from eight until around eleven-thirty.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Nash thoughtfully. ‘Sophia Ingliss. I seem to recall she gave you an alibi once before. Even you didn’t really believe it, did you? So why would I think she’s telling the truth this time.’

Now it was my turn to smile. ‘You mean the alibi she gave me for the last time you tried to fit me up with a crime I didn’t commit? You sure you want to pursue that train of thought? I’m sure it’s not too late for me to make a complaint about that.’

I knew I was trying his patience, but what the heck?

‘You had time before you met her,’ he snapped. ‘You could have killed Marie and then met your girlfriend and arranged your alibi.’

‘That’s quite a conspiracy you’re developing, Inspector. You should try writing a novel.’

I could see he was nearing the end of his fuse. He’d attacked me once before and I was half expecting him to come across the table at me now, but I was saved by a knock at the door.

‘Come,’ he announced loudly.

The door opened enough for a face to appear. Whoever it was seemed pretty reluctant to come any further.

‘Well?’ boomed Nash.

A piece of paper was being held up. ‘Well…it’s a bit… One of you needs to take a look at this.’

‘Sergeant,’ ordered Nash.

Slater climbed wearily to his feet and ambled across to the door, where the messenger seemed to be trying to keep out of Nash’s view.

‘What have you got?’ he asked, holding out his hand and taking the sheet of paper.

He read it and then read it again. Finally, he turned to Nash.

‘You’d better read this, guv,’ he said, grimly, holding out the sheet of paper.

‘This had better be bloody good,’ growled Nash, hauling himself to his feet.

‘You might want to read it out there.’ Slater nodded towards the corridor beyond the door.

‘What?’ said Nash, irritated. ‘Why?’

Slater led him through the door and closed it behind them.

I took the opportunity to stretch my aching limbs. I’d been here for bloody hours. I wondered what was going to happen next.

There was a sound like a lion roaring from beyond the door. Then it shook loudly as someone kicked it hard. Next there was a rapid stream of shouted words, most of which seemed to begin with the letter ‘f’. Then the sounds gradually faded along the corridor until finally there was silence.

After about five minutes, the door opened and Dave Slater came in. He sat down opposite me.

‘You must have friends in some very high places,’ he said.

‘Sorry?’

‘We’ve been told to let you go. Nash is going spare.’

‘Yes, I heard,’ I said. ‘But what do you mean you’ve been told to let me go.’

‘All I know is I have to hand you over to Ms Ingliss, upstairs,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it before, but apparently she is considered trustworthy enough to be responsible for you.’

‘But what about my confession?’

‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Like that’s going to happen. I don’t believe you did it, and I don’t think even Nash believes you did it. But then, I don’t think he actually cares if you did it or not. If he can find enough evidence to make it look like you did it, that’ll be good enough for him. He’s got another agenda to satisfy, remember?’

‘But what about the text messages?’

‘Oh they haven’t gone away and they could still come back to haunt you,’ he said. ‘And if Nash gets his way, they will, trust me on that. To be honest, even I’m not sure about those. They’re certainly reason for suspicion, but right now they’re not enough to convict you.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘So you don’t believe me then?’

‘I’m a policeman,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to be suspicious about things I can’t explain. If you can’t handle that, it’s your problem not mine.’

That’s told me, then.

‘So what happens now?’ I asked, wondering what was really going on here.

‘I take you upstairs and hand you over to Ms Ingliss,’ he said. ‘But you’re not to go wandering. No leaving the country. She’s putting herself on the line for you, so bear that in mind.’

He stood up. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’ Then, as he opened the door he added, ‘I hope you know how lucky you are with her.’

Was he kidding me? Of course I knew.

Chapter Nine

Sophia was driving us back to our flats.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ I said. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you, or why you keep stepping in to help me. And I still can’t quite believe you are able to exert so much influence.’

‘I think what you need to do now is think about what’s going on here and who wants you out of the way. This can’t be a coincidence. In the space of a few weeks, you’ve been assaulted by a group of men with baseball bats, nearly framed for a robbery, and now framed for murder. I don’t know who you’ve upset, but we need to figure out who it is and stop them.’

‘I can’t ask you to get involved,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you to get caught up in this.’

‘I’m already caught up in this. And you don’t need to worry. I can look after myself. I’ve been in much worse situations than this in the past.’

‘But how do you know I’m innocent?’ I asked, as we pulled up at traffic lights.

She turned to face me. ‘Many years ago, in my past, I fought in Kosovo. I worked and lived with killers. I was with you last night. Even the most cold-blooded of killers could not have behaved the way you did just after they had killed someone. You are no killer, Alfie. I would know if you were.’

Sophia was referring to her time as a freedom fighter many years ago. It wasn’t something she usually spoke about, so I knew she was for real.

There was a loud beep from behind – the traffic lights had changed.

‘Okay, okay,’ muttered Sophia, looking in her rear-view mirror. ‘Keep your hair on.’

As she pulled away, she spoke to me again. ‘I’ve asked Pete to join us later. We need as many brains as we can to work on this.’

I thought it was a great pity DB was still in a coma. His brain would definitely have been an asset in this situation. I suddenly realised I’d not been to see him today.

‘Could we go home via the hospital? Only I haven’t been to see-’

‘DB?’ she finished. ‘Of course we can.’

I felt strangely self-conscious talking to DB in front of Sophia, but for some reason, I just had to tell him what had happened and to convince him that I really hadn’t sent those text messages. I held onto his hand as I told him, just like I always did. And then, when I had finished, I waited and waited, hoping for a sign. But all I got was the usual background hiss, click, hiss, click.

Eventually, I felt Sophia gently squeeze my hand. It was time to go.

‘Do you come every day?’ she asked as we walked back to the car.

‘I do mornings and Pete does the afternoons. I sometimes come in the evenings, too, but there’s only so much you can say to a person in a coma.’ I smiled sadly. ’It’s funny, it was only when this happened we discovered we were the nearest thing he had to a family.’

Sophia nodded quietly and slipped her hand through my arm. She knew what it was like to have no family. Until Jelena had arrived in her life, she had thought all her family were dead.

‘Would you like me to come with you sometimes?’ she asked quietly. ‘To visit? I like him. He has always been kind to me. I would like to be part of his family too.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s a great idea. He’d like that, I know he would.’

She gave my arm a squeeze and we walked on in silence, momentarily lost in our thoughts. There was something nagging away in the back of my mind. I could almost make out what it was, but it was just out of reach. I just needed something, some sort of trigger, to bring it out into the open. And then, just as we were climbing into her car, without either of us realising it, Sophia provided that trigger.

‘Tell me what happened the day you found him,’ she said.

‘There’s not much to tell really. We were expecting him to meet us at the church for the funeral, but he didn’t show. That wasn’t like him so I started to worry. When he still hadn’t turned up by the end of the funeral, I knew something wasn’t right, so I went to his house. When I got there, he was stretched out on the floor unconscious. I called an ambulance. That’s it, end of story.’

‘He’s lucky to have someone who cared enough to worry,’ she said, ‘or he could have been there for days.’

‘Oh no.’ I smiled. ‘Betty was howling so loud someone would have noticed.’

‘Ah yes. Poor Betty. How is she?’

‘I’m told she’s settled in very nicely at Daphne’s,’ I said. ‘Ask Pete later, he’ll know. He seems to be spending a lot of time up there.’

We drove on in silence for a few moments, and then suddenly, triggered by Sophia asking about DB, that little something that had been nagging away in the back of my mind blossomed into a fully-formed thought.

‘The doctors reckon Dry Biro had a heart attack. They say it could have happened any time and there wasn’t any particular reason,’ I began.

Sophia glanced at me. ‘But you don’t think so?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not questioning their diagnosis of a heart attack. It’s just that there are things that don’t quite sit right with me.’

One of the things I loved about Sophia was that she was a great listener and she was highly skilled at drawing a story out of someone. She did that now.

‘Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘What things?’

‘Well, bear in mind that DB is one of the most organised and tidy people I’ve ever met, almost to the point of being compulsive. He’s also a creature of habit.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So?’

‘So he’s a tidy man, and yet there were papers strewn all across his table, and there was a chair in the middle of the floor.’

Sophia considered this for a few seconds. ‘So, he had his heart attack as he reached across the table and as he fell back, he pushed the chair across the floor,’ she suggested.

‘But if he collapsed at the table, how come his body was all the way over on the other side of the kitchen? And it’s not a small kitchen – I’m talking a good distance.’

Like a good sparring partner, she came straight back at me. ‘Perhaps he staggered across the room.’

‘Fair enough, but wouldn’t he have been likely to stagger across the room and land face down? Yet it was the back of his head that was split open.’

‘Maybe he managed to spin around as he fell,’ Sophia said.

‘I suppose that’s possible,’ I agreed. ‘But it’s also possible someone whacked him across the back of the head.’

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Sophia thought about this.

‘But why do you think that?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure if this is a theory or if it’s just some wild idea from an overactive imagination, but this is what I’ve got. Point one: when I got to his house, the back door was locked. He only ever locks his back door if he’s going to bed, or if he’s going out. Point two: he was wearing his suit, ready to go to the funeral. There’s no way he would have been working at his kitchen table wearing his suit.’

‘But suppose he had locked the door because he was ready to go,’ she said.

‘He always goes in and out by the back door. He would have locked it from the outside as he left. He wouldn’t have locked himself in.’

We had arrived at the little car park behind our flats now. Sophia parked the car and switched off the engine.

‘So what are you saying?’ she asked, turning to face me. ‘What do you think happened?’

‘Knowing him as I do,’ I said, ‘and knowing how he behaves, this is what I think happened. He was probably working at something in the morning. When the time came, he would have tidied his papers and put the chair neatly back under the table. He detested wearing a suit so he would have left putting it on until the last moment.

‘He goes upstairs, changes into his suit and comes back downstairs ready to leave by the back door. The problem is, while he’s been upstairs, someone has come into the kitchen through the back door. That someone hears him coming down the stairs, hides behind the kitchen door, and then as he walks across the kitchen they creep up behind him and bash him over the head. At the same time, the shock of being attacked brings on a heart attack.’

‘But what about Betty, wouldn’t she have barked when someone came in?’

‘Betty would have followed him upstairs when he went to change, and she would have settled in her bed in his bedroom if she thought he was going out. And anyway, she’s not exactly the world’s best guard dog, bless her.’

‘This would also explain something else,’ I continued, as we climbed from the car. ‘He always left the key in the kitchen door lock, on the inside. He would take it out and use it to lock the door when he left, then when he came back, he would use it to unlock the door.

‘Once inside, it would go back in the lock on the inside so he knew where it was. But there was no key on the inside when I found him. Whoever was in that house had locked the back door on their way out and either took the key with them or threw it away.’

‘Did you tell the police all this?’ asked Sophia as we walked to her door.

‘As far as anyone in authority is concerned, it was simply a little old man who had a heart attack. To be fair, there was no sign of forced entry and I couldn’t see that anything had been stolen, so why should they suspect something worse?’

