Nightingale told him quickly about Bess’s previous excursion into Harlden.
‘This is getting out of hand.’ He rubbed his forehead and frowned. ‘I’m going to have to do something. What would you suggest?’
An olive branch?
‘I’ll give it some thought, but right now there’s something else I need to ask you. How did you manage to reach Guildford so quickly? It said on the news that the A27 and the A23 were blocked and traffic was at a standstill.’
Fenwick flushed and scowled. He opened his mouth but then shut it.
‘You were already here, weren’t you; following up unofficially?’
He gave a rueful laugh and nodded.
‘I should have known you would work it out. Bernstein called me and suggested we meet for a coffee. There’s been no trace of Mariner, his car or Issie all week and she’s run out of ideas. Despite everyone assuming we wouldn’t get on we actually worked well together.’
Nightingale started playing with the crumbs on her plate.
‘Not that I’m being any help. Since finding the place where Issie had been kept there’s been no decent leads to follow despite the reward the Saxbys are offering.’
‘I noticed the case was no longer headline news but I’d hoped that was deliberate.’
‘Unfortunately not. Saxby has hired an army of private investigators and deployed a whole investigative journalist team to work on it but even they can’t find anything. Issie has simply vanished.’
‘I had an idea,’ she ventured and winced at the sudden hope on Fenwick’s face. ‘Not about Issie, I’m afraid, but about Flash Harry.’
‘Him!’ He sounded dismissive.
‘Look, I know you’re worried sick about Issie but that man is a threat to young women everywhere and you owe it to them to be as concerned about finding him as you are her!’ Nightingale noted the change of expression and added too late, ‘Sir.’
Fenwick looked away, obviously angry but she waited him out in silence.
‘Go on, then. What’s your idea?’
‘When I interviewed Jenni she mentioned that she had been intending to stay with a cousin. It didn’t work out and the way she said it I sensed she had been asked to do something she wouldn’t, probably sexual. I wondered whether this cousin might be Flash Harry.’
Said out loud in plain words it sounded pathetic so she was not surprised when Fenwick shook his head.
‘I’m thinking it’s more likely Flash Harry is Daniel Mariner. There hasn’t been an attack since he was discovered dead. Bernstein is running his DNA but isn’t giving it enough priority. You’ve reminded me that I need to chase her. Thank you.’
He met her eyes and despite his abrupt dismissal of her idea she had to prevent herself from reaching out to touch his hand. Worry for Issie seemed to be eating him up.
‘Are they likely to ask you back on the case?’
He squirmed in his chair but Bess’s return gave him an excuse for avoiding the question.
‘Can I help at all?’ Nightingale asked as Bess sipped her milk through a straw. ‘Does he have friends in Sussex I could go and interview?’
‘That’s been done already, more than once. They’ve also checked with every one of her friends and the homes of family members in case she persuaded him to go to somewhere familiar. Nothing; and as neither of the Mariner brothers had a garage or lock-up they’re out of ideas.’
‘And no sign of a …?’ Nightingale glanced at the top of Bess’s head and stopped short.
Fenwick mouthed ‘body’ and shook his head.
‘He said “body”, Nightingale,’ Bess chirped.
‘Time for you to go home, young lady.’ At least Fenwick was grinning. ‘Come and give me a hug before you go.’
‘Can I buy my dress first, Daddy, seeing as you and Nightingale are both here and you’re my favourite people?’
Fenwick opened his mouth to reply but Nightingale was there first.
‘Certainly not; do you really think your father or I would reward your behaviour?’
Bess’s eyes filled with tears at the roughness of Nightingale’s words.
‘Don’t try it, Bess. You know you’ve done wrong and it’s too late to try soppy tactics.’
‘But it’s the party on Monday!’
Nightingale saw doubt on Fenwick’s face; he was tempted to indulge her. She shook her head and he sighed in acknowledgement.
‘I’m sure you have some lovely clothes in the wardrobe that will do very well,’ he said. ‘If you had only gone shopping with Alice when you had the chance you’d have something new to wear, but it’s too late now.’
Bess turned huge, tear-filled eyes to her father whose face softened before he caught sight of Nightingale’s expression.
‘You heard, Bess. The answer’s no. Now give me a nice goodbye.’
Instead his daughter burst into tears, causing Fenwick such obvious distress that it made Nightingale quite annoyed. She bundled Bess into her coat unceremoniously and shook her head at Fenwick in a sign that said
pay her no heed
but the poor man tried to give his daughter a hug, which simply made matters worse.
