Dead of Winter (25 page)

After an uncomfortable meeting with CC Norman, Fenwick headed down to the canteen for a coffee. Somehow the chief constable had heard that he was at St Anne’s and had summoned him back for a brutal interview. He had told him if he ever went there again without his permission he would make a formal complaint against him.

Fenwick had had his share of tough conversations in his life and weathered the onslaught calmly, so much so in fact that Norman had started to look uncomfortable towards the end.

‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

At the invitation, Fenwick took the chance to explain why he had been at St Anne’s. The latest girl attacked in the Flash Harry case had regained consciousness and named the school to the two officers attending her, one of whom was still there.

‘And who might that be? Oh, don’t tell me, I think I can guess. Alastair told me that before MCS took the case over it was with Harlden division. The SIO was a new inspector there. Has a name like a bird – Nightjar, or something. He’s very good, apparently, has the pit bull instinct. I bet he leapt at the chance to become involved when the girl was attacked a second time. Well, as long as he’s under your control I suppose you’ll welcome the input.’

‘It’s Nightingale actually, sir …’

‘That’s right.’

Fenwick thought about Nightingale and frowned.

‘And it’s a she, not a he.’

‘Really? The description I was given doesn’t fit a woman. But she’s quite good?’ He looked at Fenwick quizzically.

She’s exceptional, one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with
was what he wanted to say but he contented himself with, ‘Extremely competent and utterly dedicated; we worked together in Harlden. I think she’ll add a lot of value and if there is a link between Flash Harry and the Mariners,’ he ignored Norman’s frown and continued, ‘she’ll help us avoid the risk that we miss something.’

‘No harm having another senior woman around, I suppose.’

Fenwick then had to listen to another lecture on keeping his nose out of Operation Goldilocks before being dismissed. It was midday but he didn’t have much appetite. He found a spare room and called MCS to be brought up to date on other cases. Then he had a conference call on some necessary but dull administrative matters followed by a budget meeting that set the seal on a tedious day.

Just before five o’clock, Bernstein popped her head in.

‘Here you are! I wondered where you were hiding. Any luck with Flash Harry?’

‘Nothing new since this morning. Bazza will have updated you, I guess?’

‘He did. He also mentioned that you charged off to St Anne’s because the girl muttered something that sounded vaguely like it. It would have been nice if you’d mentioned it.’

Fenwick shrugged an apology.

‘I got to hear as soon as Operations received Tate’s call in …’

‘So that’s how Norman found out.’

‘Of course. He’s all over this case. There’s nothing about it he doesn’t know. I can barely breathe.’

‘But still no progress?’ He asked kindly but his question obviously hurt.

‘Why don’t you come along to the briefing now? It’s about to start.’

‘Won’t that irritate Norman even further?’

Bernstein’s grin in reply was pure malice.
What the heck,
he
thought.
As long as I keep quiet.

When he walked in he saw Nightingale and Big Mac perched at the back. Bazza along with several others were ogling her and Fenwick experienced a spurt of irritation. CC Norman had apparently wasted no time in inviting her to sit in. Instead of feeling grateful Fenwick was surprisingly uncomfortable. What would she expect from him? He knew she was desperate to find the person who attacked Jenni but it was even more important for him to avoid his tendency to become obsessed by theoretical connections.

The briefing lasted until six-thirty. Bernstein gave an update about the continuing hunt for Issie and Mariner. It was depressingly short. There had been hundreds of reported sightings, consuming thousands of man hours in front line work and record maintenance but so far none of them led anywhere. There had been no further ransom demand, no sight of Mariner’s car. Issie had vanished.

After Bernstein had finished there was a heavy silence in the room. Even the most hardened officers were affected by the girl’s disappearance and everyone knew that the case could be sliding towards a double-murder investigation.

‘Thank you, Deidre. What’s happening to the search teams; are they still out there?’

Thirty pairs of eyes looked instinctively at the sleet beating against the meeting room windows.

Bernstein scowled as if anticipating a reprimand.

