Predisposed To Murder -- Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Whoever it was came at me from behind,” the plainly embarrassed constable groaned, first massaging his wrists, and then the back of his head and neck in turn. He was sitting on the steps of the caravan. “I was watching a flock of geese passing by,” he added lamely.

“Pritchard will just love that,” Winter told him with a knowing grin before calling for an ambulance on his mobile phone. Only then did he call Pritchard.

“Stay right where you are,” the sergeant yelled down the phone, “Just you bloody well stay there, Fred Winter!”

“How are you feeling?” Winter asked the constable.

“I’ll be okay. I don’t need an ambulance.”

“There’s one on its way. That’s a nasty bump on the back of your head. Besides, you’ve had a shock. You need to get thoroughly checked out.”

“I’ll be the laughing stock of the station,” muttered PC Brian Shelby, pale face a picture of misery.

“You’ll survive,” said Winter cheerfully. “It could have happened to anyone although I wouldn’t mention the geese to Pritchard if I were you.” he added with a chuckle as he clambered past the officer to enter the caravan.

“You shouldn’t be in there…” Shelby began to protest albeit half-heartedly.

“I won’t touch anything,” Winter called out, “You can’t blame me for wanting a quick look around. But don’t worry, I won’t tell Pritchard,” he promised with another chuckle. “Charlie Lovell is a friend of mine, by the way,” he added for good measure.

Shelby groaned again, buried his face in his hands, and rocked gently to and fro. If he had any doubts about Fred Winter, he wasn’t feeling in the least inclined to act upon them. Besides, he could have been stuck there for hours, but for Winter’s timely arrival on the scene. He owed the man something, surely? Intuitively, he already had Winter down for one of the good guys so where was the harm? At this particular moment in time, his chief concern was DS Pritchard. “He’ll go ballistic,” Shelby moaned softly.

Once inside the caravan, Winter hastily pulled on a pair of surgical gloves that he always carried, more out of habit than for any particular reason, and proceeded with a lightning search. The ambulance would be arriving at any minute, not to mention Pritchard. Nor could he rely on young Shelby’s goodwill to last long.

He found little of interest. A photograph caught his eye. It showed a woman he took to be ‘Gypsy’ Kate from Liam Brady’s description of her and a younger man Winter recognized at once as Max Cutler, his expression smug and superficial, much as he had looked in the photo Annie had lent him. ‘Gypsy’ Kate, though, surprised him. A tall, big boned woman, she was incredibly good-looking with masses of black hair tumbling across broad shoulders and a lovely smile. Even so, she had a shifty look and a glint in the eyes brought to mind that old, telltale saying about the smile on the face of a tiger.

Pocketing the snap without a flicker of conscience, Winter had barely opened the top drawer of a handsomely carved chest when he heard a muffled ringing sound coming from the rear of the caravan. Further investigation revealed a double bed covered with a beautiful patchwork quilt. Among untidy pillows, he found the mobile phone, still ringing, and picked it up, hastily pressing the receiver key before PC Shelby heard it too. He had already said, “Hello,” before reading the name on the tiny screen, “Nina, is that you?”

“Max?” the voice sounded strained, tearful.

“No, this is Fred Winter. Where are you?  Look, Miss Fox, we need to…” But the phone went dead before he even had time to finish the sentence. Sitting on the bed, he examined the phone almost absently, his troubled thoughts with Nina Fox, until it suddenly dawned on him that this was Max Cutler’s phone.

A shrill blare of sirens broke into his consciousness. Hurriedly pocketing both phone and gloves, he rejoined Shelby just as an ambulance was jolting across the field towards them, Pritchard’s own car and several others in hot pursuit. To Winter’s surprise and approval, Pritchard did not rant and rave at the young constable but seemed resigned to what had happened and even displayed some sympathy. As he and the sergeant watched the ambulance drive off, Winter could only hope that Shelby would take his advice and not mention the geese.

“You shouldn’t be here,” snapped Pritchard.

“You told me to wait for you,” Winter pointed out.

“Don’t box clever with me, Fred, you know damn well what I mean. You had no right to come snooping around here in the first place.”

“But it’s a good thing I did, don’t you think? I’m sure your constable would agree with me.”

“Have you been inside?”

