Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Twenty-five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Take your time, Pip, dear,” said Carol Brady, pressing the distraught-looking girl’s hand as she lay propped up by pillows in a hospital bed.

“Just tell us what happened,” contributed DS Mike Pritchard quietly.

Winter said nothing.

They were seated in a curtained cubicle anxiously awaiting Pip Sparrow’s account of events.

“I went shopping…” Pip began, “and he…he appeared out of nowhere…said he had a gun and I had to do what he said. It was horrible. I was so scared…” she began to sob. Carol squeezed her hand encouragingly and he went on. “We went to a car and he made me get in. We drove to the caravan and…he tried to…to…rape me. I was terrified. I saw a razor blade on a shelf and managed to grab it. I didn’t mean to do it, it just happened. I was so scared…” she burst into tears.

“You were only defending yourself,” Carol murmured, “Anyone would have done the same.”

“So how did the fire start?” Pritchard wanted to know.

“When I…cut him...he started to fall. I couldn’t hold him. I tried to push him away from me, but…he pulled me to the floor. I panicked and struggled to get free. There was blood everywhere. It was horrible, horrible! I seem to remember we knocked something over as we fell, an ashtray I think. He had been smoking. Suddenly there was smoke and flames. I thought, oh, God, not again, not again! The next thing I remember was being in a field and some woman wrapping a coat around me,” she finished lamely, burst into tears again and fell into Carol’s open arms. “Will I go to prison?” she asked suddenly.

“Of course you won’t,” said Carol reassuringly.

“We will require a full statement later of course,”

“You’ll get one...” Carol glared at the Detective Sergeant, “when she’s feeling up to it and not before.”  Pritchard winced. “Now, Pip needs to rest.”

“She certainly does,” a nurse appeared and proceeded to take her patient’s temperature and blood pressure. “I said rest,” she repeated, casting a determined look at all three gathered around the bed.

“Hint taken...” Winter declared with a placatory grin. But if this was an attempt at humour, it washed over his companions completely. 

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking of, letting her go off on her own like that?   It must have crossed your mind that Williams could still be a threat, surely?  Pritchard demanded once they had passed through the ward’s swing doors into the corridor beyond.

“Williams?” put in Carol, “Is that the bastard’s name?”

Pritchard nodded. “He has a record as long as your arm, and for worse things even than rape I can tell you.”

“So why weren’t you keeping a close eye on him?” Winter snapped. He was feeling guilty enough without Pritchard rubbing his nose in it.

Pritchard shrugged. “As soon as you told us about the B&B, we paid the landlady a call.  Surprise, surprise, Williams had already checked out. Besides, he’s served his time. We can’t keep tables on every ex-con, for crying out loud. ” He squared up to Winter in a cold fury, “But you knew the score. You knew there was a calculated risk he could still be in the area. You knew, damn it, yet you let that poor kid go shopping by herself. Call yourself a copper?” he paused for breath, “But that’s just it, isn’t it? You’re not. You’re retired. Well, do us all a favour Fred and bloody well stay retired!” Pritchard stormed off. If he had looked back he would undoubtedly have been struck by an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on Winter’s face.

“He’s right,” Winter muttered bitterly, “I screwed up. I should never have let her out of my sight. But, no, I don’t want to trail round the bloody shops so what do I do? I go off to the pub, happy as Larry, and the poor kid nearly gets herself killed.” He turned to Carol. “I hate to agree with the man, but Pritchard’s right. I’m no copper. I’m just a pathetic has-been who won’t face facts.”

“Self-pity really doesn’t suit you, “Carol snapped, and then a shade gentler, “Besides, you weren’t to know…” she pointed out.

“Of course I knew. I knew there was a risk. Any half decent copper would have stuck to Pip like glue.”

“Very well, if you say so...” Carol was in no mood to argue. What is it about men that they have to wallow in self-pity at the first sign of things not going their way?”  She sighed, aware that she was doing Winter a grave injustice. They always expect a woman to give their ego a boost and let them think they’re the next best thing to Superman. She sighed again, the hint of a chuckle rising in her throat. Freddy is no exception in that respect, that’s for sure. However, she had the good sense to swallow the chuckle and refrain from voicing her thoughts aloud. Instead, she merely slipped an arm in his and propelled him, with some force, in the direction of the hospital car park.

“Poor Pip!” she exclaimed several times, “As if the poor girl hasn’t been through enough already! That brute Williams deserved everything he got if you ask me,” digging her fingers into Winter’s arm with such force that he gave a yelp.

“That hurt!” he protested.

“Don’t be such a baby, Freddy,” she responded crossly.

Neither exchanged a word on the drive back to The Green Man. For her part, Carol was torn between wanting to be with Liam and wanting to return to London as soon as possible while Winter continued to remonstrate with himself for allowing Pip Sparrow to all foul of the likes of Steve Williams. Even so, the more he mulled over her story, the less it rang quite true. 

“So what’s going on in that head of yours, Freddy?” Carol wanted to know, “Something’s bugging you. Am I right or am I right? You really mustn’t blame yourself you know. You weren’t to know what that madman had in mind any more than poor Pip.”

Winter pulled over into lay-by. “It doesn’t make any sense, Carol. Williams must have sussed that Pip had been following him when she called at the B&B. His seeing her again in Chelsea must have rung a dozen more alarm bells. So why should he hang around Canterbury, for crying out loud? It doesn’t make any sense,” he repeated.

“Who knows how that kind of person’s mind works?”

“I’m a copper, I’m supposed to know,” he muttered grimly.

Carol shrugged. “Well I’m sure I don’t know. Maybe he had unfinished business at the B&B or something.”

“Oh, he’d have stayed well clear. For all he knew, the police were on to him. He’d have scarpered pretty damn fast, probably soon after Pip left. So why leave London?  He couldn’t possibly have known I’d bring Pip to Herne Bay, let alone that she’d take it into her head to go shopping in Canterbury on her own. But if the kidnap was purely opportunist, what was he doing down here in the first place?  He should have been miles away by now.

