Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Where’s my sister, Winter? What’s happened to her? Why isn’t she here? There’s no sign of the Sparrow girl either. I’m worried sick.”

“One question at a time please, Mr Fox, if you don’t mind,” said Winter equably, “I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm.  There’s probably a perfectly good explanation as to why your sister and Miss Sparrow have…”

“Gone missing?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. It’s early days yet.”

“So what would you say, exactly? I’ve had the TV people on my back all morning wanting to know when they can expect her back on the set.” He glanced at a handsome Rolex watch on his wrist. “She was supposed to be there by six, that’s five bloody hours ago. Nina’s career is important to her, Winter. She wouldn’t just take off without telling anyone, not without a damn good reason or if she was in some kind of trouble.”

“So when did you arrive back in the UK?” asked Carol conversationally. In her arms and enjoying a cuddle, Stanley whimpered softly.

“Last night. Nina was supposed to meet me at the airport. When she didn’t show up, I called her mobile number, but there was no reply. Then I called the apartment, but no one was answering so I grabbed a cab and came straight here.”

“And how did you get in?” Winter wanted to know.

Colin Fox looked away, plainly embarrassed. “I was dog tired. I certainly didn’t want to stay the night in a hotel or travel to my own house in Chelmsford. So I … okay, so I broke a window, so what?  There’s no real damage done. I’ve already called a glazier. He’ll be here around noon or so he said. I was exhausted,” he added, trying to avoid Winter’s disapproving frown and looking to Carol for signs of moral support.

Carol nodded, smiled encouragingly. but said nothing, not least because Stanley was starting to fidget and it was all she could do to keep a tight hold. “You can put the dog down if you want,” said Fox, “I’m sure Nina won’t mind…so long as he doesn’t pee on the carpet of course.”

Winter glanced nervously around for any bonsai trees as Carol deposited the little dog on the carpet. Stanley surprised everyone by not scampering here, there and everywhere. Instead, he made a bee-line for Winter only to lie quiet and docile, at his feet, brown eyes fixed firmly on Colin Fox.

“There’s a good boy,” said Fox and even knelt down, stretched out a hand. But Stanley made neither move nor sound, merely cocked his head on one side as if not sure what to make of this young man with floppy, untidy hair. “Can I offer you folks a cup of tea or coffee or something?

“Tell me, Mr Fox,” said Winter, choosing to ignore both the invitation and an eager nod from Carol, “are you in England on business or just taking a holiday?”

“Oh, the usual thing, a bit of both, although, to be honest…” He hesitated.

“That always helps.” Winter nodded encouragement and did his best to sound reassuring. At the same time, he was careful not to meet Carol’s eye. She was always telling him off for being facetious, not to mention cynical. But he’d been a copper all his life, for heaven’s sake. Was it his fault, he’d invariably found honesty to be in short supply?

“I’ve been worried about Nina for a while now,” Colin Fox confided in a low voice. “A few weeks ago, our father contacted her. He walked out on our mother when Nina and I were just kids. We haven’t heard from him for years. Apparently, he called Nina to congratulate her on her TV show.”

“April Showers,” put in Carol.

“That’s the one. He spun her some line about how much he’d missed watching us grow up and how he so much wanted to get back in touch, try and make up some for past mistakes and all that crap.”

“But you’re not convinced?” Winter murmured.

“Are you kidding?  He’s no more interested in Carol than the Man in the Moon. He can smell money and wants some of it for himself, as much as he can get his grubby little hands on.”

“And Nina, how does she feel about her father?”

“My sister can be very naïve sometimes. She takes the view that everyone deserves a second chance. Besides, she misses our mother a lot. She’s vulnerable.”

“And you think your father might…what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I only know I wouldn’t put anything past that man. He treated my mother like shit. Why hasn’t he been in touch with me? I’ll tell you why, because he knows damn well that, given half a chance, I’d wring his neck.”

“Sounds like a good reason for not getting in touch,” Winter commented dryly and wondered why Nina Fox hadn’t seen fit to mention her father to him…or her brother, for that matter? “If you have any reason for believing your father is somehow mixed up with your sister’s…err, disappearance, I need to know.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? The man’s a monster, always has been and always will be. He says what he likes, does what he likes, and to hell with who gets hurt.”

“But would he physically harm her?” Winter insisted.

Fox hesitated. “Physically, I’m not sure. But mentally…that’s how he gets his kicks. How my mother stood it for so long, I’ll never know. Even after he left…” He shrugged. “Scars of that kind never heal.”

“Have you tried contacting Nina on her mobile again?” asked Carol.

“You bet I have. I’ve been calling all night and all morning, but…nothing. Yet she’s expecting me, for chrissake. There’s no way she’d put me though this unless…” Fox visibly seemed to crumble, and then pull himself together, “...unless something…or someone…is preventing her from calling me.”

“In which case, I suggest you call the police,” Winter declared flatly.

Fox looked momentarily taken-aback. “But I thought you were…”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Fox. I’m just a retired detective whom your sister asked to…err…keep an eye on things.”

“Such as…?” Colin Fox enquired brusquely.

Winter chose his words with care. “People in your sister’s line of work, especially women are, as so you rightly said, vulnerable.  They sometimes feel threatened.”

“Someone has been threatening Nina?” Fox was plainly shocked.

“I didn’t say that,” said Winter, continuing to tread carefully, “but you’re right about one thing. Certainly, your sister feels very vulnerable at the moment. She asked me to keep an unofficial eye on things, so to speak.”

“And what have you come up with?”

“Not a lot,” Winter was forced to admit.

“Do you know Max Cutler, Mr Fox?” It was left to Carol to break the uneasy silence that followed

“Call me Colin, please,” he muttered absently, “I’ve never met the man, no. I’ve heard all about him from Nina, of course. I can’t say I like the sound of him one bit.  But she’s potty about the guy as far as I can make out. I gather she’s even trying to get him a part in her show. If she succeeds, that will be that of course…mission accomplished as far as he’s concerned. . Oh, I dare say he’ll find a use for her from time to time. But that’s as far as it goes. That’s as far as it ever goes with Cutler’s sort. Why do you ask?” he looked from Carol to Winter, “Do you think he’s mixed up in all this somehow?”

