CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“How
can anyone be expected to work in a bloody fog?” Winter yelled at the little
white dog that continued to doze in the detective’s favourite armchair,
seemingly unperturbed but for partially opening one eye and promptly closing it
again. “Everything is a muddle, a complete and utter muddle! Muddle, fog, and
not a clue in sight to get a real grip on! It’s too much. Am I a copper or am I
a copper? Or I am I past it...?” This
final, sobering thought propelled him to the drinks cabinet where he poured a
generous glass of his favourite malt whiskey.
Winter
held the glass up the light admiringly before releasing a long, heavy sigh. “I
dare say muddle and fog is all I deserve for knocking back scotches in the
middle of the bloody day. It’s not as if I even have anyone to enjoy them
with!” he grumbled, but Stanley barely deigned to stir. He took a long sip and
headed, swaying slightly, to the armchair whose canine occupant was suddenly wide
awake. “That’s my chair,” Winter fumed, “...so you can damn well push off and
find your own spot!” he yelled. At
first, Stanley tried looking forlorn before finally giving up and jumping to
the floor, performing an adroit belly flop on a rug in front of the fireplace
as he did so.
Winter
sank into the armchair, heady with a sense of victory for having got his own
way with the wretched animal. He really must see about getting rid of it. “I
hate dogs!” he yelled at the top of his voice. Stanley responded by sitting up
on his haunches, cocking his head on one side and fixing the detective with a
look that plainly told Winter, For
goodness sake, pull yourself together. It’s not my fault you’re clueless and
stuck in a fog. As for muddle, you’ll find yourself a sight worse one of those
if you insist on drinking yourself silly.
The
detective glared at the dog. “What do you know about it, eh? Bugger all, that’s
what. Well, we’re both in the same boat
there. I mean, what DO we know, eh? We know that Max Cutler has gone missing.
Why? Well, we know he had a blazing row with Nina Fox and she kicked him out.
Mind, you, “he wagged a finger at the now attentive animal, “we’re not sure what
they rowed about. We know that Cutler went to Whitstable. If Nina and Pip are
to be believed, he was, at some stage, in the cottage with ‘Gypsy’ Kate. If we
take Pip’s word for it Max was alive when they left. We can probably safely
assume he’d made himself scarce by the time our friend Williams appeared on the
scene. The question is, was ‘Gypsy’ already dead by that time - which means Max
killed her - or did Williams kill her?
It’s all very well for Lovell to say forensics point to Williams being
the killer. but maybe if they knew about Max…Mind you, given his curriculum
vitae, Williams seems the more likely candidate. Agreed?”
The
little dog uttered an encouraging “Woof” and performed another belly flop while
continuing to fix both brown eyes on his recently adopted master.
“Now,
we know that Max went to the caravan,” Winter continued, glad of an audience.
“Why? To collect something, steal something maybe…? Whatever, we need to find
out if he had anything out of the ordinary on him when Cessy Pearce drove him
back to the B&B. She didn’t mention anything. On the other hand, I never
asked. Even so, she should have mentioned it. So why didn’t she? That has to be
our next port of call, right? We need to pay the Misses Pearce another visit. I
have a feeling in my water, those biddies know more than their letting on. Why
do people keep telling us porky pies, eh?
Nina Fox, the Sparrow girl …and I dare say Lovell and Pritchard are
holding plenty back too. It’s funny about the Sparrow girl. Oh, she’s a nice enough kid and you have to
feel sorry for her. But there’s too many coincidences there if you ask me…too
many by half.”
A
ringing sound began vibrating inside a trousers pocket. He let the mobile
ring. After a long pause, the landline
phone started ringing. Stanley let rip with a barking that pounded at Winter’s
eardrums. “Ignore it,” he told the dog, but the barking did not let up. “All
right, all right,” he muttered and went to answer it, the little dog at his
heels no longer making a sound. “Hello, Fred Winter speaking.”
