‘You were going to say interesting.’
That made her laugh.
‘You’re right. I wondered whether you needed any help with Flash Harry. I know the case backwards and I’m sure I could add value.’
‘No help needed, thanks, Nightingale.’
‘Oh … well I guess I should let you get on with whatever you’re doing.’
After the call had finished he wondered whether he should have told her about the recent rape. No, he concluded. She would only have felt excluded. Better she knew nothing about it, given her unhealthy interest in Flash Harry. Still, it had been nice to hear from her.
Fenwick’s driver concluded that his passenger’s reputation for being a workaholic must be true. Why else would a man dragged away from the warmth of his family hearth on a bitter Sunday night be smiling?
Nightingale was heading for bed early when the phone rang. She listened as it went through to the machine.
‘Louise, hi, it’s Mac. Sorry to trouble you so late but I thought you should know. It’s Jenni; she’s been attacked again. She’s in bad shape. Unconscious and this time the doctor’s really worried. It happened in Cranleigh and she’s been taken to A&E in Guildford. Your man Fenwick is here and has everything under control but seeing as you kind of took her under your wing I thought you’d want to know. Call me whenever you get this. I’m planning to stay with her all night.’
The machine beeped. Nightingale sat down hard on a kitchen stool and dropped her forehead into her hands. She was struggling not to cry, which was ridiculous.
‘I have to go and see her,’ she said to herself, startling the cat who had no doubt been expecting to slip onto her bed as soon as she was asleep.
He was a stray, adopted by several of the residents in the conversion where she lived and so never without a warm place to sleep and enough to eat.
‘Sorry, Blackie. I have to go out.’
Fortunately she hadn’t had anything to drink all day, and although the temperature was well below freezing, it wasn’t actually snowing. She was glad of the winter tyres she had decided to have fitted.
It still took her well over an hour to reach the hospital so that it was gone ten by the time she arrived. Nightingale waved her warrant card and was directed to the ward where Jenni was being cared for in a side room. Walking towards it brought back memories of the first time she had seen the girl and her face was grim by the time she arrived.
Big Mac greeted her with a hug that was inappropriate but nice just the same.
‘She’s in there; out cold. The doctors are worried that a second blow to her head might have done some damage. She’s due to have another scan in the morning.’
‘What was she doing in Cranleigh of all places and how did she get there?’
‘What we’ve found out so far is that a group of them – three girls all aged between sixteen and eighteen …’
‘I still think she’s under age, Mac. More like fourteen if you look at her.’
‘Maybe, but we can’t prove it one way or another and she insists she’s sixteen if you remember. Anyway, these girls were given a lift from Harlden to Cranleigh by two lads. There’s a club there that serves cut-price cocktails on a Sunday night and that’s where they were headed. When they arrived Jenni received a call …’
‘She has a mobile phone?’
‘A cheap pay-as-you-go model, no bells and whistles, and no, we have no idea how she came by it. She took the call and left the others, saying that she had to meet someone. We’ve interviewed the two men and the other girls. None of them has any idea where she went or who called her.’
‘And her phone?’
‘Recovered but useless. The call to her came from another pay as you go and it’s switched off.’
‘How about CCTV?’
‘We’re gathering all the footage we can along the possible routes from where she left the girls to the location she was found. Some of the shops and offices are shut so we’ll need to continue tomorrow but it’s a start and we have traffic surveillance. That’s where the boss has gone, to Guildford HQ. He says their technical facilities are first class.’
Nightingale didn’t answer. She couldn’t help but doubt his motives. He’d take any excuse to go close to the Mattias case. Would he even be thinking about Jenni right now?
‘I’d like to look in on her, Mac.’
‘Of course, go ahead. I need a cigarette anyway. I’ll be back in ten.’
She set her jaw and opened the half-glazed door to Jenni’s room, blinking hard as she caught sight of the still, slight form under the bedclothes.