“Mixed up in all what, exactly?” Winter’s ear’s pricked up at a choice of phrase that struck him as rather odd.

“You tell me,” Colin Fox countered, “Isn’t that what you’re being paid for?”

“No one is paying me for anything  yet,” was Winter’s mild response, “I’m merely an impartial observer, someone on the outside looking in, and trying to make some sense of what I see.”

“And do you make any sense of what you see?”

“Ah!” Winter spread his hands by way of expressing his frustration. “We see what we see, and make sense of what we can,” he murmured cryptically.

“In other words, you haven’t a bloody clue,” Fox retorted.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Winter felt bound to agree, sprung to his feet and held out his hand, Stanley, sniffing anxiously at his trousers. “As soon as I do have a bloody clue, I promise you’ll be among the first to know. Meanwhile, I can only suggest you continue calling your sister’s mobile number. And be sure to leave the landline answering machine on should you go out at any time. Oh, and I really would call the police if I were you.”

“And that’s it?” Fox was incredulous, but automatically accepted the outstretched hand.

“That’s it… for now. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Fox.”

“I wish I could say the same,” muttered Fox, but a broad smile seemed genuine enough as he turned to Carol. “Nina has told me a lot about you Mrs Brady. I understand you’ve been very kind to her since our mother died. I appreciate it, I really do.”

“I’ve not done much,” protested Carol, “just been there for her at the end of a phone and given a spot of moral support here and there.”

“It has meant a lot to her, I can assure you. I hope we meet again soon.” He took her hand, bowed his head and kissed it. Carol found herself blushing. At the same time, she glimpsed out of the corner of an eye that Winter was scowling, and promptly treated Colin Fox to a dazzling smile. Nor was he, for his part, the first to be all but mesmerized by the lovely violet eyes. Neither is he likely to be the last, Winter reflected peevishly.

…………………………………

“I have to tell you Freddy,” Carol wasted no time expressing an opinion, “I don’t quite trust our Mr Fox. Oh, he has a certain charm. But…that awful accent! I mean…why can’t the English leave well alone? But, oh, no, we only have to spend ten minutes in another country and we’re talking an absurd English-ese.  He may have spent some time in the United States but…well, really! As if the damage inflicted on the English language by the yanks isn’t bad enough without the likes of Colin Fox adding insult to injury.”

They were sitting in Winter’s car, parked in a nearby side street, only a short time after leaving Colin Fox.  In spite of Carol’s remarks, Nina’s brother was far from being the main focus of their thoughts. At the same time, neither would have been prepared to admit,  to each other at least,  that they were still pondering the implications of that rude awakening under the duvet hours earlier. “Can you take some time off work?” Winter suddenly asked.

“I expect so. What did you have in mind, a romantic weekend in Paris?”  Her sarcasm was not lost on him, but he chose to ignore it. “I just thought we might drive down to Kent. You can call Liam and Sadie, warn them we’re on our way and…well, it would be nice to share in the celebrations and all that...”

“Not to mention having a nose around Nathan Sparrow’s cottage,” she added, “I wondered when you were going to get around to that.”

“It has to be the next port of call, surely?”

“I agree. But Liam and Sadie have got enough on their plate running a pub and expecting a baby, for heaven’s sake. The last thing they need right now is hassle.”

“Who said anything about hassle?”

“Suppose we find a body there?”

“We might not,” he pointed out.

“And we might find more than one,” she retorted, “Besides, we haven’t been invited. I can’t just pick up the phone and announce we’re on our way.”

“Why can’t you?” Winter demanded and was genuinely surprised.  “He’s your son, for crying out loud. You don’t need an invitation, woman. He’d love to see you, they both would, and you know it.” He paused. “You’re not seriously bothered about this grandma thing are you?”

“You’re a man, Freddy. Men don’t understand how a woman feels about such things. Besides…” Winter waited patiently. “Now he’s with Sadie I’m a poor second in Liam’s life. Oh, that’s how it should be, I know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s happy, and that’s what counts, especially after all he’s been through. But if second isn’t bad enough, soon I’ll be relegated to third place in his affections,” she wailed.

Winter put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Liam adores you. Nothing and no one will ever change that. As for third place, I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. Did no one ever tell you that Grandma’s always the first in line when it comes to babysitting?” He guffawed, and felt her relax, but only slightly.

“I suppose so,” she conceded, “But…”

“But, nothing... You know I’m right. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. You were the same years ago, I remember.  Once you’d let some daft idea into that pretty head of yours, it would be easier to move a mountain than try and shift it.”

Carol pretended not to hear. “Suppose it doesn’t like me? The baby, suppose it doesn’t like me or I don’t like it? You hear about such things. It would just be my bad luck, and then what? I’d see less of my own son than I do already.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Spoken like your average male,” she muttered, but loud enough for him to hear.

“That settles it. We’re going,” Winter declared in a tone guaranteed to raise her hackles. “You need to get this nonsense out of your head once and for all and…”

“You’d love to find a body or two because you’re stuck for clues and that would be as good a start as any,” was Carol’s parting shot as she flung open the door and manoeuvred herself out of the car.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll find my own way home.”

“Carol…” he started to protest but she was already striding down the street, as fast as high heels would permit. Winter sighed, well aware that her bad mood was as much down to what had not happened between them earlier as the mystery surrounding Nina Fox, Pip Sparrow and the dead-or-alive Max Cutler. Even so, he might have a quiet word with Liam some time. If Carol only half believed what she was saying, it didn’t bode well for a Happy Christmas.

He was packed and ready to go when the telephone in the hall rang. “Carol?”

“I’m taking annual leave so you can pick me up whenever you’re ready. But I’m warning you, don’t you dare patronize me over this baby, Freddy Winter, or you and I are finished. And if I find out you’ve breathed so much as a word to Liam, I’ll strangle you with my own bare hands. Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly,” he agreed while wondering, not for the first time, why she had stayed in her job in the Human Resources department of a big supermarket chain. She used to hate it, he recalled vividly. Memories of their affair many years earlier came flooding back. Winter shook his head. It was all so long ago. We’re different people now...aren’t we?  