“Snooping around, do you mean? Chance would be a fine thing. By the time I’d released Shelby, called the ambulance, and then called you…”

“If you say so,” grunted Pritchard impatiently, disbelief written all over his face. “Why are you here anyway? What were you expecting to find?”

“Why, a police presence of course. I was hoping to use my natural charm to get a look inside.” Winter grinned amiably but Pritchard’s scowl remained unrelenting.

“This is a murder enquiry, Winter, and none of your damn business so stay out of my way alright and leave it to the professionals?”

“Are you calling me an amateur?”

“Believe me, I’d be calling you a lot worse if it wasn’t for the fact my guv’nor thinks you’re a damn good cop. Having seen you in action myself, I have to say I’m inclined to agree.”

“Praise indeed.” Winter grinned. “Does that mean I get to look inside the caravan?”

“No it bloody doesn’t!” Pritchard expostulated, “You’re treading on important toes, Winter, and I don’t mean mine. I dare say Lovell has let on more than he should, off the record of course, so I imagine you have some idea about what’s at stake here. ‘Gypsy’ Kate, your friend and hers, Max Cutler…these are very small fish in a big pond. Believe me, Fred, it’s not one you’d want to fall into either.”

“I believe you,” said Winter and meant it. Hadn’t he had dealings enough with the sordid, twilight world of drug pushers, dealers and their power crazy sources in the past? These were people who would stop at nothing, certainly not murder, to get their own way, and that could be anything, from a quick fix of heroin or whatever to a small fortune in blood money. “I still need to find Max Cutler though. You wouldn’t want me to let his poor old mum down, would you?”

Pritchard shrugged. “You have your job to do, and I have mine. So long as our paths don’t keep crossing in all the wrong bloody places, I see no reason why we can’t both keep our guv’nors happy.”

Winter, briefly entertaining the notion of Annie Cutler as his guv’nor, was hard put not to roar with laughter. However, he suspected Pritchard wouldn’t see the joke and managed, with some difficulty. to keep a straight face. “I’ll tell you what, Mike, if I come up with anything likely to be of interest to you, I’ll let you know, and you can do the same for me. Do we have a deal?”

“By heavens, Winter, if you come up with anything, anything I should know about, you’ll let me know as a matter of course or I’ll see you behind bars for obstructing the course of justice.”

“I’ll take that as a no then, shall I?”

“Sir?” a woman from the forensics team that had descended called out to Pritchard before he could reply.

“Can I go now?” Winter asked mildly. A near apoplectic DS Pritchard nodded brusquely while attempting to give the woman in white overalls his devoted attention, Fred Winter’s barefaced cheek coursing every pulsating vein in his body.

Winter headed for The Green Man, pulling into the sides of various roads and lanes on several occasions to try and reach Nina Fox on Max Cutler’s phone, but with no success.  “Damn!” he swore on discovering that all recent calls but hers had been deleted. Even so, the Directory of names and numbers might well prove useful at a later date; these included Pip Sparrow, and interestingly, Colin Fox. Others, Nina and Annie aside, he didn’t recognize.

He tried calling Pip, but her phone was evidently switched off and he decided against leaving a message on her voice mail. There might, after all, come a time when he would need to deny ever having the phone in his possession. In all conscience, of course, he should hand the phone over to Pritchard. But he wasn’t of a mind to, not yet anyhow. Besides, he reasoned to his advantage, even if ‘Gypsy’ Kate was supplying Cutler with cocaine, this did not necessarily mean that Cutler was part of Pritchard’s larger picture or even Lovell’s for that matter. For certain, though, it was part of Fred Winter’s. 

Having been persuaded, as always, that ends invariably justify means, it was a more relaxed and cheerful Winter who arrived back at The Green Man to be greeted by a furious barking and wagging of the tail from Stanley and an unexpected kiss from Carol. “I was worried about you,” she said almost by way of an apology, “You’ve been gone ages!” He slipped his arms around her waist and would have returned the kiss. She pushed him lightly but firmly away. “Don’t get any ideas,” the violet eyes warned him but they, like her mouth, were rippling with warm, teasing laughter although no sound emerged.

Lunch had long since been served but Sadie, upon learning that Winter hadn’t eaten, wasted no time producing a fine Ploughman’s, comprising French bread, a chunk of tasty cheddar, a generous portion of her own home-made chutney, several pickled onions and a side salad. She also produced a jug, no less, of ale before disappearing into the bar. There was no sign of Liam.

