ACT III
The Present Day
Re-enter Fred Winter
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I’m telling
you, Mr Winter. That man is evil. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be here
talking to you now. I’m frightened.” Pip Sparrow’s voice shook with an emotion
that Fred Winter did not, for one minute, doubt was genuine. So why, he
wondered, did he not quite believe the girl?
“Did he
actually threaten you?” the detective insisted gently.
Pip shook
her head. “Not exactly, no, but heaven only knows what might have happened if I
hadn’t run off…”
“Not a lot,
with other people in the next room,” Winter murmured dryly.
The girl
blushed, visibly winced, and then appeared to pull herself together. “He didn’t
have to,” she said tearfully, “You don’t always have to hear a threat spoken to
know it’s there, do you?”
Winter
nodded. It was true enough. Years of experience had taught him not to dismiss a
person’s fears as mere imagination simply because they could not be properly
substantiated, leastwise not as far as the strict letter of the law demanded.
“You’re absolutely certain it’s the same man you saw leave the house in
Whitstable and followed here to Canterbury?”
“Absolutely….
You can ask Nina if you don’t believe me…” she said sulkily, and Winter could
tell she was scarcely able to control a rising anger.
“I will,”
he told her, but not unkindly. “What I don’t understand is why the pair of you
followed this man in the first place?
For that matter, what on earth did you think you were playing at by
going back to the house at all? If, as
you say, you thought Max Cutler and the woman ‘Gypsy’ were dead, why didn’t you
just call the police?” Winter asked while, at the same time, increasingly self-conscious
of the fact that that he had been in no rush to inform them of his own
suspicions.
Winter sighed
exasperatedly. It was beginning to look as if the tall balding man had killed
‘Gypsy’ and dumped her body in the shed. But
where was Cutler been while all this was going on, and is he alive or dead?
“Why did you go back to the house?” he repeated.
Pip
shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted candidly. “I suppose we still couldn’t
quite believe our own eyes and wanted to make sure. Then we saw this man come
out of number 22 and, well, he has to be a suspect, doesn’t he? It seemed only natural to follow him. It gave
us the shock of our lives, I can tell you, when we got back to the apartment
and found him there, cool as you please, making himself at home and passing
himself off as a mate of Nina’s brother.”
She uttered
the last words with such distaste that Winter felt bound to say, “You don’t
like Colin Fox?”
Pip gave
another shrug. “I hardly know him, but from what Nina tells me, he’s a waste of
space. Besides, what’s his connection with this weirdo? You tell me that.”
It was
Winter’s turn to give a little shrug. “I only wish I could,” he said with
feeling.
“I’m
frightened,” Pip repeated, “I don’t want to go back there. It’s all right for
Nina, Colin’s her brother and I dare say she’s safe enough. Besides, she can
always turn to her dad if she wants. But I haven’t anyone or anywhere else to
go. I’m telling you, that man wants me dead. He even…”
“Yes?”
Winter prompted, ears pricked.
Pip
hesitated then, “He knew who I was, even said something about being there when
the old house caught fire and my mum and little brother…” She burst into tears,
and Winter put a comforting arm around the trembling shoulders. “It made me
think that, well, maybe those horrible notes weren’t meant for Nina at all.
Maybe they were meant for me. It’s not as if they were addressed to anyone. We
just assumed…” She burst into another flood of tears and gratefully accepted a
large handkerchief.
“You didn’t
recognize him as being an old neighbour?”
Pip shook
her head and blew her nose. “The first time I set eyes on him was seeing him
run away from number 22.”
“Running?”
Winter pounced on the word, “He was running?”
“Like he
couldn’t wait to get shot of the place,” Pip lied glibly.
“You do
realize you’ll have to tell all this to the police?” he told her, “You and Nina
both.”
“But I’m
telling you…” the girl
insisted.
“That isn’t
good enough, I’m afraid. You have important information regarding a crime and
withholding such information is a serious business. Even so, it’s getting late.
I dare say it can wait until morning. The chances are you’ve already put the
wind up our friend Williams. He’ll not be staying at the B&B any more or my
name’s not Fred Winter. No, he’ll keep till morning. In the meantime, I am
taking you to stay with some friends of mine. You’ll be safe there while we
decide how to proceed. Carol’s there too. I know she’ll be glad to see
you.”
“Carol?”
