He picked up the camomile tea bag and sniffed it suspiciously before throwing it into the mug with disdain and pouring on boiling water. By the time he was ready for bed he had forgotten all about it and the tea went cold as he tossed and turned before sinking into a restless sleep.
Nightingale rubbed her eyes and arched her back, trying to ease the stiffness away. She had been sitting in the same position for hours, hunched over her laptop in the cramped motel room oblivious to time. Had she dragged her eyes from the screen to the window she might have marvelled at the icicles hanging in a beautifully defined sculpture from the gutter above but she was blind to the stark beauty of the bitter dawn.
She had woken abruptly at five o’clock thinking about Flash Harry. Her laptop lay open on the bed next to her, reminding her of the unanswered questions that had dogged her sleep. Fenwick was so sure Daniel Mariner was the perpetrator of the sexual assaults that she had started to believe him until Jenni had been attacked. His instincts were usually reliable but now she cursed the fact that she had trusted him and lowered her guard. She should have kept a closer eye on Jenni. Somehow the fact that the girl was lying injured in hospital was her fault.
Stretching out to her bag, Nightingale had pulled out a heavy jumper and dragged it over her pyjamas before rebooting her computer. The next two hours were spent working through every case file yet again, making careful notes as she went.
As a detective constable Nightingale had earned a reputation as an obsessive investigator, paying attention to every detail and doing her own research even when she should have left it to the specialists. The habit had never left her. Now as an inspector she read everything, sometimes correcting details in reports submitted to her by junior officers. She had an almost photographic memory and an uncanny ability to spot an error. It was a characteristic that irritated most and downright annoyed some but it meant her investigations were meticulously prepared for the Crown Prosecution Service, who – unknown to her – breathed easier when she was SIO.
Her knack for research and discerning patterns was being tested; there was nothing to find. In desperation she went back to her first interview with Jenni. She knew it almost by heart but she opened the file and forced herself to review it as if it were a cold case.
It was difficult to read her own part of the story and she skimmed it, but then forced herself back. She had run away from home, so had Jenni but because she hadn’t given them her real name neither Harlden nor MCS had been able to find and interview her parents. Jenni had expected to stay with a cousin in Harlden but had ended up on the streets when that hadn’t worked out. She and Big Mac had tried to find out where Jenni had been sleeping rough but had failed. No one admitted knowing her. She was a newcomer and hadn’t made any friends.
Poor lonely kid. Nightingale sighed, rubbed her eyes and stood up. It was time for a shower and breakfast. Hours of backache and she had nothing to show for it. Maybe it had all been a waste of time. The DNA results on Dan Mariner would be through soon and then she and Fenwick would know one way or another. But that still wouldn’t explain the second assault, which might have been intended to kill her.
Nightingale frowned. Would Fenwick really concentrate on finding Flash Harry or would he take the opportunity of his stay in Guildford to meddle in the hunt for Issie? Her mental image of him had long been as a rebel; a front line detective forced into
promotions he didn’t want but accepted out of a sense of duty and a desire to provide for his children; he challenged authority, broke the rules … once he became fixated on something or someone he never let it go. If only he’d felt as deeply the need for justice for Jenni as he did for Issie she would have been more relaxed about leaving him alone with the case, but he didn’t.
‘Surely he’ll do a thorough job,’ she muttered out loud, ‘or have I idealised him?’
The Fenwick she remembered was another man in another time. As she shampooed her hair Nightingale turned over ideas for what to do next. Bazza had volunteered to take her around St Anne’s if she wanted, though she couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to go there again. What she could do was discover every detail of what Jenni did while in Harlden, her activities and relationships while in the shelter.
Whitby wanted Big Mac back in Harlden, particularly as Nightingale was now involved in following up the second attack on Jenni. She would have breakfast with Mac and agree how best he could dig into Jenni’s activities. It was a plan! The more she thought about it the more she realised that Fenwick couldn’t be relied upon to include her, even if Whitby did allow it.