Carol watched as Winter tucked in with relish. “So, did you get much out of Pritchard or Charlie Lovell?” she wanted to know.

“Not really,” Winter hedged between mouthfuls.

“But enough, I take it, to prevent you from at least phoning to say you wouldn’t be back for lunch?”  But whether or not this was meant as a question, he chose to ignore it anyway. “You might as well tell me where you’ve been all this time, Freddy. You know you will in the end anyway. And don’t say with Lovell because you’d already left when I phoned. Nor do I imagine that you’d want to spend a minute longer with Pritchard than can be helped.”

He told her as much as he had no problem with her knowing. That is, he made no mention of any major drug trafficking or that he had come into illicit possession of Max Cutler’s mobile phone. Nor did he mention Nina’s call.

“What do you think they were looking for, whoever put that poor constable out of action?  He will be alright, won’t he?”

“He’s fine, no worries there.”

“Thank goodness. So what did they want?”

“Or who?” murmured Winter thoughtfully and refilled his glass. “Want some beer?” Carol shook her head. “This chutney is delicious.”

“That’s not what you say about mine.”

“I eat it don’t I?”

“A little praise now and then goes a long way.”

“So how have you been getting along with Liam and Sadie in my absence?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she retorted, but her expression told him all he needed to know; things were not looking too good on the home front. She sighed deeply and confided all, as he’d seen she was bursting to from the moment he arrived. “They’re so happy!” she groaned.

“So? That’s good, surely?”

“Of course, it’s wonderful.”

“But…”

“Oh, I know I’m being a silly cow, but I can’t help it. I feel so…shut out, cut off, not included.”

“You’re right, you’re a silly cow,” commented Winter evenly and continued tucking in.

“Liam is so…well, distant, I can’t reach him any more. It’s so unfair, Freddy, after everything that’s happened…losing him, finding him again and now…it’s like losing him all over again. It’s not as if I’m a possessive mother, for heaven’s sake. Sadie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, even I can see that. But he’s been through so much, Freddy, and she’s so much older…and a baby at her age…anything could go wrong, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“You’re just jealous,” murmured Winter and wiped his mouth with a bright red serviette. But instead of yelling at him as he’d expected she burst into tears.

“Am I, Freddy? Am I just jealous or …doesn’t every mother want the best for her child?”

“If you ask me, that’s precisely what Liam has, the best of everything. A loving partner, a baby on the way…and a pub, for crying out loud! Who could ask for more?”

“Oh, you men, you’re impossible!”

“Try talking to Sadie then,” he suggested quietly but she was already half way across the room. The door closed behind her with a determined click that spoke volumes.

Once left to his own devices, Winter reached in his pocket for Max Cutler’s phone and tried calling Nina Fox again, this time with some success.

“Who is that?” a man’s voice breathed heavily into the detective’s ear. “Max?” the voice sounded incredulous.

“Is Nina there?” enquired Winter, dodging the question.

The voice hesitated then, “Nina? No she’s not. Who wants to know?”

Now it was Winter’s turn to pause a while before reaching a decision. “It’s Fred Winter here. Hello? Are you still there?”

At first, there was no response. Suddenly a woman’s voice, low and earnest, came on the phone. “Is that you Mr Winter?” Winter growled an affirmative. “Where are you?

“I’m with Carol at her son’s pub in Herne Bay, Kent. Well, it’s his partner’s actually but…”

“That’s near Canterbury right?”

“Yes, but…”

“I know Canterbury. Can you meet me at the cathedral at...shall we say…six o’clock?”

“Nina, I really think…?”

“I’ll wait for you at the Christchurch Gate.”

The urgent whispering stopped and the phone in his hand went dead. Winter stared confusedly at a black cat strolling across the tiny screen and wondered what he was supposed to make of it all. He couldn’t be sure it had been Nina’s voice. Yet he had been certain enough the first time he heard it. And who was her male companion?

He looked for Carol to tell her he was driving into Canterbury, but she had gone for a walk so he left a message with Sadie instead. “Is anything wrong?” Sadie did not attempt to disguise her concern, “Carol doesn’t seem her old self. You two haven’t been arguing again have you?”