Chief Constable Norman met the superintendent from Sussex MCS in his office. He was there late on a Sunday night to host the end-of-day briefing on Operation Goldilocks. Fenwick was shocked to see how much he had aged in a week and wondered whether he now regretted elbowing him out of the way. The strain of the operation must be horrendous.
‘Sit down, Andrew. It’s good to see you, though I doubt you’re too pleased to be here.’
He must have read Perkins’ report and realised the hatchet job his man had done in a vain attempt to shore up his boss’s reputation. Fenwick wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the reason behind his greeting.
‘Acting Chief Constable Harper-Brown told me you were good enough to allow MCS to take on the rape in Cranleigh in case it is connected to the series we are investigating. Thank you.’
Norman paused and then gave a brief nod as if appreciating the line Fenwick had chosen to adopt.
‘The so-called Flash Harry attacks; it made sense. Rapists don’t acknowledge our thin blue borderlines. Do you think it’s the same man?’
‘Too early to say, sir. If it is, then it destroys one theory we’ve been pursuing.’
‘Which is?’
‘That Daniel Mariner might have been Flash Harry.’
At mention of Mariner’s name Norman’s face darkened.
‘Superintendent, there is no connection evident between the disappearance of Issie Mattias and Flash Harry and I don’t want you contriving to find one. Understood?’
Fenwick squirmed under the look from Norman that seemed to penetrate even his defences.
‘Understood?’ the chief constable repeated.
‘Yes, sir; understood.’ Fenwick mentally crossed his fingers. ‘However, I would like to ask your permission to use the technical facilities you have available to review the CCTV tapes we are securing in connection with the latest attack in Cranleigh. It will be more convenient than going to and from our facilities in Sussex.’
Norman appeared to relax and even managed a weary smile.
‘Of course; happy to help. You’ll need an officer to act as liaison and I have just the man for you. Detective Sergeant Jeremy Tate. He’s just been made up and is a good chap, one of our best young talents.’
‘Thank you, sir, if you can spare him?’ Fenwick wondered why such a talent hadn’t been deployed to help find Issie.
‘You’ll find him in the detective room. Can’t miss him; has a shock of red hair.’
The open invitation to wander the corridors of Guildford HQ was more than Fenwick had hoped for and he set off with high expectations. After a prolonged prowl, however, he concluded that Bernstein wasn’t around so he decided to find Tate without further delay. As he entered the detectives’ room there were a few raised eyebrows but no one said anything. Tate was seated at a desk in the corner, back bent over a computer keyboard.
‘Sergeant Tate?’
‘Sir?’ The man stood up and Fenwick realised he was as tall as he was, a rare occurrence. He had a northern accent, Lancastrian he thought.
‘You’re to work with me. Come along, I’ll brief you in the canteen over a coffee.’
There were a few shaken heads as they left and Fenwick thought he even heard a muttered ‘good luck’. He didn’t care. He brought Tate up to speed on the essentials of the Flash Harry investigation and of the role he was to play. The man seemed enthusiastic, possibly over-keen. Again Fenwick wondered why he’d been available but there was no point speculating. He would find out soon enough.
‘You’re to liaise with Detective Sergeant Jimmy MacDonald, Big Mac to his friends. He’s still with the girl while CST are working the scene where she was found. CC Norman has agreed to extend help to MCS so I’ll base myself here for the next couple of days.’
‘Will you and Sergeant MacDonald need accommodation, sir?’
‘Yes, I suppose we will. Where I stayed before will be fine.’
‘I guess that’s the Travelodge, sir. It’s usually where we put people up.’
‘That’s the one.’ Fenwick glanced at his watch. ‘Have the tapes worked on overnight and if there are any developments call me. This is my mobile number. Doesn’t matter what time.’
Tate smiled as he wrote the details down in his notebook, obviously enjoying himself.
‘I’ll do that right away, sir! And then I’ll go over to the scene to see if there is anything I can do there. Unless you have more for me?’ He looked up expectantly like a dog waiting to be thrown a stick.
‘That will be all, thank you, Tate.’