‘I’ll be home soon, Bess. Be a good girl, now; be nice to Alice and say hello to your brother for me.’ He turned to Nightingale. ‘Thank you … for everything. I don’t know what we’d do without
you.’ And he bent forward to kiss her cheek in a gesture that left Nightingale too surprised to respond.
He was gone before she could say anything, leaving her to find their hats, scarves and gloves in a state of emotional confusion. Given the unappreciative audience Bess stopped crying. By the time they were at the railway station she was actually in a good mood. It had started to snow again and they had to wait half an hour for a train that took over an hour to travel to Harlden. During the journey Nightingale spoke to Bess about her behaviour, or perhaps lectured would be a more appropriate word. She never told Fenwick or Alice what she said but by the time they arrived Bess was quiet, with no trace of her earlier sulk.
Nightingale had agreed with Alice that she would drive Bess home given the housekeeper’s fear of the icy roads. Chris opened the door before she could knock and jumped into her arms as Alice hovered behind in the hall.
‘Come in! Alice has made a special supper for you; you’re going to stay the night and we can play a game and then you can read me a story in bed. It’s only fair as Bess had you all afternoon.’
Nightingale didn’t know what to say. It was almost seven o’clock and the temperature was far below freezing. She didn’t fancy the drive back one bit but on the other hand …
‘You’re surely not thinking of driving home in this?’ Alice gestured at the fresh snow.
‘I have things to do.’
‘So leave first thing in the morning. Come on, Louise. You’re letting the warmth out.’
The children started to drag and push her over the threshold and she offered little resistance.
‘Looks like I’ll have to burden your hospitality after all then, Alice. Thank you.’
The children whooped as Alice locked the door for the night.
After the incident with Bess, Fenwick decided he really did need to spend some time at home. Even so, he had stayed late with Bernstein. She agreed to have Dan Mariner’s DNA analysis given more priority; her budget was virtually unlimited and no one would think to question it. In return Fenwick lingered in the major incident room with her, sympathising as she described the useless leads they were required to follow up as a result of Saxby’s offer of a generous reward. Of course one of them might be for real but so far all it was doing was ‘burning shoe leather’, as she put it.
When Fenwick asked if he could look through some of them she had laughed and challenged him to get a life but left him to it. Fenwick found himself behind a cliff of paperwork in which he immediately immersed himself. By the time he had resurfaced and driven back to Harlden everyone was in bed. He stayed up late sipping a whisky and tried the Saturday crossword but he couldn’t concentrate and gave up with three clues unanswered at three in the morning.
On Sunday he woke late and was annoyed to find that Louise Nightingale had been staying the night, leaving before breakfast to return to work. He was going to say something about it but Alice was in such a good mood, as were the children, that he kept
quiet. What was left of the morning was spent with Bess and Chris playing games before eating a late lunch, ‘like a proper family’ as Bess said pointedly.
Alice was sent for an afternoon nap at his insistence, leaving him with the washing-up while the children disappeared to watch a film. He realised that he hadn’t spoken to his mother for days. She had been let out of hospital after twenty-four hours, with nothing worse to show for her fall than bruising and a headache. The suspected fractured arm diagnosed in A&E had turned out to be a scar from an old injury. There was nothing to stop her travelling down to spend Christmas with them as planned. She was due to arrive on the twentieth and then return to her friends in time for Hogmanay.
When Fenwick called she was characteristically terse. He asked whether she might consider coming a little earlier, phrasing the idea lightly. His mother explained that she had already purchased her return rail ticket, well in advance to secure the best price, which left him in a dilemma. Should he admit that he needed her; that Alice was close to exhaustion?
No. Even if his mother wasn’t badly hurt, she was recuperating and in no state to help. He said nothing except that should she decide to travel earlier, her room was ready waiting and the children would be delighted to see her. Something in his tone must have prompted her to ask after Alice. He replied briefly but his mother wouldn’t let the topic drop.
‘That poor woman is a saint. You’re lucky to have her.’
‘I know; I hope she realises that I’m grateful.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’
He bit back a retort that an inability to demonstrate appreciation was probably inherited.
After the call he went to sit in the conservatory with the Sunday papers. His subconscious was trying to tell him something that his conscious mind was busy suppressing. It was a feeling he was accustomed to. As he sat down he noticed an enormous pile of ironing in the corner. With a groan he set up the ironing board, suspecting that his motive was self-serving. He worked his way
slowly through the pile with the radio on. As soon as it was finished he would try and have a nap. A car would be picking him up early the following morning and he wasn’t a good sleeper at the best of times; hadn’t been since his wife’s death.