Carol sighed. “Okay, you win. Turn the bloody car round and let’s go back.”

“What?” he looked genuinely surprised.

“I know you, Freddy Winter. You won’t rest until you’ve had a chat with those two biddies that run the B&B. And I’m not letting you go on your own, not the mood you’re in.”

“I’m not in a mood,” Winter protested.

“You’re in a foul mood, Freddy. You’re just the same whenever you can’t do a bloody crossword.”

“It would help if I had some half decent clues to go on,” Winter grumbled.

“So turn back and let’s see if we can’t find some,” Carol insisted. “Sometimes, Freddy, you are such a pain. That poor girl nearly gets raped and heaven only knows what else the bastard had in mind for her and you’re still not satisfied. You said yourself, he probably sussed that she’d followed him from Whitstable…where he’d just killed someone, for heaven’s sake”

“We don’t know that for sure,” he reminded her.

“Damn well near enough we do,” Carol was having none of it, “That makes Pip a potential murder witness, right?  If that isn’t motive enough to kidnap the poor child, I don’t know what is. We’ve already established it was probably sheer opportunism that made him grab her in Canterbury…well, haven’t we?”  Winter made no reply. “Does it bloody matter what he was doing there in the first place? There is such a thing as sheer coincidence, you know.”

“Not in my book there isn’t,” Winter growled, turned the ignition and proceeded to do a U-turn.  .

“Yes, well, we all know about that book of yours,” she commented dryly before lapsing into a resigned if not altogether dignified silence as they headed back towards Canterbury.

Winter was not surprised the find plenty of parking space in the forecourt of the B&B. Word travels fast. People might be curious about a police presence but, in his experience, they preferred to keep a safe distance. He gave an expressive grunt as he climbed out of the car. As if the police had nothing better to do than probe skeletons in every Tom, Dick and Mary’s cupboards…

Carol, ignoring the grunt, wasted no time ringing the doorbell.

It was a middle-aged woman wearing a tweed suit and sensible slippers who partially opened the front door, careful to keep a chain in place. Instinctively, Carol liked her.

“I’m afraid we have no vacancies at the moment,” the women said apologetically.

“Really?” commented a disbelieving Winter, “I suppose that’s why your car park is practically empty?”

“My sister and I are not taking any new guests at the moment,” said the woman, glaring at Winter, “...not that I have to explain myself to you or anyone else,” she added with a show of spirit that made Carol warm to her even more.

“I dare say,” Winter responded gruffly, “...but we don’t want a room. We would, however, very much appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

“Are you the police?”

“No, we’re looking for a friend of ours,”  Carol explained, “and we think you may be able to help. It’s not the man the police will already have questioned you about,” she added hastily.

“Oh, you know about that.”  The woman tensed and seemed close to tears. “So who, exactly, are you if you’re not the police?”

She’s frightened, thought Carol with a rush of adrenalin as well as sympathy although a sixth sense warned her to say nothing. Instead, she left it to Winter to repeat and elaborate slightly on what she had already said. She heard little of it though, but continued to observe the small, doughty little woman in tweeds.

“So you see,” Winter was saying, “we really would appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

They waited, with growing impatience, while the woman turned over the situation in her mind. It was unlike Cessy Pearce to dither. At the same time, she had to admit, she was out of her depth and perhaps these people could help. The woman, especially, seemed a pleasant, genuine sort.

As if reading her mind, Carol spoke up. “I’m Carol Brady, by the way, and this is my friend Fred Winter. Freddy is a retired policeman.” She chose her words carefully, “We don’t have anything to do with the police investigation into…recent events. We just want to find our friend.” She turned to Winter. “Show the lady Max Cutler’s photo, Freddy.”

Winter extracted the snap from his wallet and showed the woman, who made no attempt to release the chain. Her reaction took Carol and Winter completely by surprise. The search for Max Cutler had seemed a good enough excuse to justify their presence; they certainly hadn’t expected a positive response. The woman, though, appeared quite overcome. Clearly, she recognized Cutler although, at first, she said nothing. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she muttered at last then, “I suppose you had better come in,” releasing the chain and opening the door. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she kept repeating as she led them into a small lounge. Seated in a wheelchair was another woman, slightly older in appearance but plainly related; they could easily have been taken for twins. “Margaret, dear, this is…oh dear…” she turned to Carol.

“Carol Brady and Fred Winter,” Carol supplied with an encouraging smile. Winter, too, raised a smile, thankful that Carol hadn’t insisted on introducing him as Freddy. Oh, how I hate it when she me that, he blatantly lied to an alter ego that knew better than to contradict.

“I’m Cessy Pearce and this is my sister Margaret. Do sit down,” the small woman added and went to sit beside her sister. “Margaret, dear, they want to know about Max,” she told the older woman whose reaction, too, surprised their guests. Carol started. If Cessy has struck her as being frightened, she contemplated pensively, Margaret was plainly angry.

“In that case, I will leave you to it,” Margaret Pearce snorted and wheeled herself out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“I must apologize for my sister. She’s not had an easy time of it lately. Well, neither of us has, what with the police and everything…” the strong, almost masculine voice tailed off lamely.

“You’ve seen Max?” Winter put to her directly and she visibly pulled herself together.

“Oh, yes. Such a charming young man; I recognized him from his picture in the papers of course.  He and Nina Fox, they make such a lovely couple. Margaret and I have watched April Showers since the very first episode, you know,” she added with a childish excitement that Winter and Carol both found a trifle incongruous in this stout, rather severe apparition in tweeds.

“Max stayed here?” asked Winter with a deceptive mildness that fooled no one, least of all Cessy Pearce.

“No never. That is, not in the usual way of things…” she became flummoxed and then visibly collected herself, straightened her shoulders and doggedly continued, “The first time Max came here was with…that man…you know, the one the police were asking about…” the strong voice dropped to a whisper.

“Steve Williams?” Winter could contain neither his surprise nor astonishment. This was not how he had envisaged their visit unfolding at all. “Did you tell the police this,” a vague suspicion prompted him to ask.

