Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

“Not Nina?” Carol had turned a shade green.

“No, not Nina,” a grim faced Winter confirmed. “She’s a local woman apparently, someone known as ‘Gypsy’ Kate.”

“A small time drug pusher,” commented Liam Brady without showing any emotion. “She’s bad news,” he added unnecessarily.”

“Not any more, she isn’t,” Winter corrected him gruffly, “except as far as friends and family are concerned of course.”

“She didn’t have any family,” Sadie remarked. “As for friends, well…I’d be surprised.”

“How…?” Carol began.

“How did she die?” Winter grimaced. “She suffocated. Yes,” he added dourly, “she was alive when all that stuff was piled on top of her. A blow to the head indicates she was probably unconscious although whether or not she came round at any time is anyone’s guess…”

“Serves the bitch right,” said Liam with undisguised contempt. “Whatever your fix, you can bet your sweet life ‘Gypsy’ was up for it. Speed, cocaine, heroin, you name it. If you were desperate enough prepared to pay well over the odds, she was a safe bet.”

“She’s banned from this pub and most others around here,” Sadie continued. “Not that it ever made a scrap of difference.  Two of our regulars have overdosed in the last year, both under twenty-one. One died in our toilets.”

“You never told me that,” Carol glanced at her son in some surprise.

“It’s hardly the kind of thing you boast about, Mum,” said Liam. “The local press had a field day. If you visited more often you’d have read all about it.” He added pointedly. “The story ran for weeks...”

“I can’t just drop everything and pop down at the drop of a hat,” said Carol irritably.

“You’re here now,” Liam was quick to point out.

“And we’re delighted to see you both.” Sadie rose a little unsteadily to her feet. “But I, for one, am ready for bed. Junior’s had far too much excitement for one day.” She was patting her tummy and smiling broadly as she spoke while Liam, Winter couldn’t help but notice, was positively glaring in his direction. “We weren’t sure about the sleeping arrangements,” she explained, a twinkle in each eye, “but the double bed is made up in the spare room and there’s bedding in the drawers under the sofa bed where you’re sitting.”

“We bought it specially,” Liam put in with a grin.

“I’m sure Freddy will find it very comfortable,” murmured Carol, only slightly embarrassed.

Sadie bid them all goodnight.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” said Carol, went to her son and planted a kiss on his cheek, but thought better of treating Freddy Winter to the same. Liam’s manner had been increasingly prickly towards poor Freddy ever since the detective’s return from his jaunt with Mike Pritchard. Sadie had done her best to smooth things over between the two men, but had caught Carol’s eye on several occasions with a look that warned, unmistakeably, they were best left to sort out their differences by themselves. “As if I couldn’t work that one out for myself,” murmured Carol crossly, although not loud enough for anyone to hear, and made a detour into the kitchen to check on Stanley. The little dog had wasted no time in bonding with Ben, a long-time resident English setter.

“Can I get you another drink, Fred?” Liam took the detective’s empty glass and refilled it along with his own without waiting for an answer. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you could have chosen a better time to get involved with our local crime wave. Sadie’s vulnerable at the moment. Oh, she’s blooming and we’re both thrilled to bits about the baby, but…well, she ‘s no spring chicken.”

“You could have fooled me,” Winter commented but his companion wasn’t smiling.

“I’m serious Fred.”

“So am I,” Winter insisted. “But honestly Liam, you have nothing to worry about as far as I’m concerned. I’ve no intention of hanging around here a minute longer than Pritchard insists. I just thought that, since I was coming down this way anyway, it would be good for your mother to spend some time with you both as well as keeping me company. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“One bird, at least,” Liam Brady remarked frostily.

But Fred Winter was no fool. “I can appreciate your being protective towards Sadie, Liam, but we both know she’s as tough as old boots. So suppose you tell me what’s really bugging you, eh?”

Liam hesitated then, “Well, since you ask, it’s Mum. She’s not happy about the baby for some reason, and don’t tell me I’m imagining it either. Sadie doesn’t say much, but I can tell she’s upset. What’s got into her, Fred?  I thought she’d be over the moon, we both did.”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask your mother,” Winter told the younger man, spreading his hands in a gesture of mock impotence, “I can’t speak for her. You know as well as I do that your mother is very much her own woman. You also know damn well she adores the pair of you so I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, just give her time to get used to the idea she’s going to be a grandma. She’ll come round soon enough, you’ll see.”

“Do you really think that’s all it is, getting into a flap over her age?” Liam was more than slightly incredulous. “Mum looks fantastic, better than a lot of women half her age.”

“That’s what I keep telling her, but you know how it is with your mother. She doesn’t believe anything of anyone if she hasn’t already convinced herself. Put it down to hormones and ignore it, that’s what I do.”

“It’s probably not just the baby she’s upset about then,” returned Liam cryptically, but he was grinning again now and visibly more relaxed. 

Winter wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to do a little digging. “By the way, Carol tells me you were at university with Max Cutler?” he enquired lightly.

Liam seemed happy enough to change the subject. “That’s right. We haven’t kept in touch since, though, so if you thinking I might have some idea where he is you can forget it. And before you ask, no, I hadn’t the faintest idea he was ever in this neck of the woods. Mum’s been filling us in,” he explained. “It must have come as quite a shock finding that body and thinking it was Max…” he added sympathetically.

Winter bristled at what he saw as an implied if not unjustified criticism. “It was a big hand,” he muttered gruffly, “and could easily have belonged to a man.”

“Gypsy was a large lady,” Liam commented, “in more ways than one. She wasn’t the kind of woman you’d want to mess with either.”

However, for now at least, Winter was more interested in Max Cutler than either the physiognomy of the woman called ‘Gypsy’ or her drug dealing. Not that the latter was irrelevant, given that Cutler, possibly Nina Fox too, were cocaine users. That is, if Pip Sparrow is to be believed, he added as a silent afterthought if without quite knowing why before addressing Liam again, “Did Cutler take drugs?”

“Who doesn’t at university?” Liam flung the rhetorical question back at Winter without a second’s hesitation, “We were all at it, to one degree or another. Most of us just dabbled now and again, usually when we were pretty stressed about assignments we still hadn’t got around to even thinking about the night before they were due to be handed in,” he joked. “If Max had a problem with drugs, I can’t say that I noticed. Not that I had a lot to do with him really, although there was nothing deliberate about that on my part…” He looked slightly embarrassed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Why do you say that?” Winter’s ears pricked up.

“No reason, except…” Winter lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Well, he had a best mate called Ray Bannister and, frankly, some people weren’t too happy about their relationship. You’d expect better from students, wouldn’t you? But you don’t need me to tell you that people still worry about being tarred with the same brush and all that rubbish.”

“They had a homosexual relationship?”

“If they did, it wasn’t an open one. I’d say it was a pretty safe bet though. Ray wasn’t comfortable around women, unlike Max who was quite the opposite. Whether or not he swings both ways, who knows?” He shrugged. “Who cares? I don’t, for one. It’s his business, although…”

“Yes?” Winter prompted.

“Well, I do think if you’re that way inclined you should at least be up front about it with your mates.”

“Did Max have many close female friends?”

“Heaps,” Liam’s natural grin widened, “He can charm birds out of trees, can Max. All the girls fell for him in a big way, and you can be sure he fairly lapped it up. From what Mum tells me, he hasn’t changed one bit.”

“How did Bannister handle this?”

“We never talked about it. Ray was a really nice guy, but the quiet, unassuming type. He didn’t deserve to die like that. I was gutted when I heard about it. Ray may have had his problems but he was no victim. He had his own way of dealing with things, that’s all. Nathan Sparrow has a lot to answer for.”