Winter spread his hands in mock despair before giving Sadie a hug that both surprised and pleased her. “Will you keep an eye on Stanley?”

“I don’t have to. He’s attached himself to Ben and insists on following him everywhere.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Ben doesn’t see too well these days. I think he’s quite enjoying having a new pair of eyes.”  Both laughed. They understood each other well, these two.  If Sadie guessed what was eating Carol, she wasn’t about to voice an opinion unless she was asked, but she knew it had nothing to do with some petty argument any more than Winter’s embarrassed apology had much, if anything, to do with the little white dog. “Will you be back in time for supper?”

“Expect me when you see me, okay?” Winter’s weary expression broke into a grin.

Sadie waved him off at the back door, watching as he swung out of the car park and headed towards Canterbury and felt much like a mother waving her son off to school. The notion sent her into peals of laughter, interrupted by a hefty kick inside the womb. “You have got to be premier league striker at the very least,” she told her unborn child, giggling between clenched teeth as she returned inside.

It did not take half an hour to reach Canterbury. Even so, Winter was well aware of time ticking relentlessly away as he struggled to find a place to park. For a while, he wandered around the bookstores and even bought a copy of Dylan Thomas’s poems. Later, he found a bench and sat for some time in the leafy Dane John Gardens.  He was in a very reflective mood. He was concerned about Nina Fox, of course.  At the same time he felt guilty about having space to himself – in particular, being away from the growing, near tangible sense of estrangement between Liam, Sadie and Carol.

That queer business at the caravan puzzled him too. It had clearly been searched but not ransacked. What has the intruders been looking for? And who were they? Kids looking for drugs possibly, but unlikely or the van would have been ransacked. So who… and for what, exactly? They must have realised there would be a police presence, he had expected one himself, so what was so important that made assaulting a policeman worth the risk…and had they found whatever it was they were looking for? Somehow, he doubted it.

Time flew, as it invariably does. Even so, he was waiting at the Christchurch Gate well within the appointed time.

For a while he was content to admire the magnificent centuries-old structure and the relatively new addition of a bronze figure of Christ in the centre. He also made a point of examining its great wooded doors, so beautifully carved. Cocking an ear, he even fancied he could make out the footsteps of Chaucer’s pilgrims passing through at journey’s end. He resented paying for the privilege of entering the cathedral precincts and resisted on principle. The toll was necessary, he supposed, for the great building’s upkeep but, all the same, it did not seem fitting somehow that one should be expected to pay to enter a house of God. “Come off it, Fred Winter,” he remonstrated with himself, “it’s not even as if you’re a religious soul!” All the same, he contented himself with admiring the ancient cathedral’s splendid architecture from a distance.

He checked his watch and was startled to find that a good twenty minutes had passed. “Damn!” But he couldn’t have missed her, surely? She’d have spotted him right away.  He looked this way and that, thought he saw her face amongst a crowd swarming down Burgate and hurried to meet her. But it was someone else who didn’t, as it happened, resemble Nina in the least once he got a closer look. He retraced his steps and waited anxiously at the Gate.

After nearly two hours, he gave up and went for a coffee. It was stuffy inside the café so he took off his jacket and was hanging it over the back of a chair when something fell out of an inside pocket.  He bent down to retrieve it and saw at once that it was the photograph of ‘Gypsy’ Kate and Max Cutler that he’d taken from the caravan. It had fallen on its face, however, and what greeted Winter’s eye was a smudged scrawl in red ink that read: K & M, June 2^nd 2004 – thanks for a wonderful day – B.

Winter caught his breath. He’d have sworn the style of writing was in the same hand responsible for the threat written in blood on the notes sent to Nina Fox.  So who the devil was B?  But there were more immediate concerns. Where is Nina? Is Max Cutler alive or dead? How does ‘Gypsy’ Kate fit into all this or was she merely a red herring?  He started. Why should he think that about the woman? He frowned and shook his head. The discovery of her body still haunted him if only for its having led to his making such a fool of himself.  As for being a red herring...She had, after all, been supplying Cutler with cocaine by the look of things. But what if that was nothing more than a distraction, likely as not to lead him up the proverbial garden path? Whatever, his priority now had to be finding Nina Fox.