“Hello,
how nice to hear your voice. It’s Audrey here, Audrey Ellis.”
“Why,
Audrey, how nice!” Winter exclaimed with warmth, at the same time reflecting
guiltily that he hadn’t visited her in ages. She had helped him out in the past
and he had a genuine fondness for the old girl. “How are you?”
“Oh,
you know, ticking along. I just had to call. I’ve had a letter from some old
friends of mine in Canterbury, Cessy and Margaret Pearce. They mentioned seeing
you and I thought to myself, Audrey, Fred’s on a case. Then I read about that
poor girl and the narrow escape she had. You will drop by and tell me all about
it soon, won’t you?”
“I
will indeed,” Winter promised. “Did your friends happen to say anything about
why I’d called on them?”
“Not
a lot. The letter was from Cessy, she popped it in with a birthday card.”
“Oh.
A belated Happy Birthday,” he enthused, feeling guiltier than ever for
neglecting this delightful old lady who had been of invaluable assistance on a
previous case.
“Thank
you. Mind you, I sometimes think birthdays are best forgotten at my age.” A
giggle down the line could have belonged to a schoolgirl. “Cessy, Margaret and
I all went to school together, you know. That was years ago, of course. I had a
crush on their brother Cedric. Peter, my late husband, was a friend of theirs
too and never stopped teasing me about it.”
“The
Pearce ladies have a brother?” Winter was curious.
“He
lives in London now, has done for years. He’s what I think they call a
something-in-the-city person and quite successful I believe. That’s why I’m
calling really. I was wondering whether your enquiries might possibly involve
your calling on Cedric? If so, well,
perhaps you’d remember me to him? We’ve had no contact for donkey’s years of
course, but he may still remember me.”
“How
could he forget?” Winter enthused gallantly and was rewarded with another
giggle. “Do you have an address?”
“Only
a very old one, I’m afraid. But I can give it you if you like?”
“Why
not ask the sisters if he’s still there?”
“Oh,
I couldn’t do that. They might get the wrong idea and think I’ve been carrying
a torch for him or something. I’m curious, yes, but it’s nothing like that. No
one could ever replace my Peter. Oh, no, I wouldn’t want Cessy or Margaret to
know I’ve even been thinking about Cedric. Now, I have the address here,
a telephone number too. And I have you down as one of those organized people
that will always have a pen by the phone, am I right?”
It
so happened that for once a biro lay on the telephone table where Carol had
left it on her last visit. He copied an address in Islington and a telephone
number on to the back of an old envelope as she spoke. He would have asked why
she didn’t telephone him herself if it hadn’t dawned on him that, to Audrey
Ellis’s way of thinking, it would probably seem tantamount to flirting. “I’ll
make a point of going to see him and, when I do, I’ll give him your love,” he
assured her.
“Oh,
no, that wouldn’t do at all. Just remember me to him, will you?”
“I
certainly will…” he assured her and continued to chat for a while longer until
Audrey Ellis bade him a fond goodbye.
Winter
replaced the receiver and looked down at Stanley, tongue lolling and white head
cocked on one side expectantly. “Well, what do you know? Our biddies Pearce have
a brother. It can’t do any harm to look the old codger up, I suppose.”
“Woof!”
“Okay,
okay, you win. Now I’m up, we might as well go for a walk. Go and get your lead
then, I’m not your bloody slave.”
“Woof!”
Stanley ran into the kitchen and returned with the makeshift lead in his mouth.
The
fresh air hit Winter with the force of an arctic gale. After staggering along
for a while, content to let Stanley ferret here, sniff there, diving off after
a fly whenever the whim took him, the detective finally cleared his head and
reassumed some semblance of control. “Heel boy!” he commanded, jerking on the
dog’s lead to prove who was in charge. Stanley merely turned his head and
tossed Winter a withering glance before continuing to follow his nose wherever
it might take him.
