Catching Up With Murder - Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Mr Winter, I presume?” enquired the stranger standing ill at ease at Winter’s front door, an earring in the shape of a cross dangling from one ear. 
     Winter nodded, thoroughly taken aback.  Carol had been kept in hospital several days due to some problem with her blood pressure but it had been resolved and he was due to collect her later that afternoon. He had only just returned from the shops and been stuffing the fridge when the doorbell rang. Seconds later, he found himself face to face with the young man in the photograph.

     “I’m Harry Smith. Sadie Chapman said you wanted to see me. Well, here I am so take a good look.”

“You had better come in.” Harry hung back. “You haven’t come all this way just to stand and chat on my doorstep, surely?” He waved Harry inside and showed his reluctant guest into the kitchen. “What can I get you?  There’s tea, coffee, fruit juice or maybe something a little stronger?”

“Tea please,” then, “Have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

“I dare say I can rustle you up a bacon butty or two. How does that sound?”

“Sounds wicked!” Harry sat down and made himself at home. 

Winter looked for signs of the lively toddler he had played with years ago but saw none. “How old are you Harry?”

“I’m twenty-seven…why?”  He glanced up from staring at his hands in time to glimpse a frown flitting across Winter’s leathery face before, almost instantly, it resumed its usual impassive expression. He laughed aloud. “Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.”

“So, how much do you remember?” Winter sprinkled some sunflower oil into the frying pan and retrieved two back rashers of bacon from the fridge. They were sizzling away and he had made them both a mug of tea before Harry made any answer.

“Not a lot,” was the slow, candid reply, “Sometimes I think I remember things but I can’t be sure they haven’t just come into my head, if you know what I mean.”  Winter thought he did. “I remember falling. I remember that all the time. It’s like dropping into a pit. Something’s waiting for me at the bottom but all I can see is its eyes. Then someone hauls me up and dumps me somewhere.” He paused a while and sipped at his tea. “I get panicky a lot, have nightmares too. But things are better since I’ve been with Sadie. She’s the best.”

“A fine woman,” Winter agreed, although he could have wished she had called to warn him of Harry’s impending visit

“The best,” Harry repeated. “She wanted to phone and let you know I was on my way,” he added as if reading Winter’s thoughts, “but I wouldn’t let her in case I changed my mind.” 

“But you didn’t.”

“Only about half a dozen times,” Harry laughed, lightly enough, but. Winter’s finer sensibilities detected a hollow ring to the sound.

“So what made you decide to take the plunge?” Winter was genuinely intrigued.

Harry Smith gave a shrug that meant everything and nothing. “I owe it to Sadie, to both of us. I love her, you see.”  Winter was moved by the admission, made though it was between mouthfuls of bacon buttie. “Can I see the photo?” he asked after another long pause. Winter fetched and handed it to him. Harry stopped eating long enough to digest the slightly blurred image in front of him. Handing it back without comment, he promptly went to work, with relish, on a second sandwich.

“Is that you?” Winter thought he had waited long enough.

“It could be. In fact I’d go so far as to say, yes, it probably is me.” What did you say his name was?”

“Liam Brady.”

“Liam Brady, Liam Brady, Liam Brady…” he muttered over and over as if trying out the name on his tongue. At the same time, he kept twisting a signet ring on the index finger of his right hand. “Sorry, the name doesn’t mean a thing.” 

Suddenly conscious that he was under intense observation, Harry ceased toying with the ring and gave a short, embarrassed laugh.  “Sometimes when I touch it I remember things,” he tried to explain, “Nothing concrete, just images. All a bit of a muddle really but...” He shrugged. “Something might ring a bell one day and, well, who knows?”

Winter was both moved and impressed by the way this young man appeared to be coping quite remarkably with the awful trauma of memory loss. “What else do you remember apart from the falling sensation?” he proceeded gently.

“It’s like I said, not a lot. My first clear memory is hitching a lift from this truck driver. Then I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew we were at some service station not far from Canterbury, only I didn’t know that at the time. I went for a pee and when I came back the truckie had gone without me, the bastard.  So I asked around, got my bearings and walked the rest of the way. I met Sadie in the Dane John Gardens. The rest, as they say, is history.” He managed a lopsided grin. “It’s all the history Harry Smith has anyway.” He paused then, “These butties are delicious, any chance of another?  Another cuppa would go down a treat too.” Winter set about obliging. “Now, tell me all about this Liam character.”

Winter told Harry little more than he had already told Sadie. Certain that she would have passed it on, he kept to the bare facts. “I’m collecting his mother from hospital shortly and bringing her back here. She can tell you anything else you want to know.”

Harry leapt to his feet, wide-eyed and fearful. “His mother, you say? Hell, I can’t cope with that! Suppose I am this Liam and haven’t a clue who she is? And I won’t, you know, I can practically swear to it. It will be awful, for both of us. I knew it was a mistake to come here, I just knew it!”

“Hold your horses.” Winter spoke quickly and quietly albeit in a commanding tone that caused Harry Smith to freeze on the spot. “Carol Brady is not only a very nice woman but she’s also as tough as they come. If she can handle the situation, however things turn out, I’m damn sure you can. Besides, she has as much right to know if you’re her son as you do, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose.” Harry, still on his feet, looked doubtful. “Part of me wants to remember and another part of me is scared stiff of what I might find out about myself.”

“That’s only natural. But, trust me, I have a nose for bad news and you’re not it, whoever you are.”

Harry wrestled with his conscience and almost said, “I think I may have killed someone” but thought better of it. Instead, he let anger cast his worst recurring nightmare to the back of his mind. “I appreciate the vote of confidence but, with all due respect, what do you know about it? You may have been a copper once and next to God almighty but you’re no better than the rest of us now. Your nose is no damn better at smelling things out than mine. And if I can’t suss myself out, I’m bloody sure you can’t.”

The two men glared at one another. Winter turned away, scooped a rasher of bacon from the frying pan, all but threw it on to a piece of bread and folded it. “I hope it chokes you,” he muttered.

“If that’s all it takes to please you...” Harry accepted the sandwich, only to pause in mid-bite as Winter burst into a guffaw.

For a moment, Harry looked nonplussed. Then the sulky expression broke into sheepish grin and he sat down again.  He remained adamant, however, that he would not go to the hospital.  “No way am I going there!”  He swallowed nervously. “I need more time to get ready for this. So does she, I reckon,” a rising note of desperation in his voice. “If I’m Liam Brady and I don’t recognize her from Eve, it’s going to be rough on both of us.  At least I have some idea how rough. She won’t have a clue. You’ll have to spell it out for her.”

“Carol knows the score.”

“Nobody knows the score, believe me!  You have to make her see that I can’t be what I’m not. I’m Harry Smith. If it turns out any different, that doesn’t change a thing. Not for me, anyhow. I’ll still be Harry Smith. She’s going to have to get used to that if, well...whatever,” he finished lamely. “Don’t worry about me doing a runner. I’ll still be here when you get back. That is, unless you don’t trust me with the family silver,” he added with a grin.

“I wouldn’t bet on the family silver fetching much, I’m afraid,” Winter had to admit. “Besides, if you were to take as much as a dish cloth from this house I’d see you arrested and charged before the day is out. I may be retired but...”