“Do you know Sparrow?”

Liam shook his head. “By sight, yes, but that’s all. I’ve met the daughter a few times. The Sparrows and Ray were neighbours years ago. Ray threw a few parties at his house during vacations and she’d sometimes show her face. She was just a kid then, and the brother was still alive. He was a real character. He and his pal next door would try and gatecrash and Pip would come and fetch them home. A real little Miss Bossy Boots, she was. I remember thinking how she seemed to take pleasure in spoiling the boys’ fun and not liking her much. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, of course. No one deserves that.” He looked serious for a moment, and then his face lit up with the inevitable grin. “The parties were Max’s idea. His mother would never let him have one in their house. You’ve met her so you don’t need me to suggest why,” he added light-heartedly.

“Point taken,” Winter agreed and wondered if Nina Fox was aware that her ex-boyfriend was, by the look of things, bisexual. “Were Cutler and Bannister friends before university? They lived near each other I believe…”

“To be honest, I haven’t a clue. I didn’t get that impression but I could be wrong. It’s a small world. One girl there lived opposite me and we’d never so much as exchanged a passing nod. Mind you, we soon rectified that,” he said with a chuckle, “but don’t tell Sadie.” He laughed aloud, tossing Winter a conspiratorial wink. Not for the first time, the detective found himself reflecting how much he liked this young man. Like mother, like son, he reflected, and could only hope Carol would soon see sense about not letting the baby drive a wedge between them. He sighed, stifling a yawn. It had been a long day.

“Do you want any help putting up the sofa bed?”

Winter shook his head. “I’ll manage,” yawning openly this time. In the event, however, he didn’t bother. No sooner had Liam left the room than he rummaged in the drawers, pulled out a duvet, sprawled across the sofa just as it was and fell asleep.

The next morning Winter presented himself at Canterbury police station and signed a formal statement. Needless to say, Pritchard remained unimpressed.  Now and then he would say, “Is there anything you’d like to add, anything at all?” to which Winter would shake his head and the younger man crease his forehead abstractedly while noticeably abstaining from his customary dogged persistence. Had his old friend Charlie Lovell told the  sergeant to go easy on him, Winter wondered?  Several times, he asked if Lovell was available, but Pritchard merely shook his head without offering any explanation.  Finally, after Winter had signed on each dotted line, he muttered ungraciously, “My guv’nor wants to see you before you go. I dare say the two of you will enjoy a nice cosy chat.”  But if he was implying Winter would be more likely to confide in Lovell certain relevant details he’d not seen fit to tell him, Pritchard, the young sergeant was well aware that this particular interviewee was too canny a fish to take the bait. 

The two men shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries before Winter was led away by a WPC to Lovell’s office.

“It’s good to see you Fred.”  Detective Chief Inspector Charlie Lovell leaned across an untidy desk and the two men shook hands warmly. “Sit yourself down and tell me all the gossip. I’d say a little snifter is called for, wouldn’t you, to celebrate the reunion of old friends and all that?  He produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a drawer. Winter accepted, smiling and the two clinked glasses. At the same time, Winter wondered where, exactly, all this bonhomie was leading?  Nor did he have to wait long to find out.

“This friend of yours, Max Cutler…”

“I’ve already explained to Pritchard,” Winter interrupted, “He’s not a friend. I’ve never so much as set eyes on the man…”

“Ah, yes, he’s gone missing and his old mum’s asked you to find him for her. A mind like a sieve these days, me.” He laughed. “So does mummy know her son’s a junkie?”

“Is he?” Winter feigned surprise.

Lovell leaned across the table again and looked his guest in the eye. “Gypsy was a pain in the backside. She’ll be missed by no one except her junkie clients and suppliers. At the same time, her untimely death is, frankly, a bloody nuisance. We’ve been on to her for some time, but it wasn’t her we were interested in so much as certain contacts of hers, contacts she’d choose to meet at various locations along the coast, usually in the middle of the bloody night.”

“Drug smugglers…?”

Lovell nodded. “So if there’s anything you want to tell me that you haven’t already told Pritchard, speak now or, so help me Fred, I’ll have your guts for bloody garters.”

“I don’t doubt that for one minute.” Winter did not flinch from the other’s intense scrutiny. “Honestly, Charlie, I don’t know anything that could be of any possible help to you. If I did, your people would be the first to know.”

“Like we were the first to know there was a body in that shed?”

Winter shrugged. “I had no idea…”

“Of course not, you were just running an errand for a poor old mum who’s anxious about her son.”

“It’s the truth,” Winter protested. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“Probably because I know you too damn well,” Lovell growled, offered Winter the bottle of scotch and watched him pour more of the golden liquid into his glass. Briefly, he leaned back in a leather upholstered swivel chair only to lean across the desk again seconds later, so close that Winter could feel the other man’s hot breath on his face. “I’m warning you Fred. This is a big operation. You fuck it up for us, and there’ll be precious little I can do for you even if I wanted. Do I make myself clear?”

“Absolutely, Charlie, but you don’t have to worry. I don’t give a monkey’s balls about your operation. If anything turns up in the course of my enquiries that might be remotely of interest, I swear you’ll be the first to know. I can’t say fairer than that now, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Lovell muttered, visibly unconvinced. But he’d said his piece and made his position crystal clear. If Fred Winter chose to go ahead and do things his own way regardless, well…what else could he expect? He leaned back in the chair again, poured a little more whiskey into his glass, drained it in one gulp and replaced the bottle in its drawer without offering it to Winter a second time. “What do you know about a Klaus Wiseman?” he asked out of the blue.

Winter shrugged. “I can’t say the name rings any bells.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Oh?” Winter was curious.

“He operates big time. Drugs, diamonds, illegal refugees…you name it and it’s a safe bet our friend Klaus has a hand in it…from Afghanistan to Amsterdam to bloody Acton.”

“Acton? I thought that was Irish Republican territory?”

“You don’t think they’ve relied on funds from browbeating the faithful in the local pubs all these years, do you?”

“And now we have power sharing. Who’d have thought it?”

“The name of the game has changed, that’s all. The main thing is to keep the funds coming  in. As for where they go and what they’re used for after every Tom, Dick and Mary have taken their cut, who cares any more?”

“The good people of Northern Ireland might,” Winter pointed out.

“The good people of Northern Ireland like the good people of Iraq and good people this whole fucked-up world over, have learned to look away.”

“What the eye doesn’t see, the heart can’t grieve over, eh?”

“A lesson you could do a lot worse than bear in mind,” said Lovell, the lightness of his tome belying the severity of his expression.”

Winter grinned, if only to show he understood. Reaching into his coat pocket, he retrieved the photo of Max Cutler that he always carried about with him now and showed Lovell. “That’s Cutler. May I take it he was one of ‘Gypsy’ Kate’s regulars?”

Lovell nodded. “That and more…”

“Oh?”

“They were seen around together sometimes. Not a lot, but…Well, let’s say they seemed more than just good friends.  So you see, Fred, I have more reasons than you right now for wanting to find our mummy’s boy.”

“We’re agreed then?” said Winter, “Whoever finds him first lets the other know, yes?”

“Just be damn sure you do,” growled Lovell with a noncommittal glare. His expression softened upon accepting Winter’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll be seeing you Charlie.”

“I dare say.”

“Take care if yourself.”

“Ditto....”

Later, on his way back to The Green Man, Winter took a detour. Liam had mentioned over breakfast that ‘Gypsy’ Kate lived in a caravan parked on farmland near the village of Selling. “That’s how she got the nickname ‘Gypsy’ I guess,” Liam told him, “It’s a real old gypsy wagon too, none of your posh vans with all mod cons. Mind you, she changed fancy cars more often than she changed her underwear so she wasn’t short of a bob or two, that’s for sure.”