‘But who would want to hurt him?’

‘Ah, well, that’s a good question. To be honest, he has made plenty of enemies, but most of those were years ago. Except for one particular detective inspector whose father has recently been charged with murder.’

‘You think Nash attacked Dry Biro?’

‘I doubt he would risk doing it himself, but I’m sure he would know the sort of people who could do a job like that for him.’

We had reached her door now, and she fumbled in her handbag for a key. I was just about to thank her and say goodbye when she looked up.

‘And where do you think you’re going?’

‘Err, well,’ I said awkwardly, ‘I was just going to go-’

‘Oh no,’ she warned. ‘You’re not going anywhere. I’m responsible for you, and right now I want you where I can keep an eye on you.’ She looked at her watch before continuing. ‘And anyway, Pete will be here soon. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to sort this mess out.’

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘Inside. Now!’

I didn’t feel I could argue, and to be honest, I didn’t really want to.

Chapter Ten

Sophia, Jelena, Pete, and I were trying to work out who might have killed Marie, but we weren’t really getting very far. She had turned making enemies into an art form, so, in reality, there could be any number of suspects. And there was no denying that if you looked at it objectively, I was a prime suspect. As Nash had pointed out, I did have a motive.

Sophia thought we should narrow it down to people we knew, with a particular emphasis on people who might want to get even with me for some reason. After all, whoever had sent those text messages had intended for it to look as if I had sent them.

So who did that leave?

Positive Pete could certainly be said to have motive, but he had no reason to get even with me. And anyway, he had an alibi in Daphne. He had spent every afternoon and evening with her recently.

Gloria, my ex-wife, was always a possibility, of course, but if we were to assume a certain amount of technical acumen would be needed, that definitely ruled her out. And anyway, even though they didn’t get on, would she really kill her own sister? Gloria was capable of a lot of things, but murder? I didn’t think so.

And then, of course, there was always your friendly, local, neighbourhood thug, Nugent the Nutter. He certainly had the motive to get rid of Marie, who had been threatening to tell his wife about the affair she and Nugent had been having. But did he have reason to stitch me up? It didn’t seem likely.

Last of all, Nasty Nash himself had good reason to want to lock me up and throw away the key, but again, I thought murder would be a bit extreme, even for him.

We came to the conclusion that after nearly three hours of head-banging, we weren’t really getting anywhere. Sophia wasn’t prepared to dismiss either Nugent or Nash as her main suspects, so we decided it was time for Pete and me to pay Nugent a visit. We were pretty sure we would know if he was lying or not.

There was just one little problem. Jelena had noticed a strange car parked outside. It wasn’t one that any of us recognised and there seemed to be someone sat inside. Just to check it out, Sophia went out to her car. When she came back, she confirmed there was indeed a surly-looking man sat in the car watching her every move.

So, Nash had planted a spy. In that case, we would just have to come up with an escape plan…

Chapter Eleven

PC Biddeford couldn’t quite believe his luck. He had been personally selected by DI Nash for a special job. Nash had identified him, Stephen Biddeford, as having special talents. His keen eye and observation skills had finally been noted. And best of all, he’d been asked to go undercover to keep an eye on a dangerous murder suspect. He was so proud he could burst.

Meanwhile, in the car park outside Alfie’s flat, a wretchedly-tired Detective Constable Richie Weir was struggling to stay awake. Having spent all night in his car, he was cold, tired, and fed up. He grumbled quietly to himself as he waited for his relief. This was a ridiculous job. Why were they watching someone like Alfie Bowman? He’s not exactly a serial killer is he? He certainly didn’t look like a desperate criminal on the run.

This is all because of bloody Detective Inspector Nasty bloody Nash with another bloody bee in his bloody bonnet. The man was a complete arsehole.

PC Biddeford swung into the car park and parked alongside Weir’s car, giving him a cheery beep to let him know relief had arrived. He jumped from his car, opened the passenger door on Weir’s car, and jumped in, looking immensely pleased with himself. Then the awful smell of sweaty body, stale cigarettes and last night’s takeaway began to take effect.

‘Why don’t you go knock on his fuckin’ door and tell him you’ve arrived?’ asked Weir, glaring at the new arrival. ‘Did no one tell you this is a discreet operation?’

‘Ah. Err, yes. Sorry,’ stuttered Biddeford.

‘You don’t arrive on surveillance tooting your bloody horn, you idiot.’

He looked Biddeford up and down. To an old hand like Weir, soured by years of boring, repetitive, surveillance jobs, a fresh-faced young man like Biddeford looked incapable of handling any sort of responsibility.

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ said Biddeford, wearily. ‘Of course, I’ve never heard that one before. What’s up with all you grumpy old people? I’m twenty-five, okay?’

‘Is this your first time in plain clothes?’

‘Yes.’ Biddeford smiled proudly, despite the smell filling the car, which was beginning to make him feel sick. He was particularly pleased with his clothes. He’d spent over an hour going through his wardrobe to make sure he would blend in.

‘I wonder where they get you people from,’ said Weir, holding his head in despair. ‘And why did they have to send you out here to me? You’re supposed to blend in, to be one of the crowd. You couldn’t look more like a policeman if you were wearing your bloody uniform.’

Biddeford sat quietly staring through the windscreen. Well, bollocks to you, DC Misery. I’ll show you why they sent me out here. I’ll do such a great job you’ll see exactly why.

Satisfied that he had ruined the young officer’s day, DC Weir pointed out what Biddeford needed to know. It wasn’t much. Alfie’s door and Sophia’s door. That’s all there was to it really.

Weir yawned expansively. ‘Now bugger off to your own car and let me go home,’ he said. ’And one more thing. Don’t get distracted by the fanny.’

Biddeford looked at him vacantly.

‘The fanny,’ explained Weir. ’Sophia Ingliss and her niece. Real bloody tasty, both of ‘em. Just remember not to get distracted by them. You’re here to watch a wanker, not to become one. If Bowman moves from that flat, you let us know, and you follow him. Okay? That’s all you have to do. No heroics, right?’

Gulping in as much fresh air as he could, Biddeford was only too pleased to go back to his own car. He seriously hoped he wasn’t going to have to work with Weir too often. Miserable git. The smell would have been bad enough, but he was coarse and uncouth, and the language! Was it really necessary to swear so much?

He watched Weir drive away and turned back to his task, carefully opening his notebook and making sure his pencil was at the ready. He was going to write down everything. He’d show them. He looked at his watch, licked the end of his pencil and noted his first observation.

8.15 am. Nothing to report.

Jelena watched from the kitchen window, chewing on a piece of toast.

‘They change guard,’ she called to Sophia. ‘Grumpy old man gone. Now have little boy. This too easy.’

Sophia joined her to spy on the unwitting PC Biddeford. ‘It’s a sign you’re getting older,’ she said, wistfully, ‘when policemen start to look like little boys.’

‘Is good,’ said Jelena, happily. ‘Putty in hand.’

Down in the car park, unaware that he, the soon to be ‘putty in hand’ spy, was being spied upon, Biddeford was beginning to get carried away. His perceived importance no longer bore any resemblance to reality. In his mind, he was fast becoming a sort of James Bond figure. As far as he was concerned, this was it, his chance to shine.

I’ll show Inspector Nash just how good I am. He’ll know he made the right choice.

In his mind, he could see himself grappling with the villain, and then later being slapped on the back and congratulated by Nash, maybe even a commendation from the chief constable for being an outstanding undercover officer. Well, okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly undercover. But he was in plain clothes. That was nearly the same, wasn’t it?

From his position, he could see the back of the building and down one side. Sophia’s door was at the back, and Alfie’s was down the side, so he could easily watch all three doors. At that moment, Sophia’s front door opened.

Because the car park was so tiny, PC Biddeford was less than ten yards away. His mouth dropped open as a young woman emerged. He thought she had the most beautiful face he had ever seen. She was wearing a t-shirt tight enough to reveal a stunning figure, and a skirt short enough to reveal almost every inch of a fabulous pair of legs.

Woooohoooo! Stop the bus!

He watched, mesmerised, as the vision before him turned to close the door. She wiggled her way along the back of the building and turned the corner. As she did so, she clumsily dropped her bag. Then, back turned to him, she bent over and seemed to take an eternity to pick it up. PC Biddeford didn’t know where to look, but somehow he didn’t seem to be able to tear his eyes away. He was sure he could almost see what she’d had for breakfast.

The girl stood up, shook herself, and slipped the bag over her shoulder. She turned to Biddeford and gave him a smile and a wink. Then she wiggled her way along the side of the building before turning left as she reached the front, finally disappearing from view with a wave of her left hand.

Gosh! thought a furiously blushing Biddeford. Has it suddenly got hot in here, or what? He wondered just how much detail he ought to include in his notebook. He wanted to be thorough, but did it really matter what colour her knickers were?

On the other side of the building, Jelena was putting her key into the lock of the tea shop to let herself in. Normally she would have entered by the back door in the passage just inside Sophia’s door, but that would not have been nearly so much fun, nor would it have helped the plan they had hatched.

Half an hour later, Biddeford’s blood pressure had just about settled down, and his face had returned to its normal colour: an almost ghostly shade of white. It was because of his colouring that his colleagues often referred to him as ‘spook’ behind his back.

He had been thinking about the young woman he had seen earlier. He figured she must have been the niece of the Sophia woman. He didn’t condone Weir’s use of bad language, but he had to agree with his opinion. She was, as Weir had said, ‘real bloody tasty.’

But he was determined he wasn’t going to be distracted by what Weir had referred to as ‘the fanny’. He was above such things. He had a job to do. But those legs… and when she had bent over…

He was startled from his thoughts by the arrival of another car. It was a bit battered and there was an unhappy-looking bald bloke driving it. He parked right behind Biddeford’s car and just sat there. Watching in his rear-view mirror, Biddeford thought a man just sitting in a car, in a car park, was rather suspicious behaviour. The irony of the situation didn’t even begin to enter his head.

He licked his pencil again. 8.47 am. Car arrives in car park. Suspicious-looking driver appears to be sitting and waiting.

He was just wondering if he should break cover and challenge the new arrival when Sophia’s door opened again. Another gorgeous, but this time older, woman appeared. This must be Sophia Ingliss, thought Biddeford, watching as the woman propped the door open and then disappeared back inside. He grabbed his pencil again.

8.50 am. Sophia Ingliss props door open.

He wondered why she would prop her door open. Maybe to provide some ventilation.

Ten minutes more passed and nothing happened. The unhappy-looking guy was still sitting in his car, but now he had taken out a newspaper and had it propped against the steering wheel. PC Biddeford guessed, correctly as it happened, that he must be waiting for someone.

Biddeford had not even been here an hour, but already he was bored. This surveillance game was no fun at all. At this rate, he would never get to tangle with what his imagination now saw as the evil serial killer, Alfie Bowman. He pressed the button and wound his window down. And then he wound it up again. And down. And up. Then he did the same with the passenger window. Down. Up. Down. Up.

Come on, come on. When was something going to happen?