“Once a copper always a copper, eh…?”

“Something like that,” Winter growled, more by way of a gentle warning than a threat, and left the house minutes later with only a few reservations still dragging on his stomach muscles. Sadie Chapman had trusted young Harry Smith, he reminded his doubtful alter ego, so why shouldn’t he?

At the hospital, Carol took the news with mixed feelings. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Freddy. And look at me, I’m a mess.”

“You look fine. Just don’t be too disappointed if it turns out he’s not Liam or, if he is, he doesn’t recognize you.”

“How could I be disappointed if he is?” she retorted. “It will be a bloody miracle.”

They drove back to Watford in an uncomfortable silence.  Winter rang the bell to give Harry some warning, turned the key and entered. “Harry?” he called out. But there was no reply. His heart sank. “Harry?” he called out again. “Shit!” he muttered and walked through to the kitchen, Carol close behind.

“He’s gone!” she wailed, “I knew it was all too good to be true. Damn it, Freddy, I just knew it! Where do you keep your booze?”  He turned, led her back to a spacious lounge and poured them both a large whiskey. “What now?” she asked tearfully. But Winter had no ready answer and returned to the kitchen. Something had caught his eye on the table without quite registering. He looked again. Next to the fruit bowl, lay Harry Smith’s signet ring.

“It’s his, its Liam’s,” squealed Carol when he showed her. “I gave it to him for his eighteenth. Oh, shit, Freddy, what are we going to do?”

“We wait.” Winter’s expression was grim. “We sit tight and wait. My guess is that he left it here to let us know he’ll be back for it.”

“So why not just leave a note?”

“Perhaps there wasn’t time?” he suggested. “If you ask me, something caused our young friend to run off in a big hurry and this was a last minute gesture to let us know he’ll be back.”

“Something or someone…?”  It was Carol who put the unspoken thought into words as it flashed, simultaneously, across both their minds.

“We need to drive over to Camden and pick up your things,” he reminded her.

Carol shook her head. “It’s like you said, we sit tight and wait.”

“We can’t be sure when he’ll be back or even if,” he put it to her gently, “but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll pin a note to the front door. We can be there and back in a couple of hours or less.”

“We’ll talk about it later, alright?  Besides, that’s your third double so you can’t drive for a bit anyway. Where do your keep your coffee?” They returned to the kitchen.

Why was it, Winter had often asked himself, a kitchen invariably struck people as not only the most comfortable room in the house but also the safest? “Me included,” he mumbled into his beard, tugging at it irritably.  It was a soft notion and he wasn’t ordinarily given to such fancies.  He could only put it down to a symptom of the anxiety from which his GP insisted he was suffering.  That reminded him to go into the bedroom and hunt for his tablets, leaving Carol, sprawled on a chair, to peer at the ring’s unusual snake-like design through an ugly yellow mist.

He had already resolved to leave for Camden Town without her.

“Everything’s packed in a case and a holdall just inside my bedroom. All you have to do is get a toothbrush and a few odds ‘n’ sods from the bathroom,” she told him with a yawn.

“How will I know what’s what?”

“You’re a copper, aren’t you? Use your loaf.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here on your own?”

“I’ll be fine. Now, sod off and let me get my head together…again,” she muttered ruefully. Winter took the hint and left.

Carol sat for a while then wandered from room to room, vaguely taking notice of what was what and where. The irony of her coming to live under the same roof as Freddy Winter, however temporary and platonic the arrangement, hit her with the force of an express train. She tumbled on to a bed in the spare room, burst out laughing and was still laughing when she heard a banging at the back door.  Sitting bolt upright, heart leaping to her mouth, Carol listened again. The banging was repeated several times. Suppose it was Liam? Her legs refused to move. It crossed her mind that it could even be the mystery person who had put her in hospital.  But she dismissed that thought outright. No one knew she was here, except...Liam.

The banging seemed to continue for ages before Carol felt some life return to her legs, got up and fetched recovered the whiskey bottle from the lounge before walking shakily through to the kitchen.  The person who has been banging on the door now had his face pressed against the window. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he tapped on the pane.

 “Liam!” Carol tried to shout but could only manage a throaty whisper and started, panic-stricken, at the unmistakable face of her son. A native willpower came to her rescue. He would realize who she was of course. Winter had, after all, told him to expect her.  In vain, though, she looked for any sign of even the faintest recognition in those familiar blue-grey eyes. “Come on, pull yourself together, girl!” she told herself. Gritting her teeth, she unlocked the door and opened it.  He entered, careful to avoid her eyes.

“Where’s Fred Winter?  I thought he’d be here?”

Carol swallowed hard, eventually found her voice and explained the situation in a small, choking voice she’d never have recognized as her own if she hadn’t been vaguely aware her lips were moving. “He’ll be back soon,” she told her son.

“You must be Carol, Liam’s mother?” Hearing him speak his own name as if it belonged to complete stranger was too much for Carol. She sank into a chair and reached for the whiskey.

“Can I have some of that?”  She pushed the bottle towards him. He grabbed a tumbler from the draining board, took her at her word and sat down at the round pine table. “I’m Harry Smith,” holding out his hand. Carol hesitated, took it and closed her eyes.

To feel his touch, the living warmth of him was overwhelming. She forced herself to open her eyes. “You’re not Harry Smith, you’re Liam Brady and you’re my son,” she said slowly.

“I’m Harry Smith,” he repeated, snatched away his hand and took another drink. “You have to understand. I’ve learned to live with Harry Smith. I can’t suddenly become someone else. I don’t know you, I’m sorry.” He lifted his chin and met her disbelieving gaze. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You need help, a doctor...”

Harry leapt to his feet. “No doctors!  I’m not ill. Okay, so I can’t remember things. But that doesn’t make me some kind of head case and no one’s going tell me different, no way!” He seemed taken aback by his own strength of feeling, as if the words themselves had spilled out of their own accord, and promptly sat down again. He reached for the gold signet ring and fidgeted with it a while before putting it on, taking it off, putting it on again. “I get pictures in my mind,” he told her in a voice rippling with anguish, “But they’re all a blur and they don’t come with any memory, just weird feelings I can’t explain.  There are good pictures and bad pictures. I have good feelings about some of them and bad feelings about others. It’s like the feelings put words in my mouth I can’t actually relate to but I know they’re a part of me because I can relate to the feelings…well, sort of, if you know what I mean.” He kept the ring on this time and reached for the bottle again.

“Do you have a good feeling about Fred Winter?” she found herself asking. He nodded. “And me, how do you feel about me?”

Harry took his time. “Are you sure I’m your son?”

“I’m sure.”

He shrugged. “I have a good feeling about you,” he admitted, “not like the woman who was here before. I knew she couldn’t be you because Fred Winter said you’re a good person and I just knew she was up to some mischief.”

“What woman?” Carol forced herself to pay attention.

