CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Whoever it
was came at me from behind,” the plainly embarrassed constable groaned, first
massaging his wrists, and then the back of his head and neck in turn. He was
sitting on the steps of the caravan. “I was watching a flock of geese passing
by,” he added lamely.
“Pritchard
will just love that,” Winter
told him with a knowing grin before calling for an ambulance on his mobile
phone. Only then did he call Pritchard.
“Stay right
where you are,” the sergeant yelled down the phone, “Just you bloody well stay
there, Fred Winter!”
“How are
you feeling?” Winter asked the constable.
“I’ll be
okay. I don’t need an ambulance.”
“There’s
one on its way. That’s a nasty bump on the back of your head. Besides, you’ve
had a shock. You need to get thoroughly checked out.”
“I’ll be
the laughing stock of the station,” muttered PC Brian Shelby, pale face a
picture of misery.
“You’ll survive,”
said Winter cheerfully. “It could have happened to anyone although I wouldn’t
mention the geese to Pritchard if I were you.” he added with a chuckle as he
clambered past the officer to enter the caravan.
“You
shouldn’t be in there…” Shelby began to protest albeit half-heartedly.
“I won’t
touch anything,” Winter called out, “You can’t blame me for wanting a quick
look around. But don’t worry, I won’t tell Pritchard,” he promised with another
chuckle. “Charlie Lovell is a friend of mine, by the way,” he added for good
measure.
Shelby
groaned again, buried his face in his hands, and rocked gently to and fro. If
he had any doubts about Fred Winter, he wasn’t feeling in the least inclined to
act upon them. Besides, he could have been stuck there for hours, but for
Winter’s timely arrival on the scene. He owed the man something, surely?
Intuitively, he already had Winter down for one of the good guys so where was
the harm? At this particular moment in time, his chief concern was DS
Pritchard. “He’ll go ballistic,” Shelby moaned softly.
Once inside
the caravan, Winter hastily pulled on a pair of surgical gloves that he always
carried, more out of habit than for any particular reason, and proceeded with a
lightning search. The ambulance would be arriving at any minute, not to mention
Pritchard. Nor could he rely on young Shelby’s goodwill to last long.
He found
little of interest. A photograph caught his eye. It showed a woman he took to
be ‘Gypsy’ Kate from Liam Brady’s description of her and a younger man Winter
recognized at once as Max Cutler, his expression smug and superficial, much as
he had looked in the photo Annie had lent him. ‘Gypsy’ Kate, though, surprised
him. A tall, big boned woman, she was incredibly good-looking with masses of
black hair tumbling across broad shoulders and a lovely smile. Even so, she had
a shifty look and a glint in the eyes brought to mind that old, telltale saying
about the smile on the face of a tiger.
Pocketing
the snap without a flicker of conscience, Winter had barely opened the top
drawer of a handsomely carved chest when he heard a muffled ringing sound
coming from the rear of the caravan. Further investigation revealed a double
bed covered with a beautiful patchwork quilt. Among untidy pillows, he found
the mobile phone, still ringing, and picked it up, hastily pressing the
receiver key before PC Shelby heard it too. He had already said, “Hello,”
before reading the name on the tiny screen, “Nina, is that you?”
“Max?” the
voice sounded strained, tearful.
“No, this
is Fred Winter. Where are you? Look,
Miss Fox, we need to…” But the phone went dead before he even had time to
finish the sentence. Sitting on the bed, he examined the phone almost absently,
his troubled thoughts with Nina Fox, until it suddenly dawned on him that this
was Max Cutler’s phone.
A shrill
blare of sirens broke into his consciousness. Hurriedly pocketing both phone
and gloves, he rejoined Shelby just as an ambulance was jolting across the
field towards them, Pritchard’s own car and several others in hot pursuit. To
Winter’s surprise and approval, Pritchard did not rant and rave at the young
constable but seemed resigned to what had happened and even displayed some
sympathy. As he and the sergeant watched the ambulance drive off, Winter could
only hope that Shelby would take his advice and not mention the geese.
“You
shouldn’t be here,” snapped Pritchard.
“You told
me to wait for you,” Winter pointed out.
“Don’t box
clever with me, Fred, you know damn well what I mean. You had no right to come
snooping around here in the first place.”
“But it’s a
good thing I did, don’t you think? I’m sure your constable would agree with
me.”
“Have you
been inside?”
“Snooping
around, do you mean? Chance would be a fine thing. By the time I’d released
Shelby, called the ambulance, and then called you…”
“If you say
so,” grunted Pritchard impatiently, disbelief written all over his face. “Why
are you here anyway? What were you expecting to find?”