A familiar ringing tone rudely interrupted these random thought processes. At first he thought it was Cutler’s phone, and then realized, even as he was reaching for it, that it was his own. “Winter,” he said gruffly.

“Mr Winter, this is Pip Sparrow. I need your help. Someone wants to kill me and I have good reason to think it’s the same person who killed Max and almost certainly wants Nina dead too.”

 To be continued on Monday

Note: You can meet Fred Winter and Carol for the first time in Catching up with Murder by Roger Taber, Raider International, 2011.

Available at bookstores & http://www.amazon.com/  & (UK) http://www.amazon.co.uk/

& the publisher’s site:  http://raiderpublishing.com/Home_Page.html

& (USA) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/  

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 Nine

CHAPTER NINE

“What do you mean you’ve got a dead body for me?  Detective Chief Superintendent Charlie Lovell of the Kent police could hardly believe his ears. “Bloody hell, Fred, what are you up to now?”

“Do you know Waterfield Road, Whitstable?”

“Of course I know it, my sister-in-law lives there.”

“Well, I’m sitting outside number twenty-two in my car. A few minutes ago I was in the garden shed and, like I said, I found a body.”

“Oh? And whose body would that be?  What the devil are you doing in a dump like Whitstable anyway?”

“It’s not a dump. It’s a delightful old fishing village,” protested Winter in all seriousness. “Carol’s with me. Her son and his partner run The Green Man in Herne Bay as you well know…”

 “That doesn’t answer my question. Oh, never mind, you can tell me later. I’ll send Pritchard and a team right over.”

Winter grimaced. He’d had dealings with DS Pritchard in the past. “Can’t you come yourself?”

“You’re joking. I’m up to my eyes here. Besides, I’m giving a press conference in about ten minutes. I can rely on you to brief Pritchard on whatever it is you’re sniffing around these days?”

“Absolutely,” said Winter and tossed Carol a knowing wink while holding the mobile phone some distance from his ear. Both could hear Lovell threatening tar and feathers at the very least if he ever discovered at some later date that his old sparring partner had been holding out on him.

“Oh, and give Carol my regards,” Lovell added as an afterthought, “It’s high time she made an honest man of you if you ask me.”

“I’m a cop, Charlie, as honest as the day is long.”  Winter chuckled softly down the line.

“Huh” Lovell barked down the line. “There are sunny days and rainy days. In my experience, Fred, the sun doesn’t get to put its damn hat on until the last minute whenever you’re around.”

“I love you too, Charlie,” said Winter, laughing aloud, “See you soon, yeah?”

“Too damn right you will. Oh, and Fred…”

“Yes Charlie?”

“Take care, okay?” But he hung up before Winter could reply.

“Pritchard’s on his way,” Winter groaned and looked to Carol for sympathy but found none. On the contrary, her face was flushed with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Did you really find a dead body?” Winter nodded, feeling slightly nauseous as he recalled the hand sticking out from the pile of sacks as if its owner were making a last ditch effort to escape. He was, of course being overly fanciful or so he kept telling himself. The chances of the dead man having been dumped there alive were…remote, surely?

“Whose?” Carol was demanding. “Was it Max Cutler? You should never have gone in there on your own. Anything might have happened.”

“I couldn’t see his face.” Winter sighed with growing exasperation as the prospect of giving Mike Pritchard a statement loomed ever closer. They had met on another case, one that has involved Carol’s son, Liam as it happened. Winter wasn’t looking forward to the reunion. “As far as Pritchard is concerned you know nothing, okay?” he warned Carol. “You’re just cadging a lift to Herne Bay to see Liam.  Oh, and you can mention the baby, too, if you like. It will seem all the more plausible.”

“And just how much do you propose to tell him?”

“Naturally, as little as possible, and don’t look at me like that either. What do I know Carol? What do I actually know for sure? I feel like a headless chicken running around the farmyard wondering what’s missing.”

“If the cap fits,” she retorted.

