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
