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?