“Good. Well, I’m ready if you are.”

  “I’m on my way,” Winter assured the crisp voice at the other end of the phone, relieved to be distracted from any pointless pursuit of the past. After bundling Stanley on the back seat, he drove to Camden Town, whistling tunelessly all the way. The little dog rolled over on its side, placed a paw over one ear and slept soundly, stirring only briefly, tail wagging furiously, to greet Carol. She promptly tuned into Radio One and turned up the volume as they headed for Herne Bay, whereupon Stanley wriggled comfortably into the same position and only woke, on cue as always, at journeys end.

“Where is this holiday cottage anyway?” Carol asked, turning down the volume slightly.

“A place called Whitstable. It’s not far from Herne Bay.”

“It’s Whitstable first stop then, I presume.”

He didn’t bother to confirm that she presumed correctly, there was no need. He knew better, too, than to complain when she turned up the volume again, the current pop sensation blasting in his ears. Anything, he decided, was preferable to having Carol berate him for what she saw as a predilection for trouble with a capital ‘T’.  But even if that were true, he put to his alter ego, what of it?  What use is a copper without a nose for trouble?  Resting one hand on the wheel, he gave his nose a good scratch.

They found the cottage easily enough, overlooking the sea front. “Wait here,” Winter told her, trying to sound authoritative.

“Not on your life,” came the answer he’d expected, “I’m coming with you.”

“I need you to stay here, Carol. Who knows what I might find in there? Anything could happen. If it does, I need to know you’ll be on the blower to the police. Besides …” he reminded her, “someone has to look after Stanley.” The little dog, wide awake now, wagged its tail and started to clamber over the seat. Carol scooped him up and kept a firm hand on the makeshift collar.”

“Just be careful, Freddy. I don’t want to be left holding the damn dog, for heaven’s sake.” But a worried expression belied the belligerent tone and she did not turn away when he kissed her on the cheek.

At a front door, once painted yellow and now looking much the worse for wear, Winter pressed his finger on the doorbell and waited. No one came. He tried again; still no response. He then produced a bunch of keys he’d carried for years and tried several until one fitted the lock. An elderly, bearded man watching from the drive of a nearby bungalow caught his eye. He waved. The man waved back and resumed a spot of gardening, satisfied nothing was amiss.

Winter entered, closed the door behind him and called out, “Hello! Is anyone there? Much as he had expected, no one answered.”

Methodically, he searched every room. But if he was half-expecting to find a body, he was disappointed. There were, however, signs that someone had been there and not so long ago either. Someone had recently vacuumed the carpet and washed the kitchen floor. There were indications, too, that parts of the hall carpet had been scrubbed. To remove what kind of stains, he wondered?  Blood had to be a possibility, surely? Yet why tidy up and leave the bed unmade?

Several houseplants had been well looked after. Moreover, he’d have said by at least two people. Mugs, plates, glasses and cutlery on the draining board in the kitchen; semen stains on an unmade double bed; empty wine bottles and wrappers bearing a recent use-by date…tell-tale signs no one could miss.

“So what am I missing?” Winter muttered crossly. He was standing at the kitchen sink, admiring a small but neat garden in full bloom. His eyes strayed from watching a butterfly skim a hydrangea bush to a fat tabby ambling across the roof of a shed. Although there was nothing remotely suspicious about the shed, Winter’s blood ran cold.

He stroked and tugged at his beard and continued to watch the cat until it jumped down into the garden next door. A loud barking sent it scurrying out of sight although no dog appeared.

Minutes later he was peering in the shed’s only window. At first sight, it was a typical garden shed. He could make out a small bench, some tools, piles of sacks and a lawnmower in one corner. A whiff of disinfectant made him screw up his nose. He looked again at the sacks. Something about the way they were stacked struck him as curious. The shed’s other contents were laid out neat and tidy, everything in its place. The sacks, on the other hand, looked as though someone in a hurry to complete the task had flung them on top of each other. At the same time, there was something oddly deliberate about the way they were placed, almost as if they hadn’t been piled up for the sake of piling them up but…to conceal something? 

The detective wasted no time forcing the lock and entering the shed. The smell of disinfectant was even stronger inside. Just as well then, he did not need to follow up his hunch by removing the layers of sacking. A keen eye soon spotted something sticking out from the bottom of the pile. He knelt to take a closer look.

Now he understood the reason for the disinfectant. It was part of a human hand. Moreover, he could have sworn it leapt up at him and began clawing at his eyes, eyes that had seen worse, far worse, in their time.

Winter ran out of the shed and was violently sick on the grass.

To be continued on Friday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Carol? It’s one o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake!”  Winter grumbled as, bleary eyed, he clutched the phone to his ear while peering at the luminous dial of an alarm clock beside the bed.

“I know, Freddy, but it’s important.”

“It had better be,” he started to growl only to succumb to a huge yawn instead.

“It’s Nina, Nina Fox. She’s here with me.”

“What?” He was instantly wide awake.

“She turned up out of the blue about half an hour ago. She’s in a terrible state, Freddy, says I’m the only one she can turn to and just can’t or won’t turn off the waterworks. It’s driving me mad. Besides, you’re not the only one who needs their beauty sleep.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s sobbing her heart out on my sofa with a bottle of brandy for company. I only bought it today and it’s half empty already.”

“You rarely drink brandy,” Winter observed inconsequentially.

“Other people do,” she pointed out, yawning, “Besides, it’s better than scotch for medicinal purposes.”

“What you mean is, you won’t waste our favourite malt on just anyone.” Winter chuckled. Carol laughed if a trifle waspishly. At any rate, it helped ease some of the tension crackling down the line.

“Did she say where she’s been or what the devil she’s been up to?” Winter could barely contain his curiosity.

“She’s told me damn all so far. I just can’t get her to offload, Freddy. God knows, I’ve tried. You’ll have to come over.”