Fenwick watched him go. Such youth and enthusiasm! It was enough to make him exhausted. He summoned his driver and headed off to the motel, where they welcomed him back as a regular.
It didn’t take him long to unpack his overnight bag and he was heading for the shower when his mobile rang. Expecting it to be Tate or MacDonald he answered immediately.
‘Fenwick.’
‘It’s Nightingale, Andrew.’
‘What are you doing ringing me at eleven o’clock at night?’ Enough was enough.
‘I’m at the hospital with Jenni.’
‘You’re what!’
‘Don’t be angry, please. I got to know her after she was attacked last time and I feel responsible for her.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Nightingale. That’s no excuse.’
‘She should have a friendly face here when she wakes up, Andrew, and I’m the only one she knows.’
She sounded upset. With difficulty Fenwick forced himself to calm down.
‘Exactly why are you so interested, Nightingale? It’s not like you to go soft.’
‘She needs someone; we all do. And if we could get a good description of her attacker, then surely that’s worth it. I’m probably the only person she’ll talk to. Even Big Mac thinks so.’
‘So you’ve spoken with him already.’ He puffed out his cheeks in frustration.
She really was impossible, but on the other hand, she was bloody good and if he could rely on her personal attention he would be able to spend a bit more time at HQ. Bernstein was bound to be there in the morning.
‘Won’t you be missed at Harlden?’
‘Not if you ask for me to spend a bit of time here, sir. A call to Superintendent Whitby in the morning is all it would take. Or an email, even. I could draft it for you if you like.’
‘Stop, Nightingale. Enough; you’ve made your point and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Oh, thanks! You’ve made my day. I didn’t want to say so before but you’ll also make Bob Cooper happy. He was working on one of the assaults just before he retired. We hadn’t connected them and he was handling it as an isolated incident but I know he resented leaving the case unsolved. I feel I owe it to him.’
Fenwick smiled at the memory of the old team. Those days seemed so long ago.
‘I can’t imagine him being retired. He must be bored silly,’ she continued.
‘Quite the contrary. He’s working privately for the Saxbys and I saw him recently. He must have gained a stone.’
‘He can’t afford that. Maybe I should stop by; he hates my nagging.’
‘Good idea; why don’t you call Dot?’ Fenwick thought Mrs Cooper would welcome some help in her losing battle to control her husband’s girth.
‘OK, after all this is over.’
After he finished the call Fenwick wondered exactly what she had meant by her last remark.
An hour later as he tried in vain to fall asleep Fenwick heard a clock nearby chime midnight. Another day over; another day with no sight of Issie; another day in which a young girl had become the victim of an assault. It was hopeless. He felt a dark cloud of negativity settle over him and shut his eyes to try and keep it out. If even he doubted the ability of the forces of law to keep the peace, what hope was there? He shook his head, angry at himself. This wouldn’t do.
Fenwick got up, shivering in the cool of the room, and pulled on his dressing gown. There was no point lying in bed getting depressed. He had all the Flash Harry files on his laptop and it was never a waste to reread the evidence. He switched the desk light on and booted up his computer. When the date and time came up on the screen he noted the eighteenth with a sense of relief.
What had it been about the date of seventeenth of December that his subconscious had been worrying at and why was he glad it was past? He frowned in concentration as he went through all the memorable dates associated with his late wife but there was nothing there. If anything, Decembers had been happy times. Fenwick shrugged his shoulders and gave up. It didn’t matter.
It was only as he typed in his new password to access the files that the significance of the date hit him. As he pressed the keys for ‘issie=1’ the realisation hit him. Yesterday had been Isabelle Mattias’s eighteenth birthday.
She woke with a start and her eyes went immediately to the bed, which was empty.
‘Jenni!’ Nightingale was half out of the chair before Big Mac’s restraining hand eased her back.
‘She was taken for a scan a few minutes ago, don’t worry. Here, have some coffee.’
He handed her a takeaway cup with a plastic lid.
‘Black with sugar, right?’ he asked hopefully.