“Well, no. They didn’t ask. They only wanted to know about Mr Williams. Well, that isn’t strictly true. They did want to know if anyone else was with him or if he had any visitors when he stayed here. But he always came alone and that’s what I told them. There was Max of course, but it was only the once and I’d quite forgotten. Well, no, I hadn’t forgotten, of course I hadn’t. But Max is such a nice young man and he’s got himself into such a pickle, I didn’t want to make things any worse for him, especially now…”

“Especially now…?” Winter prompted.

Cessy Pearce wrung her hands. “The poor boy was obviously hurt and in no fit state to drive. I couldn’t stop him so I followed him…”

“I think you had better start at the beginning, Cessy, don’t you?” Carol suggested. The other woman threw her a grateful glance. Carol’s use of her first name had an instant calming effect.

“You’re right, of course,” she agreed and told them how she had recognized Max Cutler a second time in Whitstable, followed him to the caravan, eventually brought him back to the B&B and cared for him. “What else could I do? The poor boy was in such a state. Margaret was furious. She said I should inform the police. But he didn’t want that and, well, who was I to pry?  He told us that if that horrible Williams man turned up, as of course he did, we shouldn’t let on he was here. Believe me, it put a terrible strain on us both, especially poor Margaret. She disapproved so, you see. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a strong woman in spite of being disabled and has a heart of gold but…well…she ‘s inclined to take the moral high ground and, well, something was obviously not quite right about the situation poor Max had got himself into…” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper again.

“Is that why you didn’t tell the police about Max?” Winter asked.

“I suppose so,” Cessy looked more than a little abashed, “But it’s not as though I was withholding evidence. I mean to say, Max can’t possibly have had anything to do with that poor girl being abducted and…well, whatever. The police told us what happened. Margaret and I were shocked, I can tell you. Not that we ever liked or trusted the man. To be honest, we were a little afraid of him. Oh, he was pleasant and polite enough. It was his general manner, you see, it made one feel so uncomfortable without one quite knowing why. Max was appalled when we told him the news, but I could tell he wasn’t surprised that the man was capable of such a thing. Mind you, he was more concerned about the girl…”

“Where is Max now?” Winter demanded more brusquely than he intended.

“If he’s still here, you must tell us,” said Carol, “I promise we don’t mean him any harm, we just want to help. His mother is very worried about him,” she added intuitively.

“Oh, dear me, yes, that poor woman, I dare say she’ll be frantic!” Cessy Pearce exclaimed, “Margaret and I don’t have children of our own, of course. but I can imagine…Oh, yes.”

“So?” Winter persisted, more gently, taking his cue from Carol but ignoring her warning glare. “Is he still here?”

“Here?” Cessy Pearce seemed nonplussed, “Max? Oh, no. He’s gone, thank goodness. Imagine, if the police had found him here? They searched the whole house, you know, went through it with a fine toothcomb, even our bedrooms, Margaret’s and mine. It was a dreadful experience, I can tell you, dreadful. It made us feel so…dirty,” she added and began shivering. Carol went to her and put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. At this, Cessy promptly perked up again and gave a little cry. “Oh, and I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea!”

As if on cue, Margaret Pearce propelled herself into the room again, a tea tray perfectly balanced across her lap.

“Do you have any idea where Max may have gone?” Winter was anxious to know even as he sipped at a cup of Earl Grey.

The two sisters caught each other’s eye. “Well…” Cessy began hesitantly.

Margaret interrupted her sister. “After all Cessy has done for that young man, and she probably saved his life, he didn’t even have the common courtesy to tell us he was leaving, let alone where he was likely to go next. Good riddance, I say. We’ve had enough, Mr Winter, more than enough. This whole affair has been most upsetting, not to mention bad for business. Not only do we have no idea where Max Cutler is now but, frankly, neither Cessy nor I could give a damn.”

For her part, Cessy merely nodded.

Now it was the turn of Carol and Winter to catch each other’s eye. Neither was in any doubt the sisters were lying.

To be continued on Monday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Twenty-Four

ACT III

The Present Day

Re-enter Fred Winter

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“I’m telling you, Mr Winter. That man is evil. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be here talking to you now. I’m frightened.” Pip Sparrow’s voice shook with an emotion that Fred Winter did not, for one minute, doubt was genuine. So why, he wondered, did he not quite believe the girl?

“Did he actually threaten you?” the detective insisted gently.

Pip shook her head. “Not exactly, no, but heaven only knows what might have happened if I hadn’t run off…”

“Not a lot, with other people in the next room,” Winter murmured dryly.

The girl blushed, visibly winced, and then appeared to pull herself together. “He didn’t have to,” she said tearfully, “You don’t always have to hear a threat spoken to know it’s there, do you?”

Winter nodded. It was true enough. Years of experience had taught him not to dismiss a person’s fears as mere imagination simply because they could not be properly substantiated, leastwise not as far as the strict letter of the law demanded. “You’re absolutely certain it’s the same man you saw leave the house in Whitstable and followed here to Canterbury?”

“Absolutely…. You can ask Nina if you don’t believe me…” she said sulkily, and Winter could tell she was scarcely able to control a rising anger.

“I will,” he told her, but not unkindly. “What I don’t understand is why the pair of you followed this man in the first place?  For that matter, what on earth did you think you were playing at by going back to the house at all?  If, as you say, you thought Max Cutler and the woman ‘Gypsy’ were dead, why didn’t you just call the police?” Winter asked while, at the same time, increasingly self-conscious of the fact that that he had been in no rush to inform them of his own suspicions.

Winter sighed exasperatedly. It was beginning to look as if the tall balding man had killed ‘Gypsy’ and dumped her body in the shed. But where was Cutler been while all this was going on, and is he alive or dead? “Why did you go back to the house?” he repeated.