The steady repetition of the iron smoothing the laundry was therapeutic. His thoughts drifted with the sweep of the
steaming-hot
iron, from Flash Harry, to Issie, to his children, skirting the solitary hole in the middle of his life with accustomed ease; back to his fears for Issie, how he wished her parents had been smart enough to realise how damaged she was; to fear that he would mess up the same way with Bess, to baffled confusion as to how to reach her, how she needed a good role model; and so eventually, inevitably, to Nightingale. No matter how much he tried, whenever his mind emptied, thoughts of her would invade. Yet she scared him. The word brought his thinking to a shuddering stop and he raised his head, staring sightlessly at Chris’s makeshift fort in the corner of the conservatory.
A whiff of scorching returned him to reality and he looked down to see that he had melted a brown patch on the knee of Bess’s favourite glittery pink leggings. He had always hated them and part of him was pleased that they were ruined but then he remembered that she had planned to wear them to the school disco the following day.
‘Oh no – she’s going to go nuts!’ Fenwick’s breathing quickened; so much for helping out. There was only one thing for it.
In his bedroom at the back of the wardrobe was a bulging carrier bag. Fenwick was in the habit of buying gifts for his children whenever he saw something that he thought they would like. He would then keep them for Christmas or birthdays. This had two advantages; he spoilt them less than spontaneous giving would have done and it meant that he had a backup in case he didn’t manage to buy them the special present he always meant to. At the bottom of the bag he found the pair of black jeans with embroidered peacocks on the legs and a matching sequined top that he had bought the month before and had been saving for Christmas. He would leave
them for Bess to wear to the disco. There was a model
thirteenth-century
knight in armour for Chris to keep things fair.
Nightingale would have been furious that he was rewarding Bess’s poor behaviour but there was no way he could leave Alice to face his daughter’s fury at the destruction of the leggings.
At five he put the ironing board away and sent Chris to run his bath so that he could have a few minutes with Bess alone. She was making a model house for her brother’s railway in an uncharacteristically sisterly gesture and they were assembling it together when the phone rang. He noticed Bess tense as he went to his study. It was Acting Chief Constable Harper-Brown. A teenage girl had been raped and it had all the hallmarks of Flash Harry.
‘Thanks for letting me know, sir. I’ll ask for the reports to be put on my desk first thing in the morning.’
‘This is a very serious assault, Andrew. The girl is unconscious and may have brain damage. It could even be considered attempted murder.’
‘I’m sure Jimmy MacDonald is handling the scene well, sir. He’s a dependable man and I have every confidence in him.’
‘That’s not the point, Fenwick. Do I have to spell it out for you?’
‘Apparently so, sir.’ Fenwick was biting the inside of his lip.
He heard Harper-Brown exhale noisily and then grunt.
‘Very well; you asked for it. It may have escaped your notice that you left the Mattias case with your reputation in less than first-class shape.’
‘Isn’t that a bit harsh? It was thanks to my line of enquiry into Mariner’s past acquaintance that we found Annie Jones and then it was me that advised Superintendent Bernstein to call her immediately, leading us to the pump station in record time.’
‘So you might say, Andrew, but that is not what the file records.’
‘What?’ He couldn’t believe Deidre would have documented anything else.
‘The official version is that Surrey found a Mr Knight …’
‘Of course they did, but only after I sent Bob Cooper to the Bull and Drum to find him!’
‘You did what? Unbelievable; you’re lucky that isn’t in the file!
The man’s retired. Are you running your own private detective agency now, Fenwick?’
‘No, sir, but he has the best nose in the business and they were leaving the follow-up to that idiot Cobb. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.’
‘According to the files I’ve read that is exactly what you did do.’
‘This beggars belief.’ No way would Deidre stitch him up like this. ‘Who wrote up the strategy and what came of it, sir?’
‘Wait a moment,’ there was the sound of keys tapping and then, ‘a James Perkins. Do you know him?’
‘He’s CC Norman’s stooge. So he’s behind this confection of lies.’
‘More like embroidered truth, I’m afraid, Andrew. And nothing you can do about it.’
‘Why not, sir? It’s my reputation and I don’t understand why Norman would do this to me. He seemed straight enough.’
There was a pause and he heard Harper-Brown take a deep breath.
‘I suspect Chief Constable Norman isn’t even aware of any distortion in the report. Did you tell him anything directly?’
Fenwick thought hard. No he hadn’t. Harper-Brown interpreted his silence.
‘That’s what I thought. Perkins is just doing what is expected of him.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It will be tacit, Fenwick, if that’s any consolation, and with no harm intended. He’s just making his boss look as good as possible in the circumstances.’
‘And hang the consequences?’
‘Afraid so; and that is why I’ve called you. The Flash Harry investigation is your opportunity to put your reputation back on track. It has profile; it’s very nasty and it needs a hero.’