‘I’ve finally stopped the search, sir, at least for the on-foot teams. With the weather deteriorating they were wasting their time and would be risking their lives if the storm comes in as predicted. I’ve requested RTC to maintain their efforts in the area of intensive search in Kent, East Sussex, Hampshire and Berkshire on top of the nationwide alert. It’s a huge area, of course, and there’s some bitching and moaning because Traffic is really stretched with the weather conditions but everyone agreed to cooperate eventually.’

Norman nodded his support and Bernstein relaxed a little.

‘And the fifth estate?’ There were a few puzzled looks in the room so he added, ‘The media?’

‘Have turned their attention to the apparent reappearance of Flash Harry, other than Saxby’s title. All eyes are on you again.’ She turned to Fenwick and popped a piece of gum in her mouth.

He ignored the remark. There was no time to worry about the inevitable consequences for his career if he became associated with two failed investigations involving teenage girls. Norman gestured for him to give them an update on Flash Harry, just in case there was a connection to St Anne’s. He did so quickly, asking Big Mac to report on Jenni’s brief and only moment of consciousness that day, and Nightingale to feedback the results of her interviews at the college. No one had recognised Jenni’s photo and there were no suggestions of any of the girls having been subjected to sexual coercion or abuse. He closed by asking when the results on Dan Mariner’s DNA were due.

‘Tomorrow,’ Bernstein replied.

‘Good,’ Norman interjected, ‘make sure you call Superintendent Fenwick personally as soon as they come in.’

The implication being that he really didn’t need to hang around in Guildford and could be off back to Sussex and out of their hair. Well, that was as may be but he had decided to stay one more night in Guildford. If Mariner’s DNA was a match to Flash Harry he was determined to take the chance to try and persuade Norman to let him continue as a passive observer on the Goldilocks operation. He knew his chances were slim but it would be hard for the chief constable to ignore the possible connection, and he had just heard that they had nothing else to work on.

He had one more call to make with his team in Lewes before calling it a night. After it finished he loosened his tie and wondered where Nightingale had got to and whether she fancied a drink. The incident room was busy but she wasn’t there nor could anyone tell him where she had gone. When he tried her mobile it was switched off. With a resigned sigh he pulled out the latest reports that needed his attention and tried to concentrate.

He called Nightingale twice more but didn’t bother to leave a further message. When he was barely able to keep his eyes focused, he called it a night. It was ten-thirty when Fenwick slipped the key card for room 303 into the lock. He threw his briefcase on to the bed and dropped the carrier bag containing his meagre supper on the narrow desk that the room afforded, tucked under a single window with a view of the car park. Easing off his tie, he hung his jacket on one of the three hangers on the open rail in a recess that served as a wardrobe.

There was a trouser press and iron conveniently provided. Before settling down he removed his trousers and arranged them carefully in the press, then he put on some jeans and shook out a fresh shirt. It was badly crumpled and part of him was tempted to hang it up and hope for the best but conditioning from childhood stopped him. With a sigh he unfolded the ironing board and plugged in the iron, paying particular attention to collar and cuffs.

Finished to his satisfaction, he hung it up and put the iron away. Enough; the shoes could wait until morning. He had been up since before six and was almost too tired to eat but as he’d had nothing but a slice of cake since breakfast he knew that he must. Fenwick tore open the supermarket carrier and laid it out on the desk. On top he arranged the BLT granary sandwich, packet of plain crisps, can of chilled lager and slice of fruitcake he had bought in the
seven-eleven
near the hotel. There were tea- and coffee-making facilities in the room so he had all he needed. He had his mouth full of the first bite of sandwich when his mobile phone rang. With a muttered expletive he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and answered.

‘Yesh?’ He chewed hard and swallowed part of the lump of dough and bacon painfully.

‘Andrew; are you OK?’ It was Nightingale.

‘Just had my mouth full.’

‘Oh, sorry to interrupt your dinner; shall I call you back later? Is it going cold?’

Fenwick glanced at the sandwich and shook his head ironically; if only.

‘No, it’s fine, go ahead.’

‘I saw that you’d tried to reach me. Was it urgent?’

‘Not really; where were you?’

‘I … well, if you must know Big Mac took me out for a bite to eat.’

‘Oh.’ The remaining mush of sandwich in his mouth was inedible and he spat it out.