Pip shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted candidly. “I suppose we still couldn’t quite believe our own eyes and wanted to make sure. Then we saw this man come out of number 22 and, well, he has to be a suspect, doesn’t he?  It seemed only natural to follow him. It gave us the shock of our lives, I can tell you, when we got back to the apartment and found him there, cool as you please, making himself at home and passing himself off as a mate of Nina’s brother.”

She uttered the last words with such distaste that Winter felt bound to say, “You don’t like Colin Fox?”

Pip gave another shrug. “I hardly know him, but from what Nina tells me, he’s a waste of space. Besides, what’s his connection with this weirdo?  You tell me that.”

It was Winter’s turn to give a little shrug. “I only wish I could,” he said with feeling.

“I’m frightened,” Pip repeated, “I don’t want to go back there. It’s all right for Nina, Colin’s her brother and I dare say she’s safe enough. Besides, she can always turn to her dad if she wants. But I haven’t anyone or anywhere else to go. I’m telling you, that man wants me dead. He even…”

“Yes?” Winter prompted, ears pricked.

Pip hesitated then, “He knew who I was, even said something about being there when the old house caught fire and my mum and little brother…” She burst into tears, and Winter put a comforting arm around the trembling shoulders. “It made me think that, well, maybe those horrible notes weren’t meant for Nina at all. Maybe they were meant for me. It’s not as if they were addressed to anyone. We just assumed…” She burst into another flood of tears and gratefully accepted a large handkerchief.

“You didn’t recognize him as being an old neighbour?”

Pip shook her head and blew her nose. “The first time I set eyes on him was seeing him run away from number 22.”

“Running?” Winter pounced on the word, “He was running?”

“Like he couldn’t wait to get shot of the place,” Pip lied glibly.

“You do realize you’ll have to tell all this to the police?” he told her, “You and Nina both.”

“But I’m telling you…” the girl insisted.

“That isn’t good enough, I’m afraid. You have important information regarding a crime and withholding such information is a serious business. Even so, it’s getting late. I dare say it can wait until morning. The chances are you’ve already put the wind up our friend Williams. He’ll not be staying at the B&B any more or my name’s not Fred Winter. No, he’ll keep till morning. In the meantime, I am taking you to stay with some friends of mine. You’ll be safe there while we decide how to proceed. Carol’s there too. I know she’ll be glad to see you.” 

“Carol?” The moist eyes lit up. “She’s okay, Carol.”

“We’ll go there now and you can call Nina on the way to tell her you’re with me, quite safe, and there’s nothing for her to worry about. It might be a good idea,” he added, “not to tell her where we are for the moment, but just say I’ll call her myself later this evening.”

“You think she’ll tell Colin Fox and he’ll tell that man Steve Williams,” Pip cried out in alarm. It was not a question. Nor could Winter deny it was true. So he said nothing, able to offer no solid reassurance yet anxious to prevent another tearful outburst.

On arrival at The Green Man, Stanley, tail wagging furiously, beat everyone else in the rush to greet Winter and his young companion.

“Why, Pip! Oh, what a nice surprise! How lovely to see you…” Carol gave the girl a hug and flung Winter a distrustful, questioning glance that he ignored.  After the introductions had been made, all five settled in the sitting room for a cosy meal of chicken and chips provided by Sadie, ably assisted by Liam who fussed at her every move. Carol remained conspicuously seated although, Winter had to admit, redeemed herself by chatting to young Pip and doing her best to make the girl feel at ease and welcome. Liam also provided some cans of beer and soft drinks while, knowingly, passing his mother a large malt whiskey.

“I wouldn’t mind something stronger myself,” commented Pip, but no one appeared to hear so she settled for an orange juice rather than risk being seen in anything less than a favourable light since that might ruin a plan that had been forming slowly but surely at the back of her mind. Of two things she was sure. Firstly, she would be safe here. Secondly, being here placed her ideally for the execution of that same plan, ridding her of Steve Williams once and for all.

A smile lit the otherwise plain and serious looking face. Adrenalin began to flow faster, warding off a distinct chill in the marrow. Whatever Steve Williams knew or thought he knew about her part in the fire or, for that matter, in Ray Bannister’s death…soon, very soon, it would be of no importance, let alone a threat. At the same time, she found herself listening, against her will, to a voice asking, Will it never end?  She gave a little shrug and blinked away a tear, no real idea what was meant by ‘it’. But she recognized the voice and trusted it, far more than she would ever trust the likes of those human voices assailing her now with crumbs of comfort and reassurance. What possible use could they be to her, these people, with her father in prison?

“You look tired, Pip. Come with me and I’ll show you to your room. I’ve laid out some clean towels, and you’re welcome to have a bath or take a shower any time. Tomorrow we’ll see about finding a change of clothes…” Sadie rose and addressed the girl, smiling broadly.

Pip started, as if waking from a dream. “Thanks Sadie. I can’t tell you how grateful I am  to all of you  for taking me in like this…” looking from one to the other with a shy, sad smile to which everyone present responded reassuringly. Only the dog uttered a soft, low, growl from the back of its throat.

Instantly silenced by a glare from Winter, accompanied by the nudge of a slipper against its white belly, Stanley gave a little whimper and went back to sleep.

Once in bed, Pip’s eyelids closed contentedly. Fred Winter had taken considerable interest in her explanation as to why Nina had not kept her appointment with him at the Christchurch Gate. “She was anxious about Colin, you see. You can imagine how we both felt when we found the other man there too, the very person we’d seen running away from the scene of a murder! And the way he looked at me, Mr Winter, it was so scary, I can’t tell you. I was so frightened. I still am…” At this point the grizzled detective had leaned across and patted her hand reassuringly.

The ghost of a smile played about the girl’s lips before she finally succumbed to gentle, persuasive waves of sleep - and a welcome escapism. She had Fred Winter where she wanted him, on her side. Their visit to the police in the morning would, she was certain of it, be a piece of cake. As for Steve Williams, he would soon be out of the picture altogether if her plan worked. And it will, won’t it? she pleaded mutely for reassurance. But she was already fast asleep. If her subconscious responded, she remained blissfully unaware.