‘But—’
‘For heaven’s sake, Andrew! The hero should be you, not this stray sergeant you’ve borrowed from Harlden. Get off your butt and solve the thing.’
It was an order and he realised he had no choice. To ignore it would alienate H-B and might even make an enemy of him.
‘I’m going to need a car, sir.’
‘One is already on its way.’
Fenwick replaced the receiver and lowered his head, feeling exhausted suddenly. There was a change in the air behind him and he turned in time to see Bess swing away from the door. He heard feet pounding upstairs.
‘Bess!’
He ran after her but she slammed her bedroom door in his face. He pushed it open to find her lying face down on her bed hitting the pillows.
‘Bess I—’
‘Once, just once I thought you’d be with us for breakfast on a school day. It’s not too much to ask, is it? But yes, apparently it is!’ She was sobbing into the pillow.
Fenwick sat down on the side of the bed and stroked her curly black hair, so like her mother’s.
‘I wanted that too, love, I miss it as much as you do.’
‘Oh sure!’
‘I do; not seeing you and Chris hurts a lot but I don’t have a choice. Another girl has been injured.’
‘Now, Daddy?’ Chris was standing in the doorway, Alice hovering behind him.
‘I’m afraid so; I’m so sorry. A car’s coming to pick me up.’
Chris’s bottom lip jutted out and Fenwick waited for tears but they didn’t come. Instead Chris straightened his shoulders and gave a brief nod.
‘You’ve been asked to go out personally again?’ Fenwick nodded. ‘That’s because you’re the best. This is probably a matter of life and death, isn’t it?’
‘It might be, Chris. I don’t know at this stage.’
‘Hmm.’ His son walked over to the bed and prodded his sister none too gently on the bottom. ‘Come on, Bess, it’s like Nightingale said, we have to be brave and strong because Daddy needs us. There’s no point sulking; show the Fenwick blood and spirit!’
Fenwick looked at his ten-year-old son in amazement. Behind
him Alice covered a smile with her hand but Bess was unimpressed and they eventually left her alone to sulk. Alice made him a strong cup of tea and cut a slice of cake for the journey while Chris sat on his lap, his hair still damp from the bath. Just before the car arrived Bess graced them with her presence. Although she didn’t say much, Fenwick realised it had taken a lot for her to leave her room and so treated her with respect. They all waved him goodbye.
He had almost reached Lewes HQ when his phone rang. His heart sank when he saw who was calling.
‘Hello, Alice.’
‘I just wanted to say thank you, Andrew. I went to iron those damned, excuse me, leggings of hers so that they’d be ready for madam tomorrow and I saw the mess you’d made of them.’
‘Sorry, I—’
‘No, never mind, that was going to happen someday and rather you than me! They were shoddy, cheap things and I’ve hated ironing them since the day she bought them. My heart sank but then I saw the package you’d left on the table. Andrew …’
‘I know I shouldn’t reward her behaviour but I couldn’t leave you to …’
‘Oh, I realise that but what was really sweet of you, dear, was the note you left on top. Letting me have the chance to give the clothes to her as a surprise present – that was such a kind thought. Of course I won’t but—’
‘You must, Alice. It’s important.’
Fenwick spent some minutes arguing with his housekeeper and finally managed to persuade her that it would at least be a joint gift. When the call finished his mood for some reason was remarkably positive and it resonated in his voice when his phone rang again.
‘Yes, good evening!’
‘Andrew?’
He almost dropped the phone.
‘Nightingale; this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I just wanted to explain why I was at your house last night. You
see, by the time I’d taken Bess home it was late and the weather was bad so I … well, Alice …’
A memory of the irritation he had felt that morning rippled across the surface of Fenwick’s good mood but disappeared quickly.
‘Don’t worry about it. I was sorry not to see you; I slept late. I don’t normally, it was just that …’ Why was he explaining himself? ‘Anyway, it’s good you called. I’ve asked Deidre to have Dan Mariner’s DNA checked urgently against the database. We should have the results within the week.’
‘Excellent.’ There was another awkward pause. ‘I rang your home first but Alice said you’d left because you’d been called out.’
‘Did she?’ The irritation was back. He did not like being discussed behind his back.
‘Yes; don’t be cross with her. She’s worried about you.’
That didn’t help his mood.
‘You seem to be working so hard. If there’s anything I can do … There isn’t much to keep me busy right now, to be honest.’
‘I can’t believe that. Your resources have been cut just like all of us.’
‘Yes, well what I mean is, there’s plenty of work, it’s just that none of it is particularly … demanding.’