Idly he decided to try both windows at once. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down…

And then something did happen. Just as both windows reached the fully down position, a piercing scream tore into PC Biddeford’s boredom.

Holy fuck! Biddeford’s hair stood up on end. (He didn’t normally swear, but on this occasion he thought it was probably justified.) This is it. My moment of glory.

He leapt from the car, but where had the scream come from? He swung round, all his senses at the ready. It had to be close by.

Another scream. This time, he knew exactly where it had come from. He sprinted for Sophia’s door and hurtled inside. The stunning young woman from earlier was standing by another doorway, screaming her head off and pointing inside.

‘In there,’ she cried. ‘Is horrible.’

Biddeford sprinted to the rescue through the open door and found himself in a small kitchen. Had the killer struck again? Sophia Ingliss was standing anxiously outside yet another door.

‘Don’t panic,’ called Biddeford, summoning all the authority he could muster. ‘You’re safe now I’m here. What’s the problem?’

Shaking like a leaf, Sophia pointed to the door. ‘In the office,’ she said. ‘It’s awful.’

Charging at the door, Biddeford shouldered his way inside. ‘Police!’ he yelled. ‘Stay where you are. You’re under arrest.’

He went for his truncheon, but he was in plain clothes. Shit! He was completely unarmed. He looked around for a weapon. There was nothing. Then he realised there was no one to arrest either. He spun around. No one. Anywhere.

Sophia and Jelena were watching him from the doorway.

‘Where is he?’ asked Biddeford.

‘Under desk,’ said Jelena.

Biddeford crouched down, ready for action, but there was no one under the desk. Still crouching on the floor, he turned back to the two women.

‘Big spider,’ explained Jelena, her eyes wide. ‘Is very big. Aunt Sophia hate spider. Me too.’

Sophia nodded her agreement, apparently so frightened she had temporarily lost the power of speech.

‘A spider? You called me in here for a spider?’ said an exasperated Biddeford, his moment of glory fading before his very eyes.

‘Not call.’ Jelena smiled sweetly. ‘I scream, you come. No one ask you come.’

Biddeford felt the ‘f’ word forming in his mouth but managed to stifle it. Detective Constable Weir’s influence was obviously long-lasting. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. 

What can you do? Women. Frightened of a spider? Really!

He looked under the desk and spotted a tiny spider. He carefully picked it up and started to make his way back outside.

‘You very brave,’ said Jelena, giving him the benefit of her full-power smile. ‘Can make you coffee? Or tea?’

She was in tease mode now, and Sophia gave her a nudge in the ribs.

‘Jelena, you will embarrass the young man.’ Then, turning to Biddeford, Sophia smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you so much for you help, officer.’

‘You’re welcome, ladies,’ said Biddeford, sounding far more gallant than he felt.

PC Biddeford climbed back into his car. Hmmpphh! So much for his big moment. All that screaming and charging around for a piddly little spider. And that older woman seemed to know he was a policeman. She had called him ‘officer’. Perhaps Weir was right and he didn’t blend in. Maybe there was more to this surveillance lark than he thought. Focus, that’s what he needed to do, focus.

He noticed that the car that had been parked behind him and its suspicious, newspaper-reading driver, had gone. He found his pencil and notebook.

9.08 am. Suspicious vehicle left car park.

Chapter Twelve

We had taken a gamble on Nugent being at his snooker club, even though it was before ten in the morning. Luckily for us, he was, and on his own too. It was way too early for beers, really, but as he’d poured them himself, and we didn’t want to appear rude, we’d accepted them anyway.

But things weren’t going too well. To be honest, it was my fault. Having been dragged off in handcuffs by the police yesterday and then named as murder suspect number one, tact wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities, but just coming out and accusing Nugent of attacking both Marie and DB probably hadn’t been the best approach. I’d wound him up big-time.

‘Now let’s get something straight’ said Nugent, outraged. ‘I do not beat up little old men, nor do I hurt women. I certainly don’t bloody well murder them. Got it?’

Then he obviously thought of something and turned to me. ‘You should bloody know all this,’ he said. ‘If you recall, I had you duffed up because you had been beating up your own wife.’

Now it was my turn to be outraged. ‘But I wasn’t beating anyone up, you dickhead, and you know that.’

‘My point,’ said Nugent, waving away my protests, ‘is that we wouldn’t have duffed up a wife-beater if we did it ourselves would we? I mean, what do you take me for? That would be double standards.’

Not for the first time in Nugent’s company, Pete nearly choked on his beer. Nugent turned a different outrage on him.

‘Have you got lumps in your beer, or what?’

‘Honestly, you couldn’t make it up,’ said Pete, coughing and spluttering.

‘What?’ said Nugent, offended.

‘You!’ said Pete. ‘The biggest crook for miles around, offended because we might be accusing you of double standards. Isn’t that what your business is all about.’

Nugent looked distastefully at Pete. ‘D’you know, Granddad, I think I preferred it when you were scared to come in here and you just sat there shaking.’

Pete just grinned at him. There was definitely something about him lately. He seemed to be standing taller, much more confident than he had been for a long while. Spending time with Daphne was obviously doing him a power of good.

‘This name calling is all very well,’ I said. ‘But we have a serious situation here.’

‘We?’ said Nugent loftily. ‘I don’t see how “we” have a problem. You’re the one with the problem, not me!’

He grinned happily at me. ‘You’re the murder suspect.’ He sat back looking satisfied with himself.

‘I hate to spoil your fun,’ I said, sighing, ‘but it’s not quite so simple. You see, I didn’t do it.’

‘Well, of course, you’re gonna say you didn’t do it,’ said Nugent. ‘No self-respecting murderer is going to admit it, now are they?’

It had been designed to annoy me, and it scored a direct hit, but before I could reply he jumped in again.

‘Alright, calm down. I didn’t say you did it, did I? And anyway, you’re the one who came barging in here making stupid accusations.’

That was fair comment, and one I couldn’t argue with. I had done exactly that.

‘The thing is,’ I reasoned, ‘we’re all suspects.’

The smile was gone from Nugent’s face in an instant. ‘I don’t see how I’m a suspect-,’ he started.

‘Oh, but you are, though,’ said Pete. ‘Like Alfie said, we all are. I’m the wronged ex-husband, Alfie’s the guy beaten up because of Marie’s wild accusations, and you’re the guy whose wife might find out about your affair with Marie.’

‘Oh, yeah. I hadn’t thought about that,’ said Nugent, gloomily. ‘Fuck!’

‘Yes indeed. What you said,’ agreed Pete, clearly enjoying Nugent’s discomfort.

‘But it wasn’t any of us,’ said Nugent, looking from me to Pete and back again. ‘Was it?’

‘Of course it wasn’t,’ I said, ‘but that moron Nash is in charge of the investigation, and I’m sure he’d love to stitch me up if he could.’

‘I still don’t see what that’s got to do with me,’ said Nugent.

‘Well, it just so happens, then, that I know something you don’t.’ I smiled.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘According to a source, and trust me, he’s reliable, a certain Detective Inspector Nash has just come back from suspension and is out to prove he’s not bent.’

‘But he is bent!’ stormed Nugent.

‘The investigation couldn’t find evidence to support that.’

‘Well, of course they couldn’t. I made sure of that.’

‘He’s after me, and he’s after you,’ I warned him.

‘He’s not clever enough to catch me,’ he said confidently.

‘Can you guarantee that?’

‘You can’t guarantee anything one hundred percent, can you?’

He considered the situation for a moment, then he seemed to make up his mind.

‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘it seems we have a problem. I suggest we put our heads together to solve it.’

And so we made our way through all the facts we knew, with Nugent adding his thoughts where he believed necessary. But the problem with the Nugents of this world is they tend to have something of a one-track solution to everything. Eventually Pete could take it no more.

‘You can’t just go around getting information by beating people up,’ he said.

Nugent gave him a pitying look. ‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘I do it all the time. Well, not me personally, but you know what I mean.’

‘I think what Pete’s trying to say,’ I joined in, ‘is that maybe we need to employ a little subtlety. Sending out an army might just show our hand, don’t you think?’

Nugent looked bemused. Subtlety evidently wasn’t something he was familiar with.

‘Well,’ he said, huffily, ‘it’s always worked for me before. But, as you’re the one with the biggest problem here, I’ll give you the opportunity to come up with a ‘subtle’ plan, if that’s the way you want to go.’

We spent another hour batting ideas around about whom, or what, I was up against. In the end, we concluded we didn’t really have a clue. If you excluded the three of us from the equation, the remaining suspects were my ex-wife Gloria or Nasty Nash. I had been married to Gloria for a long time, and while she was capable of being extremely vindictive and had a savage tongue, I was quite sure she was no killer.

Nasty Nash was a different kettle of fish altogether. I could easily imagine him seeing the murder as an opportunity to stitch me up, but somehow I didn’t think he would go so far as to actually carry out the murder in the first place.

We had to face it, we were going nowhere fast. I suggested the best thing would be to call a halt to our meeting. We were just saying goodbye when Nugent put forward one of the most interesting ideas anyone had come up with so far.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I never did find out who paid me to duff you up.’

‘You almost manage to make it sound like a bit of innocent fun,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t “duffed up”! I suffered a serious assault at the hands of three thugs armed with baseball bats.’

‘And you’re never going to let me forget it, are you?’

For the first time since it had happened he actually looked genuinely sorry, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. It was quite satisfying to see him looking uncomfortable so I gave him my best evil grin.

‘Possibly never,’ I said. ‘And definitely not yet.’

I left him with that thought, but as we walked back to Pete’s car, the seed that Nugent had just planted in my head was beginning to take root.

I had Pete stop so I could get some food on the way home, and when we got back to the car park behind the flats, we parked next to the police surveillance car. It wasn’t difficult to spot. It was the only one with a bored-looking police officer inside. And anyway, the only other cars there were mine and Sophia’s.

The man’s face was a real picture as I climbed from the car with my shopping. His mouth fell open as he looked from me to Pete and back again. Awareness dawned on his face. I gave Pete a wave as he drove off, and then made my way to my door. I unlocked the door, and gave the officer a thumbs-up. As I turned to go inside, I noticed him fumbling around on the seat next to him and smiled I saw him start scribbling furiously in a little notebook.

Chapter Thirteen

Ever since Slater had witnessed DI Nash’s abortive attempt to persuade Alfie Bowman to confess to murder, he had been waiting for a chance to slip off unnoticed. Just an hour or so would give him enough time to get up to the hospital, where he wanted to speak to one or two nurses in the A&E department.

There was something Nash had said about an incident involving Alfie that needed checking out because, according to the police record, no such event had officially taken place. Yet Nash was now suggesting this was Alfie’s motive for murder. Something was beginning to smell, and Slater wanted to know what exactly that smell was.

He was no longer quite sure which shift he was supposed to be working. Right now it seemed as if he was doing all of them at once. But at least Nash was out of the way for a few hours today, and with any luck that might extend to the whole day.