Winter expected to find the caravan cordoned off, a police presence at the very least. But there was no one about. He climbed the short flight of steps and was surprised to discover the door left ajar. Gently pushing it open, he looked inside.

A red-faced, uniformed police constable, securely bound and gagged, mutely pleaded to be released.

To be continued on Friday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Carol? It’s one o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake!”  Winter grumbled as, bleary eyed, he clutched the phone to his ear while peering at the luminous dial of an alarm clock beside the bed.

“I know, Freddy, but it’s important.”

“It had better be,” he started to growl only to succumb to a huge yawn instead.

“It’s Nina, Nina Fox. She’s here with me.”

“What?” He was instantly wide awake.

“She turned up out of the blue about half an hour ago. She’s in a terrible state, Freddy, says I’m the only one she can turn to and just can’t or won’t turn off the waterworks. It’s driving me mad. Besides, you’re not the only one who needs their beauty sleep.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s sobbing her heart out on my sofa with a bottle of brandy for company. I only bought it today and it’s half empty already.”

“You rarely drink brandy,” Winter observed inconsequentially.

“Other people do,” she pointed out, yawning, “Besides, it’s better than scotch for medicinal purposes.”

“What you mean is, you won’t waste our favourite malt on just anyone.” Winter chuckled. Carol laughed if a trifle waspishly. At any rate, it helped ease some of the tension crackling down the line.

“Did she say where she’s been or what the devil she’s been up to?” Winter could barely contain his curiosity.

“She’s told me damn all so far. I just can’t get her to offload, Freddy. God knows, I’ve tried. You’ll have to come over.”

“What, at this hour? I’m sorry Carol, but it will have to wait. I’ll come over first thing. In the meantime, do your best. Get her drunk enough, and hopefully she’ll fall asleep before you know it.”

“By then it could be too late,” Carol protested loudly in the detective’s ear, “She might change her story, and right now I’m inclined to believe her.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t giving anything away?”

“She’s not, except…well…”

“Well, what?” Winter snapped.

“She keeps talking about Max Cutler…”

“Oh? Does she know where he is?”

“I presume so, since she keeps telling me he’s…well…dead.”

“Cutler’s dead, you say?”  Winter couldn’t help wondering why he was not surprised.

“So she keeps telling me, over and over again,” Carol went on, “But that’s it, bugger all else, nothing about how she can be so sure or where’s the body. So get yourself over here right now, Freddy Winter, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

She hung up, but not before a cutting edge to the icy tone had convinced him she meant business.  Carol, Winter admitted while hastily removing his pyjamas, is not a woman to panic easily.  If Nina Fox is proving too much of a handful for the likes of Carol Brady, she must really be in a bad way. So how come, a puzzled Winter kept asking himself, he was experiencing no sense of emergency, no rush of adrenalin?  Had he already convinced himself that Nina Fox was play-acting before he’d even set eyes on the woman. In that case, surely, I am doing her a grave injustice? At the same time, it occurred to him that Carol hadn’t once mentioned calling the police. Could it be she had reached the same conclusion?  Suddenly, he was anxious to find out… more anxious, in fact, than confirming whether or not Max Cutler was dead or alive.

By the time he had driven to Camden Town, however, the bird had flown.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? You said she was swigging brandy like mother’s milk. How the devil can she be gone? Gone where? More to the point I suppose, is how?”

“I heard a car start up and drive off,” replied Carol miserably.

“A taxi…?”

“No. She arrived in her own car, and now’s that’s gone too.”

“She’s driving, in that state? How could you let her be so stupid?”

“I’d been to the loo,” Carol explained tersely, violet eyes flashing danger signals, “How was I to know she’d do a runner? When I came back to the sitting room, she’d disappeared.  It may not have been her car I heard, but…”

“Of course it was her car,” retorted Winter, “Who else’s could it have been at this time of the morning?  Likely as not she’ll cause an accident, maybe kill someone in that condition, the stupid cow. We’ve no choice. We’ll have to call the police now, damn it.”

He had barely grabbed the receiver, however, when the doorbell rang. Hastily replacing the phone in its cradle, he followed Carol to the front door and stood right behind her as she opened it as far as the chain would permit. “Nina?” Carol peered into the darkness.

“No, it’s me, Pip”, a clear but unsteady voice answered.

Soon afterwards, all three were seated in Carol’s small sitting room, the brandy further depleted. “She called me on the mobile, that’s how I knew she was here,” Pip was saying. “She said she’d been drinking and would I collect her and drive her home.”

“You drive?” Winter was mildly surprised.

“I have a provisional licence. I’m having driving lessons and Max usually comes with me to help me get in some practise. Nina’s rarely in the mood, and Max is rarely free during the day. We usually use her car. She hates driving, especially at night. That’s why I didn’t mind, even at this hour, because I can handle the MG pretty well by now so I thought I could drive us both home. I called a cab, and…here I am. So will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Carol muttered.

“Did she say anything about Max Cutler when she called you?” Winter asked.

“No, should she have done?”

Carol opened her mouth to say something but a dark glance from Winter warned her to say nothing about Cutler’s apparent demise. Instead, she returned to the more urgent matter of calling the police. “There’s no way she can drive safely, the state she’s in.”

“You haven’t called them already?” Pip expressed surprised. Both Carol and Winter looked uncomfortable. “Mind you,” she added, “you’d be amazed how well Nina drives even when she’s drunk or as high as a kite, take your pick. That woman has the devil’s own luck.”

“Even for someone who you say hates driving?” Winter felt compelled to ask.

Pip shrugged. “Oh, she’ll take a cab from A to B, but when she feels like taking off to God only knows where, that’s when she takes the car. If she’s in a fit state to drive at the start, you can bet your sweet life she won’t be at the finish. How she hasn’t managed to kill someone before now is beyond me. But it’s like I said, she has the devil’s own luck. It’s part of her charm,” she added on a note of irony that was not lost on her companions.

Winter frowned. Nina Fox had not struck him as an irresponsible person. A drama queen, yes, but someone with more intelligence than to deliberately put her own life or anyone else’s at risk.  At the same time…He sighed and stifled a yawn. Hadn’t he seen more than his fair share of traffic accidents caused by responsible, intelligent people, drunk or whatever?  “It’s not her luck that concerns me,” he muttered as he crossed to the phone, “it’s some other poor bastard’s. Their luck is just as likely to run out if she falls asleep at the wheel or decides a red light should be green.” He began to dial. Then, for the second time, he was interrupted, on this occasion by a zippy ring tone.

Pip Sparrow retrieved her mobile phone from a pocket, glanced at the tiny screen and visibly paled. “Yes?”  There was a long pause then, “I see. Yes, I’ll come over straight away. No, it’s no trouble. Yes. I’m sure, thank you for letting me know.” Then, “Max, wait. How did you know…? Oh, I see, of course. Goodbye.” She stared into space for a few moments as if unaware she was in company then drained the remaining brandy in her glass and looked directly at Winter. “That was Max. He’s at the apartment. Nina’s just got back. According to him she’s hysterical. He says she keeps asking for me.”

“But how could he…” Carol began but was once again restrained from continuing by a meaningful glare from Winter.

“Could I have another brandy please?”

“I don’t approve of under age drinking,” the detective growled, but obliged all the same.