“Called a while back, she did, about half an hour after Fred left. She was with a big guy, shaved head. They said Fred had been in some kind of accident and they’d come to give me a lift to the hospital.  The woman got in a flap and I couldn’t think straight. But something wasn’t right. You sort of know, don’t you?”  Carol nodded grimly.  “I couldn’t stop them inviting themselves inside so I showed them into the lounge, said how I’d be back in a sec and legged it out the back way.”

“Leaving your ring behind….”

“I didn’t want Fred to think I’d done a bunk.”

“Even though you knew he was bringing someone back with him whom you really didn’t want to see?”

“I never said that. I did want to see you. I was shit scared, that’s all.”

“You and me both,” she confessed with a quiet smile. He smiled back. At least, she told herself, they were making a start. “Well...Harry...why don’t you tell me all about yourself…as much as you know anyhow?”

“And you’ll tell me about Liam?” She nodded. “No hassle, no promises?”

“No hassle, no promises,” she agreed and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you Harry Smith.” He grinned, took hers in his own and they shook hands warmly.

He helped himself to another whiskey. Carol did the same and thought her heart would break.

..................

While, unbeknown to him, mother and son were establishing an encouraging if somewhat strained rapport, Fred Winter let himself into Carol’s Brady’s flat with her key.  Entering the bedroom, he immediately spotted the holdall, dumped it on the bed and unzipped it before heading for the bathroom. After collecting what toiletries he guessed she would need, he returned to the bedroom and stuffed them into the holdall. His mind was elsewhere, his actions reflex rather than properly thought through. Aside from being in a hurry to get back to Watford, he remained both puzzled and disturbed by Harry Smith’s disappearance.

He could well understand the young man’s reservations about meeting Carol. It was a scary enough prospect for anyone to be suddenly confronted with someone who may or may not prove to be their mother and, even if she did, was unlikely to mean much to them anyway. Yet he’d felt certain Harry was up for it and would be waiting for them. Besides, why leave the signet ring behind since it obviously meant a lot to him?  Could it be, as he wanted to believe, some sort of sign that the young man would be back for it…or just sheer carelessness? The latter made more sense. Harry may simply have panicked about meeting Carol and made a run for it.

So why, Winter continued to fret, did he have the feeling there was more to it than that? 

He did not hear sounds of movement behind him before it was too late. Barely had his instincts registered imminent danger when something came crashing down against the back of his head and sent him sprawling, unconscious, across the bed.

“He’ll be out cold for awhile yet, that’s for sure,” commented the tall, thickset figure leaning over Fred Winter’s limp form. He felt for a pulse, uttered an ambiguous grunt and heaved the detective’s long legs on to the bed.

“Have I killed him, Daz?” whimpered the woman beside him, shaking like a leaf.

“You’d know soon enough if you had,” his companion retorted acidly, “You’d be like the cat that’s got the cream, you know you would, not a near nervous wreck.” 

“I had no choice,” wailed Cotter.

“You mean you couldn’t resist having a go,” growled Darren “Daz” Horton.

Neither saw Winter open one eye before drifting back into semi-consciousness, voices echoing in his head and making it throb all the more. Words, parts of words and sentences were like additional blows pounding at him from all sides. He felt as if he were dangling over a precipice and clinging for dear life to a rope someone must have thrown him although he could see no one.  Strangely enough, it was a relief to let go and free-fall into an all-consuming darkness, the more welcome for its absolute silence.

 “That’s not fair,” protested Sarah Manners, “You know I’m not a violent person.”

“Really, my turtle dove?  So what do you call walloping someone on the back of the head with a candlestick, doing them a favour?  Somehow, I don’t think so,” he chortled softly.

“I had no choice. If he’d seen me...”

“But he didn’t and probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t gone into a flap as usual.”

“Sorry Daz,” the small, sturdy woman with neat, short black hair was instantly contrite.

“Any sign of Liam?” 

The woman shook her head, wide-eyed and apprehensive in anticipation of what he might do to her once they got home. “You don’t think he’s gone to the police?” she simpered. (He liked it when she did that). If he recognized me...”

“Of course he didn’t recognize you, you idiot. If he had, he’d have had a few choice things to say before doing a runner,” the tall man retorted while continuing to study the unconscious Winter. “Right now, I’m more concerned about our friend here. If he wasn’t a cop, I’d be tempted to...well, no point in speculating. Come on, my turtle dove, the best thing we can do now is get out of here pronto.”

“Oh? And just where did you have in mind?”

“Home, James, of course. We need to have a good think about how we sort this mess.”

“I still can’t believe Liam’s alive,” muttered the small woman as she followed him out of the house and back to the car.

“It’s a trifle inconvenient, true, but we’ll sort it. Don’t we always?”

“You will, Daz, you’ll sort it.” She flung him an adoring glance. “You always do. Where would I be without you?”

“You don’t want to know. Now, shut up and fasten your seat belt. Why do I always have to tell you belt up?”

“Because I’m such a hopeless case,” the woman groaned and did as she was told.

“Too right, you are!” Daz Horton muttered again with feeling as he reached up to slightly adjust the rear-view mirror.

They drove most of the way back to Monk’s Tallow without exchanging a word. At Monk’s Porter, they turned off as Horton decided they would take the scenic route via the Devil’s Elbow.  His companion flung him an old-fashioned look and gave a little squeal but said nothing. Horton made no comment but squeezed her thigh until she yelped, running a hand down one black fishnet leg even as he negotiated the notorious bend. Safely out of danger’s way, he took a sharp left turn and drove a few yards up a dirt track before braking.

“Oh, no, Daz, not tonight, please. I’m whacked.”

“You’ll be more than whacked if you mess me about,” Horton growled, “I’m in no mood to be messed about. Haven’t you messed me about enough today? You do know what you’ve done?  Winter’s going to want some answers, right?” She nodded, lower lip trembling, eyes shining, “That means he’ll be asking questions, right? he yelled. 

“Right, Daz,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry, Daz.”

“You will be,” he promised. A sardonic leer lit up the long, bony face and gave it extra substance. “Thanks to you, we’ve got another one to sort besides your toy boy and his ma.”

“There was nothing between Liam and me, how could there be?”

“You fancied him.”

“I never did!”

“You know I’m right, aren’t I always?” His passenger hung her head and made no reply. “Get in the back set and pull your knickers down,” barked Horton, the adrenalin already pumping through his veins.

Sarah Manners meekly did as she was told. Much later, examining her bruised face in the mirror of a dressing table, she fancied she could hear the ironic comments her colleagues at the local library would be sure to pass on Monday. “Another door, Sarah?” they’d say, “You and your doors, Sarah!” they would snigger and this would carry on until they tired of it. But they knew better than to cross her. They would give her a wide berth and let her get on with the admin while they kept Joe Public happy.

 It was not so bad, being a librarian. She had thought so for some years now. True, it would not have been her choice of career had she been free to choose. She hadn’t been, of course. Hadn’t she been a victim of circumstances all her life?

She sighed, opened a drawer and studied a faded photograph she took from it. A young man with black hair and a twinkle in each eye smiled up at her and gave her goose bumps. Letting rip with a humourless laugh, she replaced the photograph and slammed the drawer shut. “You may not be the handsomest devil, Ralph Cotter,” she told the face in the mirror, “but you’ve always had charisma. You still do, right?”