That meant he could get to see some of the information that Nash appeared to be keeping from him, like the actual, official cause of death, and Alfie Bowman’s phone records. And when he had done that, he intended to invent an excuse to disappear for a while so he could pay a visit to the hospital.

But first there was a pile of paperwork that required his attention…

Slater was a great believer in cultivating friendships in a variety of places, because you just never knew when you might need a little help. He certainly didn’t begrudge the beers he had supplied over the last year or two to Ian Becks in forensics, and they were genuine mates, but this was the first time he was going to use that friendship for his benefit.

When the time came to ask if he could see the reports Nash seemed to be keeping from him, he hadn’t been sure what excuse he should give. Normally those reports would have come to him first, so if Nash had bypassed him, did that mean forensics had been instructed to keep him out of the loop? If that was the case, his request would surely be denied.

The phone rang just twice before a bored voice answered.

‘Becks!’ said Slater. ‘How are you mate?’

‘Aha!’ said the voice over the phone. ‘If it isn’t the elusive D.S.D.S. How’s it hanging, my friend?’

Slater smiled at Becks’ nickname for him, an abbreviation of Detective Sergeant Dave Slater.

‘Listen,’ said Slater cautiously. ‘I need a favour.’

Becks laughed. ‘You’re supposed to solve the crimes up there. We’re just the geeks who do all the work that makes it possible. You’re not going to ask me to start solving them for you as well, surely?’

‘Be serious for a minute. I need your help.’

‘Okay, mate, okay. What can I do for you?’

‘I need to come down there and have a look at a couple of reports,’ said Slater.

‘You haven’t lost the bloody things again, have you?’ said Becks, sighing. ‘You’re a bunch of wankers up there. It’s a wonder you solve any crimes at all.’

‘Just stop ranting for a minute and listen,’ said Slater patiently. ‘These reports haven’t been lost, they’re-’

‘The ones we’re not supposed to send to you,’ finished Becks.

‘You mean you know?’

‘Of course I know. It’s my department.’

‘Can you tell me why you won’t let me see them?’ said a frustrated Slater.

‘Did I say you can’t see them? I don’t recall saying that. I know my memory’s not very good, but I think I can recall what I said just a few seconds ago.’

‘Wait a minute. What are you saying?’

‘My instructions are quite clear,’ said Becks slowly. ‘Under no circumstances are any reports involving this case to be sent to DS Slater.’

‘So I can’t see them?’

‘Have you got cotton wool in your ears this morning? I didn’t say you can’t see them. I said I can’t send them to you. Is that the same thing? I don’t think so.’

‘So you mean-’

‘I mean if you get off your arse and walk down to my office you can see all the reports you want. Just don’t ask me to send them to you. I always follow my instructions to the letter. That way I keep out of trouble.’

‘I’ll be down in two minutes.’

‘Kettle should be boiling by then. You’re making the tea.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Slater said, laughing as he hung up.

‘This tea’s bloody terrible,’ said Becks, pulling a grim face.

‘You asked me to make it. I’ve told you before I’m useless at it.’

‘I reckon you do it on purpose so people don’t ask you to make it again.’

Slater grinned. ‘And it works almost every time,’ he said. ‘Except down here.’

‘It’s worked this time.’ Becks poured his tea down the sink. ‘I won’t ask again.’

‘My first success of the day then,’ said a satisfied Slater. ‘So tell me, why can’t you send me those reports?’

‘According to our very own Inspector Clouseau, aka Detective Inspector Nash, Sergeant Slater is to be kept out of the information loop because of his close association with the main suspect, one Alfred Bowman. This is for Sergeant Slater’s own good on the basis of what he doesn’t know he can’t ‘accidentally’ pass on.’

He made little quote marks in the air as he said ‘accidentally’.

‘He’s got a bloody nerve.’ Slater shook his head furiously. ‘Suggesting I’m bent. I’ve a good mind-’

‘You’ll do bloody nothing,’ snapped Becks. ‘I’m doing you a favour here, mate. You will not do, or say, anything that suggests I told you anything, or showed you any reports. By all means get Nash, but not at my bloody expense. I like my job and-’

‘Alright, alright.’ Slater held his hands up in surrender. ‘Point taken. I will not drop you in it. I promise.’

‘Good,’ said Becks, dropping a folder on his desk. ‘I’m just popping out for a couple of minutes.’ Then, pointing at the folder, he added, ‘I trust everything will be right where I left it when I get back.’

Slater slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Becksy, you’re a real mate. Thank you.’

‘Just remember what you promised,’ warned Becks. ‘I sent you nothing and I know nothing.’

He closed the door behind him as he left.

Chapter Fourteen

It was just gone midday. Slater needed to get out of the noisy office so he could think. He tidied his desk, stuck a ‘back later’ post-it on his computer screen, and legged it out to the car park. As he drove from the car park, he turned his thoughts to the two reports he had read downstairs.

The pathologist had determined that Marie had died because her neck had been broken. In his opinion it had been broken by a single blow to the chin, delivered in such a way its sole purpose would have been to kill. The pathologist thought it unlikely the average person would know how to deliver such a blow. He was even prepared to speculate that the killer would be trained in martial arts. He didn’t say it in so many words, but he implied he thought it was a professional kill.

The second report was general forensics from the scene of crime. They’d found plenty of evidence of many different people having been in the house, but there was not one single trace of Alfie Bowman or Positive Pete. Nash had suggested the possibility that Pete had been Alfie’s accomplice, but this unlikely theory now looked like pure fantasy, as did the idea that Alfie had killed her.

Slater considered the likelihood of Alfie Bowman and Positive Pete being trained killers. Well, really! Serious as this situation was, Slater thought Laurel and Hardy would be better equipped…

The other interesting thing he had learnt that morning was about Alfie Bowman’s mobile phone. Nash was insistent that this was the key piece of evidence, and the texts were there on Marie’s phone for all to see. But according to Alfie’s phone service provider, he hadn’t sent any texts to her. In fact, he rarely sent any texts to anyone. So how come the texts on Marie’s phone indicated they had been sent from Alfie’s number?

Secretly, Slater was pleased to see their case against Alfie falling apart. He regarded him as a good bloke, and perhaps even a friend. Alfie and murder just didn’t fit. On the other hand, he was deeply concerned that someone was obviously trying to make them all think it was Alfie. Could it be Nash? He certainly had an axe to grind, and he had been quick to jump on Alfie as his prime suspect. But murder? Really?

Much as he disliked Nash, Slater couldn’t see it. Yes, if he could prove it was Alfie he would jump at the chance, but to actually carry out the murder first was a step too far. Wasn’t it?

Slater was disappointed to find the only space in the hospital car park was right at the far end, as far away from the entrance to the A&E unit as it was possible to be. If he’d been in a patrol car he would have parked right outside, but he was in his own car and he wasn’t in a hurry. He was actually relishing the peace and quiet of being out on his own and he enjoyed the walk.

He ambled towards the desk where a feisty-looking receptionist appeared ready to repel all time-wasters. He was tempted to test her patience just for fun, but when he saw the way she dealt with a phone call, he decided to save them both a lot of time and grief, which he suspected would have been mostly his, by showing his badge. The immediate transformation from feisty to flirty took him completely by surprise.

‘Ooh!’ she said, fluttering her eyes theatrically. ‘A handsome detective sergeant. Have you come to arrest me?’

Okay, I’m in no hurry. I can play this game.

‘Why?’ he said. ‘What have you done?’

‘Nothing yet,’ she said, sighing. ‘But I’m sure I can think of something.’

He smiled patiently. And she was quite good looking, he thought.

‘Have you used your truncheon lately?’ She winked. ‘What would I have to do to make you use it on me?’

A whole host of answers flooded his mind and he grinned back. Then, rather reluctantly, he dragged his mind back to the real reason he was here.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I would really like to pursue this conversation.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ she said testily. ‘You can’t right now because you haven’t got time. Typical!’

‘No, honestly. I would really like to pursue this conversation, but not right now.’

She looked at him as if she was weighing up her options.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But first you have to promise you’ll arrest me. And take down everything I say. Absolutely everything.’

This was no good. I’ve got to get control here or she’s going to drive me nuts.

‘I promise I’ll come back to you,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a job to do first. Is that a deal?’

‘You betcha.’ She pouted her lips. ‘But don’t you dare forget.’

‘I won’t forget, honestly.’

She was suddenly as business-like as she had been flirty. ‘Now, then. How can I help you?’

He told her what he wanted to know and her fingers whizzed across the keyboard of her computer as she very quickly, and efficiently, found the answers for him.

‘Here we go,’ she said, reading out loud. ‘Alfred Bowman. Unconscious on arrival. Multiple bruising, broken arm, stitches in a head wound, stitches in an eyebrow, blah, blah, blah. The general feeling was that he had been assaulted with a baseball bat or something similar.’

‘That’s the one,’ said Slater. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Do you know who looked after him?’

She looked at the notes again. ‘Gillian,’ she said, pointing to a tiny nurse tidying a cubicle. ‘Over there. She was one of them. She’s okay, and I bet she’ll remember. She’s got a memory like an elephant that girl.’

‘Do you think I could have five minutes with her?’ he asked.

‘I’ll ask her. Just remember you’re saving the truncheon for me.’ She gave him another dirty wink, adding, ‘She’s not that kind of girl anyway.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Gillian. ‘I remember. He asked me to make a phone call for his friend to pick him up. I spoke to his friend and he said he would come, and then this awful woman arrived. She said she was his wife. She was evil.’

‘His wife? Why was she so angry?’

‘She just seemed to be a genuinely unpleasant person. Then he ran off while she went for her car. It would have been quite funny, but then she came back in here looking for him. Oh my! Talk about swearing like trooper. In fact, she was so abusive she’s been added to the banned list now.’

The banned list was a list of all those people who had entered the A&E unit and behaved in a way deemed inappropriate by the staff. This included those guilty of drunkenness, violence, being abusive etc.

Having spent a further few minutes flirting with the tasty receptionist, and arranging a date, at which she had insisted she would get to inspect his truncheon, Slater was now back in his car. He sat, thinking about what he’d just heard.

So, the hospital phoned a mate of Alfie’s to come and pick him up, and then his wife turned up. He thought maybe being a policeman had made him naturally suspicious, and of course he could be wrong, but in his mind this seemed to point to one rather obvious conclusion.

He was just about to drive off when his mobile phone rang. Bugger! Couldn’t they leave him in peace for once? He thought about ignoring it, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if it was important.

A frightened voice stammered down the line.

‘Who is this?’ Slater didn’t recognise the voice.

‘Err, it’s PC Biddeford, sir.’

PC Biddeford? Who’s PC Biddeford?

‘What can I do for you, Biddeford?’

‘I’ve got a bit of a problem, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘This isn’t a bloody helpline.’

‘You think you’re annoyed now, sir, but you wait until I tell you what’s happened.’

‘What? What’s happened? And where are you?’

‘I’m on surveillance, sir. Alfred Bowman, the murderer.’