Can you call me a cab? I must get there right away.” Pip accepted another brandy, knocked it back in several long swigs only to splutter all over the carpet. “I’m sorry, I…I’m not myself…I…” She looked suddenly very small and vulnerable. Carol went and gave her a big hug. “Why didn’t she wait for me?” Pip shrugged free of Carol’s arms and looked from one to the other as if expecting a definitive answer. 

Winter quickly dismissed an itch on the side of his nose with a good scratch. “I’ll drive you myself,” he said.

Pip shook her head. “Thank you but I’d rather get a cab if you don’t mind. You’ll only…”

“Get in the way, Freddy,” Carol finished the sentence for her.

Winter yawned. He tired and was in no mood to argue. Besides, it was not inconceivable they were right. He dialled the number of a reputable taxi firm he’d had occasion to use himself, contemplating the girl as he did so. She was plainly distressed and shaking like a leaf.  It had been a perfectly natural question to ask, of course. Why indeed, had Nina Fox chosen to drive herself home, given the state she was in and that she hated driving at night?

“Would you like one of us to come with you?”  Carol asked in a concerned, motherly tone of voice that would have amused Winter in different circumstances.  As it was, he was impressed, suspecting it was only Carol’s steadying influence and oodles of sympathy that kept Pip Sparrow from collapsing on the spot.

The taxi arrived within ten minutes. It took the efforts of both Winter and Carol to assist Pip, her face the colour of chalk, out of the door and into the waiting vehicle. Afraid she would stumble and fall, Winter kept an arm tightly around the girl’s waist. Carol hovered, making reassuring noises. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you?” Winter asked again. “Or I can follow in my own car if you want a little time on your own to collect your thoughts...”

“No, really, thank you. Besides, you’ve been drinking,” she reminded him in a voice that might easily have been Miss Parker’s. Winter resisted a chuckle. His old schoolteacher, too, had a knack of making him feel inches high. “Thank you both, for everything, you’ve been very kind.”

“You’ll call and let us know what happens?” said Carol. Pip merely nodded and climbed into the back seat of the taxi. Winter closed the door behind her and seconds later it sped off into an oppressive gloom, broken only by a single lamppost nearby and a sprinkling of stars.

“So what do you make of that?” Carol wanted to know as soon as they were back indoors.

“I wish I knew,” said Winter, “but I’ll tell you this for nothing. Whoever she took that phone call from, it wasn’t Max Cutler.”

“Hardly, if he’s dead,” Carol agreed tartly, handing him a refill. “Do you think he’s dead? Nina’s certainly convinced he is. If she told me so once, she told me a dozen times. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly sober and reliable at the time. But you don’t make up something like that, do you, even if you’re pissed?”

“I should have gone with Pip,” Winter remonstrated with himself aloud.

“Maybe, but you offered and she refused, end of...” said Carol flatly, “Besides, what could you have done?”

“I’d have found out who called her, for a start,” Winter replied yawning. “It could have been Max Cutler, I suppose. After all, we only have Nina’s word for it that he’s dead. Hardly conclusive, in the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so. Whoever it was, he scared the living daylights out of that poor girl. As if she hasn’t enough problems already without all this cloak and dagger stuff in the middle of the bloody night. Frankly, Freddy, at this precise moment in time I’m well past giving a toss for any of it. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to join me…but don’t get any ideas, I’m not in the mood.”

“You never are,” Winter grumbled. Nevertheless, he accepted the invitation with good grace. It was very late, after all. He followed her to the bedroom, wondered why she hadn’t suggested the spare room and hoped Stanley would be alright on his own back at the house.  I really must do something about that dog. His eyes closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Beside him, Carol lay awake for a while longer, listening to the sound of his breathing and gentle snoring. Could they ever get it together, she and Freddy, she asked herself for the umpteenth time in as many months? Her son Liam had remarked more than once how they were practically an item. Her jumbled thoughts embraced Liam, Sadie, and the baby due on Christmas Day before returning to her original question. But she had fallen asleep before she could bring herself to frame a likely answer.

By the time Winter opened his eyes, the dawn chorus had come and gone and a watery sunshine was filtering through a chink in the curtains. For a few seconds, he was totally disoriented. Then he felt someone stir beside him…and remembered.

“Why, Freddy, I do believe you’re embarrassed,” Carol teased, propping herself up on one elbow while pushing hair wilful strands of hair out the violet eyes with her free hand.

“Not in the least,” Winter lied and forced a broad smile. “Good morning Carol.”

“I don’t know about you, but my head’s swimming.  I must have OD’d on the brandy last night. Why do I touch the stuff?  I don’t even like it much.  Now I can’t remember a bloody thing. I say, Freddy, we didn’t…well, you know…did we?”

“No we did not,” Winter assured her with a disgruntled growl and only saw that she was teasing when she burst into peals of laughter. “Your face, Freddy, it’s a picture, it really is!” She laughed again.

“No one can be expected to look their best first thing in the morning,” Winter mumbled defensively, and then saw the funny side and roared with laughter. “Except you, of course,” he said, taking one small, slim hand in his own bear paw. “You always look stunning.”

“Why, thank you kind sir,” she giggled, “But I look a mess and we both know it.” She giggled again, a light tinkling sound that always reminded him of wind bells that had once hung over the kitchen door when he was a kid.

“You couldn’t look a mess if you tried,” he said more earnestly than he intended and tried to follow it up with something equally complimentary, but every phrase that came to mind struck him as ridiculously cliché.

“Never try and chat up a girl before she’s had time to put a face on.” Carol went into another fit of giggles, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

“You seem to forget, I’ve seen you without a face before,” he was quick to remind her. “There was a time…”

“Centuries ago, Freddy. We’ve both put on a pound or two since then, not to mention the odd laughter line here and there.”  She had stopped giggling and a new twinkle in the lovely violet eyes gave him goose pimples.

He swallowed hard before asking what had been on his mind for ages, “Do you believe in a second time around?”

“That rather depends on the first time, don’t you think?” she countered, a mischievous smile playing around the full, sensual, colourless lips.

He leaned forward. “It’s a memory I’ll always treasure.”

“Me too,” she murmured before he pulled her towards him, wrapped his arms around her and was kissing her like there was no tomorrow.

The heat of her response sent shock waves through Winter’s entire body. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Helen died. Now, here he was, in bed with Carol and wanting to make love more than he had ever wanted it in his life before. Suddenly, it felt like a betrayal. Sex was one thing but this overwhelming desire, need, pleasure, just for being with a woman, this was something else. It was scary. While parts of Winter’s mind and body longed, desperately, to commit him, other parts were urging him to run out of that room, out of the house, and keep running.

Carol must have sensed something of this because she broke away, a hurt expression in the violet eyes that cut him to the quick. He wanted to explain how he felt, but didn’t have the words to explain to his own self-consciousness. So what was the point in trying? “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, “They do say one of the problems of getting older is that you still feel much the same as you did when you were twenty-one. But twenty-one, I’m not any more.” He forced a laugh to which she responded with a weak grin. Neither had a clue what to say.

Suddenly, the lively ringing tone of Winter’s mobile phone shattered the awkward silence like breaking glass.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Do you mind?”

“Yes and no. But answer the damn thing anyway.” She gave a choking little laugh, leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Winter reached for the phone and glanced at the tiny screen, but the number meant nothing to him. “Winter,” he barked.

“Is that Fred Winter?”

Winter frowned, not recognizing the voice. “Yes,” he said slowly, “And who are you?”

“You’re a detective, right?”

“Retired…” Winter murmured cautiously.

“I’m Colin Fox, Nina’s brother. Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

Later, Winter glowered at Carol across the breakfast table, “You never told me Nina Fox has a brother.”

“You never asked,” she replied cheerfully, any tension between them buried under layers of toast and marmalade. “He’s been working abroad anyway, somewhere in the States I think.”