The moist eyes lit up. “She’s okay, Carol.”
“We’ll go
there now and you can call Nina on the way to tell her you’re with me, quite
safe, and there’s nothing for her to worry about. It might be a good idea,” he
added, “not to tell her where we are for the moment, but just say I’ll call her
myself later this evening.”
“You think
she’ll tell Colin Fox and he’ll tell that man Steve Williams,” Pip cried out in
alarm. It was not a question. Nor could Winter deny it was true. So he said
nothing, able to offer no solid reassurance yet anxious to prevent another
tearful outburst.
On arrival
at The Green Man, Stanley, tail wagging furiously, beat everyone else in the
rush to greet Winter and his young companion.
“Why, Pip!
Oh, what a nice surprise! How lovely to see you…” Carol gave the girl a hug and
flung Winter a distrustful, questioning glance that he ignored. After the introductions had been made, all
five settled in the sitting room for a cosy meal of chicken and chips provided
by Sadie, ably assisted by Liam who fussed at her every move. Carol remained
conspicuously seated although, Winter had to admit, redeemed herself by
chatting to young Pip and doing her best to make the girl feel at ease and
welcome. Liam also provided some cans of beer and soft drinks while, knowingly,
passing his mother a large malt whiskey.
“I wouldn’t
mind something stronger myself,” commented Pip, but no one appeared to hear so
she settled for an orange juice rather than risk being seen in anything less
than a favourable light since that might ruin a plan that had been forming
slowly but surely at the back of her mind. Of two things she was sure. Firstly,
she would be safe here. Secondly, being here placed her ideally for the
execution of that same plan, ridding her of Steve Williams once and for all.
A smile lit
the otherwise plain and serious looking face. Adrenalin began to flow faster,
warding off a distinct chill in the marrow. Whatever Steve Williams knew or
thought he knew about her part in the fire or, for that matter, in Ray
Bannister’s death…soon, very soon, it would be of no importance, let alone a
threat. At the same time, she found herself listening, against her will, to a
voice asking, Will it never end? She
gave a little shrug and blinked away a tear, no real idea what was meant by
‘it’. But she recognized the voice and trusted it, far more than she would ever
trust the likes of those human voices assailing her now with crumbs of comfort
and reassurance. What possible use could they be to her, these people, with her
father in prison?
“You look
tired, Pip. Come with me and I’ll show you to your room. I’ve laid out some
clean towels, and you’re welcome to have a bath or take a shower any time.
Tomorrow we’ll see about finding a change of clothes…” Sadie rose and addressed
the girl, smiling broadly.
Pip
started, as if waking from a dream. “Thanks Sadie. I can’t tell you how
grateful I am to all of you for taking me in like this…” looking from one
to the other with a shy, sad smile to which everyone present responded
reassuringly. Only the dog uttered a soft, low, growl from the back of its
throat.
Instantly
silenced by a glare from Winter, accompanied by the nudge of a slipper against
its white belly, Stanley gave a little whimper and went back to sleep.
Once in
bed, Pip’s eyelids closed contentedly. Fred Winter had taken considerable
interest in her explanation as to why Nina had not kept her appointment with
him at the Christchurch Gate. “She was anxious about Colin, you see. You can
imagine how we both felt when we found the other man there too, the very person
we’d seen running away from the scene of a murder! And the way he looked at me,
Mr Winter, it was so scary, I can’t tell you. I was so frightened. I still am…”
At this point the grizzled detective had leaned across and patted her hand
reassuringly.
The ghost
of a smile played about the girl’s lips before she finally succumbed to gentle,
persuasive waves of sleep - and a welcome escapism. She had Fred Winter where
she wanted him, on her side. Their visit to the police in the morning would,
she was certain of it, be a piece of cake. As for Steve Williams, he would soon
be out of the picture altogether if her plan worked. And it will, won’t it? she pleaded mutely for reassurance. But she
was already fast asleep. If her subconscious responded, she remained blissfully
unaware.
………………………………
Pritchard
was livid and Lovell no less so. But each reserved his forthright expression of
it for Winter, treating the girl gently and with considerable sympathy. After
Pip was led away, quietly sobbing, to the canteen, the pair turned on Winter
accusingly.
“You should
have let us know right away,” snapped Lovell. “How could you have just sat on
it, for chrissake?”