Sarah Manners, alias Ralph Cotter, made no answer and merely grinned from ear to ear but couldn’t help wincing as bruised ribs gave a nasty twinge.

To be continued on Friday

Catching Up With Murder - Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“The autopsy on Ruth Temple suggested nothing more than she lost consciousness in the bath,” Arthur Bailey informed his old friend, “after consuming a significant quantity of alcohol.  Surprise, surprise, eh…?”

“And James Morrissey…?” Winter asked although he thought he knew the answer.

“Nothing untoward there either. He was identified by dental records, by the way.”

“What about Cotter?”

“Ah, yes, our murderer… He was driving on a full tank so, as you can imagine, he was pretty well incinerated.  His bits weren’t exactly identifiable. They found enough personal effects to be damn sure it was Cotter though. The car had been reported stolen. Hardly surprising since he was on the run.”

“At least his widow had ‘bits’ to grieve over,” commented Winter, “which is more than can be said for Carol Brady.”

“You don’t honestly believe Liam Brady is alive and well and living in Herne Bay?” Bailey did not even try to suppress frank incredulity.

Winter shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Can you get me all you can about all four deaths...copies of the autopsy reports, inquest proceedings etc.?”

“You’ll get me shot.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then, shall I?” Winter smiled appreciatively.

“Why bother with Cotter?  As it is, I think you’re getting your knickers in a twist for the hell of it.”

“Liam Brady became obsessed with the place where his father’s killer died.”

“Understandably, I suppose.”

“Yes, well…if you ask me, there’s been a sight too much supposing going on.”

“Meaning what?”

Winter shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I find out,” he promised, a dry chuckle tickling his throat. The two men shook hands. Winter climbed into the Volvo and headed for Herne Bay.  Arthur Bailey would be back on duty by the time he had finished with Harry so the plan was to drive directly to Carol’s flat in Camden Town. After all, he’d promised her to return as soon as possible. He had also attempted to call her several times but her mobile was switched off.  It worried him, given her state of mind.  Yet, who was he to judge her state of mind?  But he was pleased to hear her voice just as he was pulling into the car park at The Green Man.

“Of course it’s been switched off, I wanted some peace and quiet didn’t I?”

“And that includes me?”

“Especially you,” she retorted, “I was just about getting by until you turned up. Now I’m all over the place again. Have you talked to our friend with the earring yet?”

“I’m just about to.”

“Well, go easy on him. Just remember, Freddy, we’re not all of us made of elephant hide.”  Content, for now, to let that cutting remark stew in his gut for several minutes, she hung up.

Sadie Chapman’s face said it all. Winter guessed immediately that his bird had flown.  “He’s gone!” she exploded, “Thanks to you, you interfering old bugger, he’s upped and done a runner. Damn you, damn you…!” She burst into tears. Winter led her gently through the bar to a back room, sat her down and poured them both a stiff drink. “You go easy on that stuff if you’re driving,” she warned by force of habit while continuing to sob.

“I intend to. You go easy too.”

“Why? I’m not going anywhere.” She helped herself to another before visibly collecting herself. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Someone was bound to come along and spoil things sooner or later, it just happened to be you.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

She hesitated, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “If I’m frank with you, will you be the same with me? I’ll tell you what I know about Harry if you tell me what you know about the boy in the photograph.”

“His name’s Liam and he’s hardly a boy.”

Sadie managed a weak smile. “Any man under thirty seems like a boy to me,” she laughed then, “I suppose that makes me a cradle snatcher?”

“Age only becomes a problem when it’s a problem for someone else. And that’s their problem,” he added gruffly. “But you have a deal. Now, tell me about Harry.”

She shook her head. “Not until you’ve told me about this Liam character.”

Winter shrugged and gave her some basic facts but saw no reason to reveal that, as a toddler, Liam Brady had witnessed his father’s murder. “So you see,” he ended, “whether or not Harry is Liam Brady, Liam’s mother needs to know one way or the other. She knows it’s unlikely, if not impossible, but...” He shrugged and spread his hands by way of explanation.

“Maybe not as unlikely as you think,” said Sadie Chapman tersely. Winter waited. She gave him a potted history of their time together from the time they first met in Canterbury that leafy, sunny afternoon. “We haven’t been sleeping together all that time, that’s a fairly recent development.  But we’re good together, Harry and me,” she added without apology.

“You were taking a big chance on him, all the same,” Winter observed.

“Sometimes taking a chance seems the right thing to do. Besides, Harry may not know who he is but I know a good apple from a bad one. Harry’s okay, believe me. I just hope he won’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

She neither ducked nor answered the question. “He remembers hitching a lift and, as far as I can tell, jumped into the first thing on four wheels that stopped for him. Some trucker on his way to Dover dropped him off safe and sound just outside Canterbury. But Harry’s vulnerable, Mr Winter. He may not be so lucky next time.”

“He’ll be back.” Winter sounded disappointed but confident.

“I wish I could be so sure,” Sadie murmured pensively.

“He’s got you.  He may be vulnerable but he’s no fool. He’ll be back.” Winter’s tone was briskly reassuring. He rose to go and she flung him a grateful, tearful look. “When he does, you’ll get in touch?” She nodded. “Better still, try and get him to contact me himself.  It sounds like Harry needs to get his act together, for everybody’s sake. If Liam Brady proves to be a red herring, so be it. Finding that much out will be a start.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

“That’s all any of us can do,” he told her and they shook hands. Her grip was firm and sure. Winter found himself hoping that things would work out for Harry Smith and Sadie Chapman.

The drive back to Camden involved the usual traffic snarl-ups and roadwork diversions.  By the time he finally arrived at Carol Brady’s flat in North Street, Winter was feeling weary and in need of a pee.  He rang the doorbell and was surprised when Julie Simpson opened the door to him. “Miss Simpson, what a surprise!”

“Thank heavens you’re here, Mr Winter...err, Fred. I’ve been meaning to call you but everything’s been so chaotic.”

“You have?  So where’s Carol?”

“I’m afraid she’s In hospital.” He followed her through to the kitchen but couldn’t put off more urgent matters any longer. She indicated the toilet with a smile and went to put the kettle on.  Later, she explained how she had called on Carol the previous evening and found her nervy and agitated.  Once Carol finished relating how she had almost been killed earlier, Julie had insisted on staying the night.

“So has she had some kind of relapse or what?”  Winter was concerned.

“No. There’s been another incident.”

“What!” Winter felt a tingling down his spine.

“She left to do the weekend shopping but insisted I stay and have a good breakfast. Barely ten minutes after she’d left, a neighbour came banging on the door to tell me there had been an accident. Carol had been run over in the Mews just across the way. It’s a shortcut to the High Street. An ambulance arrived just as I got there so, naturally, I went with her to the hospital. They seem to think the damage is only superficial but they want to keep her in for observation. She was very distressed, as you can imagine. I’m taking her a few things. You know...a nightie, slippers, toilet bag etcetera.”  She indicated a black holdall on the kitchen table. Winter had noticed it immediately but only vaguely wondered what it was doing there.

“You should have called me,” he said angrily.