Both lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Winter fretted about his reaction to finding the body. He had, after all, only assumed the hand was attached to a body. He had panicked. Am I losing my grip, for heaven’s sake? He sincerely hoped not or what chance of getting to the bottom of all this. All this…what? he kept asking himself. It was all such a muddle. Where was Nina Fox and why had she called on Carol in the middle of the night only to disappear without a word? Who was sending her threatening notes and had Max Cutler been privy to the identity of that person, especially given that the last one was written in Cutler’s own blood?  Exactly what scenario had led to his murder?  Stop speculating, Fred, and stop making assumptions. He was assuming, of course, that it was Cutler’s body he had stumbled upon in the shed. A lifetime’s experience warned Winter not to make any such assumption. Even so, basic instinct told him that it was, in all probability, Cutler’s body. Absently, he wondered how the mother would react. A surge of sympathy for the awful woman swept over him, but he could not completely obliterate from his mind’s eye the lasting image of a grotesque gargoyle engulfed in cushions.

Involuntarily, he chuckled before giving some consideration to Pip Sparrow and why that young lady appeared to have all the makings of a serial liar. Certainly, she had lied about returning to the house and finding Nina there the previous evening or Colin Fox would have seen them. He was sure, too, that Pip knew more about Max Cutler and his sudden disappearance than she was letting on. He was also ninety-nine per cent sure that she also knew why Cutler and Nina Fox had argued. There had to be more to that argument than Nina was prepared to confide. So how and where, exactly, does little Pip fit into all this?  I’m damned if I have the faintest idea.

Alternatively, had Colin Fox been lying?  Somehow, Winter doubted it. At the same time, he had the sense that Fox had not been as forthcoming as he might have been about his reasons for being back in the country.  He made a mental note to quiz Liam Brady about his association with Cutler and Ray Bannister during their time at university in the 1990s. He needed to talk to Pip again, too, and more importantly, to Nina herself as soon as possible.

Winter pursed his lips and proceeded to debate with his conscience about how much he should pass on to Detective Sergeant Pritchard.  Not a lot, if anything, he decided. After all, what did he have to go on besides a muddle of suspicion and native intuition amounting to precious little more than sheer innuendo? At the same time, he was fully aware that, in a murder enquiry, every tiny piece of information gleaned counted towards making that all-important breakthrough.  I’ll tell him as much as I think he needs to know, he coolly informed a wary alter ego, repeating word for word what he had already told Carol.

Carol, for her part, was thinking less about being party to the discovery of a murder than whether or not she could play the part of a thrilled grandma-to-be sufficiently well to convince Liam and Sadie.  I should be thrilled, she kept telling herself, so why aren’t I?  Nor had she quite believed the reasons she’d given Freddy Winter. She had never been a possessive mother. Besides, Sadie was the best thing that could have happened to Liam. She was grateful to the woman for that. As for the difference in their ages, what the hell does it matter?  Nor, she was certain, was her state of mind down to unsettled hormones. She sighed. Am I really so pathetic that I can’t stand being reminded of growing older?  The very idea made her cringe. Hadn’t she always been a realist, faced up to things, dealt with them rather than push them under the proverbial carpet?  So why, oh, why, do I have a problem with Sadie’s pregnancy?  Come on girl, pull yourself together and be happy for them, common sense told her over and over without managing to sound in the least convincing.

“Well, hello again. Long time, no see, eh?” Pritchard’s head at the car window caught both of them unawares.

Mike Pritchard proved to be far more reasonable than Winter could have imagined. He saw no problem with their driving to Herne Bay immediately and even expressed concern that Carol looked a shade pale. “This must have come as a terrible shock to you, Mrs Brady.” Carol nodded. “Splendid news about the baby, you must be over the moon.” Yet again, it was all Carol could do to manage a nod, now accompanied by a dazzling smile into which she put considerable effort. Pritchard, though, had already turned to Winter again. “I’ll pop over and see you in a while if you don’t mind? You’ll appreciate that I need to supervise things here. We can have a long chat later and you can tell me what inspired you to break into someone’s house and discover a body.”

Winter ignored the sarcasm. “I look forward to that,” he said, gritting his teeth, “and I appreciate your not detaining us any longer. As you can see, it’s all been a bit too much for poor Carol. By the way, she had no idea why I wanted to visit sunny Whitstable, I can assure you. As it is, I’m in the dog house.”

“You can say that again,” Carol exclaimed with such feeling that Pritchard looked first startled, and then faintly suspicious while even Winter was left feeling more than slightly shaken.

“Get off now, the pair of you, and I’ll see you both again soon.”

“Thanks Mike.” Winter was pleased to see the young detective wince at the use of his first name.