“Well, he’s back now and asking questions. More to the point, he seems to think I have all the answers.”

“And haven’t you?” She laughed lightly although he couldn’t help but notice how the violet eyes strayed in each and every direction but at him. .

“You can ask that after last night’s little fiasco?” He glared.

“More tea…?” He nodded. “Then you’ll have to help yourself. I’m afraid, the waitress is off sick.” But if he heard, he gave no sign. Carol sighed, leaned across the table and refilled his mug from an earthenware teapot. “Can you manage to lift the milk jug yourself?” Again, no response, but she resisted an impulse to pour the milk in his lap. “So where is our Mr Fox now?” she asked between bites on a piece of burnt toast.

“Apparently, he’s at Nina’s apartment.” Winter broke off from his reverie and reached for the milk jug.

“With Nina and Pip…?”

“So I assumed at first. But that’s the strangest thing.”  He looked directly at her. “He claims not to have seen a soul since he arrived there yesterday evening.”

To be continued on Monday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

“You know, Fred, you could be looking at something very nasty here,” said a familiar voice at the other end of the telephone belonging to Arthur Bailey, a source of help in CID that Winter could always rely on.

Winter chuckled. “I could be looking at blue skies and sunshine, Arthur, “but it’s pissing down with rain here. Come on, let’s have it. What have you got for me?”

 “No handwriting match, I’m afraid Bailey went on,” but the notes were definitely not written by the same person who wrote on the handkerchief.”

“Now, that’s interesting,” Winter murmured into the mouthpiece.

“I’ll tell you what’s interesting, Fred.” Bailey paused for effect.  “We have a DNA match. The handwriting on the handkerchief may not be your friend Cutler’s but the blood is definitely his.”

“Really..?” Winter played down his surprise.

“So what’s going on Fred? What fun and games are you playing this time, eh?”

“I only wish I knew,” Winter admitted. “Thanks a lot for that, Arthur. I appreciate the help.”

“Any time, mate, just don’t get yourself in too deep without making it official, okay?” 

Winter chose to ignore the warning. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I need to be, you can be sure of it.”

“And pigs will fly,” came the half-joking response. but both men knew each other well enough to understand the unspoken implication.

“I will, Arthur, I promise,” Winter insisted, “Believe me. At this moment in time, I haven’t a clue what I’m doing or where I’m heading. It’s all such a muddle, I’m not sure I even want to know.”

“Huh! I know you and your muddles, Fred Winter. There’ll be a murder or two in there somewhere or my name’s not Arthur Bailey. Just be careful, do you hear? And the next time you want my help, you can damn well fill me in a bit more too. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like working in the dark.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“True, but that’s not the point. You’re retired, and I’m not paid to cut corners for other people.”

“Ah, but I bet it brightened up your day.” Winter chuckled down the line.

“Yes, well, that’s as maybe,” growled Arthur Bailey before wishing his old friend and colleague a heartfelt, “You take care now,” and replacing the receiver.

Winter went to sit in his favourite armchair and digest Bailey’s news only to find it usurped by Stanley. The little dog cocked its head on one side and wagged its tail but made no attempt to move.  Winter sighed. He really must make time to get rid of the wretched animal once and for all. He scooped it up, deposited it on the floor, sat down and switched on to pensive mode. Stanley lay on his belly, brown eyes fixed on Winter as if intent upon watching the cogwheels of thought turning in the detective’s mind. “The question is, Stanley, if it’s not Max Cutler’s writing on the handkerchief, how did the writer come by the blood? By fair means or by foul, eh?” 

The dog picked up its ears and promptly cocked its head on the other side, tongue lolling as if in sympathy with this new dilemma. “Whoever it was, he or she obviously knew about the notes, too,” Winter continued to speculate, glad of a sounding board even if it was only a dog. He shook his head. What am I doing? I don’t even like dogs. As if to contradict, Stanley  jumped up and quickly settled down in Winter’s lap.

Making no attempt to remove his canine companion, Winter found himself absently stroking it as Pip Sparrow’s name sprung to mind. “But surely not? Why on earth should she and what could she possibly hope to gain?” Even so, he made a mental note to see that young woman again at the earliest possible opportunity. As for the threat itself, the words ’Your turn next’ could mean anything. Nina Fox had taken it to mean revenge for kicking Cutler out, and that may well be the case, but for the fact he hadn’t believed a word of her story. Oh, the pair  had almost certainly quarrelled, but she had been far from straight with him about it.  Years of practice had made him very intuitive. He knew when people were holding something back. Invariably it was something important, and tantamount to lying in his book.

The blood, of course, painted a different picture altogether. If some harm had befallen Max Cutler, the implication was clear and the threat far more serious. Maybe Arthur had a point and he should contact the police? “No, it’s too soon. Not enough to go on, not nearly enough…eh, Stanley?” The dog gave a quiet but plainly affirmative yelp and wagged its tail as if to confirm.

Winter sighed again, deeply. Things were not looking too good when he found himself talking to a bloody dog. “I suppose you’ll want to go for a walk next?” he snorted. Stanley’s pricked up and a long, wet tongue was soon licking Winter’s face. “Oh well, there’s no time like the present I suppose. At least it seems to have stopped raining,” murmured the detective. Resignedly, he scooped the little dog under one arm and went in search of a makeshift collar and lead he’d improvised out of a leather wrist strap and cord dressing gown belt.

Stanley, however, was going to have to wait. Winter had barely left the room when the telephone on the hall table rang shrilly. Startled, the dog jumped free of Winter’s grasp, ran back into the sitting room and leapt back into the armchair as if determined to assert his right to be there. Its ears pricked up as Winter’s voice drifted through from the hall.

“Mr Winter?”

“Yes.” He did not recognize the voice.

“It’s Pip Sparrow here. We met the other evening, at Nina’s party?”

“Of course, Miss Sparrow, how are you?”

“Frankly, Mr Winter, I’m worried about Nina. She was sent home from filming yesterday for fluffing her lines, not just now and again but all the time. They told her to take a couple of days off to rest. April Showers has a heavy schedule, I know, but it’s not rest she needs its …well, reassurance I suppose. Now she’s disappeared, gone off without a word. It’s not like her, Mr Winter. She always tells me where she’s going because she knows I worry. I don’t suppose you could come over, could you? Or I can come to you if it’s more convenient. I hate to ask, but quite honestly I can’t think of anyone else. I have no one else, you see, except Nina, now that daddy’s…” Her voice faltered, “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.”

“I’ll be right there,” Winter promised, “and you’re not to worry about a thing. I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation. How long is it since she disappeared?”

“Her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

Is that all? he though, but assured her, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you so much,” said the low, tremulous voice.

“No problem,” he was saying even as a sharp click told him that Pip Sparrow had already hung up. He returned to the sitting room. “You can come with me in the car so long as you behave yourself or you can stay in the kitchen,” he told Stanley.

Stanley immediately jumped down and ran to the front door as if understanding every word.

………………………………

“I can’t thank you enough for coming, Mr Winter, I’ve been worried sick.” Pip smiled at Stanley and patted the little dog’s head before showing them into the spacious through-lounge. The entire apartment was open plan, on two floors and furnished in a manner that Winter would have described as ‘contemporary’ for want of a better word. It was not particularly to his taste but he had to admit the overall effect was striking without being pretentious. His glance swung, without conscious prompting, to the same painting on the wall that had made such an impression during his last visit. Again, its resemblance to the child’s painting struck him as uncanny. One has to be a natural progression from the other, surely?