“I meant to, honestly. I would have, but...” her voice breaking. Winter was instantly contrite.  Impulsively, he put an arm around her. She fell gratefully into his paternal embrace and sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry,” she said, breaking away and accepting the handkerchief he offered to dry her eyes. “It’s just that with poor Auntie Ruth and the wedding and now this...”

“I understand. You’ve been through a lot. But I remember you told me how well your aunt always coped no matter what. You’re made of the same stuff, I can tell. You’ll be fine.” He tried to sound reassuring and the pretty face lit up.

“I try to be like Auntie Ruth. We were quite close, you know, although never in each other’s pockets or anything like that.” She paused then, “Carol thinks someone is trying to kill her,” she said suddenly. “There couldn’t be any connection, I suppose?”

“With your aunt’s death, do you mean? I doubt that very much. As for someone trying to kill her, I think Carol is over-reacting. It’s understandable, she’s...”

“…been through a lot too,” Julie agreed. “I suppose you think I’m over-reacting as well?”

“I said I would look into things for you, Miss Simpson, and that is what I am doing. Now, suppose we stop speculating and I give you a lift to the hospital?”

Carol looked better than he had either expected or dared hope. She gave them both a welcome smile, albeit a tremulous one. Julie did not stay long. Carol thanked her and the two women embraced. “I’ll leave you two to chat,” she said in an airy tone that fooled no one, “Take care of yourselves,” she called out, tight lipped and tearful, before walking quickly down the ward and through the double exit doors.

“So, what happened?” Winter wasted no time putting the question.

“It was much the same as last time. Only, on this occasion I had to try and save myself as best I could.  I couldn’t tell the police much, I’m afraid.  One minute I was lost in thought and the next, there it was, coming right at me.”

“Was it the same car?”

She nodded. “I think so. In fact, I’m bloody sure it was. But I didn’t get the registration number, even part of it, and I’m not even sure of the colour. So I don’t think the police were too impressed. They were very kind, just...”

“Noncommittal.”

“Yes, noncommittal just about sums up the constable who came to see me in here earlier.” She paused. “What’s going on, Freddy? Something is going on, isn’t it? Look at me. I hurt all over and it’s damn well not in my imagination.”

“I don’t know, Carol,” Winter had to admit, “I honestly don’t know.” She asked about Harry-Liam.  He told her how the young man had done a bunk but saw no point in raising false hopes by relating all Sadie Chapman had said.

“But it must mean something that he didn’t want to face you?” Carol tried in vain to suppress her excitement. For his own part, Winter began to wish he’d never agreed to go to Canterbury.

“It means sod all,” he told her bluntly.

She shrugged, resigned but not undeterred. “So what’s next on the agenda?”

“We get you better,” he said with a grin.

“They will probably let me out tomorrow. They’re only keeping me in for observation, probably because I got so hysterical. With luck, I’ll be home tomorrow or the next day.”

“You’ll stay at my place.” It was not a question.

Carol shook her head. “Julie says I can stay at her place for a bit. She says I can help keep her from getting into such a paddy over the wedding plans.  Huh, fat chance! Mind you, I’m getting into a paddy enough for the both of us I suppose!”

“It’s understandable. But...” he hesitated then, “Do you keep an address book on you?”

“Not on me, no, it’s in a drawer at home along with a diary of sorts. I used to keep them in my bag but it was stolen once and, well, have you ever lost an address book or a diary?  It’s not so much a crisis as a bloody disaster.”

“So, anyone breaking in to your house could have found and read them...”

“Well, yes, I suppose so but why should they?” The penny dropped. “Oh, my God, if they took the diary whoever tried to run me down would have known I was leaving work early to visit the chiropodist yesterday afternoon. It’s not really a diary, just jottings really but I always write appointments in it.

“Do you always shop early on Saturdays?”

She nodded. “You think someone’s stalking me?”

Winter shook his head. “Not in the usual sense. Stalkers rarely want to kill their victims.”

“I’ll arrange with Julie to move in,” she said in a rush and he could almost hear her heart pounding. Winter shook his head.

“Am I in your address book?”

“Not yet,” she grinned than her face fell, “Oh, I see what you’re getting at. But isn’t that a bit far-fetched? Surely whoever broke in would have taken the bloody address book?” Her face, already pale, turned white and the violet eyes stared at him with a glazed expression, “I didn’t look. I didn’t bloody look. I only checked for cash, credit cards, passport and things. Suppose he took it, the diary too? He’ll...”

“Know an awful lot about you, yes,” Winter agreed, anticipating her, “so when you get out of here, we’ll pick up what you need at the flat and you’ll stay at my place for a while.”

“Now who’s over-reacting?”

      “You said yourself, something’s not right. Better safe than sorry, surely?”

“But it doesn’t make any sense, none of it does. Why should anyone want to hurt me?”

“You tell me.” He gave her time to think but a silence, like the tension between them, descended on them like an avenging angel as each, unavoidably, reflected on the past. “Get a grip, Fred,” he remonstrated with himself, “It’s the here and now that counts, not the past.” He forced himself to concentrate on the matter in hand. “Has anything out of the ordinary occurred recently? Have you been anywhere you wouldn’t normally go, met anyone who’s shown an unusual interest in you?”

Carol managed a laugh. “Been chatted up by any strange men, you mean? Huh, chance would be a fine thing!”

“Be serious.”

“I am, believe me.”  The violet eyes twinkled.

Winter found himself clicking his tongue with irritation, rather like Audrey Ellis. The comparison amused him and he broke into a reluctant smile. “Well?” he persisted.

“No strangers, apart from you turning up like a bad penny. My social life has been a dead duck for ages. As for going anywhere exciting, I should be so lucky.  I did pop down to Monk’s Tallow for the day a few weeks ago but that’s about it.”

“You went to Monk’s Tallow?” Winter’s spine began to tingle.

“It was only the second time I’ve been there and it will be the last, believe me. I just felt the need to be near Liam. I thought it would help but it didn’t, it made me feel a damn sight worse. Whenever I tried to think about Liam that bastard Cotter came into my head and wouldn’t budge. Then I had to put up with Sarah Manners with her tweeds and designer sunglasses, not to mention that smarmy, bald git she lives with. Honestly, he treats her like shit and she laps it up. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re into a spot of S&M on the quiet....”

Winter pricked up his ears at the mention of Sarah Manners. He hadn’t given Ruth Temple’s erstwhile flatmate much thought.  Yet she was a link with all of them; Ruth herself, of course; James Morrissey, the boyfriend she dumped years ago; Liam Brady too. True, there was no link to Cotter except, indirectly, through Liam. Cotter, though, he was pretty certain, was a red herring anyway. He sighed.  Some cases were all red herrings and wild geese, whichever way you looked. But you kept at it.  Sometimes you struck lucky, sometimes you didn’t. “What’s she like, Sarah Manners?” he asked absently.

“She’s alright, I suppose, the sort that means well but gets on your nerves. I’ve only met her twice. The first time was with Liam and she twittered on non-stop. This time her partner, Darren, did most of the talking, kept her on a tight leash you might say.  I can’t imagine what Liam saw in the woman.”