“Why, a
police presence of course. I was hoping to use my natural charm to get a look
inside.” Winter grinned amiably but Pritchard’s scowl remained unrelenting.
“This is a
murder enquiry, Winter, and none of your damn business so stay out of my way
alright and leave it to the professionals?”
“Are you
calling me an amateur?”
“Believe
me, I’d be calling you a lot worse if it wasn’t for the fact my guv’nor thinks
you’re a damn good cop. Having seen you in action myself, I have to say I’m
inclined to agree.”
“Praise
indeed.” Winter grinned. “Does that mean I get to look inside the caravan?”
“No it
bloody doesn’t!” Pritchard expostulated, “You’re treading on important toes,
Winter, and I don’t mean mine. I dare say Lovell has let on more than he
should, off the record of course, so I imagine you have some idea about what’s
at stake here. ‘Gypsy’ Kate, your friend and hers, Max Cutler…these are very
small fish in a big pond. Believe me, Fred, it’s not one you’d want to fall
into either.”
“I believe
you,” said Winter and meant it. Hadn’t he had dealings enough with the sordid,
twilight world of drug pushers, dealers and their power crazy sources in the
past? These were people who would stop at nothing, certainly not murder, to get
their own way, and that could be anything, from a quick fix of heroin or
whatever to a small fortune in blood money. “I still need to find Max Cutler
though. You wouldn’t want me to let his poor old mum down, would you?”
Pritchard
shrugged. “You have your job to do, and I have mine. So long as our paths don’t
keep crossing in all the wrong bloody places, I see no reason why we can’t both
keep our guv’nors happy.”
Winter,
briefly entertaining the notion of Annie Cutler as his guv’nor, was hard put
not to roar with laughter. However, he suspected Pritchard wouldn’t see the
joke and managed, with some difficulty. to keep a straight face. “I’ll tell you
what, Mike, if I come up with anything likely to be of interest to you, I’ll
let you know, and you can do the same for me. Do we have a deal?”
“By heavens,
Winter, if you come up with anything, anything I should know about,
you’ll let me know as a matter of course or I’ll see you behind bars for
obstructing the course of justice.”
“I’ll take
that as a no then, shall I?”
“Sir?” a
woman from the forensics team that had descended called out to Pritchard before
he could reply.
“Can I go
now?” Winter asked mildly. A near apoplectic DS Pritchard nodded brusquely while
attempting to give the woman in white overalls his devoted attention, Fred
Winter’s barefaced cheek coursing every pulsating vein in his body.
Winter
headed for The Green Man, pulling into the sides of various roads and lanes on
several occasions to try and reach Nina Fox on Max Cutler’s phone, but with no
success. “Damn!” he swore on discovering
that all recent calls but hers had been deleted. Even so, the Directory of
names and numbers might well prove useful at a later date; these included Pip
Sparrow, and interestingly, Colin Fox. Others, Nina and Annie aside, he didn’t
recognize.
He tried
calling Pip, but her phone was evidently switched off and he decided against
leaving a message on her voice mail. There might, after all, come a time when
he would need to deny ever having the phone in his possession. In all
conscience, of course, he should hand the phone over to Pritchard. But he
wasn’t of a mind to, not yet anyhow. Besides, he reasoned to his advantage,
even if ‘Gypsy’ Kate was supplying Cutler with cocaine, this did not
necessarily mean that Cutler was part of Pritchard’s larger picture or even
Lovell’s for that matter. For certain, though, it was part of Fred
Winter’s.
Having been
persuaded, as always, that ends invariably justify means, it was a more relaxed
and cheerful Winter who arrived back at The Green Man to be greeted by a
furious barking and wagging of the tail from Stanley and an unexpected kiss from
Carol. “I was worried about you,” she said almost by way of an apology, “You’ve
been gone ages!” He slipped his arms around her waist and would have returned
the kiss. She pushed him lightly but firmly away. “Don’t get any ideas,” the
violet eyes warned him but they, like her mouth, were rippling with warm,
teasing laughter although no sound emerged.
Lunch had
long since been served but Sadie, upon learning that Winter hadn’t eaten,
wasted no time producing a fine Ploughman’s, comprising French bread, a chunk
of tasty cheddar, a generous portion of her own home-made chutney, several
pickled onions and a side salad. She also produced a jug, no less, of ale
before disappearing into the bar. There was no sign of Liam.
Carol
watched as Winter tucked in with relish. “So, did you get much out of Pritchard
or Charlie Lovell?” she wanted to know.