‘Sod it.’ Nightingale shook her head at her reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror as she rubbed on face cream with unnecessary vigour. ‘Your language is getting worse, madam.’ She pulled a face. ‘And they do say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.’
Despite her frustration, Nightingale laughed. As soon as she was dressed she rang Mac. He had already left the motel so she arranged to meet him at a greasy spoon close to the hospital. She was starving.
They were tucking in to full English breakfasts when Nightingale’s phone rang. She recognised the number immediately.
‘Hello, Andrew.’
‘Nightingale, good morning. I wanted you to be the first to know. Dan Mariner’s DNA matches that of Flash Harry. He was
responsible for all the assaults except for the most recent, which must be unconnected.’
‘I see. Thanks for letting me know. So this means you’ll be closing the file?’
‘Yes. I just need to have the final paperwork done. MacDonald can do that for me.’
‘And how will the attack on Jenni be dealt with?’
‘No idea.’ His apparent indifference really annoyed her. ‘That will be for Guildford and Harlden to argue over but it’s nothing for MCS to be involved in.’
‘I’ll advise Superintendent Whitby, if you like; save you the bother.’
‘Perfect. Thanks. Well, I’d best be going …’ She could hear him breathing and waited for the goodbye. ‘It was good to see you last night … I, ah, thought maybe we should try and do that again sometime.’
‘Nice idea. You know where to find me.’
‘Yes. Well I’d best be going.’
‘You’ve said that once.’ She bit her lip; that wasn’t very friendly. She should have been kinder but with Big Mac sitting opposite listening she felt constrained, and anyway, he’d been so dismissive of Jenni! But still …
‘Bye, then.’
Too late; he was gone.
‘Dan Mariner is Flash Harry,’ she confirmed.
‘So where does that leave us with poor old Jenni?’
‘Back to square one.’
‘Will we be able to take it on, do you think? Or is Surrey going to claim jurisdiction?’
‘Right now both you and I are allocated to Flash Harry so that gives us the scope to work on it.’
‘For how long?’
‘Well, until Whitby knows the case is closed …’
‘And you’ve volunteered to tell her,’ Mac said with a chuckle, but then his face sobered. ‘Except that she’ll see the closing report.’
‘Which Fenwick is going to ask you to write.’
They grinned at each other, fellow conspirators.
‘I reckon that’ll take me most of the day, at least,’ he suggested.
Nightingale nodded, mock-serious.
‘It would do, a complicated file like that. And of course there are the loose ends to tie up.’
‘There are? Oh yes, indeed there are.’
‘And I happen to have a list of them here.’ She passed him a handwritten page of A4, the result of her late night/early morning toil.
He scanned it quickly, his brow furrowed in concentration.
‘This makes sense,’ he said eventually. ‘I guess the ones with an “N” next to them are the leads – that is, loose ends – that you’ll be doing personally.’
‘Exactly. They’re the ones that can be done by phone. I want to stay here for when she wakes up.’
‘I’m not sure Miss Whiplash would approve someone of your rank wasting their time like that. She sent Milky to save you from just that.’
‘I know, but she also gave me today free to work with you and Fenwick on Flash Harry.’
‘What if she finds out we knew it was Dan Mariner all along?’
Nightingale shrugged.
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take. Look, if it makes you feel any easier, we didn’t have breakfast together and I assumed that Andrew Fenwick would give you the news. OK?’
Big Mac looked embarrassed.
‘There’s no need for that. We’re in this together, for Jenni’s sake.’
Nightingale suppressed the urge to kiss him.
The rest of the morning was uneventful. She sent Roy Rogers off to have a shower and something to eat as he’d stayed with Jenni all night. She told him to have a few hours’ sleep as well but he said he’d managed enough in the chair and declined. Nightingale doubted it. It was most uncomfortable, too low at the back to rest
your head and with a sagging seat that provided little support. Still, it was better than standing.