“He fancied her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far but there was definitely some sort of mutual fascination going on between them. In a sense, she was all over him. But not in the way people are sometimes. It was bad enough, mind.  He was taken with her too. But, no, I wouldn’t call it an attraction. I’m not sure they even liked each other much. It was all a bit weird really. Anyway, as a day out, it was a disaster. I caught the early train back to London with a splitting headache. Talking of which...” she put a hand to her forehead.

“You must be exhausted,” he sympathised. “I’ll love and leave you, okay?”  His unfortunate turn of phrase was lost on neither of them and each was careful to avoid the other’s eye.  Both were stinting with their goodbyes.  Winter, for his part, wasted no time beating a hasty retreat. He hated hospitals.

Carol lay back on the crisp hospital pillows and wondered what to make of it all. Could both incidents have been accidents, no more or less? True, she hadn’t exactly been concentrating on where she was going.  But why hadn’t the driver stopped on either occasion? It had been the same car on both occasions. She was damn certain of it...or was she?          

 It was all so surreal, her life turned upside down. Moreover, she could well have done without Freddy Winter’s turning up to give old memories a new perspective. Nor was it just memories she found herself raking over. Before they found Ralph Cotter’s burnt-out wreck of a car, she has been terrified he might come back for Liam. That terror had never quite left her, even though she knew it was irrational. Now, it was making panic waves in her stomach and all she wanted to do was run away and hide.  Eventually, though, the sedation took effect and she slept soundly, undisturbed by nightmares.

Winter drove home to Watford and gave himself a mental shake-up in the process. He must get the spare room looking presentable and have a general tidy-up before collecting Carol. Back at the house, he could not suppress a loud groan. He hadn’t realized just how much of a mess he had let the place get into. Helen, he reflected grimly, would be turning in her grave. As he set-to with a will, he tried to tidy the muddle in his head. 

While there were no conclusions to be reached, Winter could not ignore the tingling down his spine as he mulled over the indisputable fact that, one way or another, all roads led to Monk’s Tallow.  He must go down there soon, he told himself and his stomach gave a lurch. Only a few days after her tenth birthday, Helen’s father bought a house in nearby Monk’s Porter. She loved it there. Her mother, though, hated village life. As soon as Helen and a younger sister left school, the family moved back to Canterbury. But Helen had put her foot down and insisted they get married in Monk’s Tallow.

Within weeks of Helen’s death, her father died following a massive heart attack. Shortly afterwards, her mother went to live in Manchester to be near another daughter, Judith, and three grandchildren.

Winter sighed. This whole business was getting too personal by half.

To be continued on Monday

Catching Up With Murder - Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

“If you ask me, you might as well be chasing your own shadow,” was Arthur Bailey’s verdict as he downed a third pint and held out his empty glass.

    Winter had barely finished giving his old friend and one-time colleague an update on the Ruth Temple affair but took the hint and went to the bar. Bailey watched him go, shaking his head. Winter was a changed man since Helen’s death and no mistake. The man he had known for the greater part of their professional lives would never have gone around plucking at straws in the wind like this. It was sad, very sad. 

The Canterbury bar was swarming with customers anxious to be served. It took some seductive winking and waving of a crisp, new ten pound note to catch a barmaid’s eye. Finally, he made his way back to the table, deposited two frothy beers and packets of salted peanuts and plonked himself down again.

Bailey grinned and nodded thanks. “I’ve asked around like you wanted but no one has seen anyone resembling your friend with the earring. As far as the database is concerned, he doesn’t appear to have form. At least, it didn’t come up with any Liam Brady fitting that description

“Hardly a friend,” Winter commented absently.

“You know what I mean.” Bailey hesitated then, “What exactly is your interest in this, Fred, apart from the fact that old habits die hard? It couldn’t be Carol Brady, could it?”

“Leave it out Arthur, that was years ago!” Winter scoffed at the very idea and only vaguely wondered why it made him feel so uncomfortable.

“I’m only teasing.” Both friends knew he was lying.

“It seems to me as if you’re trying to make connections where there aren’t any.”

“How can you say that?  Cotter’s car goes off a cliff within hours of his shooting Liam Brady’s dad in cold blood. Years later, James Morrissey, who just happens to be an old boyfriend of Ruth Temple’s, not only snuffs it the same way but drives off the same bloody cliff. Now the Temple woman is dead too. Enter, Liam Brady. Exit Liam Brady, in identical circumstances to Cotter and Morrissey. Surprise, surprise, Brady was a close friend of Ruth Temple’s niece. And we’re expected to believe it’s one big, cosy coincidence? Somehow, I don’t think so.”

“The Devils Elbow is a notorious black spot.”

“True. But Brady only went to Monk’s Tallow in the first place as a favour to Ruth Temple.”

“To fetch some of Morrissey’s things, yes, you said. But what has that to do with anything?  It’s the weirdest coincidence that it should happen to be where his father’s killer died, I agree. But…so what?  I dare say he didn’t expect it to affect him as much as it did.  These things happen, Fred. There doesn’t have to be a sinister reason for them. We coppers tend to forget that sometimes.”

 “And Ruth Temple drowning in her bath is just another coincidence?”

“By the look of things, it was just a tragic accident. No more, no less. People do have accidents, you know.”

“Or it’s a connection...” Both men drank. “Liam Brady’s ‘accident’ has to be one too many, surely?

“Why? People drive too fast and have fatal accidents or commit suicide all the time. Okay, so Brady’s body was never found. Supposing you’re right and he’s still alive. People disappear every hour of every day of every week, for all kinds of reasons. He could have amnesia. More likely, he saw a chance to break free of his mother’s apron strings. Let’s face it, people have been known to fake their own deaths, it’s nothing new. Frankly, Fred, you’ve got me worried. This isn’t like you. You’re a copper, retired or no. You’ve got a copper’s nose for trouble, the same as me. But this...there’s nothing to sniff out here Fred. Or if there is, it’s best left alone. Take it from me...follow this up and you’ll only get yourself into a worse muddle than you’re already in.” He took another swig. “Look, I’ve got some leave due. Why don’t I take a few days off and we can go somewhere? We could go to Paris and let our hair down. Or New York, and show the yanks what we Brits are made of.” He laughed. “Come on, what do you say?”

Winter smiled and shook his head. “There is something there Arthur. I can feel it in my water. You know me, always a gut instinct man. Humour me, okay?”

“So long as it isn’t just wishful thinking,” commented Bailey, a warning look in his eyes that Winter tried, unconvincingly, to dismiss with a wicked wink.

Winter liked Canterbury but could not help reflecting, guiltily, that he was not as familiar with it as he might have been had he not, invariably, excused himself from accompanying Helen on regular visits to her parents.  While it was true he’d often had to work, there had been no love lost between himself and his in-laws who had never made a secret of the fact they were less than happy about their daughter marrying a copper.