“What, at this hour? I’m sorry Carol, but it will have to wait. I’ll come over first thing. In the meantime, do your best. Get her drunk enough, and hopefully she’ll fall asleep before you know it.”

“By then it could be too late,” Carol protested loudly in the detective’s ear, “She might change her story, and right now I’m inclined to believe her.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t giving anything away?”

“She’s not, except…well…”

“Well, what?” Winter snapped.

“She keeps talking about Max Cutler…”

“Oh? Does she know where he is?”

“I presume so, since she keeps telling me he’s…well…dead.”

“Cutler’s dead, you say?”  Winter couldn’t help wondering why he was not surprised.

“So she keeps telling me, over and over again,” Carol went on, “But that’s it, bugger all else, nothing about how she can be so sure or where’s the body. So get yourself over here right now, Freddy Winter, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

She hung up, but not before a cutting edge to the icy tone had convinced him she meant business.  Carol, Winter admitted while hastily removing his pyjamas, is not a woman to panic easily.  If Nina Fox is proving too much of a handful for the likes of Carol Brady, she must really be in a bad way. So how come, a puzzled Winter kept asking himself, he was experiencing no sense of emergency, no rush of adrenalin?  Had he already convinced himself that Nina Fox was play-acting before he’d even set eyes on the woman. In that case, surely, I am doing her a grave injustice? At the same time, it occurred to him that Carol hadn’t once mentioned calling the police. Could it be she had reached the same conclusion?  Suddenly, he was anxious to find out… more anxious, in fact, than confirming whether or not Max Cutler was dead or alive.

By the time he had driven to Camden Town, however, the bird had flown.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? You said she was swigging brandy like mother’s milk. How the devil can she be gone? Gone where? More to the point I suppose, is how?”

“I heard a car start up and drive off,” replied Carol miserably.

“A taxi…?”

“No. She arrived in her own car, and now’s that’s gone too.”

“She’s driving, in that state? How could you let her be so stupid?”

“I’d been to the loo,” Carol explained tersely, violet eyes flashing danger signals, “How was I to know she’d do a runner? When I came back to the sitting room, she’d disappeared.  It may not have been her car I heard, but…”

“Of course it was her car,” retorted Winter, “Who else’s could it have been at this time of the morning?  Likely as not she’ll cause an accident, maybe kill someone in that condition, the stupid cow. We’ve no choice. We’ll have to call the police now, damn it.”

He had barely grabbed the receiver, however, when the doorbell rang. Hastily replacing the phone in its cradle, he followed Carol to the front door and stood right behind her as she opened it as far as the chain would permit. “Nina?” Carol peered into the darkness.

“No, it’s me, Pip”, a clear but unsteady voice answered.

Soon afterwards, all three were seated in Carol’s small sitting room, the brandy further depleted. “She called me on the mobile, that’s how I knew she was here,” Pip was saying. “She said she’d been drinking and would I collect her and drive her home.”

“You drive?” Winter was mildly surprised.

“I have a provisional licence. I’m having driving lessons and Max usually comes with me to help me get in some practise. Nina’s rarely in the mood, and Max is rarely free during the day. We usually use her car. She hates driving, especially at night. That’s why I didn’t mind, even at this hour, because I can handle the MG pretty well by now so I thought I could drive us both home. I called a cab, and…here I am. So will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Carol muttered.

“Did she say anything about Max Cutler when she called you?” Winter asked.

“No, should she have done?”

Carol opened her mouth to say something but a dark glance from Winter warned her to say nothing about Cutler’s apparent demise. Instead, she returned to the more urgent matter of calling the police. “There’s no way she can drive safely, the state she’s in.”

“You haven’t called them already?” Pip expressed surprised. Both Carol and Winter looked uncomfortable. “Mind you,” she added, “you’d be amazed how well Nina drives even when she’s drunk or as high as a kite, take your pick. That woman has the devil’s own luck.”

“Even for someone who you say hates driving?” Winter felt compelled to ask.

Pip shrugged. “Oh, she’ll take a cab from A to B, but when she feels like taking off to God only knows where, that’s when she takes the car. If she’s in a fit state to drive at the start, you can bet your sweet life she won’t be at the finish. How she hasn’t managed to kill someone before now is beyond me. But it’s like I said, she has the devil’s own luck. It’s part of her charm,” she added on a note of irony that was not lost on her companions.

Winter frowned. Nina Fox had not struck him as an irresponsible person. A drama queen, yes, but someone with more intelligence than to deliberately put her own life or anyone else’s at risk.  At the same time…He sighed and stifled a yawn. Hadn’t he seen more than his fair share of traffic accidents caused by responsible, intelligent people, drunk or whatever?  “It’s not her luck that concerns me,” he muttered as he crossed to the phone, “it’s some other poor bastard’s. Their luck is just as likely to run out if she falls asleep at the wheel or decides a red light should be green.” He began to dial. Then, for the second time, he was interrupted, on this occasion by a zippy ring tone.

Pip Sparrow retrieved her mobile phone from a pocket, glanced at the tiny screen and visibly paled. “Yes?”  There was a long pause then, “I see. Yes, I’ll come over straight away. No, it’s no trouble. Yes. I’m sure, thank you for letting me know.” Then, “Max, wait. How did you know…? Oh, I see, of course. Goodbye.” She stared into space for a few moments as if unaware she was in company then drained the remaining brandy in her glass and looked directly at Winter. “That was Max. He’s at the apartment. Nina’s just got back. According to him she’s hysterical. He says she keeps asking for me.”

“But how could he…” Carol began but was once again restrained from continuing by a meaningful glare from Winter.

“Could I have another brandy please?”

“I don’t approve of under age drinking,” the detective growled, but obliged all the same.

Can you call me a cab? I must get there right away.” Pip accepted another brandy, knocked it back in several long swigs only to splutter all over the carpet. “I’m sorry, I…I’m not myself…I…” She looked suddenly very small and vulnerable. Carol went and gave her a big hug. “Why didn’t she wait for me?” Pip shrugged free of Carol’s arms and looked from one to the other as if expecting a definitive answer. 