She didn’t have the heart to correct him and sipped cautiously through the hole in the lid, trying not to grimace.
‘I must have fallen asleep; sorry.’
Mac smiled at her and she noticed his eyes creased at the corners in a way that was infectious.
‘You saved me a numbing-night so don’t apologise.’
‘Numbing-ni …’ Nightingale’s brain was struggling to wake up.
‘As in “rear-end” numbing. You slept in the chair. How’s your neck?’
Nightingale twisted her head in a circle and winced.
‘Want a massage?’
‘Ah, no but the coffee will help, thanks. When’s she due back?’
‘In about half an hour, they said. Shall we stretch our legs?’
‘Why not.’
They were back inside within fifteen minutes, driven in by the biting easterly wind.
‘Phwoar! Why did my grandparents emigrate to this godforsaken isle when we could have enjoyed tropical sunshine?’ Big Mac was stamping his feet to return the blood flow.
‘Employment?’ Nightingale hazarded. ‘Betterment for their family?’
‘Hmm. Cummon, let’s grab breakfast while we can.’
He laughed at her choice of porridge; she scoffed at his
fry-up
. Both were content in their choice but Nightingale didn’t want to linger. They returned to Jenni’s room moments before she was brought back by an orderly. Nightingale studied the girl’s innocent sleeping face and her anger rekindled.
‘I’m going to find someone to tell me how she’s doing.’
‘I’ll do that, you wait here,’ Mac insisted. ‘Just in case she wakes up.’
Once he had gone Nightingale bent over the bed and stroked Jenni’s bruised forehead with the tip of a finger.
‘Who did this to you, Jenni?’ she whispered and saw the girl’s eyes move under closed lids. ‘Can you hear me? Are you in there, Jenni?’
More eye movement and one of Jenni’s fingers twitched. Nightingale took her hand and held it gently, murmuring words of encouragement. After a few more minutes Jenni’s eyes opened. She saw Nightingale and there was a flicker of a smile.
‘Hello you; welcome back.’ Nightingale forced a smile.
Jennie opened her mouth but there was no sound.
‘Say that again, dear, I couldn’t hear you.’
Instead Jenni shut her eyes and breathed out deeply.
‘You can tell me later, don’t worry,’ Nightingale sighed. ‘I’ll still be here.’
Big Mac returned with a white-coated female doctor in tow, carrying a file.
‘There’s some good news, Nightingale,’ Mac said.
‘Indeed; I’m Doctor Williams.’ Nightingale nodded a greeting.
‘She woke up briefly just before you came in but has drifted off again.’
‘That’s good; she has one of the thickest skulls I’ve ever seen, and lucky for her that she has, otherwise the blow she received would have done some serious damage.’
‘Would you say it was intentional?’ Nightingale asked.
‘I’m not an expert so my opinion isn’t worth a lot, but I would say yes. Someone smashed a hard, tubular object down on her head. I can’t imagine it could have been accidental. If she’d had a thin skull it might have killed her. As it is she’s going to get away with concussion. If she’s woken up once, even briefly, that’s good news and she’ll probably do so again.’ Nightingale opened her mouth but Williams forestalled her, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t say when. It could be in minutes or, just as possible, hours.’
They thanked her and promised to alert a nurse should Jenni regain consciousness.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Mac asked.
‘I’m going to wait here. Superintendent Fenwick is asking Alison if I can stay on the case for a few days.’
Big Mac’s face lit up.
‘Wicked! That will be great. They haven’t got anywhere with it, you know. MCS would have been better off leaving it with us.’
Nightingale noted he hadn’t gone native and was relieved. She was still ‘us’.
‘Still, I should update Quinlan on Jenni’s condition.’
‘What time is it?’ Nightingale looked at her watch. ‘
Eight-twenty
. I thought it was much later.’
But Mac wasn’t listening. He was staring at the bed.
‘She’s awake again,’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth.
Nightingale spun around and greeted Jenni’s open eyes with a big smile.
‘Hi, you’re back.’