He took leisurely strolls around the ancient city and enjoyed playing the tourist for once, visiting the Norman church, the ruins of St Augustine’s Abbey, the Roman Pavement and other historic sites. The cathedral dominated, of course, its gothic splendour positively awe-inspiring. Appalled to discover he was now expected to pay an entrance fee just to sit in the cathedral grounds, he opted out of that pleasure on principle. Instead, he kept his eyes peeled and chatted to people; shopkeepers, students, couples in tearooms and others waiting for buses or leaning against a car bonnet evidently waiting for someone.  He was sitting on a bench in the Dane John Gardens, a park famous for its Anglo Saxon burial mound, when he got chatting to Tracy Cole.

Every bench in sight was already occupied. Winter opted to sit beside a pretty red haired girl intent on reading a paperback novel.  If she had so much as a cursory glance to spare for him, he missed it.  Winter, for his part, could not resist peering over her shoulder.  “Heart of Darkness,” he read, “Ah, Conrad, a wonderful writer,” he murmured spontaneously, “Now, there’s a man who knows how to give food for thought.”

“Too much of it if you ask me,” she replied chirpily, looked up and flung him a dazzling smile. “Where do you start? How do you cram it all into fifteen hundred words for heaven’s sake?”

“You don’t even try,” he advised in all seriousness, “You select common threads and join them together to show how the smaller picture is part of the larger.”

“Spoken like a lecturer!” she laughed.

 “Actually I’m a policeman, well, a retired policeman,” he confided ruefully.

 “Really…?”

 “Don’t look surprised. Even coppers read books, you know.”

 “Ah, but how do I know you’re not just a dirty old man trying to chat me up? Anyone can say one thing and mean another. People do it all the time.”

 Winter suspected she was teasing but couldn’t be sure and had to concede privately that she had a perfectly valid point. “How do I know Conrad isn’t just a cover and you’re not a professional pickpocket?” he countered with a broad grin. The girl burst out laughing. “My name is Fred Winter and I’m looking for someone.”

  “A professional pickpocket?” she giggled.

“This young man actually,” taking the photo of Liam Brady that Carol had given him from his shirt pocket and handing it to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it, took one look and uttered a little squeak of surprise. Winter’s pulse raced expectantly. “You know him?”

“I think so. His hair’s different but...yes, I think so.  What’s he supposed to have done?”

Winter shrugged. “Well, nothing criminal as far as I know but he’s gone missing and his mother is desperate to find him.”

“So maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Some parents are inclined to go over the top with their kids.”

“Sounds like you’d know all about that,” he observed quietly.

“Too right I know. Sorry, I can’t help you.” She returned the photo and rose to leave.

“If the person you have in mind is the young man in the photograph, he could well be ill and need help.”

Winter adopted a pleading tone, saw he had her attention and pressed his advantage. “Please. It’s very important.  His name is Liam Brady and his mother is no parent from hell, believe me.”

“It’s the wrong bloke then. I thought it was Harry and he’s as fit as a fiddle.” She sat down again, took back the photo and studied it. “He’s a dead ringer for Harry, that’s for sure.”

“Harry?”She hesitated then, “He works at a pub in Herne Bay. Herne Bay is where I share digs,” she paused to explain. “A crowd of us go there some nights. Well, most nights actually,” she giggled. “Harry’s cool. I wouldn’t want to get him into any trouble.”

“You won’t,” he assured her. “If it’s Liam you’ll be doing him a favour and if it isn’t...”He shrugged, “So where’s the harm in telling me the name of this pub and how I find it, Miss err?”

“Cole, Tracy Cole. But if I help you, you have to help me. Fair’s fair, after all.”

“How can I help?”

“You can start by telling me how you would start a fifteen hundred word essay on Heart of Darkness.”  They both laughed. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do indeed, Miss Cole.”

She drove a hard bargain. Winter was hard put to draw on a store of academic appreciation he’d thought long forgotten.  He rose to the challenge, however, and a grateful Tracy Cole kept her word.  Consequently, that very evening, he found himself nursing a pint at the bar of The Green Man.

There was no sign of the young man Tracy Cole knew as Harry, just a woman he judged to be the landlady and a barman who bore no resemblance to Liam Brady whatsoever.  The woman, whom the regulars called Sadie, was a friendly, attractive sort he placed in her early forties. She reminded him more than a little of Carol Brady.  Like Carol, she had a forthright, no-nonsense air about her while, at the same time, conveying a warm personality and the impression that she could be a good listener. Winter gave a short, dry laugh. In short, she had all the qualifications required for the job.

“Harry not working tonight?” he asked casually when a rush had just finished and she was sipping at a fruit juice.

“Who’s asking?” Sadie Chapman demanded warily. Winter introduced himself.  She glanced at the card he gave her and murmured, “F. E. Winter” but barely took in the address and phone number before handing it back.

Winter shook his head. “Keep it for future reference. You never know, it might come in handy one of these days.”

 “I suppose,” she agreed doubtfully. Slipping the card into a pocket of fetching designer trousers, she looked him over with ill-concealed suspicion. “So what do you want with Harry? A friend of his, are you, or a relative maybe?

“Not exactly,” he hedged and showed her the photo. “Is this Harry?”

 “If you’re not a friend or relative, you must be a copper.”

 “Does it matter?”

 She shrugged and handed back the snap. “It could be Harry. There’s a likeness, I’ll grant you that. But you’ll have to ask him yourself. I wouldn’t care to hazard a guess one way or the other.”  She moved along the bar to serve. Winter followed.

“Where can I find him?”

“Come back in the morning. We open at eleven.”

“What’s wrong with tonight?”

 “Because when he gets back, he’ll be too busy?”

 “Doing what?”

 She leaned across the bar and smiled sweetly. “Now that, Mister Fred Winter, is something a lady doesn’t like to talk about in public.”

“Come on, Sadie, I’m dying of thirst here,” someone bellowed. “Keep you hair on Charlie, I’m coming!” She moved away again but not before tossing Winter a mischievous wink. They were an item, she and Harry, it said and he was welcome to make of that whatever he liked.

Winter drove, thoughtfully, back to Canterbury. Suddenly his mobile phone rang. He saw with a glance that it was Carol Brady and pulled into a convenient lay-by. Carol would not be calling him unless it was urgent. “Winter,” he murmured gruffly.

“Freddy, it’s me. I thought you might like to know someone tried to kill me this afternoon.” She sounded calm enough. He waited. “I went to the police this time, told them about the break-in too. Somehow I don’t think they took me very seriously. But you do, don’t you?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was crossing the road and some maniac came right at me. If a man passing hadn’t pushed me clear, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I froze, didn’t I?  I tell you, Freddy, I bloody froze! He was a real hero. But then he buggered off and left me without a witness. Something’s not right, Freddy. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, not to mention paranoid.”

“Was the driver on a mobile phone? Or he could have been drunk, tired, anything. It only takes a moment’s distraction...”

“Distraction, bollocks…! I tell you, Freddy, he came right at me. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t even stop, the bastard.”

 “It must have been terrifying,” he sympathized and felt bound to add, “but these things always seem so much worse, the more you dwell on them.”

 “Don’t patronise me, Freddy Winter. What are you going to do about it?”

 “I’ll be back tomorrow evening, sooner if I can, and come straight round,” he promised.

  “That’s not good enough, Freddy.  I don’t want to stay here on my own tonight. I know it sounds daft but I can’t help the way I feel.” 