Winter quickly dismissed an itch on the side of his nose with a good scratch. “I’ll drive you myself,” he said.

Pip shook her head. “Thank you but I’d rather get a cab if you don’t mind. You’ll only…”

“Get in the way, Freddy,” Carol finished the sentence for her.

Winter yawned. He tired and was in no mood to argue. Besides, it was not inconceivable they were right. He dialled the number of a reputable taxi firm he’d had occasion to use himself, contemplating the girl as he did so. She was plainly distressed and shaking like a leaf.  It had been a perfectly natural question to ask, of course. Why indeed, had Nina Fox chosen to drive herself home, given the state she was in and that she hated driving at night?

“Would you like one of us to come with you?”  Carol asked in a concerned, motherly tone of voice that would have amused Winter in different circumstances.  As it was, he was impressed, suspecting it was only Carol’s steadying influence and oodles of sympathy that kept Pip Sparrow from collapsing on the spot.

The taxi arrived within ten minutes. It took the efforts of both Winter and Carol to assist Pip, her face the colour of chalk, out of the door and into the waiting vehicle. Afraid she would stumble and fall, Winter kept an arm tightly around the girl’s waist. Carol hovered, making reassuring noises. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you?” Winter asked again. “Or I can follow in my own car if you want a little time on your own to collect your thoughts...”

“No, really, thank you. Besides, you’ve been drinking,” she reminded him in a voice that might easily have been Miss Parker’s. Winter resisted a chuckle. His old schoolteacher, too, had a knack of making him feel inches high. “Thank you both, for everything, you’ve been very kind.”

“You’ll call and let us know what happens?” said Carol. Pip merely nodded and climbed into the back seat of the taxi. Winter closed the door behind her and seconds later it sped off into an oppressive gloom, broken only by a single lamppost nearby and a sprinkling of stars.

“So what do you make of that?” Carol wanted to know as soon as they were back indoors.

“I wish I knew,” said Winter, “but I’ll tell you this for nothing. Whoever she took that phone call from, it wasn’t Max Cutler.”

“Hardly, if he’s dead,” Carol agreed tartly, handing him a refill. “Do you think he’s dead? Nina’s certainly convinced he is. If she told me so once, she told me a dozen times. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly sober and reliable at the time. But you don’t make up something like that, do you, even if you’re pissed?”

“I should have gone with Pip,” Winter remonstrated with himself aloud.

“Maybe, but you offered and she refused, end of...” said Carol flatly, “Besides, what could you have done?”

“I’d have found out who called her, for a start,” Winter replied yawning. “It could have been Max Cutler, I suppose. After all, we only have Nina’s word for it that he’s dead. Hardly conclusive, in the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so. Whoever it was, he scared the living daylights out of that poor girl. As if she hasn’t enough problems already without all this cloak and dagger stuff in the middle of the bloody night. Frankly, Freddy, at this precise moment in time I’m well past giving a toss for any of it. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to join me…but don’t get any ideas, I’m not in the mood.”

“You never are,” Winter grumbled. Nevertheless, he accepted the invitation with good grace. It was very late, after all. He followed her to the bedroom, wondered why she hadn’t suggested the spare room and hoped Stanley would be alright on his own back at the house.  I really must do something about that dog. His eyes closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Beside him, Carol lay awake for a while longer, listening to the sound of his breathing and gentle snoring. Could they ever get it together, she and Freddy, she asked herself for the umpteenth time in as many months? Her son Liam had remarked more than once how they were practically an item. Her jumbled thoughts embraced Liam, Sadie, and the baby due on Christmas Day before returning to her original question. But she had fallen asleep before she could bring herself to frame a likely answer.

By the time Winter opened his eyes, the dawn chorus had come and gone and a watery sunshine was filtering through a chink in the curtains. For a few seconds, he was totally disoriented. Then he felt someone stir beside him…and remembered.

“Why, Freddy, I do believe you’re embarrassed,” Carol teased, propping herself up on one elbow while pushing hair wilful strands of hair out the violet eyes with her free hand.

“Not in the least,” Winter lied and forced a broad smile. “Good morning Carol.”

“I don’t know about you, but my head’s swimming.  I must have OD’d on the brandy last night. Why do I touch the stuff?  I don’t even like it much.  Now I can’t remember a bloody thing. I say, Freddy, we didn’t…well, you know…did we?”

“No we did not,” Winter assured her with a disgruntled growl and only saw that she was teasing when she burst into peals of laughter. “Your face, Freddy, it’s a picture, it really is!” She laughed again.

“No one can be expected to look their best first thing in the morning,” Winter mumbled defensively, and then saw the funny side and roared with laughter. “Except you, of course,” he said, taking one small, slim hand in his own bear paw. “You always look stunning.”

“Why, thank you kind sir,” she giggled, “But I look a mess and we both know it.” She giggled again, a light tinkling sound that always reminded him of wind bells that had once hung over the kitchen door when he was a kid.

“You couldn’t look a mess if you tried,” he said more earnestly than he intended and tried to follow it up with something equally complimentary, but every phrase that came to mind struck him as ridiculously cliché.

“Never try and chat up a girl before she’s had time to put a face on.” Carol went into another fit of giggles, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

“You seem to forget, I’ve seen you without a face before,” he was quick to remind her. “There was a time…”

“Centuries ago, Freddy. We’ve both put on a pound or two since then, not to mention the odd laughter line here and there.”  She had stopped giggling and a new twinkle in the lovely violet eyes gave him goose pimples.

He swallowed hard before asking what had been on his mind for ages, “Do you believe in a second time around?”

“That rather depends on the first time, don’t you think?” she countered, a mischievous smile playing around the full, sensual, colourless lips.

He leaned forward. “It’s a memory I’ll always treasure.”

“Me too,” she murmured before he pulled her towards him, wrapped his arms around her and was kissing her like there was no tomorrow.