While Jenni slept peacefully Nightingale tracked down the people she had met while staying in the shelter in case any of them could give her a name or anything else to follow up on. It was a frustrating few hours until, by chance, she spoke again to the woman who was in charge of the shelter.
‘You’re just not prepared to give up, are you?’ she asked when Nightingale called her for the third time in an attempt to find the last of Jenni’s known acquaintances.
‘Jenni deserves justice. She could have been killed and it’s only thanks to her thick skull that she’s here recovering.’
‘You’re with her still, are you?’
‘Yes. Someone’s here day and night for when she wakes up and I’m doing my share.’
‘Well, all I can say is that you’re unusually diligent for a policewoman. My charges don’t normally count for anything with you lot.’
Nightingale bit back an angry retort, too aware that she was relying on the woman’s cooperation.
‘In the circumstances there might be one thing that could help you.’
Nightingale sat upright and tried to keep her voice calm.
‘Go on.’
‘Jenni was scared of someone called Stanley. A relative, I think.’
Stan not St Anne’s!
‘Any idea who he is?’
‘No, I’m sorry I haven’t. I overheard her talking on the phone to someone a few days ago and she said something like “please don’t tell Stanley where I am, I’m begging you.” I put it down to boyfriend trouble at the time but you’ve made me wonder.’
‘Thank you. That could be helpful. And this was the pay-as-you-go phone she had on her when she was attacked?’
‘Can’t say, I’m afraid. Look, normally I respect their confidences – I have to otherwise they’d never trust me.’
‘Understood; if this comes to anything, I will need an official statement but thank you,’ she hurried on, sensing increasing reticence at the end of the phone, ‘you might just have been an immense help to Jenni.’
Nightingale closed the call and looked at the girl lying on the bed in frustration. Behind her eyelids her eyes were moving furiously: right to left, up and down. She must be dreaming so vividly and yet she wouldn’t wake up. Perhaps her fear was keeping her unconscious? Nightingale realised she couldn’t rely on Jenni to help them and that she was probably wasting her time waiting.
Outside the window it was growing dark early as it started to snow again, which would make her journey back to Harlden difficult given the poor state of the roads. Still she was reluctant to leave. She’d have a cup of tea in the canteen and then call it a day. On her way to the lift she rang Mac to tell him about Stanley in case it helped. Roy was dozing in the waiting area and she woke him up.
‘I’m just going for a tea break. Could you sit with her?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be asleep.’
His hair was ruffled into a Tintin-like coif and his acne was bright in the cruel fluorescent light. Maybe if Jenni woke up she would identify more with him as someone of her own age!
With confirmation that Daniel Mariner was indeed Flash Harry Fenwick felt that he had at last achieved something, though his good mood didn’t survive his call with Nightingale. It deteriorated even further after an unsettling meeting with CC Norman.
Overnight he had worked out several arguments in favour of him rejoining the search for Issie Mattias and not one of them was based on Norman’s investigation being a failure. He rang Norman’s office and asked for a meeting to be told that the earliest opportunity would be midday as the chief constable was out. That gave him an excuse to stay at Guildford HQ, which suited him.
Bernstein was pleased to see him and they spent the morning rehashing theories of where Mariner might have taken Issie. None of them was new, and though Bernstein didn’t say as much, Fenwick could tell that their meeting had been a welcome distraction more than anything else. She hadn’t expected a miracle, not even from him.
Norman offered him coffee and congratulations on resolving the Flash Harry case.
‘This is good for you, Superintendent. Just what you needed. A nasty, serial case resolved – and with very little manpower! Alastair will be delighted.’
‘Yes, the ACC will be relieved to see the case resolved. I was wond—’
‘So what do you plan to do now? Take some well-deserved leave before Christmas, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Well actually, I was wondering whether I could rejoin Operation Goldilocks, sir.’ The look on Norman’s face made him hurry on. ‘It’s just that, with one brother a known sexual criminal, it might help to bring that angle into the search for Mariner junior.’
‘We have done so already, Fenwick, and there is nothing you can add to my investigation.’