 “Can’t you ask a friend over or stay at their place tonight?”

 “What to stop you coming back?”  He explained. There was a long silence then, “What’s the point? We both know it can’t be Liam.”

 “It can’t do any harm to make sure.”

 “Maybe, maybe not...” She was getting more upset by the minute, he could tell. “Better to kill off any lingering doubts, I suppose.”

 “Absolutely, and I promise I’ll come straight round as soon as I get back.”

“See that you do. Her voice faltered. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking, Freddy, because I do. You think I’m the same hysterical cow who went to York to look for her dead son. Well, I’m not hysterical and, like you, I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m telling you, Freddy, something’s…not right,” she sobbed and rang off before he could try and reassure her further. 

He sat awhile before driving on.  Who would want to kill Carol? It had to be in her imagination, surely?

The logical part of Winter’s mind reasoned that Carol had probably replaced her key under the stair carpet in a different place without thinking just as the car driver had probably suffered a lapse of concentration then panicked. She was still grieving for her son and it can’t have helped to have the likes of himself walk back into her life without so much as a by your leave. At the same time, another part of his detective’s brain niggled relentlessly away at logic until he had to agree with her. 

Something was definitely not right.

.............................................

“So who is this geezer who thinks he knows who I am?  A copper do you reckon?”

 “He didn’t say but I reckon so,” said Sadie Chapman and continued stroking Harry’s hair to keep him calm, “He says he’s retired.” They had just made love in the four-poster. She had waited until they were both relaxed and happy, hoping to avoid the kind of scene that usually took place whenever the subject of his identity came up.

“Was it me in the photo?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Shit!” He stirred slightly and nestled closer. It always amused her that he could suddenly revert from being an incredible lover to a little boy sucking his thumb.

“You’ll have to face it sometime, Harry.”

“Why? We’re happy as we are, aren’t we? Why spoil everything? I might have a wife and six kids for all I know!”  He became agitated but quietened beneath the gentle stroking and warm kisses on the cheek that was not resting against her breast. Snuggling up to Sadie like this always came as a huge relief. It not only made him feel complete where there was a gaping hole but also safe…where there was dread.

“We all need to know who we are, Harry. And he seems an okay sort of bloke. I think you should talk to him, take a look at the photo for yourself. It might help you remember.”

“I don’t want to remember,” he muttered petulantly.

“You need to try, Harry, for both our sakes.”

“I thought you weren’t bothered?” He raised his head and glared accusingly at her.

“I’m not bothered for myself, only for you,” she lied.

Well, I’m not bothered. So that’s alright then, isn’t it?”  He disarmed her with a cheeky grin to which she never had an answer and they both fell quiet, each taking comfort and pleasure from the warmth of the other’s naked body.

Sadie’s mind drifted back, as it so often did, to their first meeting.  She had been shopping in Canterbury and gone to sit quietly in the Dane John Gardens to enjoy some peace and spring sunshine. Branches of sentinel trees brushed against each other across the main pathway that ran through the park. Rays of sunlight glanced off their leaves and gave them an appearance of candles in the heavy shadow. It occurred to her that she had always felt more at peace here than in the magnificent but draughty cathedral invariably swarming with visitors who fancied themselves as pilgrims straight out of Chaucer. The hypocrisy of it all got under her skin.  Here, though, she could relax and feel close to the God she would have liked to believe in but had never quite been able to convincer herself that she did.

There was a young man lying on the grass nearby but she took little notice at first. After half an hour, she realized that he hadn’t stirred a muscle. He was probably just taking a nap, she told herself, or simply sunbathing.  Yet she found she could not just get up and walk away. Call it a sixth sense, whatever. Eventually, she went and stood over him. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly. “I say, Sleeping Beauty, are you okay?” she asked again. When he made no answer, she knelt down and raised her voice slightly. “You’re not ill, are you?”  She gave an involuntary start as he opened first one eye then the other and grinned.

“And here’s me, thinking I was dead. You’re not an angel, are you?”

 Sadie laughed. “I’ve been called a few things in my time but an angel isn’t one of them.”

“I must have been dreaming then.”

 “I’m glad to hear it.” She rose to go but he caught at her skirt.

 “Will you stay and talk to me, please?” He saw her frown and let go of her skirt, blushing.

“Some of us have work to do,” she laughed, “and I have a pub to run.”

 “Just a few minutes, please. I’ve got myself into a bit of a muddle and I could really use some help sorting it.”

Against her better judgement, Sadie had sat on the grass beside him and listened to the most unlikely tale. She tried, in vain, to concentrate and stop thinking that he reminded her of a painting by Caravaggio. He had to be a good ten years younger than her and the full, sensual lips may have been wasted on a man.  But she’d have given anything for one kiss. 

Sadie sighed as he pressed his lips against her breast and she felt him run a moist tongue across a nipple.  The strength of her feelings for him had bothered her then and they bothered her now. Only now, there was the added complication of being in love.

“What’s your name,” she had asked casually.

“That’s the trouble, I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You and me both...” The grin was still in place and the blue eyes bright and friendly, almost merry. For the first time, though, she glimpsed something of the same sadness and uncertainty that everything about his body language had shouted out to her from the moment she first noticed him.  She thought she recognized a plea for help and forced herself to listen more carefully.

It had made little sense. He told her that he remembered hitching a ride to Canterbury but he could not recall from where although he did remember that he’d been running away.

“Running away?” her scepticism giving way to curiosity.

He shrugged. “It felt like that anyway. I was somewhere I just knew I had to get away from or go mad. It could have been a hospital, I suppose. Or a prison,” he added so ingenuously that she had felt neither unduly alarmed nor thought it in the least likely.

“You need to get help.”

“Are you offering?” the grin broadened.

“I mean professional help.”

“No.” He was adamant. “Maybe that’s what I’m running away from, I haven’t a clue.  All I know is that I need some space, a bit of time to myself to think things through. It’s like everybody’s crowding me and I need to get my breath.” He flung her another engaging grin. “I’m not mad, I can promise you that. I can’t promise much else, mind. What you see is what you get. If you’re game, that is.”

Both had known she was game from the start.

They had carried on talking until the sun went in and there was a chill in the air. She had left Michael holding the fort. He would, rightly, have something to say about that when she got home. She took a deep breath. “I run a pub and I can always use some extra help. It doesn’t pay much but I can throw in a room and we have a good chef so you won’t starve.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am if you are,” she countered airily.

“You’d take a chance on a total stranger who doesn’t even know his own name?”

She shrugged. “Someone took a chance on me once. I guess it must be payback time.”

“But…why?”

“Funny you should ask that, I asked myself the same question.”

“And the answer…?”

Sadie smiled. “There isn’t one, that’s the whole point. What will be will be and if the Devil takes all I’ll not be surprised. So, how about it?  Shall we tempt fate and see where it gets us?” He’d already scrambled to his feet as if afraid she might change her mind. “Hang on a second.”  His engaging grin faltered. An unnatural brightness in the eyes faded, briefly, as if a cloud had passed across the sun. “I have to call you something.”

“Oh, that!” he laughed, “Call me Harry, Harry Smith.”

To be continued on Friday