………………………………

Pritchard was livid and Lovell no less so. But each reserved his forthright expression of it for Winter, treating the girl gently and with considerable sympathy. After Pip was led away, quietly sobbing, to the canteen, the pair turned on Winter accusingly.

“You should have let us know right away,” snapped Lovell. “How could you have just sat on it, for chrissake?”

“You saw the state that girl is in,” retorted Winter, “In my professional judgement, she was in no fit state to talk to you about anything last night.”

“Oh, well, who am I to argue with your professional judgement?” Pritchard echoed scathingly.

“That’s right,” Winter glared daggers at the young sergeant.

“But you’re retired, man. You’re not a professional any more, you’re …” Lovell blustered, at a loss for words.

“A liability,” hissed Pritchard.

“And that’s all the thanks I get, is it, for giving you a lead on a killer? I might just as well have “sat” on the information and got on with my own investigation. Yours isn’t the only time that’s valuable, you know.” Angry but a little abashed all the same, Winter half rose from his seat.

“Sit down Fred,” barked Lovell. Winter knew that tone of voice only too well and did as he was told, albeit muttering a string of barely audible obscenities. “Now, just you listen to me.  In future, you will share any – but any - information with either DS Pritchard or myself immediately. Immediately, do you understand?  There will be no holding back, no dragging of feet and no more professional judgements. Do I make myself clear?

“As crystal,” muttered a seemingly abashed Winter although Lovell wasn’t fooled for one minute any more than was Mike Pritchard. “Will you bring Williams in?”

“Of course,” Lovell growled, “although it was not a good idea to go chasing after him like that. He’ll know we’re on to him now.”

“And he’s had plenty of time to make himself scarce,” Pritchard added, “He won’t be dropping in at the B&B in again in a hurry, that’s for sure.”

Winter began stroking his beard. “He wasn’t staying there then?” he asked with an air of innocence that fooled no one. “The B&B couldn’t be a front could it? May I ask for what, exactly?”

“No, you may not,” snarled Pritchard.

Lovell hesitated. “It’s run by two sisters, half sisters actually. And, yes, we have reason to believe that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Whatever’s going on there, our friend Steve Williams is involved up to his neck. Oh, yes, we’ve had our eye on chummy for a while.” Winter raised an eyebrow and tugged at his beard. “Miss Sparrow’s barging in like that will certainly have upset the applecart, not to mention put the mockers on a bloody good lead,” he finished, staring stonily across the desk.

“A lead, you say?  May I ask in what sense, a lead?” Winter persisted.

“I wish I knew,” murmured Lovell pensively.

“Williams will be miles away by now,” snapped Pritchard, glaring accusingly at Winter.

“So a young girl mistook him for her uncle, what’s the big deal?” Winter responded blandly.

“You don’t honestly believe a pro like Williams would fall for that, do you?” Lovell was openly disparaging, “Get out of my sight, Fred. Just…get out of my sight.  Pritchard will take your statement. WPC Wright is already taking Miss Sparrow’s even as we speak. You can be sure our colleagues in the Met will be in touch with Miss Fox before either of you leave this building. I hope, for both your sakes, that her version of events will substantiate yours and Miss Sparrow’s,” he added then, for good measure, “I’m sure it will, practically word for word.”

“That’s all right then,” Winter smiled and spread his hands in a gesture wide open to interpretation. “Shall we go Mike?”

“Get him out of here, Mike!” Lovell shouted across the desk, already tugging open a drawer, anxious for liquid respite. “And Fred…” Winter started but did not look round. “Keep a sharp eye on that young lady!” he yelled before the door had quite closed after the two men.

In spite of himself, Lovell couldn’t resist a chuckle. Fred Winter might be inclined to do his own thing in his own way and bugger everyone else…but he was a useful man to have on your side. Even so, he took an extra long swig before reaching for the phone…

After lunch, Pip told Winter that, if he didn’t mind, she wanted to do some shopping. “I can’t keep borrowing Sadie’s things,” she explained, “Besides, she’s not my size.”

“Especially now,” Winter observed with a broad grin. Both laughed and the sound helped sweep away the remains of a difficult morning at the police station. It had been less of an ordeal than Pip had expected but an ordeal all the same. Winter, for his part, had disliked being made to feel like a naughty schoolboy. He hesitated, recalling that the B&B to which Pip had followed Steve Williams was nearby. Lovell’s parting words, too, were on his mind. But Williams would almost certainly already have flown the nest, probably minutes after Pip had left the B&B. If he hadn’t, more fool him because he’d be in police custody by now.  “I’ll meet you at the Christchurch Gate in, what, a couple of hours?” he agreed.

Pip nodded. “You’re welcome to come too, of course…but I think you’ll be bored,” she added with a grin.

“I think so too,” Winter was in no doubt. “I’ll wait for you in the café, okay?” Pip nodded again and began threading her way through the High Street crowds. Winter frowned as he watched her go, a spring in her step of the kind he had often observed in women embarking on a shopping spree. Perhaps he should have gone with her after all? But no harm could come to the girl in Canterbury High Street, surely? No, he was being over cautious. Besides, there was no point in alarming the poor child.

He grunted, surprised that he could still think of Pip Sparrow as a child. She was a young woman, nearly eighteen. Yet, he mused while making his way to a favourite pub, there was so much of the child about her still albeit in complete contradiction to the cool composure she often emanated. For sure, she was a mixed bag of emotions. Perhaps, Winter found himself wondering as he ordered a pint, this explained why he could never quite trust or believe her.

Pip hated shopping, wasted little time buying a few basic items and was careful to drop the receipts into her shoulder bag. Next, she made her way to the bus station and did not have to wait long for a bus to Selling. It seemed in no time at all that she was sitting in the old-fashioned gypsy caravan. “Why here?” she demanded, “The police will be keeping an eye on it, surely?”

“Why should they?” countered Steve Williams, “They’ve already been over it with a fine tooth comb and it’s not as if it’s a murder scene or a crime scene at all for that matter. No, my sweet, the police have no interest in this heap of junk, I can assure you, other than putting up a few sticks and some pretty ribbon around it. Why do you imagine that is? Could it be a hint, do you think?”