‘We were both starving. I had hoped to catch you but someone said you were on a call. Anyway, do you fancy a drink now? I’m staying at the same motel as you and I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

Fenwick cursed silently. He wanted to be up early and he really needed to get some sleep.

‘I’ll see you in the bar.’

By the time he had eaten his sandwich and shaved his five o’clock shadow into submission she was due to arrive so he headed down to the unfortunately themed bar he had noticed on arrival. He bought them both large glasses of the only decent red available, a Faugères from the Languedoc, and was skirting a large plastic agave as Nightingale walked in and walked over.

‘I know you prefer white but on a night like this …’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

There was a sales convention of some sort at the motel and the bar was noisy. They found a small sofa in a corner. Fenwick was intensely aware of how close their knees were.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers. How is Bess?’

‘Miffed that I left on Sunday but she did deign to speak to me on the phone this evening so better than it might be. I’m still very grateful …’

‘Don’t mention it, that’s not why I asked. I’m very fond of her – and Chris – that’s all.’

Fenwick sipped his wine.

‘So, did you want more of a briefing on what I found out today?’

‘Not really; unless there’s anything really interesting.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded surprised. ‘So why did you agree to meet up?’

‘I just fancied having a drink together, like old times. It’s why I rang you.’

‘I see.’

Nightingale looked puzzled. Belatedly he realised she would have seen that he had called her three times. Oh well, that was too bad. He found he was struggling to find something to say. Nightingale came to the rescue, talking shop about his old division.

While she rabbited on about Harlden he watched her, noting the way her eyes creased at the edges when she smiled and the small frown line between her eyebrows. Why did he always think of her as so young?

He looked up and caught one of the salesmen staring. When their eyes met the man winked and nodded, sticking his thumb up. Fenwick looked away.

‘… don’t you think?’

‘Hmm, what? Sorry I missed that last bit.’

‘I said I really think you should be allowed back on Operation Goldilocks. I just don’t understand why Norman is so determined to keep you out.’

How had they landed on that?

‘Oh, it’s understandable. He’s taken charge and asking me back would be tantamount to admitting failure.’

‘But he’s allowed you to explore the possible connection to Flash Harry. Surely that’s hopeful?’

‘Don’t read too much into it. As soon as Dan Mariner’s DNA results come through and he’s confirmed as Flash he’ll bid me a speedy farewell.’

‘I really don’t think Dan Mariner is Flash Harry, Andrew. Or at least, not acting on his own. Why else would Jenni be attacked? In that file I gave you, there were other possibilities …’

Fenwick shook his head in frustration. She was so damned stubborn once she latched onto an idea.

‘Let it be, Nightingale. There’s no point us arguing about it. Tomorrow we’ll know for certain one way or another and with luck Jenni will wake up and you’ll be able to secure a description of her attacker.’

‘But what if—’

He raised a hand.

‘Please, enough for one night. Let’s just relax and finish the wine.’

‘So all the talk about working together as a team is bullshit?’

Fenwick blinked at her language. She drained her glass and frowned.

‘You know, Andrew, you’re beginning to sound like the top brass you’ve always struggled to respect. If I didn’t know you better I would say that promotion has got to you.’

‘Would you like another?’ He had drunk only half his glass.

‘It’s late; I should be getting to bed.’ She stood up.

‘OK. I’ll just finish this, then. Goodnight, Nightingale.’

‘’Night, Andrew, sleep well.’

After she had gone he took his glass back to his room to finish with the crisps. Fenwick tried not to think about her final remarks, but as he nibbled fatty saltiness with fading appetite, he was forced to acknowledge that maybe she was right. Why was he warning her off when her intuition told her to plough on? It’s what he would have done … once. Before his promotion he would never have counselled compromise.

He pushed the uneaten fruitcake away – perhaps he would fancy it for breakfast. He should head for bed with a calming warm drink, another sign that he was changing. Time was he would have been able to drink a double espresso and still sleep but now the bouts of insomnia that had plagued him since his wife’s death were habitual. It was midnight; he was hesitating between the sachet of instant coffee and a herbal tea bag when he said to the empty room, and to his great surprise, ‘Fuck.’