“Not
really,” Winter hedged between mouthfuls.
“But
enough, I take it, to prevent you from at least phoning to say you wouldn’t be
back for lunch?” But whether or not this
was meant as a question, he chose to ignore it anyway. “You might as well tell
me where you’ve been all this time, Freddy. You know you will in the end
anyway. And don’t say with Lovell because you’d already left when I phoned. Nor
do I imagine that you’d want to spend a minute longer with Pritchard than can
be helped.”
He told her
as much as he had no problem with her knowing. That is, he made no mention of
any major drug trafficking or that he had come into illicit possession of Max
Cutler’s mobile phone. Nor did he mention Nina’s call.
“What do
you think they were looking for, whoever put that poor constable out of
action? He will be alright, won’t he?”
“He’s fine,
no worries there.”
“Thank
goodness. So what did they want?”
“Or who?”
murmured Winter thoughtfully and refilled his glass. “Want some beer?” Carol
shook her head. “This chutney is delicious.”
“That’s not
what you say about mine.”
“I eat it
don’t I?”
“A little
praise now and then goes a long way.”
“So how
have you been getting along with Liam and Sadie in my absence?”
“Don’t
change the subject,” she retorted, but her expression told him all he needed to
know; things were not looking too good on the home front. She sighed deeply and
confided all, as he’d seen she was bursting to from the moment he arrived.
“They’re so happy!” she groaned.
“So? That’s
good, surely?”
“Of course,
it’s wonderful.”
“But…”
“Oh, I know
I’m being a silly cow, but I can’t help it. I feel so…shut out, cut off, not
included.”
“You’re
right, you’re a silly cow,” commented Winter evenly and continued tucking in.
“Liam is
so…well, distant, I can’t reach him any more. It’s so unfair, Freddy, after
everything that’s happened…losing him, finding him again and now…it’s like
losing him all over again. It’s not as if I’m a possessive mother, for heaven’s
sake. Sadie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, even I can see that.
But he’s been through so much, Freddy, and she’s so much older…and a baby at
her age…anything could go wrong, and I couldn’t bear it.”
“You’re just
jealous,” murmured Winter and wiped his mouth with a bright red serviette. But
instead of yelling at him as he’d expected she burst into tears.
“Am I,
Freddy? Am I just jealous or …doesn’t every mother want the best for her
child?”
“If you ask
me, that’s precisely what Liam has, the best of everything. A loving partner, a
baby on the way…and a pub, for crying out loud! Who could ask for more?”
“Oh, you
men, you’re impossible!”
“Try
talking to Sadie then,” he suggested quietly but she was already half way across
the room. The door closed behind her with a determined click that spoke
volumes.
Once left
to his own devices, Winter reached in his pocket for Max Cutler’s phone and
tried calling Nina Fox again, this time with some success.
“Who is
that?” a man’s voice breathed heavily into the detective’s ear. “Max?” the
voice sounded incredulous.
“Is Nina
there?” enquired Winter, dodging the question.
The voice
hesitated then, “Nina? No she’s not. Who wants to know?”
Now it was
Winter’s turn to pause a while before reaching a decision. “It’s Fred Winter
here. Hello? Are you still there?”
At first,
there was no response. Suddenly a woman’s voice, low and earnest, came on the
phone. “Is that you Mr Winter?” Winter growled an affirmative. “Where are you?
“I’m with Carol
at her son’s pub in Herne Bay, Kent. Well, it’s his partner’s actually but…”
“That’s
near Canterbury right?”
“Yes, but…”
“I know
Canterbury. Can you meet me at the cathedral at...shall we say…six o’clock?”
“Nina, I
really think…?”
“I’ll wait
for you at the Christchurch Gate.”
The urgent
whispering stopped and the phone in his hand went dead. Winter stared
confusedly at a black cat strolling across the tiny screen and wondered what he
was supposed to make of it all. He couldn’t be sure it had been Nina’s voice.
Yet he had been certain enough the first time he heard it. And who was her male
companion?
He looked
for Carol to tell her he was driving into Canterbury, but she had gone for a
walk so he left a message with Sadie instead. “Is anything wrong?” Sadie did
not attempt to disguise her concern, “Carol doesn’t seem her old self. You two
haven’t been arguing again have you?”
Winter
spread his hands in mock despair before giving Sadie a hug that both surprised
and pleased her. “Will you keep an eye on Stanley?”
“I don’t
have to. He’s attached himself to Ben and insists on following him everywhere.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.