“I like it here,” Pip protested, ignoring his weak attempt at humour and looking around with genuine admiration. “It has atmosphere…”

“Fine…. If it’s atmosphere you want, how about we try the bed for size? That’s why we’re here, after all.”

“Why here?” Pip repeated.

“Why not…?  Like you said, it has atmosphere. Some might even say a gypsy caravan is romantic. Besides, it’s handy for me and well out of anyone’s way for you. You don’t want your fancy London friends knowing what a murdering little slag you are, do you?”

“So you like a bit of rough, eh?” Pip began to undress.

“Hey, what are you doing? It’s me what gets to take your clothes off, savvy? I must say, you look good enough to eat in that dress,” he drooled, “All it needs is a school blazer and a cute straw hat to complete the picture.”

Pip gave a nonchalant shrug. “Come on then, get romantic.” She spread her legs, hands in the pockets of the candy-striped dress.

Williams approached, began fumbling with the buttons and slobbering at her neck. He didn’t notice that one hand was no longer in a pocket but behind her back. Nor did he feel the razor blade at first, just a graze beneath the ear, now sweeping down to his throat.  He screamed just once, and even that was cut short by a thick, gurgling sound.

Pip watched, fascinated, as the eyes turned glassy, bulging like a toad’s. The mouth opened wider, as if to express surprise. He tried to cling to her but soon let go and fell in a heap on the floor. A rush of blood drowned any further attempt at speech, soaking her clothes. His hands tried to clutch at her ankles. She kicked them free. 

The blood all but hypnotised her; it was everywhere. Kneeling beside Williams, conscious of her clothes sticking to every inch of flesh, she dipped a finger into the red pool spreading across the caravan floor and put it to her mouth. It never occurred to her to feel for a pulse. He would die anyway; it was of no consequence to her when.

She glanced at her watch. Reluctantly, she leapt into action.

It was a party of ramblers who spotted the fire and came to investigate. They found a young woman, barely that even, no more than a girl, her clothes torn and covered in blood wandering, dazedly, in a field clutching a shoulder bag. Behind her, only yards away, raged an inferno that had once been a gypsy caravan.

“You poor, wee thing!” a woman cried, taking off her coat and hastily wrapping it around the girl’s trembling body.

“I killed him,” the distraught girl’s words hung in the hair, crackling and gathering momentum like the smoke and flames, “He tried to…rape me… and…I…killed him.”

Nor did Pip Sparrow need to fake a faint that sent her sprawling to the ground.

To be continued on Friday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Pip demanded, looking anxiously from Carol Brady to Fred Winter and then again to Carol. The detective’s sharp, penetrative gaze was unnerving her. Carol, too, looked wary. Pip smiled weakly, duly provided a few tears, and Carol was soon giving her a hug and oozing sympathy.

Pip was pleased her guess had proven correct. For a while she had sat in a taxi near Carol Brady’s flat in Camden Town wondering what to do next. She had seen Nina flee the house and drive away.  Should she follow?  She decided against it, fairly sure where Nina would be heading. First, she needed to find out exactly what Nina had been telling Carol. She hadn’t been very surprised either to find Fred Winter at the flat in the early hours of the morning. It had crossed her mind several times that the two were more than just friends. At their age too, she contemplated derisively and hoped the giggle she couldn’t swallow would pass for an expression of frayed nerves.

Satisfied that Nina hadn’t told them much and pretty sure they wouldn’t call the police, at least not yet a while, Pip was wondering what was expected of her now when her mobile phone rang. Surprised and not a little irritated at first, she glanced at the screen and did not recognize the number. The glimmer of an idea came to her. Only fleetingly did she consider the possible consequences. Glancing apologetically at Carol and a dour looking Fred Winter, she listened to an unknown male voice asking for a taxi to pick him up at an address in Pimlico.

“Did you get that? Can you get here as quickly as possible please? Are you deaf or something?” the caller was getting impatient.

“I see,” said Pip, “Yes, I’ll come over straight away. No, it’s no trouble. Yes. I’m sure, and thank you for letting me know.” She paused but a fraction before crying, “Max, wait. How did you know…? Oh, I see, of course. Goodbye.”

“What the f**k…?” demanded the voice. But Pip had already switched off the phone. She stared into space for a few moments as if unaware she was in company before draining the remaining brandy in her glass, and then looked directly at Fred Winter. “That was Max. He’s at the apartment. Nina’s just got back, but according to him she’s hysterical. He says she keeps asking for me.” 

 “But how could he…?” Carol began, but was restrained from continuing by a glare from Winter.

Pip caught the exchange and began to panic. “Could I possibly have another brandy please?” she asked plaintively, and then to Winter, “Can you call me a cab? I must get there right away,” accepting another brandy, knocking it back in several long swigs and spluttering all over the carpet. “I’m sorry, I…I’m not myself…I…” Carol came and gave her a big hug. “Why didn’t she wait for me? Oh, but that’s Nina all over, unpredictable at the best of times.” At the same time, she gave what she hoped would be seen as a despairing shrug that allowed her to slip out of Carol’s comforting embrace. It had occurred to her that she was already feeling too relaxed and dare not let herself be caught off guard.

“I’ll drive you myself,” Winter offered, but 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 and all three tittered unconvincingly.

 “Are you sure you wouldn’t like one of us to come with you?”  Carol asked in a concerned, motherly tone of voice while Winter called for a taxi.

Pip shook her head and contrived a grateful but determined smile. That wouldn’t do at all. At least they would now think Max was still alive. Nor was that a lie either, she was sure of it. Nina must have panicked. It was easy enough to miss someone’s pulse. Well, wasn’t it?  Max is alive, she kept telling herself. At the same time, she suspected she was losing the plot as the taxi headed for East London. “Bow Road,” she told the driver for she was certain Nina had gone to see her father. Where else would she go in the middle of the night?