The heat of her response sent shock waves through Winter’s entire body. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Helen died. Now, here he was, in bed with Carol and wanting to make love more than he had ever wanted it in his life before. Suddenly, it felt like a betrayal. Sex was one thing but this overwhelming desire, need, pleasure, just for being with a woman, this was something else. It was scary. While parts of Winter’s mind and body longed, desperately, to commit him, other parts were urging him to run out of that room, out of the house, and keep running.

Carol must have sensed something of this because she broke away, a hurt expression in the violet eyes that cut him to the quick. He wanted to explain how he felt, but didn’t have the words to explain to his own self-consciousness. So what was the point in trying? “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, “They do say one of the problems of getting older is that you still feel much the same as you did when you were twenty-one. But twenty-one, I’m not any more.” He forced a laugh to which she responded with a weak grin. Neither had a clue what to say.

Suddenly, the lively ringing tone of Winter’s mobile phone shattered the awkward silence like breaking glass.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Do you mind?”

“Yes and no. But answer the damn thing anyway.” She gave a choking little laugh, leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Winter reached for the phone and glanced at the tiny screen, but the number meant nothing to him. “Winter,” he barked.

“Is that Fred Winter?”

Winter frowned, not recognizing the voice. “Yes,” he said slowly, “And who are you?”

“You’re a detective, right?”

“Retired…” Winter murmured cautiously.

“I’m Colin Fox, Nina’s brother. Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

Later, Winter glowered at Carol across the breakfast table, “You never told me Nina Fox has a brother.”

“You never asked,” she replied cheerfully, any tension between them buried under layers of toast and marmalade. “He’s been working abroad anyway, somewhere in the States I think.”

“Well, he’s back now and asking questions. More to the point, he seems to think I have all the answers.”

“And haven’t you?” She laughed lightly although he couldn’t help but notice how the violet eyes strayed in each and every direction but at him. .

“You can ask that after last night’s little fiasco?” He glared.

“More tea…?” He nodded. “Then you’ll have to help yourself. I’m afraid, the waitress is off sick.” But if he heard, he gave no sign. Carol sighed, leaned across the table and refilled his mug from an earthenware teapot. “Can you manage to lift the milk jug yourself?” Again, no response, but she resisted an impulse to pour the milk in his lap. “So where is our Mr Fox now?” she asked between bites on a piece of burnt toast.

“Apparently, he’s at Nina’s apartment.” Winter broke off from his reverie and reached for the milk jug.

“With Nina and Pip…?”

“So I assumed at first. But that’s the strangest thing.”  He looked directly at her. “He claims not to have seen a soul since he arrived there yesterday evening.”

To be continued on Monday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

“You know, Fred, you could be looking at something very nasty here,” said a familiar voice at the other end of the telephone belonging to Arthur Bailey, a source of help in CID that Winter could always rely on.

Winter chuckled. “I could be looking at blue skies and sunshine, Arthur, “but it’s pissing down with rain here. Come on, let’s have it. What have you got for me?”

 “No handwriting match, I’m afraid Bailey went on,” but the notes were definitely not written by the same person who wrote on the handkerchief.”

“Now, that’s interesting,” Winter murmured into the mouthpiece.

“I’ll tell you what’s interesting, Fred.” Bailey paused for effect.  “We have a DNA match. The handwriting on the handkerchief may not be your friend Cutler’s but the blood is definitely his.”

“Really..?” Winter played down his surprise.

“So what’s going on Fred? What fun and games are you playing this time, eh?”

“I only wish I knew,” Winter admitted. “Thanks a lot for that, Arthur. I appreciate the help.”

“Any time, mate, just don’t get yourself in too deep without making it official, okay?” 

Winter chose to ignore the warning. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I need to be, you can be sure of it.”

“And pigs will fly,” came the half-joking response. but both men knew each other well enough to understand the unspoken implication.

“I will, Arthur, I promise,” Winter insisted, “Believe me. At this moment in time, I haven’t a clue what I’m doing or where I’m heading. It’s all such a muddle, I’m not sure I even want to know.”

“Huh! I know you and your muddles, Fred Winter. There’ll be a murder or two in there somewhere or my name’s not Arthur Bailey. Just be careful, do you hear? And the next time you want my help, you can damn well fill me in a bit more too. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like working in the dark.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“True, but that’s not the point. You’re retired, and I’m not paid to cut corners for other people.”

“Ah, but I bet it brightened up your day.” Winter chuckled down the line.

“Yes, well, that’s as maybe,” growled Arthur Bailey before wishing his old friend and colleague a heartfelt, “You take care now,” and replacing the receiver.

Winter went to sit in his favourite armchair and digest Bailey’s news only to find it usurped by Stanley. The little dog cocked its head on one side and wagged its tail but made no attempt to move.  Winter sighed. He really must make time to get rid of the wretched animal once and for all. He scooped it up, deposited it on the floor, sat down and switched on to pensive mode. Stanley lay on his belly, brown eyes fixed on Winter as if intent upon watching the cogwheels of thought turning in the detective’s mind. “The question is, Stanley, if it’s not Max Cutler’s writing on the handkerchief, how did the writer come by the blood? By fair means or by foul, eh?” 

The dog picked up its ears and promptly cocked its head on the other side, tongue lolling as if in sympathy with this new dilemma. “Whoever it was, he or she obviously knew about the notes, too,” Winter continued to speculate, glad of a sounding board even if it was only a dog. He shook his head. What am I doing? I don’t even like dogs. As if to contradict, Stanley  jumped up and quickly settled down in Winter’s lap.

Making no attempt to remove his canine companion, Winter found himself absently stroking it as Pip Sparrow’s name sprung to mind. “But surely not? Why on earth should she and what could she possibly hope to gain?” Even so, he made a mental note to see that young woman again at the earliest possible opportunity. As for the threat itself, the words ’Your turn next’ could mean anything. Nina Fox had taken it to mean revenge for kicking Cutler out, and that may well be the case, but for the fact he hadn’t believed a word of her story. Oh, the pair  had almost certainly quarrelled, but she had been far from straight with him about it.  Years of practice had made him very intuitive. He knew when people were holding something back. Invariably it was something important, and tantamount to lying in his book.