Pip followed his gaze. “It’s a sure conversation starter, I’ll say that much for it,” she commented dryly.  “It was present to Max from Billy Pike. Billy’s always had a soft spot for Max. The Pikes were once neighbours of mine…” she added, her voice dropping to almost a whisper and appeared to become slightly confused before changing the subject. “Do sit down Mr Winter. The dog will be alright, won’t it?”

Winter nodded reassuringly although Stanley growled as if offended by the very suggestion of any misbehaviour. Winter, though, recalling the incident with Carol Brady’s bonsai tree, was careful to keep a firm hold on the animal. Stanley remained passive enough, but the detective wasn’t taking any chances. “Now, Miss Sparrow…”

“Call me Pip, please.”

“And I’m Fred.”

“Yes, Mr Winter.”

Winter tried again. “Have you any idea at all where Miss Fox may have gone?”

“I’ve called everyone I can think of she might be staying with, but no one’s seen her. It’s so unlike her, Mr Winter. She’d have called me by now if…” The voice dropped to a whisper again, but Winter could not help noticing that her surprisingly poised demeanour hadn’t faltered for a second. “Could something have happened to her? Should I call the police? I thought about it, of course, but decided it was too soon so I called you instead.” An audible tremor in the voice suggested tears were not far away, yet the wide eyes fixed attentively upon him and wandering only occasionally to the dog on his lap, displayed no unnatural brightness.

It occurred to Winter that, in all probability, the poor kid had no tears left to shed after all she’d been through. “Does she have a favourite place where she might go to be alone?” he probed gently. “Most of us do,” he added without thinking.

“Nina hates being alone. That’s why she invited me to move in. Oh, it’s for my father’s sake too, of course, although…” Winter raised an eyebrow. “I’m not absolutely sure he likes me being here, but...” Pip shrugged, “where else would I go?”

“Do you visit your father?”

“Oh, yes, every week. It’s what I live for, Mr Winter, seeing him and knowing that some day we’ll be together again. In the meantime…” She gave another little shrug, “…life goes on. But to answer your question, no, I can’t think of either where or why Nina might want to be on her own.”

“We all need our own space sometimes,” Winter persisted.

“Not Nina. She thrives on attention. Oh, but I don’t mean that nastily. You mustn’t think that. It’s just that Nina’s…well, Nina. It’s how she is. Just as well, I suppose, since everyone adores her.”

“Not everyone,” Winter murmured.

“Oh, I see, you mean those letters. I was speaking generally, of course.”

”Of course...” Winter spread his hands in acknowledgment, at which Stanley uttered a low, fierce growl.

Pip looked startled.

No, she’s more than startled. What is she afraid of?  Not Stanley, surely?  Winter began to toy with a curious contradiction. Instinct told him that Pip Sparrow was a highly strung young woman, yet her demeanour conveyed the very opposite. Moreover, her strained expression struck a distant chord in his memory…but so distant that he paid it little attention. He hastily apologized and wasted no time reprimanding Stanley. “Be quiet or you can go and wait in the car,” he warned the little dog. Stanley instantly quietened and flattened his ears as if disassociating himself from what was going on around him.  Winter, for his own part, both noted and couldn’t help wondering why the dog’s tail had, for once, ceased to wag. So the damn dog’s not wagging its tail, so what?

“He doesn’t like me,” Pip declared with a tight smile. .

“Nonsense,” Winter protested, glad of an excuse to shift a mounting irritation with himself on to the little dog, “he’s just sulking because I promised him to take him for a walk, but we came straight here instead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You have no idea at all where Miss Fox might be?” he repeated.

“None, unless…” Winter raised an eyebrow. “Well, it did occur to me that she may have heard from Max and is with him. There was a phone call on the landline yesterday afternoon. When I asked her who it was, she just said it was a wrong number.”

“And you think she was lying?”

“It could have been Max,” she pointed out, “Let’s face it, she’s certainly keen to see him, for whatever reason. It would also account for her not coming home last night if she’s with him.”

“Without telling you…?”

“We’re close,” she frowned, “but no one tells anyone everything, do they? Later, I tried redial, but there was no reply. So I dialled 1471 for the number and I’ve called it a few times since, but I only ever get a ringing tone.”

“I see,” said Winter, who didn’t ‘see’ a damn thing despite tugging pensively on his beard before asking, “May I have the number?”

“Yes, of course.” Pip rose and crossed to the telephone on a small table under the stairs, tore a strip of paper from a notepad, returned briskly and handed it to him. “In case you’re wondering...No, I don’t recognize the number,” she said and sat down again. She avoided looking him straight in the eye as she spoke. Winter was under no illusion that she was lying. Why lie about something like that?  He guessed she was being protective, but of whom and why?  What is it she isn’t telling me?

Keeping his eyes on the number written on the piece of paper he asked her, “Is there any place you can think of that Nina and Max would go, to get away from the prying eyes of the media, for example?” He looked directly up at her, “All lovers have their own ‘special’ place, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know,” was the crisp, immediate response, “They have favourite places just as we all do, I suppose, but nowhere I haven’t thought of and tried already, I’m sure.”

“Think again, and think hard,” Winter growled. A long pause followed during which the detective perceived that Pip appeared increasingly uncomfortable.

 “I suppose…” she began hesitantly and then, “But, no, they wouldn’t go there again.”

“Go where?” Winter demanded in a tone that brooked no further prevarication.

“There’s a cottage on the Kent coast that belongs to my father. Nina has a key. She never mentions it, but she and Max go there sometimes and I know he’s been there on his own because…well, he told me.  I wasn’t too pleased if you must know. Oh, they’d often go away for the weekend, but until then I had no idea they were using the cottage.”

“And you never thought to ask?”

“It was none of my business. I could always contact Nina on her mobile. Besides, I always look forward to having this place to myself for a bit. Unlike Nina, I do appreciate my own space,” she added smiling. Winter, though, was in no doubt that she was being less than frank with him.

“You don’t use the cottage yourself?”

Pip shook her head. “It has too many memories for me. We used to go there for family holidays, you see, when mummy and my brother Johnny were alive. In the good old days, before the fire,” she added, again close to tears, but likewise in full control of her emotions. Winter could not decide whether to be filled with admiration or pity for the girl. At the same time, a nagging suspicion that she was, at the very least, being economical with the truth did not go away.

“Can you give me the address?”

“Yes, of course. But I suspect you’ll be on a wild goose chase if you go down there.”

“Oh?”

“According to Max they were almost caught once by some nosy reporter from the local rag.”

“Caught?”

“They use it whenever they want to snort cocaine, although I’m sure that’s not all they get up to...”  She smiled again, a curiously unflattering smile. “Nina would never dare try it by herself, but Max is practically an addict. He doesn’t just snort the stuff either. I once found a needle in the bathroom after he’d been in there a while.” She paused, as if expecting Winter to pass some comment or at least express surprise. The detective purposefully did neither. He had long since discovered that not doing or saying what was clearly expected invariably threw the other person and could well make them drop their guard.

“Cutler has a key to the cottage too?” was all Winter said.

“I dare say, but…” She gave another irksome shrug, “who needs a key?”

“You and Max seem to be on good terms,” Winter observed, taking care to keep his tone light and manner amiable enough.

“He chats sometimes. I listen.”

Winter took his time digesting the fact that Max Cutler might be a cocaine addict, possibly Nina Fox too. Again, he wasn’t sure whether to admire the way Pip Sparrow appeared to take this in her stride or pity her inability to take a wider view. “It doesn’t bother you at all, the cocaine?”

“It’s none of my business. If a few idiots want to kill themselves, that’s their choice. Drugs, smoking, alcohol, they’re all killers. But you’re a copper so you don’t need me to tell you that. Besides, it’s a free country. People can take it or leave it.”