Suddenly, Pip’s heart missed a beat. How could she have forgotten about Colin Fox?  Had Nina, too, remembered and returned to Chelsea in the hope of finding him at the flat?  But she quickly dismissed that idea. Colin doesn’t have a key. Besides, she knew Nina too well. The actress had confided how she had already met up with Alistair Fox a couple of times and their reunion hadn’t gone half as badly as expected. Pip could tell Nina was ready to forgive and forget, not least because her father was on hand and her brother wasn’t. Nor had Nina been enthusiastic about her brother’s impending visit. “Colin doesn’t care about me or daddy,” she had complained peevishly, “He just wants to interfere. He loves nothing better than to mess with other people’s lives, especially mine” No, at this moment in time, the star of April Showers would be with her father. Pip was willing to bet on it. Was it true, she wondered, vaguely, that the show was in trouble? Nina had hinted as much.

“Drop me here please,” Pip told the driver and paid him. Not for the first time, she  thanked her lucky stars that Nina had made her a generous allowance since her father had been made bankrupt by legal fees, mortgage arrears and other debts. He had only been able to keep number 22 because it had belonged to her mother and would pass to herself once she turned eighteen. Pip frowned. What would happen to her allowance if they pulled the plug on April Showers?  She shrugged. There was always university to look forward to…

Pip yawned and glanced at her watch. It was 4.00am. She would be almost as glad to grab some sleep as she was looking forward to meeting Alistair Fox for the first time.

It was Nina who opened the door a few minutes later, scantily dressed and looking very pale. “Pip, it’s you!”

“Who were you expecting, the police?” This unsettled Nina completely. She turned a shade even paler and was lost for words. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Nina stammered, finding her voice at last.

“Who is it?” a man’s voice called out. Seconds later, a bleary-eyed Alistair Fox appeared and gave Pip a long, disapproving glare.

“This is Pip. You know...Pip?  I’ve told you all about her. She’s…”

“Your killer boyfriend’s brat, if I’m not mistaken?” Nina look nonplussed.

“That’s right,” said Pip and yawned again, “and right now I could use some sleep.

“You’ll find no bed here.”

“Some floor space will do fine. Oh, and if you can spare a blanket, too, so much the better.”

“Pip and I can share your bed, daddy,” declared Nina, “and you can take the chair.”

“I’m too old for sleeping in chairs,” Alistair Fox grumbled.

“And I’m too tired to argue,” Nina snapped back at him, “Come through, Pip. You look as exhausted as I feel. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat or drink?”  Pip shook her head.

Alistair Fox made no further protest, but watched them disappear into the bedroom and then went in search of a supermarket whiskey he remembered leaving in the kitchen. Settling into the armchair Nina had recently vacated, he took several long swigs from the bottle before pulling the blanket to his chin and falling soundly asleep.

Pip, too, fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Nina lay and listened to the girl’s steady breathing. She hadn’t been as surprised as she’d made out to find Pip at the door.  While she was fond enough of the girl, there were times when she felt almost stalked by her. But now, Nina told herself sharply, she was being foolish. She tried to sleep. But sleep did not come for a long, tortuous while since each time she closed her eyes she saw the bloodied face of Max Cutler lying (Dead, surely?) at number 22 Waterfield Road.

Only seconds before a restless sleep finally took her, Nina decided that she would call Fred Winter first thing in the morning. The decision opened up a cosy niche in her mind that offered shelter and some reassurance if not the place of ultimate safety or peace of mind she sought. Thankfully, she crept into it.

Nina rose early the next day, while the others continued to sleep on soundly. She set about preparing breakfast for all three. Several times she went to call Fred Winter on the mobile. On each occasion, for no obvious reason, she changed her mind.  I really must call him, she kept telling herself. She needed help, didn’t she, advice at the very least? So who else can I turn to?   Yet, still she did not make the call. A long, tiresome hour passed before she finally spoke to the detective and agreed to meet him in Canterbury at 5.00 pm that same day. She glanced at her watch. There was plenty of time. Much as she disliked driving, it was better that she should drive down to Kent rather than have Fred return to London on her account. In the back of her mind, she toyed with the thought that he might accompany her to number 22 Waterfield Road, but a conscious nausea refused to let the notion surface. But I have to know for sure, don’t I? Ignoring the question or, rather, putting it on hold, she confided her intention to Pip.

“I’m coming with you,” Pip declared. Nina shook her head, surprised. She had expected Pip to raise objections “It’s a school day,” she reminded the girl.

“It’s a bit late for that now,” Pip retorted and repeated her intention to accompany Nina to Canterbury. “No one at school will mind,” she fibbed with convincing nonchalance, “Not at this time of year, they won’t. Everyone’s taking time off to revise for exams. Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “We girls need to stick together, right? Who knows? We might need an alibi sooner than we think…”

Nina managed a weak smile, turned away and proceeded to busy herself with washing up the breakfast things. There were times, she mused for the umpteenth time - part of her amused, the greater part resentful - when it was all but impossible to remember that Pip would not be eighteen for a few weeks yet.  “Seventeen, going on forty-something,” she muttered inaudibly, resolving there and then that, whatever Pip might say, she would drive to Canterbury on her own. On the other hand, she was forced to admit, the girl might well have a point about needing an alibi. “Damn!” Nina swore as she dropped a flower-patterned plate and watched it shatter on the cheap linoleum floor. “I’m sorry,” she apologized to her father who had just entered the tiny kitchen. But Alistair Fox merely grunted, turned round and walked away. She was still on her hands and knees brushing the pieces into a dustpan when Pip’s voice promptly caused all annoyance and confusion to rise to panic proportions on the spot.

“So what do we do about your brother, Colin, just forget about him?”

“Colin? Oh, my God…!” Nina wailed, “I forgot all about him. He’ll have been expecting me to meet him at the airport!”

“He’ll have probably found a hotel for the night. Call him on your mobile and see,” Pip suggested.

Nina shook her head. “I don’t have a mobile number for Colin. I’m not even sure he has a mobile.