Slater vaguely remembered Nash talking to a PC who looked as though he should still be at school…

‘Possible murder suspect, Constable,’ he corrected. ‘We don’t have any evidence yet. You sound like he’s already convicted and waiting for the hangman. He’s Alfie Bowman, not Jack the Ripper.’

‘Yes, Sarge. Sorry, Sarge.’

‘Well, come on, what’s the problem? What’s happened?’

And so PC Biddeford tried to explain, quoting from his notebook and ably assisted by exclamations from Slater. The conversation from Slater’s end became more and more animated.

‘9.02. A lot of screaming, yes.’

‘You thought what? He’s a potential suspect, not a serial killer!’

‘A spider? A bloody spider? What are you, pest control?’

‘There was a car, right. What sort of car?’

‘And what did the driver look like?’

‘But the car and driver didn’t ring any bells with you?’

‘Do you have the notes you were issued?’

‘Have you actually read those notes and looked at the photographs?’

‘Don’t you think it might have been an idea to read them before you started?’

‘Alright, alright, don’t panic! What happened next?’

‘So let me get this straight. What you’re saying is Positive Pete arrived in his car, the spider thing was just a diversion, and while you were being distracted, Bowman drove off with Positive Pete. Have I got that right?’

‘If I was you, Biddeford, I would stop worrying about what I think, and start worrying about what DI Nash is going to think.’

‘Now, stop that blubbering. I’m on my way. Just stay there and don’t do anything. D’you hear me?’

Slater threw his mobile phone down on the passenger seat. Sodding, bloody hell! Now he had a blubbering wreck of a PC to deal with. Bloody Nash. Why did he have to pick a young PC, still wet behind the ears, to do a job like that?

Cursing loudly, he put his car into gear and shot out of the car park, heading for the scene of their latest cock-up – Alfie’s place.

Chapter Fifteen

Slater pulled into the car park and stopped. The ‘surveillance’ vehicle stood out like a sore thumb. It was an aged, rather battered, well past its sell-by-date hatchback. Slater thought it would never blend in anywhere except, possibly, in a scrapyard. The fact that there was obviously someone sat inside made it even more conspicuous. He sighed heavily. They might just as well have put a sign up with a big arrow pointing to the car.

He swung his own car in alongside. The young PC in the driver’s seat turned in his direction. He looked as if his world had come crashing around his ears, never to be rebuilt.

Slater heaved the door opened and dropped into the passenger seat. Biddeford flinched as though he’d been slapped. Without speaking, Slater picked up his notebook and started thumbing through it. Only two pages had been used. The first page was completely filled. Page two had just one entry.

It said: 11.58 am, suspect vehicle returns, deposits suspect in car park.

It was almost two-thirty now, and Slater thought about asking why no more entries had been made, but then he looked at the young officer and realised he had probably suffered enough angst for one day.

Now it was time to try to repair the damage. Carefully, he tore the pages out, screwed them up, and tossed them over his shoulder into the back of the car.

Biddeford looked at him. ‘But-’

‘But, what?’

‘You can’t do that! It’s evidence. You’ve just destroyed my evidence.’

‘I can do it,’ said Slater, calmly. ‘And I just have.’

‘But aren’t we supposed to be transparent? I thought that’s what it was all about.’

‘Do you want to get sacked?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then listen to me, and listen good,’ said Slater, with great deliberation. ‘You’ve just started in the force, right?’

Biddeford nodded.

‘So you’re inexperienced and, really, not yet ready for surveillance work. DI Nash should have been aware of that and he should not have put you in this position. This isn’t even proper surveillance – it’s bloody ridiculous. You might as well be sat on the guy’s doorstep you’re so visible. We shouldn’t be doing bloody surveillance here anyway. This bloke’s no more a murderer than I am.’

Biddeford gawked at him.

‘This isn’t your fault. But Nash won’t care about that. If you hand in that written evidence, he’ll sack you as soon as look at you. It’s what he does. If you look up to him I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong direction. Nash is a vindictive git who likes to set people up for a fall just so he can have the pleasure of shouting at them, bullying them, and then sacking them. But we’re not going to let that happen, right?’

‘But what about Bowman? He escaped. I let him go. The only consolation is that he only went shopping.’

‘It sounds to me like you taken in by a clever, well-planned operation which, I have to say, I find quite impressive. I can think of plenty of experienced officers who would have done exactly the same as you, so don’t start losing sleep over it. Another thing; he might have come back holding a couple of shopping bags, but don’t you think that was a lot of trouble to go to just for a bit of shopping?’

He let Biddeford stew on that for a few moments while he considered what they could do about this situation. Alfie wasn’t under house arrest, there was no law against someone picking up his mate and going for a ride, and there was no law against being scared of spiders. So playing the heavy would get them nowhere.

On the other hand, from what Slater had seen of Alfie he seemed a reasonable man, and he didn’t come across as the sort of guy who would want to see a young PC’s career ruined. Maybe a different approach would work to everyone’s advantage.

‘Come on,’ he said to Biddeford, climbing from the car.

The bewildered PC Biddeford climbed obediently from his car and began to follow Slater. ‘What are we going to do? Arrest them all?’

Slater swung round to face him. ‘What should we arrest them for? Being scared of spiders? Sitting in a car? Or going shopping?’ He couldn’t resist adding one more. ‘Or making you look like a tit?’

Biddeford blushed furiously. ‘We could arrest the Ingliss woman,’ he said desperately. ‘She’s supposed to be responsible for Bowman.’

‘Biddeford, you really are clutching at straws,’ said Slater, laughing. ‘She’s the one who got him released, so she obviously knows people in high places. Do you really think arresting her would do us any good?’

Biddeford looked miserably at the ground. Slater gave him an encouraging pat on his arm.

‘Look, do you really think you’re the first bloke to make a mistake? We all balls things up from time to time. That’s life, right? But it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. Just have a bit of faith in my judgement and experience and we can get over this. Stick with me, and promise me you won’t say anything that’s going to make us both look like idiots. In fact, it’s probably safest if you say nothing. Ok?’

Biddeford nodded unhappily. Slater reflected that he was hardly in a position to argue, was he?

My doorbell was ringing and ringing and ringing.

‘Alright, alright, I’m coming.’

I opened the door. Ah. Detective Sergeant Slater and the young ‘wet behind the ears’ detective from the car park. Great.

‘Oh deep joy!’ I said. ‘My favourite police force on my doorstep once again. What is it this time? You’ve tried trashing the place, and arresting me, so let me guess. I know! You must be the assault squad, come to batter me into submission.’

‘Look,’ said Slater. ‘I know you’re pissed off with me, but what else could I do? The texts on her phone indicate you as the sender. Would you have preferred it if Nash had come on his own? If he had his way, I’d be off the case altogether, so think yourself lucky I’m here looking out for you.’

I wondered if I could really trust him. But then he did have a point. Nash would probably have invented some excuse to kick the crap out of me for resisting arrest, and if he was really intent on proving I was a murderer, I could use all the help I could get.

‘So you’re not here to arrest me again?’

Slater held his hands up. ‘We come in peace. And off the record too.’

The young sidekick looked rather alarmed when Slater mentioned ‘off the record’.

‘Is he on our side?’ I asked, pointing at him.

Biddeford opened his mouth but Slater spoke first.

‘He is. No thanks to you lot. You could get the poor guy sacked.’

‘And you lot could put me away for something I haven’t done. What do you want me to do, just sit here waiting for Nash to invent enough evidence to convict me?’

‘Okay,’ said Slater, eager to keep the peace. ‘I can’t argue with that.’ He looked around. ‘Look, it’s a bit public out here. Can we come in?’

‘There are two of you,’ I said. ‘Do I need a witness?’

‘You don’t need one, but if you don’t trust me…’

I thought I could, so I stepped back to let them in.

‘So, how come you’re here talking to your number one murder suspect? Still hoping I’m going to confess?’

‘Don’t be an arse,’ said Slater. ‘We’ve just been through all that. You know damned well why you were the chief suspect.’

‘Were? Have I been downgraded then?’

‘You have in my eyes,’ he said. ‘But Nash still fancies you, and he seems to be holding back information that clears you. I’m not supposed to know that, and obviously I shouldn’t be telling you. I am willing to tell you, but if I do, I want you to help out young PC Biddeford here.’

Biddeford was sitting next to Slater on the sofa. I could see his eyes getting wider and wider.

‘But sir,’ started Biddeford.

‘What did I tell you outside? Keep quiet, Biddeford.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I looked at the uncomfortable-looking Biddeford. ‘What do you want me to do for him?’

‘That stroke you lot pulled this morning. You could get him the sack. Where did you go?’

‘Shopping,’ I lied. ‘He saw me carrying the bags when I came back.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Slater. ‘You’d go to all that trouble just to go shopping? Come off it.’

‘That’s all I’m saying, Dave. Take it or leave it.’

Biddeford’s head had been whipping back and forth during his exchange.

‘He’ll still get the sack if Nash finds out,’ said Slater. ‘How about we say nothing happened and you didn’t go anywhere.’

‘What? You think I’m going to tell Nash?’ I asked, incredulous.

‘If anyone should ask,’ explained Slater. ‘I know you’re not going to go around telling people, but I don’t want Biddeford to get into trouble just because you lot made him look a fool.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘It suits me. I’ve been nowhere. I’ve been here all day.’

‘What about your accomplices?’

I couldn’t help but smile at that. ‘You make it sound like a major conspiracy. Of course they won’t say anything.’

Slater looked at Biddeford. ‘Is that okay with you?’

Biddeford looked horrified. He gulped like a stranded fish and then the words started to come out.

‘Is this a bribe? Because-’

‘Biddeford, don’t be such a pillock,’ said Slater. ‘Do you want the sack?’

‘Well, no, of course not. I love my job.’

‘Well, this way you get to keep on loving your job. No one is bribing anyone, and no one is getting sacked.’

‘Yes but-’

‘I’m going to get pissed off in a minute,’ said Slater, sounding as if he really meant it. ‘Do you want my help or not? Because if you don’t, I can easily go and tell Nash what happened on your watch myself.’

‘Yes, Sarge. Thank you, Sarge,’ said Biddeford obediently.

‘Right. Just sit there and listen. You might actually learn something. And if you breathe one word of this to anyone, you’re dead. Okay?’

Biddeford nodded unhappily

‘What kind of information is Nash holding back?’ I asked, starting to get much more interested.

‘Whoever killed Marie knew exactly what they were doing.’ He demonstrated in the air with his right hand. ‘One blow, one neck broken. Now, I might be wrong, but you don’t look like a trained killer to me.’

‘It’s not on my CV,’ I agreed.

‘This is the weirdest bit, though,’ said Slater. ‘The text messages found on Marie’s phone show they’ve been sent from your number, but your phone records show you never sent them.’

‘Now that is weird. So how does that work?’

‘I’m not sure yet, but I intend to find out.’

‘Sir,’ began Biddeford, ‘I’m not sure-’

‘If you’re going to say you’re not sure I should be sharing information, I’m going to kick your arse from here all the way back to the station, Constable. Try to understand that your wonderful DI Nash is trying to keep all of this information out of the investigation. Do you want to see an innocent man wrongly convicted?’