Jenni moved her lips and Nightingale leant forward to hear. Big
Mac went to the other side of the bed and crouched down, out of Jenni’s line of sight but close enough to listen.
‘… n.’
‘Can you say that again for me, love? I couldn’t catch it.’
‘S …’
Nightingale looked up briefly at Mac but he shook his head. He couldn’t make it out either.
‘Try again, one more time,’ she encouraged.
‘S … tann … st … n.’ Jenni’s eyelids fluttered closed and she was gone again.
‘Did she say what I think she said?’ Big Mac asked.
‘Go on.’ Nightingale didn’t want to influence him with her own conjecture.
‘I think she was trying to say St Anne’s.’
‘That’s what I heard too.’
‘We need to tell Fenwick at once. I’ll call him.’
‘Better still, go to Guildford and see him; there’ll be a briefing soon. I’ll wait here.’
Nightingale passed a tedious hour at Jenni’s bedside. The girl didn’t wake up again and she began to realise that she was wasting her time. Shortly before ten she was surprised to see the Milky Bar Kid turn up.
‘Hello, Roy, what are you doing here?’
Constable Rogers beamed at her. She was the only one other than Whitby who paid him the courtesy of using his given name.
‘Superintendent Whitby sent me, ma’am. She remembered that I’d been with Jenni before and thought that I’d be a familiar face if she woke up.’
It was typical of Whitby to recall such a detail.
‘That’s really helpful because there are things I should be doing but I was reluctant to leave her.’
Nightingale was already in her car when her mobile rang. It was Fenwick.
‘Are you still at the hospital, Nightingale?’
‘I’m just leaving; don’t worry, there’s a reliable officer with Jenni.’
‘Good; unless you have other plans, can you meet me at St Anne’s? Given what Jenni said, I think we have to pay them a visit immediately.’
‘On my way.’
Tate dropped Fenwick off at exactly ten-thirty. Fenwick saw Nightingale locking her car and look around before heading in the wrong direction, exactly the mistake he had made when he had first arrived. He jumped out of the car and called out to her while Tate recovered his spilt papers from the snow.
‘Nightingale; over here!’
He waited for her before taking the brick path into the main building. He had his hand ready in case she slipped but her boots made her sure-footed and it wasn’t needed.
‘We can agree how to proceed over a coffee, if you like. There’s a machine on the second floor makes a good one.’
Fenwick walked up the stairs ahead of her feeling uncomfortable. Only when they reached the upper landing did he realise he hadn’t said a word of greeting. Mind you neither had she.
‘Do you want one?’
‘Please, if there’s some milk; oh and no sugar.’
‘There’s a fridge over there; usually there’s some inside.’
Nightingale smiled as she brought the carton over.
‘You certainly made yourself at home while you were here.’
For some reason her words made him blush and he glanced upwards subconsciously. As soon as he had poured their coffees he suggested they go downstairs.
‘Why? This is private and there’s no incident room here any more.’
Fenwick looked around and sat down on the edge of the sofa furthest away.
She seemed remarkably relaxed but he could feel himself sweating inside his winter suit. He gave her a short recount of the morning’s briefing while she listened without interruption. When he finished she reached into her bag.
‘Here’s a copy of the additional work I did on Flash Harry since
it went to MCS.’ She handed over a surprisingly large plastic wallet of papers and he frowned. ‘It looks more than it is and most of it is conjecture. The notes on the top are from this morning, after Jenni spoke. I outlined a few strategies and ideas.’
Fenwick pulled out two handwritten pages and read them in silence while Nightingale drank her coffee.
‘So, essentially you have four theories: One: Dan Mariner and/or Jenni’s cousin was one of a group of men who indulged in casual, sometimes forced sex, with underage girls. Two: That could have included disturbed girls from St Anne’s like Issie, but was probably more focused on underprivileged teenagers with little family protection. Three: When Dan was killed, another member of the group – possibly the cousin – decided to lure Jenni to a meeting where he attempted to intimidate or kill her to secure her silence. Four: St Anne’s was either the location of the meeting – which you doubt – or Jenni suspected that other girls here might have been abused and was trying to tell you.’