“My pleasure, Fred,” returned Pritchard.

Winter decided that the expression on the young sergeant’s face resembled a grimace more than a grin, displaying a set of such perfectly white teeth that he had to swallow hard on a wicked impulse to ask if they were Pritchard’s own.

“That didn’t go so badly,” Carol felt compelled to comment as they drove away. “I was expecting us to be frogmarched to the nick for interrogation.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Winter told her with a grin, “and don’t count any chickens either. Pritchard will hound us until he gets his man… or woman,” he added for no reason other than a sense of fair play. “After all, who’s to say it wasn’t Pip or Nina who killed our friend Max?”

“Now you’re being plain ridiculous,” Carol snorted, produced a lipstick from her handbag and set about applying it. “If Nina’s a murderer then I’m Harry Potter. As for Pip, don’t you think that poor girl has endured enough already without you casting aspersions on her character?” she snapped, returning the glossy lipstick to a stylish handbag.

“You look fantastic,” Winter told her. “It beats me why women always want to make themselves up to the nines when there isn’t the slightest need for it.”

“Reason not the need,” replied Carol cryptically, the unspoken challenge left hanging in the air. But if Winter had recognized the quotation from Shakespeare or its aptness, he wasn’t letting on. In the meantime,  it cheered Carol up no end to keep him guessing, as he’d known it would. He knew the quote of course. Ever since Liam Brady had studied Shakespeare as part of his university course, his mother had made a point of collecting numerous quotable quotes from the Bard, invariably taken from a Dictionary of Quotations that had pride of place in her bookcase. One day, he mused wryly, he’d make Carol sit down and actually read some Shakespeare.

Their arrival at The Green Man was chaotic. There were hugs and kisses all round while Stanley, joined in with an incessant barking that began to drive everyone mad. At the same time, the little dog wagged its tail furiously and looked so bright eyed and happy to be there that no one, least of all Winter, had the heart to keep saying “Shut up!” too forcefully. But Stanley had the measure of things. Once excited greetings were over and everyone began traipsing through a busy main bar into a small but comfy sitting room, the dog took its cue and quietened considerably; so much so that Sadie reconsidered her intention to banish it to the kitchen with a bowl of water and some dog biscuits she had purchased for the occasion.

“He’s lovely!” Sadie cried, Stanley recognizing a worthy ally promptly jumped on her lap.

“Down, Stanley, down!” Winter commanded.

“It’s alright,” Sadie laughed, “He can stay where he is, at least until I get around to fixing us some grub.”

“I’ll help you with that,” Carol quickly volunteered. Sadie nodded, smiled and said nothing.

“You look blooming, absolutely blooming,” Winter observed with undisguised affection and admiration for the woman sitting opposite him.

“I feel it,” said Sadie, acknowledging the compliment with a broad grin. She was wondering why Carol seemed so…distant somehow…although distant wasn’t the word she wanted but no other sprung to mind, dismissing a feeling of unease as imagination once Liam re-entered the room bearing a tray of drinks.

“Please raise your glasses everyone,” declared Liam, looking flushed and happier that Winter had ever seen him, “for a toast to…forthcoming events.”

“Events…?” Carol pounced on the plural.

“We thought we’d do the right thing by the baby and get married,” said Sadie quietly.

“That’s fantastic!” Winter was jubilant, “Congratulations to both of you.” He went to Sadie and kissed her on the cheek, before pumping Liam’s hand.

It struck Carol that Freddy was more animated than she had seen him in ages. “Yes, wonderful news,” she found herself saying and went through the motions with another round of kisses and hugs. Stanley, on this occasion, remained oddly subdued, but submitted contentedly enough to Sadie’s constant stroking and cuddling as she sipped at a glass of soda and lime.

“To forthcoming events…!” Liam repeated and raised his glass again.

“And may everyone live happy ever after,” Winter added, with an enthusiastic show of sentiment that surprised even himself.

“Happy ever after!” everyone echoed, the toast well and truly drunk as they all but drained their glasses.

 Sadie spilled some of her drink  on Stanley’s nose. The little dog put out his tongue and tried to lick it up. Everyone roared.  A knocking at the door went unheard and a young man with curly hair put his head around it briefly. “Sorry to disturb you, folks, but there’s a DS Pritchard at the bar asking for a Fred Winter.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Winter, uncomfortably aware that neither he nor Carol had yet mentioned events in Whitstable to Liam and Sadie. “Give Pritchard whatever he’s drinking and I’ll pay for it. Just give me a jiffy, okay?” 