‘With Flash Harry successfully out of the way, wouldn’t it look good, sir?’
‘Meaning things don’t already. Forget it. And you can stop pestering the Saxbys as well. Asking them to lobby for your involvement is poor behaviour. I haven’t taken action on it so far but if you persist …’
‘I haven’t done anything of the sort, sir. The last time I spoke to them was over a week ago, when I was still working for you.’
‘Then why do I receive a daily call from them advocating your reinstatement in the inquiry?’
‘I don’t know, sir, but I can promise you it has nothing to do with me.’
Norman looked as if he wanted to call him a liar but satisfied himself by bringing the meeting to a close abruptly with a warning.
‘If I find that you continue to take an interest in this operation, Superintendent, I will take it as an act of insubordination. Do you understand?’
‘I only want to help, sir, in any way I can. I feel somehow responsible …’
‘Sentimental twaddle, Fenwick. Grow up and grow a thicker skin. Now I suspect you have some tidying up to do before you take your leave, so I’ll bid you good day. Oh,’ as Fenwick stood up, ‘and of course a happy Christmas with your family.’
Fenwick muttered a reciprocation and left, crushed by the absolute dismissal of his legitimate interest. In his office he picked
up his briefcase and called Tate to ask him to have his car brought round.
‘It’s been a pleasure working with you, sir. If ever there is anything I can do for you, please let me know.’
‘Thank you, Tate.’
As he made his way to the outside of the building his mobile phone rang.
‘Fenwick.’
‘Superintendent? It’s Lulu Bullock; I’m sorry to trouble you but I heard you were at the school yesterday and I wanted to speak with you. As you’re back on the case again, I’d prefer it was you.’
‘Is there something you need to share with the investigating officers, Miss Bullock?’
‘I don’t know. It’s probably nothing but I thought I should mention it to you.’
‘Mention what, Miss Bullock?’
‘It’s something I’ve found of Issie’s, some background notes with her A-level sketches and they are … odd. I might be interpreting things but, well, I think they could link to the pictures she was working on.’
‘The ones that suggest she might have been sexually abused?’
‘Yes,’ there was a rustle of turning pages, ‘here; I’ll read part of it to you:
“at the cross roads which path to take away from the past? My own straight on to the future I will shape despite the attempt of others to shape me. Or to the right, following my mother’s determined ignorance and false peace of mind. Or do I go left, along my tormentor’s path? Into the shady underworld of his obsession and power? Three ways, one choice; unless I take a fourth. Oblivion.”
It goes on like that, all a bit melodramatic and full of teenage mystery. But the way she was talking of a choice and her tormentor … It made me think of what you saw in the paintings she was working on.’
‘You should share these with the chief constable, Miss Bullock. I can’t judge whether the notes are relevant or not but neither should you. They need to be considered by experts.’
‘I’ve sent your colleagues a transcript already. They are inclined to dismiss the paintings and the notes as unconnected. But you’ve been working on other cases of sexual assault. What if there’s a link to your investigations?’
She was tempting him. If he could tell himself this was about Flash Harry then it would be a loose end and quite legitimate for him to take a look at what she had.
‘Can you be sure that what you’ve found is recent enough to be relevant?’
‘The notes are on the back of a test paper I gave them only three weeks ago. And it isn’t just notes. There’s something else as well, Superintendent.’
‘The best thing is if you could send everything to me at my office in Lewes.’
‘I don’t want to trust them to the post and I won’t be able to find a courier today as the secretary’s away and her office is locked.’
‘Hmm.’ He looked at his watch: two thirty-five. He could be at St Anne’s within half an hour, pick up the notes and still be in Harlden in time for the children’s return from school. ‘I’ll come over now and pick them up.’
‘Really? That would be great; what I mean is, good, I’ll have them ready.’
Of course he could send Big Mac and not go driving off himself but what else had he to do? He stopped himself thinking about how stupid he was and suppressed the flicker of thought that it would be pleasant to see Lulu Bullock again.