“Then we’ll just have to go back to Chelsea and see if he’s left a message on the land line. We have plenty of time.”

“I suppose so…” Nina glanced anxiously at her watch. Pip was right, there was plenty of time to head back to Chelsea and still be in Canterbury by 5.00 pm.

“If there’s a problem, Mr Winter will just have to come to London.  Mohammad and the mountain ‘n’ all that,” said Pip.

Nina frowned. Suddenly it had become more important than ever that she should return to number 22...but with Fred Winter, not with Pip.   Not with Pip, not with Pip, not with Pip. Why? It wasn’t as if she believed Pip could have killed Max…or was it? But that’s ridiculous. Pip is little more than a child, for heaven’s sake. So why was she shaking?

“Are you alright Nina? You’re not ill are you?”

It seemed to Nina that Pip’s voice, far from sounding concerned, had a razor’s edge to it. It’s just my imagination, surely? “It’s probably a bug or something. I dare say it will pass.” She went into the bedroom where her father lay sprawled on the bed asleep, snoring loudly. Nina scribbled a note, left it on a small table beside the bed and returned to Pip. “We had better get a move on or poor Colin will be frantic.”

In the event, it took much longer to reach Chelsea than either Nina or Pip had anticipated thanks to a combination of road works, disabled traffic lights and a burst water main. As they entered the apartment they heard voices. Nina froze. Close behind her, Pip whispered, “Who can it be? Burglars, do you think?”

Recognizing her brother’s voice, Nina burst out laughing from sheer relief and moved forward with greater confidence. At the same time, she was already asking herself how Colin had gained access to the apartment. Relief began to give way to anger. It was in something of a confrontational frame of mind, therefore, that she faced her brother across the rich expanse of carpet.

“Hello Colin.”

“Nina! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you…” Colin Fox moved forward to greet his sister warmly but Nina’s eyes were already fixed on his companion. A sharp intake of breath close behind told her that Pip too had recognized the tall balding man with a moustache.

“Shall I go and make some tea?” Pip offered.

“Tea would be nice,” said Nina.

“Coffee for me…strong, black, one sugar and instant will be fine,” said the tall man with a queer smile that was impossible to interpret.

“Tea…milk, no sugar, Colin Fox mumbled then, “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Steve Williams,” he turned to his companion, “Steve, this is my sister Nina and her…err…”

“I’m Pip,” stepping forward, hand outstretched.

“Pleased to meet you,” Williams shook hands with both women. 

Nina winced involuntarily. The man’s handshake was limp and damp with sweat. She mistrusted it just as she mistrusted its smiling owner. Why was he here? What business could he possibly have with her brother? It required as supreme an effort to say nothing - for now at least - as it took to resist wiping her own palm on the stylish trousers she wore.

Pip left the room without another word, conscious of voices in her ears but hardly aware of what they were saying…

“So where has Colin been hiding you, Mr Williams?  He’s certainly never mentioned you before.”

“Hiding, Miss Fox? Why, nowhere. Your brother and I are merely business associates. And who wants to discuss business with a beautiful woman even if she’s your sister?”

“Shall we sit down?” suggested Colin Fox uncomfortably.

Pip was glad to escape to the kitchen, shut the others out and let her thoughts run free. What was going on? Who is this Steve Williams and what’s he doing here of all places? Her heart missed a beat. Did he realize she and Nina had followed him from Whitstable? If so, how had he known to come to the apartment and what was his connection with Colin Fox? She frowned. If the two men were “merely business associates” she was the Queen of Sheba. Had he recognized Nina in the car? What is he doing here? What does he want? The door opened and closed behind her. She swung round to find herself face to face with the very subject of her thoughts…and dropped a cup.  It smashed to the floor but neither took their eyes off the other.

“You father sends his regards.”

“You know my father?”

“Oh yes, very well. You have plenty of time to get close to people in prison.”

“Prison, eh?” Pip bit her lip and tried to act nonchalant. “So how come he’s never mentioned you or I’ve never seen you when I visit?”

“I never had any visitors. Those that do, well…” He shrugged, “the last thing you want to talk about to folks on the outside is how it is inside.”

“I dare say,” Pip acknowledged coolly, wishing he would go away. Something about the man frightened her.  Fear was an emotion to which she wasn’t accustomed and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Your daddy thinks the world of you. Now I can see why. You’re almost pretty. Not quite, but almost. I like that. My guess is you’ll blossom in a year or so.” He came closer. Pip pressed her back against the rim of the sink. The electric kettle began to boil. He reached out a flabby hand and touched her hair. Pip recoiled and moved away but did not take her eyes off the smiling face. The kettle turned itself off with a sharp click.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Pip flashed angrily, “Sorry, and all that, but you’re not my type.”

“Too old for you am I?  Oh, a pity, that. After the way your daddy used to go on and on about you...Well, I couldn’t wait to meet you, could I?  So let’s be friends, eh, Pip? I’ll be honest with you. You’re a girl after my own heart…you murdering little bitch,” he added unexpectedly and chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pip protested although not as strongly as she intended.

“Oh, I think you do young lady. I think you know exactly what I mean. But you don’t have to worry. Your daddy has a blind spot for his precious butter-wouldn’t-melt little girl. Too damn right he has. But we know better, don’t we, you and I?”

“You’re mad.”

“Tell that to Ray Bannister’s family.” He laughed, another ugly sound, “But don’t worry, your daddy doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“So what are you trying to say?” demanded Pip, feeling nauseous all of a sudden.

“You don’t remember me, do you? There’s no reason why you should. But I was there, you see. I was there the night your house burned down. I saw your face as you watched your mother and little brother burn to death. I’ve never forgotten it. That little madam is pure evil, I told myself…pure evil. Then when your daddy told me how he found you, oh, so distressed after finding poor Ray murdered… well, I got to thinking didn’t I? ” He approached the terrified girl again. His face wore the same queer smile as he stroked her cheek with one finger.

Pip froze for an instant, and then fled the room.

To be continued on Friday