The head nodded and vanished. No sooner had the door clicked shut than Liam was demanding, “Okay, you two, what’s going on?”

“We called in on friends in Whitstable en route,” replied Winter, only too well aware that he was making a poor show of disingenuousness.

Liam was neither fooled nor distracted. “And what did you find that has made Mike Pritchard so anxious to see you?”

“Who said he was anxious?” murmured Carol more irritably than she intended.

“You and Pritchard have never exactly hit it off,” Liam Brady pointed out, “so it must be something pretty big if he’s prepared to go out of his way to turn up here practically the very minute you arrive. Am I right or am I right?” He did not take his eyes off Winter’s implacable expression.

“If you must know, we found a dead body,” said Carol.

Sadie visibly paled, “A body? Oh, my God! Whose body, for goodness sake?”

“We’re not sure, but we think…” Winter began only to be interrupted by Liam who had gone to stand beside his partner.

“Spare us the details, Fred. I’ll not have Sadie upset.”

“You’re right, of course.” Winter was genuinely apologetic. “I was forgetting…”

“I’m pregnant, not ill, and I’m not about to fall apart over the slightest thing.”  It was Sadie’s turn to sound irritable.

“But a dead body…” protested Liam.

“Has to be the juiciest gossip I’ve heard in ages,” Sadie interrupted with a wicked gleam in wide eyes that had always struck Winter as one of her most attractive features.

“I’d better not keep Pritchard waiting,” Winter mumbled, tossing Carol a conspiratorial wink that plainly warned her not to give too much away, and left the room. Liam’s expression disturbed him, suggesting, as it had, far more than protectiveness towards Sadie and his mother. His keen eye had interrupted a fleeting interchange of glances between mother and son that he understood only too well. Both were recalling another grim set of circumstances in which all three had become embroiled only a few years ago, Sadie too. Liam Brady was scared, not only because Winter’s presence posed a threat, but also because he was still fighting demons of his own.

The burly detective frowned. He could relate to that. The trouble with demons, he reflected grimly, was their stubborn refusal to let go, no matter what. Even so, it was Sadie Chapman’s reassuring smile that he kept in his mind’s eye as he joined DS Pritchard at the bar.

Pritchard did not waste time with small talk. “Ah, there you are, and about time too. Come on, my car’s parked outside.”

“We’re going somewhere?”

“It’s a lovely evening. I thought we could ride around the countryside. I’ll drive while you tell me what the hell you think you’re playing at.”

“Playing at?”

“You’re retired, right? That means you report any suspicions to the police and don’t follow your own damn nose any more. If you had cause to think something was wrong at that house, you should have called us right away.  As it is, I could have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

“But you won’t, will you?” Winter grinned amiably. Pritchard merely frowned and drove off.

“Tell me Fred, why did you think the body was your friend Cutler?”

“His mother hasn’t seen him for a while. That’s why I called in. The poor woman’s worried sick.”

“She’ll be relieved to know he isn’t dead then,” said Pritchard evenly, “Not as far as we know anyhow.”

“It wasn’t Cutler?” Winter could barely contain his surprise.

“No.”

“You’re sure of that, already? That was fast work, even for the electronic age.”

 “It wasn’t difficult. For a start, the corpse is female.”

“What?” Winter started violently in his seat belt.” 

“I’d have thought someone like yourself would know better than to make assumptions like that. Frankly, I’m amazed you didn’t take a closer look.” Pritchard couldn’t resist glancing smugly at his passenger before turning into a dirt track and applying the brake.

“And disturb a murder scene?” Winter pursed his lips. “Now, give me some credit, Mike.” Even so, his stomach was churning over and making noises he was sure the younger man must be able to hear. Pritchard is right of course. I should have known better.  God knows, it’s bad enough that I came over queasy, but not even to realize it was a women’s hand...I must be getting old. “So, any idea who she might be?” he asked, suspecting the sergeant would take great delight in telling him, and was not mistaken.

“Oh yes, we know who she is alright. I recognized her immediately.”

Winter’s heart sank.

To be continued on Monday