‘Yes, that’s about it.’
Fenwick shook his head reluctantly.
‘You’re convinced Daniel Mariner isn’t Flash Harry, particularly now, given the recent assault on Jenni?’
‘Yes, or as I say, Flash Harry could be more than one person.’
‘But there has been one consistent DNA recovered. Doesn’t that suggest one man?’ He became aware that he was interrogating her.
Nightingale stared at him, obviously irritated.
‘I agree that the attacks stopped when Dan died but now Jenni’s been hurt. It could be unrelated of course but …’
Fenwick stood up and paced forcing Nightingale to continue.
‘What I’d like to do is show Jenni’s picture to teachers, staff and pupils to see if anyone recognises her. Do you agree?’
‘That makes sense,’ Fenwick acknowledged.
‘May I ask what you’ll do? I wasn’t quite sure why you suggested meeting here, that’s all.’
Neither was he any more, though it had seemed a good idea at the time.
‘That’s not really any of your business, Nightingale.’
She took a long swallow of coffee, looking at him directly, her expression inscrutable. She opened her mouth to say something and then shrugged, reminding him of Bess.
‘Do you have alternative theories you’d like to share on Flash Harry, Andrew?’ Her words were icily polite.
Fenwick pulled his A4 blue casebook from his briefcase and flicked through until he found the page he had completed for the next briefing.
‘The only other theories are that she was attacked by a stranger or by someone she knew from her past, who caught up with her.’
‘Like her cousin.’
‘Fair point,’ Fenwick closed the file sharply.
‘Do you think there’s any possibility of a connection with the Mattias girl’s disappearance?’
Fenwick tensed.
‘Sorry, that sounds harsh. I realise it must be very difficult for you to have been so close to finding her and then …’
‘We were just hours behind Mariner.’ He looked away. ‘Now Surrey can find no trace of him, yet they know what he looks like, his car index and there’s a nationwide search, but all the leads – and there are hundreds of them – have turned out to be dead ends. He’s vanished. Issie’s cash card hasn’t been used for a week and her mobile is turned off, as is Mariner’s.’
‘Might he have killed her and then himself? They may only be found after the weather clears.’
She had voiced his worst fear, the one that kept him awake at night and invaded his dreams whenever he managed some sleep.
‘Who knows; but Surrey is still treating the investigation with highest priority. Every place they might have gone has been searched at least twice; all deserted farm buildings or empty houses are being visited in a widening radius. There are posters up nationwide, particularly in garages and service stations because if he is still on the run and not in a bolt-hole somewhere he’ll have to buy fuel. Interpol are alerted, and the French, Dutch and Belgium police,
though there is no evidence that they’ve left the country, just in case he managed to stow away on a lorry or ferry and crossed the Channel. They’re doing a televised reconstruction tonight and another press conference tomorrow.
‘Saxby called me only last week to tell me I should re-involve myself in the hunt for his daughter. You can imagine how that was received at Guildford HQ! Meanwhile he’s employed an army of private investigators.’
‘And Surrey let him?’ Nightingale sounded surprised.
‘There’s no such thing as “letting” Bill Saxby do something. He’s his own man, with wealth and resources enough to do what he wants.’
‘Not to mention his connections.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Poor you.’ She hesitated and Fenwick feared what she was going to say next.
Fortunately his phone rang, cutting her off. He spoke his name then listened in silence before muttering a terse ‘Very well.’
‘I have to go, sorry, Nightingale. Chief Constable Norman wants me back at HQ.’
He frowned and muttered to himself ‘I wonder why’ as he stood and picked up his coat and scarf. Nightingale bent to pick hers up at the same moment and their heads nearly clashed.
He left her in the hall, turning to watch her walk across the tiles towards the headmistress’s office. He realised belatedly that he hadn’t asked how she was; in fact he had shown no interest in her whatsoever. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head and pulled his collar up against the wind that bit into him as he opened the front door.