“You saw
the state that girl is in,” retorted Winter, “In my professional judgement, she
was in no fit state to talk to you about anything last night.”
“Oh, well,
who am I to argue with your professional judgement?” Pritchard echoed
scathingly.
“That’s
right,” Winter glared daggers at the young sergeant.
“But you’re
retired, man. You’re not a professional any more, you’re …” Lovell blustered,
at a loss for words.
“A
liability,” hissed Pritchard.
“And that’s
all the thanks I get, is it, for giving you a lead on a killer? I might just as
well have “sat” on the information and got on with my own investigation. Yours
isn’t the only time that’s valuable, you know.” Angry but a little abashed all
the same, Winter half rose from his seat.
“Sit down
Fred,” barked Lovell. Winter knew that tone of voice only too well and did as
he was told, albeit muttering a string of barely audible obscenities. “Now,
just you listen to me. In future, you
will share any – but any - information with either DS Pritchard or
myself immediately. Immediately, do you understand? There will be no holding back, no dragging of
feet and no more professional judgements. Do I make myself clear?
“As
crystal,” muttered a seemingly abashed Winter although Lovell wasn’t fooled for
one minute any more than was Mike Pritchard. “Will you bring Williams in?”
“Of
course,” Lovell growled, “although it was not a good idea to go chasing after
him like that. He’ll know we’re on to him now.”
“And he’s
had plenty of time to make himself scarce,” Pritchard added, “He won’t be
dropping in at the B&B in again in a hurry, that’s for sure.”
Winter
began stroking his beard. “He wasn’t staying there then?” he asked with an air
of innocence that fooled no one. “The B&B couldn’t be a front could it? May
I ask for what, exactly?”
“No, you
may not,” snarled Pritchard.
Lovell
hesitated. “It’s run by two sisters, half sisters actually. And, yes, we have
reason to believe that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Whatever’s going on
there, our friend Steve Williams is involved up to his neck. Oh, yes, we’ve had
our eye on chummy for a while.” Winter raised an eyebrow and tugged at his
beard. “Miss Sparrow’s barging in like that will certainly have upset the
applecart, not to mention put the mockers on a bloody good lead,” he finished,
staring stonily across the desk.
“A lead,
you say? May I ask in what sense, a lead?”
Winter persisted.
“I wish I
knew,” murmured Lovell pensively.
“Williams
will be miles away by now,” snapped Pritchard, glaring accusingly at Winter.
“So a young
girl mistook him for her uncle, what’s the big deal?” Winter responded blandly.
“You don’t
honestly believe a pro like Williams would fall for that, do you?” Lovell was
openly disparaging, “Get out of my sight, Fred. Just…get out of my sight. Pritchard will take your statement. WPC
Wright is already taking Miss Sparrow’s even as we speak. You can be sure our
colleagues in the Met will be in touch with Miss Fox before either of you leave
this building. I hope, for both your sakes, that her version of events will
substantiate yours and Miss Sparrow’s,” he added then, for good measure, “I’m
sure it will, practically word for word.”
“That’s all
right then,” Winter smiled and spread his hands in a gesture wide open to
interpretation. “Shall we go Mike?”
“Get him
out of here, Mike!” Lovell shouted across the desk, already tugging open a
drawer, anxious for liquid respite. “And Fred…” Winter started but did not look
round. “Keep a sharp eye on that young lady!” he yelled before the door had
quite closed after the two men.
In spite of
himself, Lovell couldn’t resist a chuckle. Fred Winter might be inclined to do
his own thing in his own way and bugger everyone else…but he was a useful man
to have on your side. Even so, he took an extra long swig before reaching for
the phone…
After
lunch, Pip told Winter that, if he didn’t mind, she wanted to do some shopping.
“I can’t keep borrowing Sadie’s things,” she explained, “Besides, she’s not my
size.”
“Especially
now,” Winter observed with a broad grin. Both laughed and the sound helped
sweep away the remains of a difficult morning at the police station. It had
been less of an ordeal than Pip had expected but an ordeal all the same.
Winter, for his part, had disliked being made to feel like a naughty schoolboy.
He hesitated, recalling that the B&B to which Pip had followed Steve
Williams was nearby. Lovell’s parting words, too, were on his mind. But
Williams would almost certainly already have flown the nest, probably minutes
after Pip had left the B&B. If he hadn’t, more fool him because he’d be in
police custody by now. “I’ll meet you at
the Christchurch Gate in, what, a couple of hours?” he agreed.