Her matter-of-factness so astonished Winter that it left his mouth feeling parched and he’d have welcomed a stiff drink. Instead, he asked her, “What did you do with the needle, the one you found in the bathroom?”

She seemed slightly flustered by the question, but not for long. “I threw it away,” she replied coolly. “I didn’t want to embarrass Max by confronting him with it.” Or Nina, especially Nina, Winter mused, but said nothing. “Besides, like I said, it’s really none of my business.”

For all the air of innocence and vulnerability about Pip Sparrow that had struck him at their first encounter, Winter now felt privy to an entirely different view. This young woman was as hard as nails. Even so, after carefully weighing one against the other, he finally settled for admiration over pity. How else, he had to concede, could the poor girl have been expected to survive the traumas of her not-so-distant past, not to mention a present whose advantages were mixed, to say the least?  We all, he had to acknowledge, must find a way to protect ourselves in a world that, on the whole, affords us precious little protection from ourselves. At the same time as he reached this conclusion, however, he continued to wonder what it was exactly Pip Sparrow wasn’t letting on.

 Why is it, the detective pondered irritably, that so few people can relate being economical with the truth to lying through their teeth?

 To be continued on Friday

Predisposed to Murder - Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

“Tell me, Miss Fox, about what or whom did you argue with Max Cutler that resulted in your throwing him out?” Winter was curious.

“I didn’t throw him out. Well, not exactly. He left of his own accord. As for why we argued, I rather think that’s my business.”

“You asked me to help you, Miss Fox, so that makes it my business. Of course, if you don’t want to tell me that’s your prerogative.” He wasted no time getting to his feet. “May I see you out?”

“Carol warned me you could be…abrupt,” the young blonde woman wearing designer sun glasses retorted but made no attempt to rise.

Winter sat down again, sprawled in his favourite armchair and observed his guest frostily. “Not so much abrupt as to the point, Miss Fox. I’m a busy man,” he lied, “and I’ve no time for time wasters. So, I’ll ask you again. Why did you quarrel with Max Cutler? You must see that I need to know, surely? After all, no one has seen or heard from him since.”

“What are you implying?” She smiled but he could see by the way her whole body tensed that she was both defensive and angry.

“Nothing at all, Miss Fox, I am merely asking.” He spread his hands, summoned his most charming smile and was relieved to see her relax slightly.

“If you must know, I caught him in bed with someone else. We’d finished shooting April Showers early so I came straight home and…well, I’m sure you can guess the rest.”

“I am not into guessing, Miss Fox. Tell me exactly what happened.”

The lovely face flushed angrily and she bit her lower lip, but persevered all the same. “I gave the pair of them a piece of my mind, to put it mildly. Max was contriteness itself but I was having none of it. His ‘bit of rough’ seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. To be frank, Mr Winter, I was shocked, trembling. I had to leave the room before I did something I’d live to regret. I ran to the bathroom and wept buckets. Buckets, Mr Winter, I was so beside myself. To think Max could betray me like that, it was just awful, awful!” She produced a hanky and dabbed at her eyes.

 Do actors ever stop acting, and if so, how the devil is one supposed to tell? Winter wondered. “Then, what?” he prompted gruffly.

“What do you mean, then what?”

“What happened after you came out of the bathroom?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. I still come over distraught whenever I think about that dreadful evening.”

“As anyone would…” Winter tried to sound reassuring if not sounding as sympathetic as the star of April Showers might wish.

Nina Fox took several deep breaths. Winter waited, vaguely amused, but patiently nonetheless. “The little baggage had left by the time I returned to the bedroom.”

“By ‘baggage’ I take it you mean Max Cutler’s ‘bit of rough’?”

“Who else?” she snapped, “But Max was still there. He’d had the decency to get dressed and was sitting on the side of the bed... our bed...face in hands, sobbing. Well, I ask you? Did he really think I was going to be moved by a show of crocodile tears? Oh, I was moved alright, moved enough to tell him how much he appalled and disgusted me!”

“Then you told him to pack his bags?”

“I did worse than that. I threatened to tell his mother. You should have seen his jaw drop. You know, I always thought it was just a phrase you read in tacky novels. But, my God, it dropped… and how! His face went as white as a sheet. Then he turned on me.”

“He hit you?”

“Nor exactly, no, but he lashed out with his tongue. Oh, didn’t he just?  He called me the most awful names. It was terrible. I was petrified, ran into one of the spare rooms and locked the door. I could hear Max moving about. After what seemed ages, he started hammering on the door. I didn’t let him in, of course. He yelled more horrible names at me, and then said…”

“Yes?”  Winter tugged on his beard. Nina’s graphic presentation was such that he was hard put to resist an impulse to applaud.

“He said I was a bitch for wanting to destroy him, but what goes around comes around and one day it would be my turn.”

“Your turn next...” Winter murmured, echoing the crude threats scrawled in both ink and blood.

“Quite. But he was angry, we both were. And I haven’t told his mother anything. I wouldn’t wish that foul woman on my worst enemy. Only, I haven’t seen Max to tell him so.”

“Do you love him?” Winter surprised himself by the question.

“Do me a favour, darling!” she pouted, “Me, in love with Max Cutler? Heavens, no! We were just two people drowning in self-pity and clutching at straws. Well, no, that’s not quite true. It was awful after Nathan went to jail and wouldn’t even see me. I was devastated, Mr Winter, devastated...” 

Winter was in no doubt that the long pause that followed was intended for dramatic effect. Torn between mild amusement and a growing irritation, he was about to prompt her again when she anticipated him. “You see, Mr Winter, some women need a man around, and I’m one of them. It isn’t that we’re sex mad or vulgar. It’s just the way we are. Max was, well…available. I had no idea he was a lying, cheating bastard. Mind you, fair’s fair I suppose. Neither of us had the faintest idea how things would work out between us, although ...” She dabbed at her eyes with the hanky again. Winter, though, had the feeling she had been about to say something else and was playing for time.  “So you see, we have to find him if only to let him know he doesn’t have to worry about a thing. Mummy won’t find out about …why we split up. Not from me, anyway. Oh, I know she blames me. But I really don’t care. She may be able to control Max with her blood money but I’m doing nicely these days, thank you very much, and I don’t need her money, her contacts, or her, the fat cow.”

“Blood money, you say?” Winter was intrigued.

Nina made an extravagant show of composing herself before explaining her choice of phrase, “Wealthy hubby had a heart attack not long after they were married. He’d probably just realized what he’d got himself into. I mean, well, you’ve met the woman. The poor man didn’t stand a chance. I gather she wasn’t quite as fat and ugly as she is now, but by all accounts she set her cap for him and before the poor man knew it they were married.”

“That would be according to whom?” Winter scratched the tip of his nose, the better to conceal a grin, Nina’s dislike and description of Annie Cutler coinciding pretty much with his own.

“Why, Max of course,” Nina declared with feeling, “He loathes her, but absolutely loathes and despises the woman. Unfortunately, she controls the purse strings. Behind every social climber, Mr Winter, you will find someone footing the bill. But I’m sure a man of the world like yourself doesn’t need me to tell you that.” She flung him a dazzling smile.

Winter tugged absently at his beard. Was he imagining it or could it be that the delectable Nina Fox was flirting with him, he wondered?  Whatever, he declined the bait. “How long have you known Max Cutler?”