The blood, of course, painted a different picture altogether. If some harm had befallen Max Cutler, the implication was clear and the threat far more serious. Maybe Arthur had a point and he should contact the police? “No, it’s too soon. Not enough to go on, not nearly enough…eh, Stanley?” The dog gave a quiet but plainly affirmative yelp and wagged its tail as if to confirm.

Winter sighed again, deeply. Things were not looking too good when he found himself talking to a bloody dog. “I suppose you’ll want to go for a walk next?” he snorted. Stanley’s pricked up and a long, wet tongue was soon licking Winter’s face. “Oh well, there’s no time like the present I suppose. At least it seems to have stopped raining,” murmured the detective. Resignedly, he scooped the little dog under one arm and went in search of a makeshift collar and lead he’d improvised out of a leather wrist strap and cord dressing gown belt.

Stanley, however, was going to have to wait. Winter had barely left the room when the telephone on the hall table rang shrilly. Startled, the dog jumped free of Winter’s grasp, ran back into the sitting room and leapt back into the armchair as if determined to assert his right to be there. Its ears pricked up as Winter’s voice drifted through from the hall.

“Mr Winter?”

“Yes.” He did not recognize the voice.

“It’s Pip Sparrow here. We met the other evening, at Nina’s party?”

“Of course, Miss Sparrow, how are you?”

“Frankly, Mr Winter, I’m worried about Nina. She was sent home from filming yesterday for fluffing her lines, not just now and again but all the time. They told her to take a couple of days off to rest. April Showers has a heavy schedule, I know, but it’s not rest she needs its …well, reassurance I suppose. Now she’s disappeared, gone off without a word. It’s not like her, Mr Winter. She always tells me where she’s going because she knows I worry. I don’t suppose you could come over, could you? Or I can come to you if it’s more convenient. I hate to ask, but quite honestly I can’t think of anyone else. I have no one else, you see, except Nina, now that daddy’s…” Her voice faltered, “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.”

“I’ll be right there,” Winter promised, “and you’re not to worry about a thing. I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation. How long is it since she disappeared?”

“Her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

Is that all? he though, but assured her, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you so much,” said the low, tremulous voice.

“No problem,” he was saying even as a sharp click told him that Pip Sparrow had already hung up. He returned to the sitting room. “You can come with me in the car so long as you behave yourself or you can stay in the kitchen,” he told Stanley.

Stanley immediately jumped down and ran to the front door as if understanding every word.

………………………………

“I can’t thank you enough for coming, Mr Winter, I’ve been worried sick.” Pip smiled at Stanley and patted the little dog’s head before showing them into the spacious through-lounge. The entire apartment was open plan, on two floors and furnished in a manner that Winter would have described as ‘contemporary’ for want of a better word. It was not particularly to his taste but he had to admit the overall effect was striking without being pretentious. His glance swung, without conscious prompting, to the same painting on the wall that had made such an impression during his last visit. Again, its resemblance to the child’s painting struck him as uncanny. One has to be a natural progression from the other, surely?

Pip followed his gaze. “It’s a sure conversation starter, I’ll say that much for it,” she commented dryly.  “It was present to Max from Billy Pike. Billy’s always had a soft spot for Max. The Pikes were once neighbours of mine…” she added, her voice dropping to almost a whisper and appeared to become slightly confused before changing the subject. “Do sit down Mr Winter. The dog will be alright, won’t it?”

Winter nodded reassuringly although Stanley growled as if offended by the very suggestion of any misbehaviour. Winter, though, recalling the incident with Carol Brady’s bonsai tree, was careful to keep a firm hold on the animal. Stanley remained passive enough, but the detective wasn’t taking any chances. “Now, Miss Sparrow…”

“Call me Pip, please.”

“And I’m Fred.”

“Yes, Mr Winter.”

Winter tried again. “Have you any idea at all where Miss Fox may have gone?”

“I’ve called everyone I can think of she might be staying with, but no one’s seen her. It’s so unlike her, Mr Winter. She’d have called me by now if…” The voice dropped to a whisper again, but Winter could not help noticing that her surprisingly poised demeanour hadn’t faltered for a second. “Could something have happened to her? Should I call the police? I thought about it, of course, but decided it was too soon so I called you instead.” An audible tremor in the voice suggested tears were not far away, yet the wide eyes fixed attentively upon him and wandering only occasionally to the dog on his lap, displayed no unnatural brightness.

It occurred to Winter that, in all probability, the poor kid had no tears left to shed after all she’d been through. “Does she have a favourite place where she might go to be alone?” he probed gently. “Most of us do,” he added without thinking.

“Nina hates being alone. That’s why she invited me to move in. Oh, it’s for my father’s sake too, of course, although…” Winter raised an eyebrow. “I’m not absolutely sure he likes me being here, but...” Pip shrugged, “where else would I go?”

“Do you visit your father?”

“Oh, yes, every week. It’s what I live for, Mr Winter, seeing him and knowing that some day we’ll be together again. In the meantime…” She gave another little shrug, “…life goes on. But to answer your question, no, I can’t think of either where or why Nina might want to be on her own.”

“We all need our own space sometimes,” Winter persisted.

“Not Nina. She thrives on attention. Oh, but I don’t mean that nastily. You mustn’t think that. It’s just that Nina’s…well, Nina. It’s how she is. Just as well, I suppose, since everyone adores her.”

“Not everyone,” Winter murmured.

“Oh, I see, you mean those letters. I was speaking generally, of course.”

”Of course...” Winter spread his hands in acknowledgment, at which Stanley uttered a low, fierce growl.

Pip looked startled.

No, she’s more than startled. What is she afraid of?  Not Stanley, surely?  Winter began to toy with a curious contradiction. Instinct told him that Pip Sparrow was a highly strung young woman, yet her demeanour conveyed the very opposite. Moreover, her strained expression struck a distant chord in his memory…but so distant that he paid it little attention. He hastily apologized and wasted no time reprimanding Stanley. “Be quiet or you can go and wait in the car,” he warned the little dog. Stanley instantly quietened and flattened his ears as if disassociating himself from what was going on around him.  Winter, for his own part, both noted and couldn’t help wondering why the dog’s tail had, for once, ceased to wag. So the damn dog’s not wagging its tail, so what?