Pip nodded.
“You’re welcome to come too, of course…but I think you’ll be bored,” she added
with a grin.
“I think so
too,” Winter was in no doubt. “I’ll wait for you in the café, okay?” Pip nodded
again and began threading her way through the High Street crowds. Winter
frowned as he watched her go, a spring in her step of the kind he had often
observed in women embarking on a shopping spree. Perhaps he should have gone
with her after all? But no harm could come to the girl in Canterbury High
Street, surely? No, he was being over cautious. Besides, there was no point in
alarming the poor child.
He grunted,
surprised that he could still think of Pip Sparrow as a child. She was a young
woman, nearly eighteen. Yet, he mused while making his way to a favourite pub,
there was so much of the child about her still albeit in complete contradiction
to the cool composure she often emanated. For sure, she was a mixed bag of
emotions. Perhaps, Winter found himself wondering as he ordered a pint, this
explained why he could never quite trust or believe her.
Pip hated
shopping, wasted little time buying a few basic items and was careful to drop
the receipts into her shoulder bag. Next, she made her way to the bus station
and did not have to wait long for a bus to Selling. It seemed in no time at all
that she was sitting in the old-fashioned gypsy caravan. “Why here?” she
demanded, “The police will be keeping an eye on it, surely?”
“Why should
they?” countered Steve Williams, “They’ve already been over it with a fine
tooth comb and it’s not as if it’s a murder scene or a crime scene at all for
that matter. No, my sweet, the police have no interest in this heap of junk, I
can assure you, other than putting up a few sticks and some pretty ribbon
around it. Why do you imagine that is? Could it be a hint, do you think?”
“I like it
here,” Pip protested, ignoring his weak attempt at humour and looking around
with genuine admiration. “It has atmosphere…”
“Fine…. If
it’s atmosphere you want, how about we try the bed for size? That’s why we’re
here, after all.”
“Why here?”
Pip repeated.
“Why
not…? Like you said, it has atmosphere.
Some might even say a gypsy caravan is romantic. Besides, it’s handy for me and
well out of anyone’s way for you. You don’t want your fancy London friends
knowing what a murdering little slag you are, do you?”
“So you
like a bit of rough, eh?” Pip began to undress.
“Hey, what
are you doing? It’s me what gets to take your clothes off, savvy? I must say,
you look good enough to eat in that dress,” he drooled, “All it needs is a
school blazer and a cute straw hat to complete the picture.”
Pip gave a
nonchalant shrug. “Come on then, get romantic.” She spread her legs, hands in
the pockets of the candy-striped dress.
Williams
approached, began fumbling with the buttons and slobbering at her neck. He
didn’t notice that one hand was no longer in a pocket but behind her back. Nor
did he feel the razor blade at first, just a graze beneath the ear, now
sweeping down to his throat. He screamed
just once, and even that was cut short by a thick, gurgling sound.
Pip
watched, fascinated, as the eyes turned glassy, bulging like a toad’s. The
mouth opened wider, as if to express surprise. He tried to cling to her but
soon let go and fell in a heap on the floor. A rush of blood drowned any
further attempt at speech, soaking her clothes. His hands tried to clutch at
her ankles. She kicked them free.
The blood
all but hypnotised her; it was everywhere. Kneeling beside Williams, conscious
of her clothes sticking to every inch of flesh, she dipped a finger into the
red pool spreading across the caravan floor and put it to her mouth. It never
occurred to her to feel for a pulse. He would die anyway; it was of no
consequence to her when.
She glanced
at her watch. Reluctantly, she leapt into action.
It was a
party of ramblers who spotted the fire and came to investigate. They found a
young woman, barely that even, no more than a girl, her clothes torn and
covered in blood wandering, dazedly, in a field clutching a shoulder bag.
Behind her, only yards away, raged an inferno that had once been a gypsy caravan.
“You poor,
wee thing!” a woman cried, taking off her coat and hastily wrapping it around
the girl’s trembling body.
“I killed
him,” the distraught girl’s words hung in the hair, crackling and gathering
momentum like the smoke and flames, “He tried to…rape me… and…I…killed him.”
Nor did Pip
Sparrow need to fake a faint that sent her sprawling to the ground.
To be continued on Friday