‘No I don’t, sir. But that’s not what I was going to say. It’s about the mobile phone.’ He stopped, seeming uncertain if he was allowed to continue.

‘Yes, go on,’ encouraged Slater.

‘Well, I’m not sure I remember the details exactly, but I read somewhere about cloning sim cards. Could someone have cloned Mr Bowman’s sim card and sent the texts that way? Or maybe there’s some software that works in a similar way…’ He stopped speaking as he realised both Alfie and Slater were staring at him and looked sheepish.

It was Slater who broke the silence. ‘You little beauty,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘If you were a WPC I’d be tempted to give you a big kiss.’

Biddeford backed away. ‘I’d rather you didn’t, sir. If you don’t mind.’

‘Now it makes sense,’ I said.

‘Where is your phone anyway?’ asked Slater.

‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘I must have left it somewhere.’

‘Have you tried ringing it?’

You know that feeling you get when someone states the blindingly obvious and you realise you haven’t done it? Well, that was how I felt right then.

‘You haven’t, have you?’ said Slater gleefully. ‘You dopey sod. And there I was starting to think you were intelligent.’

He chuckled quietly, before adding another observation. ‘Mind you, the combined brains of our enquiry team haven’t tried ringing it either. Anyway, what’s the number? Oh, I’ve got it here somewhere haven’t I?’

He produced his own phone from his pocket and searched through the contacts. He found the one he wanted and pressed the button.

‘Hello. It’s Detective Sergeant Slater here from Tinton police. This phone you’re using has been reported stolen. Can you tell me who you are and why you’re using it?’

Slater was quiet for a moment and then turned to me. ‘It’s at the Cask,’ he said. ‘Apparently it was left there.’

I listened as he arranged for PC Biddeford to go down and collect it. That solved that little mystery, then.

When he hung up, he turned to the younger officer. ‘Biddeford, look lively. Whip round to The Cask in the High Street. Ask for Jane, tell her who you are, and bring that phone back here.’

‘No problem,’ said Biddeford, looking happier again. ‘I’m on my way. Back in ten minutes.’

There was a slam as he pulled the front door closed behind him.

‘Got yourself an understudy?’ I asked.

‘No, not really,’ said Slater. ‘Poor kid. Nash should never have put him in that position this morning. You’ve got a mad-keen officer there. He needs help and encouragement, not some prick like Nash setting him up for a bollocking.’

‘Trust me, our lips are sealed. We know nothing.’ I smiled.

‘I’ve been poking around at the hospital,’ Slater said, changing the subject.

‘Should I be concerned about that?’

‘You might be interested in what I found out,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘I was looking into this assault that Nash wants to both hide and use as your motive for murder. I got chatting to one of the nurses. She told me that you asked her to phone a mate to pick you up, but it was actually your wife who came to pick you up.’

‘Ex-wife,’ I reminded him. ‘So? What about it?’

‘Doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?’

‘I must admit I wasn’t overjoyed to see her, but I didn’t give it that much thought at the time. I was a bit battered and bruised, you know?’

‘They said she caused a bit of a scene.’

‘Gloria could cause a scene in a room on her own, mate,’ I said. ‘But on that particular occasion it was my fault. I didn’t want her finding my flat so I did a runner while she was fetching her car. She was just a tad annoyed. She got a parking ticket too. She couldn’t find me so she took it out on the staff – gave them a right going over apparently.’

‘Yeah, she did. They’ve blacklisted her. Bit of a dragon is she?’

‘You’ve never met my ex-wife have you? Imagine you’re a bomb disposal expert and she’s the bomb you’ve got to defuse. Only you don’t have a clue what might trigger the explosion…’

‘Right. A bit touchy then. I’m thinking about asking her why she was the one to pick you up. Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious?’

‘If you mean do I think my mate is shagging my ex-wife, the answer is I really don’t care. As far as I’m concerned she’s a free agent and she can do what she likes with whoever she likes. I just don’t want her finding my flat or she’ll be round here every five minutes.’

And it was true, I didn’t care about her sex life. Yet something about the whole situation was bothering me…

‘What’s he like? This mate of yours?’ said Slater, breaking my train of thought.

‘I’ve known him for years on and off. He’s ex SAS or something like that. He runs The Cask. To be honest, I’m not sure we are mates anymore. He always seems to avoid me lately. I don’t know what I’ve done to upset him, but I’m getting too old to chase after people. If he doesn’t want to know me anymore, that’s okay. I’ll live.’

Slater continued to ask about Dave until Biddeford returned and handed him my phone.

He thumbed his way through a few menus and then looked at me.

‘You haven’t deleted any messages?’

‘No I haven’t, but even if I had you have the phone records.’

‘I’m sure no texts have been sent to Marie from this phone,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘But I’ll have to take it in as evidence. Is that okay?’

‘Be my guest,’ I said. ‘I haven’t missed it.’

He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better go,’ he said to Biddeford. Then he turned to me. ‘I’ll keep you informed.’

‘Thanks, Dave, I appreciate your help.’

‘I owed you one from before, remember?’

‘Am I still going to be under surveillance?’

‘I don’t think that’s necessary, do you Biddeford?’

‘No, sir.’

Back in The Cask, Dave Burnham, the landlord, was searching the shelves under the bar.

‘Have you lost something?’ asked Jane.

‘I thought there was a mobile phone under here.’

‘It’s been reclaimed.’

‘Has it? Oh bugger!’ he said, looking worried.

‘Is there anything wrong?’

‘Eh? Oh, no. No,’ he said, distractedly. ‘It’s just that I know someone who wanted one. If it wasn’t claimed I was going to give it to them, that’s all.’

‘Oh. Right,’ said Jane, wondering exactly when the lost phone policy had changed, and why no one had bothered to tell her…

Chapter Sixteen

‘Are you in a hurry to get home?’ Slater asked Biddeford as they walked to their cars.

‘No, sir,’ said Biddeford, eager to make amends.

‘You don’t have to keep calling me sir. There’s a time and a place, and it’s certainly not all the time. Okay?’

‘Yes, sir. I mean yes. Thank you.’

‘So, d’you want to come for a ride? I’m going to have a little chat with Gloria Bowman. Apparently she’s a bit feisty, so it might be fun. Come along if you want. Watch and learn.’

Once they were in Slater’s car, he turned to Biddeford.

‘This isn’t really an official interview,’ he explained. ‘However, as she’s the sister of the murder victim we’ve got an excuse to talk to her, and I believe she could prove to be very helpful with our enquiries.’

‘I sense there’s a missing “but” in that sentence,’ said Biddeford.

Slater was impressed. ‘Good observation, Biddeford,’ he said warmly. ‘If I’m wrong about this, and Nash finds out what I’m doing, the shit will hit the fan big-time. So if you’d rather not come you can step out of the car now and go home.’

PC Biddeford didn’t think for one moment. ‘Are you kidding? Come on, let’s go!’

‘Good lad! What’s your name anyway?’ Slater asked Biddeford as he drove out of the car park. ‘I can’t keep calling you PC Biddeford all the time.’

‘Stephen or Steve,’ said Biddeford happily.

‘Right Steve, I’m Dave,’ said Slater. ‘When there’s just the two of us or we’re off duty.’

Biddeford grinned at him. He had certainly perked up.

They drove along in silence for a few minutes until Biddeford piped up. ‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Fire away,’ said Slater.

‘What’s this thing between DI Nash and Alfie Bowman?’

And so Slater filled the journey to Gloria’s with the story of how Alfie Bowman had come up with the evidence proving Nash’s father Tommy, a former DI himself, had covered up one murder and then committed another, and how he had passed that evidence on to Slater who had subsequently made the arrest.

‘Wow! No wonder he hates Bowman,’ said Biddeford at the end.

‘But it’s not Alfie’s fault that Nash’s old man’s a murderer, is it?’ said Slater. ‘Any more than it’s my fault.’

‘And that’s why he gives you a hard time, too,’ said Biddeford, realisation dawning on his face.

‘Right,’ agreed Slater. ‘I can understand he’s not happy, but trying to fit Alfie up for murder is way out of line, and I’m buggered if I’m going to sit back and let that happen.’

‘Now I’m beginning to understand all that stuff back at his flat,’ said Biddeford. ‘I was getting a bit worried.’

‘What? You think I was going to get a back-hander from Alfie?’ Slater laughed. ‘No way. I saw how Nash tried to intimidate him away from his old man’s story, and I know what he’s trying to do to Alfie now. I can’t just stand back and watch it happen. Trust me, if anyone’s bent around here, it’s Nash, not me.’

Biddeford’s face fell a bit. Slater got the impression the young officer had seen Nash as someone to look up to.

Slater thought that, at first glance, Gloria Bowman didn’t look half bad. She had a great figure and she knew how to dress to show it off. She certainly knew how to look good. Sadly, her mood didn’t match her appearance. Slater felt about as welcome as herpes. But at least she let them in.

‘I’ve already told you lot all I know,’ she complained as she led them into her house. ‘I thought it was all done and dusted and the killer was locked up.’

‘I’m sorry?’ asked Slater. ‘Done and dusted?’ This was news to him, and looking at Biddeford’s face, it was news to him too.

‘According to your Inspector Nash, that evil bloody husband of mine killed my sister. But he’s locked up where he can’t kill anyone else. Right?’

‘Alfie Bowman did not kill your sister.’

‘Of course he did. Inspector Nash told me.’

‘Well, I’m afraid Inspector Nash was wrong, and he shouldn’t have told you.’

‘You haven’t let him go have you?’

‘There wasn’t enough evidence to hold him, so-’

‘Oh my God,’ squeaked Gloria hysterically. ‘He’ll be after me next. You’ve got to stop him.’

‘Why would he be after you?’ asked Slater, baffled by her over-reaction.

‘He killed Marie for telling lies about him. Now he’ll be after me because I didn’t stop her.’

‘But he didn’t kill Marie. Someone is trying to make it look like it was him, but trust me, he didn’t do it.’

‘What about all the text messages he sent Marie?’

‘We’ve proved now that he didn’t send them. Someone else sent them to make us think it was Alfie?’

‘Huh! You see,’ she said, as if she had been right all along. ‘I knew my Alfie couldn’t be a murderer. I told your lot that but none of you would listen.’

Talk about blowing hot and cold. This had to be the most abrupt U-turn Slater had ever heard. He had listened to the recording of her interview and read the transcript. She had been only too happy to condemn Alfie as the murderer once it had been mentioned, and not once had she even so much as suggested he could be innocent. Now Slater was beginning to understand exactly why Alfie wanted to keep his distance from this woman.

‘Err, yeah. Right,’ he agreed, having got over his shock. ‘Of course you did.’

‘But who would do something like that to Alfie? And why?’ asked Gloria

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. That’s why we’re here.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? If you’re suggesting-’

‘We’re not suggesting anything,’ he said, trying to defuse the situation. ‘We’re just trying to see if anyone knows anything that might help us.’