Winter
began considering whether or not to ask Carol to accompany him to see Cedric
Pearce. What on earth for? He could
almost hear her objection, and decided against. Besides, Carol had a nose for blind
alleys, and he was in no mood for the inevitable ‘I told you so’ look’. “I
can’t let Audrey Ellis down,” he told the dog, now cocking its leg up a
lamppost, “She’s such a sweetie, and who knows? Cedric might be able to shed
some light, although on what exactly is anyone’s guess.”
Task
completed, Stanley proceeded on his way, trusting that Winter would have the
good sense to keep up.
Winter
slept well that night. The following morning, he devoured a bowl of cornflakes
with relish before calling the number Audrey Ellis had given him. He let it
ring for a while and was about to hang up when a voice called cheerily down the
line.
“Hello?”
“Is
that Cedric Pearce,” asked Winter cautiously. The voice sounded like that of a
much younger man.
“Good
lord, no,” the voice boomed good-naturedly, “Dear old Cedric hasn’t lived here
for years. He has a place in Edgware
now.”
“You
don’t have an address by any chance, do you? I’m an old friend and I’d love to
get back in touch.”
“Sure,
can do. Hold on a mo, won’t be a jiffy.” After an interminable pause, the voice
was crackling away into Winter’s ear again. “Got a pen?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
The voice gave Winter an address in Burnt Oak and a telephone number. “He’s a
bit deaf these days so give him plenty of time to get to the phone, okay?”
“I
will.”
“Oh,
and tell him Max sends lots of love.”
“I
will…” Winter had barely got the words out when the name registered. “Max?” he
yelled down the line. But all Winter heard was a sharp click as the line went
dead.
A
subdued, not to say gobsmacked Winter continued to stare at the telephone.
“Shit!” he swore aloud before hurling a string of obscenities, not intended for
the fainthearted, at the drab, cream coloured plastic object with its fatuous
dial. With mounting impatience, he stabbed at the keys with one finger.
“Hello?”
a familiar voice finally answered.
“Audrey,
it’s Fred Winter again. Sorry to bother you again and all that…”
“No
bother at all. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, Fred. What can I do for
you?”
“I
rang the number you gave me and a young man by the name of Max answered. The
name doesn’t ring any bells, does it?”
“That
would be Annie Cutler’s son, Max.”
Winter
swore again, but silently this time. “So what’s the connection?”
“Connection…?
Oh, yes, I see. Well, years ago, long before Margaret had her accident and was
stuck in that wheelchair of hers, poor dear, she went to Art College in London.
She’s very talented you know, Margaret. You must ask her to show you her
paintings some time.”
“Yes,
yes, but where does Max Cutler fit in the picture?”
“Picture,
what picture? Oh, I see what you mean. Very droll,” she tittered, and Winter
forced himself to stay calm. “Max Cutler, Audrey, what has Max Cutler to do
with the Pearce sisters?”
“Well,
Margaret met Annie Bowles, as she was then before she married that awful Cutler
man, at the same college. They became such good friends that, when Max was
born, Annie asked Margaret to be godmother.”
“Margaret
Pearce is Max Cutler’s godmother?” Winter was dumbfounded. Clearly, the sisters
had put on an act for his benefit but… why? Why bother to even mention that Max
had been staying there at all for that matter? It made no sense, no sense at
all.
“Oh,
I remember now. Cedric moved. Margaret let him stay there, you see…” Winter
dragged his mind back to paying some attention to Audrey Ellis twittering on in
his ear. “I can see it clearly now I have my glasses on. I’ve crossed out
Margaret and put Cedric…”
“I
don’t understand,” Winter had to confess.