Nina shrugged, “Oh, a few years. He aspires to being an actor. Not a scrap of talent, of course. But he’s good looking, can be charming when he likes and really isn’t bad company at all for a complete waster. The world of TV soaps and its hangers-on is terribly incestuous, as you can imagine. It was inevitable we’d bump into one another just about here, there, and everywhere. Besides, he was a friend of Ray’s and…” Her voice broke and she began to cry.

Convinced her tears were not contrived this time, Winter rose quickly and crossed the room to a handsome wine cabinet, poured two large brandies and handed her one without a word. She accepted gratefully and summoned a weak smile. “I’d have taken you for a good malt man myself.” She tried to laugh but the sound disintegrated into a muffled sob.

“Nor would you be far wrong,” he smiled back at her, “But there’s good malt and good brandy. Each to their own occasion, I say.” to which she managed a feeble titter.

They sat in silence for a while. “I must look a total mess!” she exclaimed at last and tried, again unsuccessfully, to laugh it off.

“A beautiful woman is always a beautiful woman no matter how she looks,” Winter murmured into his beard.

“Oh, Freddy, thank you.” She giggled, but almost instantly composed herself. “Even so, may I use your bathroom anyway?”

“Of course...” He showed her to the bottom of the stairs, indicated a door at the top then returned, thoughtfully, to the armchair. The man, Ray, to whom she had referred, must be Ray Bannister, the ex-boyfriend whom the ex-fiancé, Nathan Sparrow, had killed with a kitchen knife. “Interesting,” he mused aloud, “that Max Cutler was a friend of Bannister’s.” He would have to confirm with Nina later of course but he was in no doubt, although could not have explained why. Nor had he the foggiest idea why it should strike him as interesting, it just did. Perhaps, he conceded absently, it had to do with a predilection for muddles.  After all, what good copper could resist trying to sort a muddle, especially the kind fired by human emotions?

When Nina Fox returned, she looked radiant. Moreover, she was carrying and drooling over a white bundle in her arms. Stanley, for his part, was looking well pleased at being fussed over, tossing Winter a reproachful look as if to accuse the detective of neglecting him. “He’s gorgeous!” she repeated several times and kept the little dog on her lap for the remainder of her visit.

Winter met the dog’s steady look with one of his own. It’s the police station for you, my lad, once I’m done with your fancy woman, it said, and for once the scruffy tail did not wag. “It was a dreadful business, Miss Fox.” He turned his attention back to his guest at the point where their conversation had tailed off. There was no need to qualify his remark. She understood only too well what he meant. Out came the hanky again, but to his immense relief, she remained more self-controlled this time. “Were you having an affair with Ray Bannister?” he asked, not a little taken aback by his own bluntness.

She gasped and stared disbelievingly at him. “The epitome of chivalry one minute and as insulting as hell the next, you’re a strange man Mr Winter.”

Winter shrugged and spread his hands, “It’s the job,” he said by way of explanation. To his surprise, she seemed to accept this easily enough.

“No, Mr Winter, I was not having an affair with Ray. He was a good friend, a very dear friend, but that was all.”

“Yet he had a key to your flat.”

“I had already moved in with Nathan and Pip by then, but I kept the flat on as a sort of…”

“Insurance, in case things didn’t work out?” Winter suggested mildly.

“Not at all,” the grey-blue eyes flashed angrily, but she kept her voice steady and low. “We all need our own space, Mr Winter, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” Winter nodded. “Well, I’m no exception. I love Nathan, but he likes to, well, smother me. In the nicest possible way, you understand. But it can get too much sometimes. I needed a bolthole. Besides, there was Sammy to consider.”

“Sammy?”

“Sammy is my cat. Nathan is allergic to fur. He can’t bear to be near animals. So Sammy had to stay behind and dear Ray kept an eye on him for me. Naturally, he had a key to the flat.”

“And Nathan knew this?”

“Not exactly, no,” she demurred, “I didn’t want him…or anyone else for that matter…to get the wrong idea. Besides…” Winter raised a quizzical eyebrow, at which Stanley’s nose, too, appeared to twitch enquiringly. “Nathan had told me to get rid of Sammy, you see, and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. But I told him I’d given him away to neighbours.”

“So he had no idea Ray Bannister was looking after your cat?”

Nina Fox shook her head. “I should have told him everything of course, and then perhaps …”

“My dear Miss Fox, you mustn’t blame yourself.  Jealousy is no excuse for killing another human being. No one is to blame but the killer.”

“But Nathan isn’t a killer, Mr Winter, he just…isn’t,” dabbing at her eyes again with a fresh hanky.

“I seem to recall he was found at the scene of the crime and admitted his guilt,” the detective felt obliged to point out.

“True, but he hasn’t admitted it to me. And why not, I’d like to know?”

“I understand he refuses to see you…?”

“She nodded. “Because I’d know he was lying. He no more killed Ray than…”

“You did?”

She started then, “That’s right, Mr Winter, no more than I did.”

Winter said nothing but poured two more brandies. She had arrived in a taxi and he assumed she would be taking one home so where was the harm? Besides, this interview was taking the oddest turn. He was starting to enjoy it. They were meant to be discussing Max Cutler and threatening notes. Now, though, the conversation had taken a subtle change in direction. Indeed, an extraordinary turn of events. He stroked his beard, aware that he already had more than a passing interest in a murder that, to all accounts and purposes, required no further investigation whatever. “Why did Nathan Sparrow go to the flat that evening?”

Nina shrugged, “I have no idea. He must have been looking for me, I suppose. We’d had a little tiff and he knew I sometimes went back to the flat to be on my own. If only I’d gone straight there instead of popping into the corner shop to say hello to old Mrs Hussein, maybe I could have…well...done something, prevented it, I don’t know…”

“Old Mrs Hussein, you say?”

“Brixton is a very community-minded area, Mr Winter. I have a lot of friends there, people who know me just as Nina Fox, not the Nina Fox on TV. I had to work damn hard to get where I am today, for what it’s worth,” she added with a note of bitterness that sounded genuine enough. “I’m a working class girl made good, Mr Winter, and a working class girl is always a working class girl. Do you know why? Because no one ever lets you forget it, that’s why.”

Not for the first time during their interview, Fred Winter found himself warming to this charismatic young woman. “About Max Cutler…” he began.

But Nina had risen to her feet and was depositing Stanley firmly on the carpet. “My taxi will be here in a minute. It has been an interesting afternoon, Mr Winter. As I said before, I can’t believe Max means me any harm. At the same time, it isn’t nice to receive threats through one’s letterbox. It isn’t nice at all. You’ll want a retainer of course…” She began rummaging in her bag.

“I’m committing myself to nothing, Miss Fox, and until I do neither should you.  I’ll let you know whether or not I wish to involve myself in your domestic problems.”  He wasn’t prepared for the hurt look she flung him and almost wished he had been more diplomatic.

“Yes, well, I hope to hear from you again very soon but if I don’t …frankly, I don’t give a damn.” The doorbell rang. “That will be my cab. Goodbye, Freddy. I do hope I haven’t wasted too much of your precious time,” she all but snarled and curled her lip. 

Winter suspected he wasn’t being treated to another performance. Or was he perhaps catching a glimpse of the real Nina Fox?  “By the way, the name is Fred, not Freddy,” he saw fit to remind her on the doorstep seconds later.

“Ah, yes, well…Fred it is then,” she murmured sweetly. Turning abruptly, she hurried towards the waiting cab without so much as a backward glance or wave at the window as the vehicle sped away.

Winter was so deep in thought as he shut the door on the outside world and returned to the sitting room that he forgot to reprimand Stanley when the little dog jumped up at him, wagging its tail furiously. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve just bitten off more than I can chew, eh?” the detective murmured, bending down to sweep the delighted animal into his arms.

To be continued on Friday