‘Well, don’t ask me, Sergeant. I haven’t a clue what my husband gets up to. Last time I saw him he was mixed up with some foreign tart. She was young enough to be his daughter. I mean, it’s pathetic isn’t it? Don’t you think?’

‘I thought he was your ex-husband?’ said Slater.

She gave him a look that could have turned a lesser man to stone.

‘Technically we are still married, Sergeant. And it’s only a matter of time before he comes running back. You’ll see. He needs me. He knows it, and I know it.’

Slater thought it highly unlikely Alfie Bowman, or any other sane man, needed this woman. He also thought saying so out loud might be tantamount to suicide, so he kept his mouth firmly closed while that particular thought was whizzing around in his head.

‘Anyway,’ she continued eventually, after a shooting him a withering look. ‘As I was saying. Perhaps it’s this foreign tart. Or maybe it’s someone to do with her. That’s the problem with these foreigners. You never know what you’re getting into, do you?’

Slater thought Gloria Bowman was one serious piece of work, and he wondered how on earth had Alfie put up with her for so many years.

‘Mrs Bowman, we’re not asking you to speculate about who or what. We want to know more about you.’

‘Me? Why would you want to know about me? I haven’t done anything.’

‘We’re looking into the possibility that you know someone who might want to get even with Alfie-’

‘Oh. I see. So it’s alright for him to be screwing some cheap little foreign tart, but because I’m seeing someone that makes me guilty does it?’

‘So you have a boyfriend then?’ said Slater, grasping the opportunity to take control.

Gloria gave him another icy glare. ‘I have needs like any other red-blooded woman. Is that a problem, Sergeant?’

‘Not at all,’ said Slater, stony-faced. ‘But you must be able to see your boyfriend might have a problem with you wanting your husband back. Perhaps he could be jealous.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ snapped Gloria.

‘No more ridiculous than thinking Alfie was a murderer. And you were certainly quite happy to think that when we arrived, weren’t you, Mrs Bowman?’

For once Gloria seemed lost for words. Slater thought it unlikely it would last, but he was pleased enough with himself to enjoy the moment while it lasted. He watched her fidgeting uncomfortably. Twice she went to speak, and twice she evidently thought better of it.

‘Mrs Bowman,’ Slater said. ‘What happened the day you went to collect Alfie from the hospital?’

‘The rotten sod did a runner. I went all the way over there to get him and he pissed off and left me. I got a bloody parking ticket, too.’

‘That’s not what I meant. The hospital phoned Dave Burnham, landlord of The Cask, but it was you who turned up. How did that happen?’

She looked uncomfortable, so Slater decided to apply a little pressure.

‘Listen, Gloria,’ he said quietly. ‘This is important. Someone is trying to make us think Alfie killed your sister. We need to know all we can about anyone who might have a reason to do so. Your boyfriend could be that person. If he’s not, we need to prove that too. Do you understand?’

Reluctantly she nodded, and then spoke. ‘Dave was here with me that day. We were in bed. His phone started ringing. He was angry to think Alfie expected him to go over and pick him up, so I said I’d go. That made him even more angry. He said I shouldn’t waste my time chasing after Alfie, but I went anyway.’

Gloria clammed up after this revelation, but Slater thought he had learnt enough for now anyway, so it wasn’t too much longer before he made his excuses.

‘Just one thing you might be interested to know,’ he said, before Gloria closed the door. ‘That “cheap little foreign tart” you mentioned. Alfie wasn’t screwing her. He stepped in to save her from a beating and got one himself instead. She was the one who called an ambulance for him. She was there in the hospital to see how he was and to thank him, that’s all.’

The door slammed shut in his face, but he felt that was okay. He had enjoyed telling her why Jelena had been in the hospital that day.

‘One more stop, Steve, is that okay? I want to buy you a pint.’

They were driving back into town so Biddeford could retrieve his car. Slater thought his young colleague deserved a pint and he wanted to get a look at Gloria’s boyfriend, Dave Burnham. Slater thought he was definitely well worth a good, close look.

There was no one in the quiet little back bar when they got there, and standing at the bar, seemingly unnoticed, Slater was beginning to think they might be better off going round to the busier, but also noisier, front bar. But finally a harassed-looking young woman appeared, ready to serve them.

As she poured their pints, Slater asked her name.

‘Are you chatting me up?’ She smiled. ‘Only we’re short of staff and busy tonight so you’re going to be wasting your time.’

‘I could always come back on a quiet night, if you like.’

She slowly and deliberately looked him up and down. ‘You look like a policeman,’ she said.

‘How can you tell?’ he said, laughing.

She pointed at PC Biddeford. ‘Well, I know he is, ‘cause he was here earlier collecting a mobile phone, so I figure that probably means you are too. Am I right?’

‘Wow!’ said Slater. ‘Brains as well as beauty.’

‘Thank you, officer. Compliments are always welcome and enough of them could take you quite a long way. Quietest nights are Tuesdays and Thursdays. And it’s Jane.’

‘Of course. Jane. I spoke to you earlier. I’m Dave.’

‘It’s a good job you called when you did. Not long after I gave you that phone, the boss was looking for it.’

‘Really?’ said Slater.

‘Yeah,’ she went on. ‘He seemed pretty disappointed it was gone.’

‘Is he here?’

‘It’s his night off. You’d think the miserable sod would be here when we’re short of staff, wouldn’t you?’

She took his money for the two beers and returned to the madhouse that was the front bar.

Slater was a little disappointed Dave Burnham wasn’t there, but not too disappointed. At least now he and Biddeford could relax for fifteen minutes. He had decided he quite liked Steve Biddeford. He might be wet behind the ears, but he was keen and his heart was in the right place.

Once Biddeford had gone home, Slater hung around in the bar waiting. Eventually he was rewarded, as Jane popped her head around the corner to see if anyone was waiting for a drink. Assuming he wanted another pint, she came over.

‘Same again?’ she asked.

‘Actually, I was wondering what time you finish.’

‘It’ll be around midnight, and I’m exhausted.’ She smiled tiredly. Then, seeing the expression on his face, she added, ‘But I’m free for lunch tomorrow if that helps.’

Lunch date duly arranged, Dave Slater finally decided it was time to go home.

Chapter Seventeen

Conveniently for Dave Slater, and for me too, Detective Inspector Nash was away at a conference. Apparently he was hopping mad about it, but Slater reckoned it was down to the chief constable wanting to continue teaching him a lesson that he seemed to be rather slow taking on board. Whatever the reason, Nash being out of the way had enabled Slater to make massive progress with the murder case.

Unofficially, we had pieced together a scenario which we were sure was pretty close to the truth, and the mounting evidence was beginning to point to the same conclusion. Because it was unofficial, we had decided to keep it to ourselves for now. Even Positive Pete was unaware of exactly how far we had got.

When I had jokingly suggested how we might put our theory to the test to wind things up, Slater hadn’t been too keen. He told me it was totally against normal procedure, and if it went pear-shaped he would be in deep trouble.

But later, when he’d had time to think about it, he began to accept the fact that, without my help, they might still be a long way from a result. On top of that, he had told me if he was going to have to spend the rest of his career cleaning up behind people like DI Nash, he was probably in the wrong job anyway.

‘So what if they do sack me?’ he’d confided. ‘Maybe they’d be doing me a big favour.’

I could understand why he felt that way, but hearing him say it made me feel sad. I had come to like and respect Dave Slater. He was one of the good guys. I suggested that, from where I was looking, it seemed there were two things he needed. One was to get away from DI Nasty Nash, and the other was a good result in his own name.

‘If there’s anything I can do to help you achieve either of those things, just give me a call,’ I told him.

And that, I thought, would be that. So when he’d called me later that same day, I was more than a little surprised.

‘I’ve been thinking about that crazy idea of yours,’ he said.

‘I know, I know,’ I agreed. ‘It was a stupid idea. It’s way outside the box. It’s okay. I understand.’

‘No mate, you don’t understand. It’s because it’s so outside the box I think it’s a great idea. They’re always telling us we have to be more innovative in our thinking and the way we approach our jobs, so what the hell. Let’s do it!’

At first I was lost for words. I mean, it was true it had been my idea, and at the time I had thought it was great. But now I’d had time to think about it, I wasn’t so sure. But Dave was having none of it.

‘You’re not having second thoughts are you? You did say you would do anything to help if you could…’

‘What about proper procedure? I don’t want you to get into-’

‘Don’t worry about the proper procedure. I’ve got that covered, okay? Now, Jane tells me Thursday night’s usually pretty quiet in the back bar. Do you think you can get it arranged by then?’

‘You really want to do it, don’t you? Ok, I’m in. And don’t worry about my end of the deal, you just make sure you get your side organised.’

Chapter Eighteen

The only one who had refused the invitation was Nugent, but that hadn’t surprised me at all. I wasn’t even going to mention it to him at first, but, as Positive Pete pointed out, the thing with Nugent is you have to cover all your bases. If I didn’t mention it to him, he’d probably complain that he’d been part of it and he should have been invited. By inviting him I gave him the opportunity to exert his self-assumed superiority and refuse.

Sure enough, looking down from his lofty perch, he had explained that as far as he was concerned, drinking in a pub was way beneath him.

‘It’s what ordinary people do,’ he had told me. ‘People like me know better. We drink in clubs.’

Oh yeah, like that grubby little snooker club of yours.

And as for associating in public with what he called ‘The Law’… Well, he explained, it just wasn’t going to happen.

‘What would my clients think? I’ve got a reputation to uphold.’

Yeah. Right. Of course you have.

First to arrive were Positive Pete and Daphne. To allay anyone’s suspicions, Pete had made all the arrangements with the pub. As far as everyone not in the know was concerned, this was a small celebration Pete and Daphne were sharing with some friends.

He’d approached Dave Burnham and asked him to attend in his role of friend, and to don his publican hat to run the bar, lay on a small buffet, and produce champagne once everyone had gathered. Unable to come up with a plausible excuse for not being there, Dave had reluctantly agreed.

Next to arrive were two guys Alfie had invited, Dave Slater and Steve. Pete knew who they were, of course, but Dave Burnham had no idea. They quietly said hello to Pete and Daphne, ordered a mineral water each, and then sat chatting to each other. From his position behind the bar, Dave thought it a bit odd that these ‘friends’ didn’t exactly seem all that happy to be here.

But then again, if all they drank was mineral water, they weren’t exactly going to be a bundle of laughs, were they? As for that Positive Pete, well, he’d been miserable for years, everybody knew that. It was shaping up be one of the dullest celebrations ever.

Sophia and Jelena arrived next, both making a big fuss of Pete and Daphne. Sophia added a touch of cool sophistication to the room, while Jelena’s vivacity, impish sense of humour, and infectious laugh changed the atmosphere within moments. In no time, she had drawn everyone together, and even the two dull guys Dave didn’t know seemed to cheer up.

Dave Burnham began to think that perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe a bit of a celebration would do him good. There was no denying the atmosphere had improved considerably since the arrival of the two ‘foreign imports’, as he referred to Sophia and Jelena.