“Oh,
well, you see, Margaret had a little windfall years ago. She used some of it to
buy the flat while she was studying and later working in London. After she returned to Canterbury and Cedric
moved to London, I suppose it was only natural that Cedric should take on the
flat. As far as I know, it still belongs to Margaret. She must have said Max
could stay there. How stupid of me to have given you that address. It must be a
good ten years since Cedric moved away. Margaret lets the flat out from time to
time, I believe. Can you blame her? It
must fetch a tidy sum at London prices. Another dear friend of mine lets a one
bedroom flat in Balham for £200 per week. Two hundred pounds, can you believe?
Now, I’m sure I have another address for Cedric somewhere…”
“I
have it Audrey. Max gave it to me.”
“Oh,
that’s all right then. Now, you will remember me to Cedric, won’t you?”
“I
will and thank you, Audrey, you’ve been a great help.”
“Have
I? Oh, well, that’s nice. I’m so sorry I gave you that old address. I really
mustn’t keep mislaying my glasses. It’s bad enough not being able to hear too
well these days. Never mind, I dare say the good Lord sets all these things to
try us…
“I
dare say,” Winter hastily agreed, “Bye Audrey, take care…” replacing the
receiver even before she had a chance to reply in kind.
“Woof!”
“You’ll
have to make do with a run around the garden,” he told the little white dog,
“and don’t be long about it. We’re off to Islington…” He opened the back door.
The dog ran outside, tail wagging, while keeping half an eye on the back door
to make sure it remained open. It was as if the animal sensed something was
afoot and had no intention of being left out in the cold.
Winter
telephoned Carol and relayed his news. “Islington’s practically your neck of
the woods so I’ll pick you up in an hour or so. I’ll call you on the mobile
when I get to Camden.”
“How
about, would you like to come with me Carol?”
Winter
sighed. “Would you like to come with me Carol?”
“Of
course I’m coming with you. I’m as anxious as you to meet the elusive Mr
Cutler. Bloody weird about the biddies Pearce, though, eh?”
“I’ll
say!” Winter exclaimed a shade bitterly. Why
couldn’t the Pearce sisters have trusted me? Unless…maybe they genuinely wanted
to help Cutler but someone had put the wind up them so they dared not say too
much? “Pritchard…!” Carol heard him yell seconds before he hung up.
Later,
outside the house in Islington after ringing the doorbell non-stop for several
minutes, Winter experienced an all too familiar sinking feeling. “I must have
scared him off. He probably realized his mistake as soon as he let slip the
name, Max. Damn and blast it!”
“He
may have gone shopping?” Carol suggested doubtfully.
“You
don’t believe that any more than I do,” Winter growled.
“Well,
no,” Carol admitted, “But even if the bird has flown, that doesn’t mean we
can’t have a good look around. You do have those famous skeleton keys of yours
on you, I take it?”
“I
do indeed.” Winter cheered up somewhat.
“So
get the bloody door open and let’s see if we can’t rustle up a few clues as to
where our bird is likely to have flown next.
It mightn’t be a bad idea to have another word with the biddies Pearce
either,” she added dryly. “I still can’t believe how two old ladies could tell
such barefaced fibs.”
Winter
began trying one key after another. “I have a gut feeling that Cessy may have
been telling the truth,” he muttered, “Margaret, on the other hand…well, she’s
something else altogether. I sensed
something at the time, but Cessy sort of took over and I didn’t pay much
attention to Margaret, apart from…”
“Her
wheelchair,” said Carol quietly, “Awful isn’t it, the way we tend to see the
wheelchair and not the person in it? On
this occasion, though, it looks as though that’s exactly what she was relying
on. Good for her, I say. Disabled people deserve their share of turning tables
on the likes of you and me. Let that be a warning to you, Freddy…woods and
trees and all that.”
“Whose
side are you on?” he demanded gruffly, at the same time flashing a broad grin
that told her he was in full agreement. “Eureka!”
The
front door swung open.
It
didn’t take them long, however, to confirm their suspicions. Everything about
every room pointed to the same conclusion. Max Cutler had left in a hurry and
wasn’t planning an imminent return.
To be continued on Friday