“He doesn’t like me,” Pip declared with a tight smile. .

“Nonsense,” Winter protested, glad of an excuse to shift a mounting irritation with himself on to the little dog, “he’s just sulking because I promised him to take him for a walk, but we came straight here instead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You have no idea at all where Miss Fox might be?” he repeated.

“None, unless…” Winter raised an eyebrow. “Well, it did occur to me that she may have heard from Max and is with him. There was a phone call on the landline yesterday afternoon. When I asked her who it was, she just said it was a wrong number.”

“And you think she was lying?”

“It could have been Max,” she pointed out, “Let’s face it, she’s certainly keen to see him, for whatever reason. It would also account for her not coming home last night if she’s with him.”

“Without telling you…?”

“We’re close,” she frowned, “but no one tells anyone everything, do they? Later, I tried redial, but there was no reply. So I dialled 1471 for the number and I’ve called it a few times since, but I only ever get a ringing tone.”

“I see,” said Winter, who didn’t ‘see’ a damn thing despite tugging pensively on his beard before asking, “May I have the number?”

“Yes, of course.” Pip rose and crossed to the telephone on a small table under the stairs, tore a strip of paper from a notepad, returned briskly and handed it to him. “In case you’re wondering...No, I don’t recognize the number,” she said and sat down again. She avoided looking him straight in the eye as she spoke. Winter was under no illusion that she was lying. Why lie about something like that?  He guessed she was being protective, but of whom and why?  What is it she isn’t telling me?

Keeping his eyes on the number written on the piece of paper he asked her, “Is there any place you can think of that Nina and Max would go, to get away from the prying eyes of the media, for example?” He looked directly up at her, “All lovers have their own ‘special’ place, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know,” was the crisp, immediate response, “They have favourite places just as we all do, I suppose, but nowhere I haven’t thought of and tried already, I’m sure.”

“Think again, and think hard,” Winter growled. A long pause followed during which the detective perceived that Pip appeared increasingly uncomfortable.

 “I suppose…” she began hesitantly and then, “But, no, they wouldn’t go there again.”

“Go where?” Winter demanded in a tone that brooked no further prevarication.

“There’s a cottage on the Kent coast that belongs to my father. Nina has a key. She never mentions it, but she and Max go there sometimes and I know he’s been there on his own because…well, he told me.  I wasn’t too pleased if you must know. Oh, they’d often go away for the weekend, but until then I had no idea they were using the cottage.”

“And you never thought to ask?”

“It was none of my business. I could always contact Nina on her mobile. Besides, I always look forward to having this place to myself for a bit. Unlike Nina, I do appreciate my own space,” she added smiling. Winter, though, was in no doubt that she was being less than frank with him.

“You don’t use the cottage yourself?”

Pip shook her head. “It has too many memories for me. We used to go there for family holidays, you see, when mummy and my brother Johnny were alive. In the good old days, before the fire,” she added, again close to tears, but likewise in full control of her emotions. Winter could not decide whether to be filled with admiration or pity for the girl. At the same time, a nagging suspicion that she was, at the very least, being economical with the truth did not go away.

“Can you give me the address?”

“Yes, of course. But I suspect you’ll be on a wild goose chase if you go down there.”

“Oh?”

“According to Max they were almost caught once by some nosy reporter from the local rag.”

“Caught?”

“They use it whenever they want to snort cocaine, although I’m sure that’s not all they get up to...”  She smiled again, a curiously unflattering smile. “Nina would never dare try it by herself, but Max is practically an addict. He doesn’t just snort the stuff either. I once found a needle in the bathroom after he’d been in there a while.” She paused, as if expecting Winter to pass some comment or at least express surprise. The detective purposefully did neither. He had long since discovered that not doing or saying what was clearly expected invariably threw the other person and could well make them drop their guard.

“Cutler has a key to the cottage too?” was all Winter said.

“I dare say, but…” She gave another irksome shrug, “who needs a key?”

“You and Max seem to be on good terms,” Winter observed, taking care to keep his tone light and manner amiable enough.

“He chats sometimes. I listen.”

Winter took his time digesting the fact that Max Cutler might be a cocaine addict, possibly Nina Fox too. Again, he wasn’t sure whether to admire the way Pip Sparrow appeared to take this in her stride or pity her inability to take a wider view. “It doesn’t bother you at all, the cocaine?”

“It’s none of my business. If a few idiots want to kill themselves, that’s their choice. Drugs, smoking, alcohol, they’re all killers. But you’re a copper so you don’t need me to tell you that. Besides, it’s a free country. People can take it or leave it.”

Her matter-of-factness so astonished Winter that it left his mouth feeling parched and he’d have welcomed a stiff drink. Instead, he asked her, “What did you do with the needle, the one you found in the bathroom?”

She seemed slightly flustered by the question, but not for long. “I threw it away,” she replied coolly. “I didn’t want to embarrass Max by confronting him with it.” Or Nina, especially Nina, Winter mused, but said nothing. “Besides, like I said, it’s really none of my business.”

For all the air of innocence and vulnerability about Pip Sparrow that had struck him at their first encounter, Winter now felt privy to an entirely different view. This young woman was as hard as nails. Even so, after carefully weighing one against the other, he finally settled for admiration over pity. How else, he had to concede, could the poor girl have been expected to survive the traumas of her not-so-distant past, not to mention a present whose advantages were mixed, to say the least?  We all, he had to acknowledge, must find a way to protect ourselves in a world that, on the whole, affords us precious little protection from ourselves. At the same time as he reached this conclusion, however, he continued to wonder what it was exactly Pip Sparrow wasn’t letting on.

 Why is it, the detective pondered irritably, that so few people can relate being economical with the truth to lying through their teeth?

 To be continued on Friday