He was especially pleased to see that Alfie Bowman wasn’t here. He’d certainly been taken down a peg or two since he’d become murder suspect number one. Dave had been puzzled when the police had set him free, but he was sure that DI Nash knew what he was doing. Bowman was probably keeping a low profile. Good.

He decided he needed to relax a bit. Just as soon as he could come out from behind this bar, he was going to join in. Then he could start asking some questions and find out who these two guys were. But first he would have to finish his duties and serve the champagne.

‘Pete,’ he called. ‘When do you want this champagne.’

Pete looked at his watch as he walked to the bar. ‘In a couple of minutes,’ he said. ‘Just as soon as the entertainment arrives.’

‘A stripper is it?’ Dave grinned at the thought.

‘Close,’ said Pete, smiling. ‘I’m told it’s definitely going to be revealing.’

Just then a head popped around the corner. It was Jane, Dave’s manageress.

‘You relax and enjoy yourself.’ She smiled at Dave. ‘I can handle anything that crops up. If that’s okay with you, of course?’

Well then, why not?

‘Alright, Jane, I’ll take you up on that. For the rest of tonight, the pub’s yours to run as you see fit.’

She was one of the best business decisions he had ever made. She was more than capable of running this place, and living upstairs in her own little flat within the pub meant she was always around. He’d never had so much free time as he had since she had arrived, and he was looking forward to having even more in the future. More free time meant more time to spend with Gloria. He felt pretty pleased with himself – things were coming together quite nicely.

As I entered the bar, every head turned in my direction and I was a greeted by a chorus of hellos. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dave Burnham scowling at me from behind the bar. I ignored him and made my way over to my friends. There was no one else in the bar tonight, which made it just perfect for what we had planned.

First, I shook hands with the two miserable guys. Then it was kisses on the cheek from Daphne and Jelena, followed by a bear hug from Positive Pete. Finally, Sophia stepped forward.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, placing my hands on her shoulders. This was the very first time we had appeared in front of other people as ‘a couple’ and I didn’t want to put any pressure on her. But I needn’t have worried. Just to prove she was more than happy to be there, she stood on tiptoes to kiss me full on the lips, then moved into my arms for a cuddle.

While all this was going on, Pete asked Dave Burnham to bring the champagne over. He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he carried the tray over, and for a moment I thought he was going to dump the tray and run, but Pete had spotted that too and he was in like a shot, putting an arm around Dave and drawing him into our little crowd. Unable to escape, he started to pour the champagne.

‘So,’ he said to Pete as he started to hand out the champagne. ‘What’s the celebration?’

‘We’re here to celebrate the fact that Alfie is no longer a murder suspect. In fact, Alfie’s got quite a story to tell us all. That’s the entertainment. So come on everyone, take a seat and let’s get on.’

With that, he organised everyone into the armchairs and sofas he had earlier arranged into a small circle, careful to make sure Dave Burnham had his back to the bar, before making a little announcement to start the proceedings.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr Alfie Bowman, your entertainment for this evening.’

Being blessed with an enormous sense of fun, whatever the occasion, and only too happy to join in the atmosphere Pete was creating, Jelena began to clap enthusiastically and Daphne, who seemed to be loving every minute of the evening, quickly joined in. This was no time for levity really, but Jelena and Daphne seemed to have hit it off big-time, and I wasn’t going to spoil that.

It was time for me to tell my story.

Chapter Nineteen

My story began with an evening in this very pub, where I had intervened to save a young lady from some ugly great thug, only to get a pretty bad beating myself outside my own flat. At the time, no one knew who had paid to have me beaten up. Even the guy who had arranged everything didn’t actually know who was behind it or why. But now I had a theory.

I now believed that I had been selected because the unfortunate murder victim, Marie, had been telling people I was a wife-beater.

Now just suppose, I suggested, that someone had fallen in love with my ex-wife Gloria? Let’s call him Mr X. Now suppose this guy believed what Marie was saying and the thought of me beating up the love of his life was just too much, and he thought I should be taught a lesson?

The thing is, the beating hadn’t been quite as bad as it was supposed to be and I had only been in hospital overnight. Mr X didn’t think this was punishment enough. He needed to find a way to make it worse.

But then a happy coincidence occurred. Or at least it was happy for Mr X. It was anything but happy for Marie. She had found out Mr X had organised the beating and that he was having an affair with Gloria. She threatened to reveal all, and so she had to be silenced.

Then Mr X realised he had a golden opportunity to solve two problems in one go if he murdered Marie, but made it look as though I was the murderer.

I was stood centre-stage as it were, facing the group. Dave Burnham was directly in front of me, with the bar behind him. Dave Slater was sat to my right, eyes glued to the bar. Just as I finished talking, Jane appeared behind the bar and gave Slater a thumbs-up.

So far, so good.

‘How exciting. Can you prove any of this?’ asked Daphne.

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But I’m working on it.’

Dave Burnham had been staring at me all the time, a look of total contempt on his face. Now he spoke.

‘Is this one of your stupid novel plots? It’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?’

‘You reckon?’ I said, a lot more calmly than I felt.

‘It’s just a load of bollocks, isn’t it? I mean, what makes you think you’re so special someone would want to get even with you. Sounds a bit conceited to me.’

‘Oh, there’s nothing special about me, Dave. It’s just that Mr X thinks I’m a threat to his relationship with Gloria. But he’s mistaken. You see, he knows that Gloria would have me back tomorrow, but he doesn’t understand that I wouldn’t have her back if she was the last woman on earth. As far as I’m concerned, he can have her and keep her.’

‘I thought you loved her,’ he said. ‘That’s what you used to say.’

‘Yeah. Exactly. Past tense. I used to say that, until I finally understood I couldn’t love someone I could never trust.’

His face was starting to turn an interesting shade of red. ‘But you sent those seven texts to Marie. That must prove something.’

‘Ah. So you know about that,’ I said. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Everybody knows about that. It’s all over town.’

‘Does everybody know there were seven?’

That stopped him. I could see he was struggling to keep control of both his mouth and himself.

In the brief silence that followed, a figure appeared at the bar, beckoning Slater over. As he walked over, Dave Burnham turned to follow his progress. There was a brief murmur of conversation at the bar and then Slater turned back. He nodded at Steve Biddeford, who stood up.

Dave Burnham was standing now too. ‘Who’s that behind my bloody bar? What’s going on?’

‘David Burnham,’ began Slater, ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder-’

‘Arresting me? What are you talking about?’

‘Sorry, Dave,’ I said, ‘Did I forget to introduce you to my friends? Meet Detective Sergeant Slater and Detective Constable Biddeford.’

His face was a real picture. At that moment, the door to the bar opened and two uniformed officers came in. A woman followed them in. It was Gloria.

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘and here comes the star witness.’

‘She can’t prove anything,’ spluttered Burnham. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’

‘She knows she was with you the day the hospital called. That’s why she picked me up. She saw how upset you were that I was alive and kicking.’

He turned to her. ‘Gloria! What about us?’

‘Us?’ she said, aghast. ‘Us? There never was any “us”. It was just about sex. Surely you understood that? You were just a shag, that’s all. I didn’t ask you to beat anyone up, and I certainly didn’t ask you to murder my bloody sister.’

Desperately, Burnham turned to Slater. ‘You can’t prove anything. Not the murder. Not the text messages. Nothing.’

‘With what we’ve found upstairs, Mr Burnham,’ said Slater, ‘I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble proving enough to get a conviction.’

‘Upstairs? You’ve been upstairs? But you can’t do that? You need a search warrant.’

‘Of course we do,’ agreed Slater, clearly enjoying himself. ‘And we have one.’

‘But I haven’t seen it. You never showed it to me.’

‘No, that’s true. But the young lady we all heard you appoint to run the pub earlier was quite happy to accept the search warrant on your behalf, and she was most helpful with showing my officers around.’

Dave Burnham slumped onto his seat, well and truly outwitted and defeated. Then, with an evil grin, he looked up at me.

‘How’s your mate?’ he asked. ‘That interfering old writer twat. Still clinging on to life is he?’

‘Dry Biro?’ I said. ‘What do you know about that?’

‘So you haven’t worked it all out then? Not quite so clever after all, are you?’

‘What did you do? He was just an old man. You didn’t need to hurt him.’

‘He was just another job, that’s all. I took the money and did the job, simple as that. I should have done you over myself instead of trusting it to some local idiot. Then I could have made sure you were in a bloody coma as well.’

‘A job?’ said Slater. ‘What do you mean he was a job? Who paid you?’

‘Now that is for me to know,’ said Burnham. ‘Just in case I need to bargain. I’m sure you understand, officer.’

He winked at Slater then, and I could quite happily have punched him right in the teeth. In fact, I think we all could have.

It was a good half hour before Dave Burnham had been carted off to the police station and the assorted collection of police officers had gone. I had watched with great interest as Detective Sergeant Dave Slater had sought out Jane behind the bar and actually kissed her goodbye. I was quite sure that wasn’t normal police procedure. I made a mental note to ask him how long they had been an item.

During all the comings and goings, Gloria had tried to appeal to my better nature by suggesting that she had known all along I wasn’t a murderer and that maybe now we could try again. She had foolishly tried to do this in front of Sophia. I suppose she thought she could make Sophia uncomfortable. To be honest, at one point Sophia was actually going to move away, but I wanted her to hear what I had to say to Gloria, so I held on to her to keep her close.

I pointed out to Gloria that this had all started because she had allowed Marie to start spouting lies about me. I told her that I had had enough of her lies and her ability to change like the wind if she thought it would be to her advantage. And if she had really believed I wasn’t a murderer, why had she been so keen to accept what Nash had told her?

As for starting again… well, where could I begin with that one? In the end, I told her what I had told Dave Burnham.

‘Gloria, if you were the last woman on earth I still wouldn’t be interested. Don’t you understand? We both know I’d never be able to trust you. I don’t want to live like that. I’m sorry, but you need to accept it and move on. It’s not going to happen.’

Daphne had driven off with a slightly tipsy Positive Pete in the passenger seat, but not without first thanking me for a wonderful evening.

‘I haven’t had so much fun in years,’ she had said. ‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in the final scene of one of those Poirot films on TV. Well, now I know.’

And, d’you know, I couldn’t tell if she knew this was for real, or if she thought it had all been staged as some sort of entertainment. But that’s the wonder of Daphne – you never really knew for sure what she was thinking.

Now I was slowly walking, tired but happy, back in the direction of home; Jelena on one arm, and Sophia on the other. As we walked, I was thinking.

‘You’re thinking about what he said about DB being just another job, aren’t you?’ asked Sophia.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to ignore you, but if he’s telling the truth I’d put my money on Nasty Nash as the one behind it.’

‘Yes. You’re probably right. It seems Inspector Nash has a lot to answer for, but let’s worry about that tomorrow. Right now, I need your full attention.’

With that, she lifted my arm high enough to go around her shoulders and snuggled up close.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

***