Ben doesn’t see too well these days. I think he’s quite enjoying having a new
pair of eyes.” Both laughed. They understood
each other well, these two. If Sadie
guessed what was eating Carol, she wasn’t about to voice an opinion unless she
was asked, but she knew it had nothing to do with some petty argument any more
than Winter’s embarrassed apology had much, if anything, to do with the little
white dog. “Will you be back in time for supper?”
“Expect me
when you see me, okay?” Winter’s weary expression broke into a grin.
Sadie waved
him off at the back door, watching as he swung out of the car park and headed
towards Canterbury and felt much like a mother waving her son off to school.
The notion sent her into peals of laughter, interrupted by a hefty kick inside
the womb. “You have got to be premier league striker at the very least,” she
told her unborn child, giggling between clenched teeth as she returned inside.
It did not
take half an hour to reach Canterbury. Even so, Winter was well aware of time
ticking relentlessly away as he struggled to find a place to park. For a while,
he wandered around the bookstores and even bought a copy of Dylan Thomas’s
poems. Later, he found a bench and sat for some time in the leafy Dane John
Gardens. He was in a very reflective
mood. He was concerned about Nina Fox, of course. At the same time he felt guilty about having
space to himself – in particular, being away from the growing, near tangible
sense of estrangement between Liam, Sadie and Carol.
That queer
business at the caravan puzzled him too. It had clearly been searched but not
ransacked. What has the intruders been looking for? And who were they? Kids
looking for drugs possibly, but unlikely or the van would have been ransacked.
So who… and for what, exactly? They must have realised there would be a police
presence, he had expected one himself, so what was so important that made
assaulting a policeman worth the risk…and had they found whatever it was they
were looking for? Somehow, he doubted it.
Time flew,
as it invariably does. Even so, he was waiting at the Christchurch Gate well
within the appointed time.
For a while
he was content to admire the magnificent centuries-old structure and the
relatively new addition of a bronze figure of Christ in the centre. He also
made a point of examining its great wooded doors, so beautifully carved.
Cocking an ear, he even fancied he could make out the footsteps of Chaucer’s
pilgrims passing through at journey’s end. He resented paying for the privilege
of entering the cathedral precincts and resisted on principle. The toll was
necessary, he supposed, for the great building’s upkeep but, all the same, it
did not seem fitting somehow that one should be expected to pay to enter a
house of God. “Come off it, Fred Winter,” he remonstrated with himself, “it’s
not even as if you’re a religious soul!” All the same, he contented himself
with admiring the ancient cathedral’s splendid architecture from a distance.
He checked
his watch and was startled to find that a good twenty minutes had passed.
“Damn!” But he couldn’t have missed her, surely? She’d have spotted him right
away. He looked this way and that,
thought he saw her face amongst a crowd swarming down Burgate and hurried to
meet her. But it was someone else who didn’t, as it happened, resemble Nina in
the least once he got a closer look. He retraced his steps and waited anxiously
at the Gate.
After
nearly two hours, he gave up and went for a coffee. It was stuffy inside the
café so he took off his jacket and was hanging it over the back of a chair when
something fell out of an inside pocket.
He bent down to retrieve it and saw at once that it was the photograph
of ‘Gypsy’ Kate and Max Cutler that he’d taken from the caravan. It had fallen
on its face, however, and what greeted Winter’s eye was a smudged scrawl in red
ink that read: K & M, June 2nd 2004 – thanks for a wonderful day
– B.
Winter
caught his breath. He’d have sworn the style of writing was in the same hand
responsible for the threat written in blood on the notes sent to Nina Fox. So who the devil was B?
But there were more immediate concerns. Where is Nina? Is Max Cutler alive or dead? How does ‘Gypsy’ Kate fit
into all this or was she merely a red herring? He started. Why should he think that about the
woman? He frowned and shook his head. The discovery of her body still haunted
him if only for its having led to his making such a fool of himself. As
for being a red herring...She had, after all, been supplying Cutler with
cocaine by the look of things. But what if that was nothing more than a
distraction, likely as not to lead him up the proverbial garden path? Whatever,
his priority now had to be finding Nina Fox.
A familiar
ringing tone rudely interrupted these random thought processes. At first he
thought it was Cutler’s phone, and then realized, even as he was reaching for
it, that it was his own. “Winter,” he said gruffly.
“Mr Winter,
this is Pip Sparrow. I need your help. Someone wants to kill me and I have good
reason to think it’s the same person who killed Max and almost certainly wants
Nina dead too.”
To be continued on Monday
Note: You can meet Fred Winter and Carol for the first
time in Catching up with Murder by Roger Taber,
Raider International, 2011.
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