Grave Doubts (32 page)

The old Ginny was gone forever. She’d been killed as surely as if she had died that night. There were tears on her face again. She dragged out one of Dad’s big white linen hankies from her dressing gown pocket and dabbed at her face, then pulled the blanket up about her ears and curled into a foetal position with her back to the world.

Constable Knots was waiting for him at the station.

‘What have you found out?’

‘I’ve spoken with the headmistress and teachers who were at the school when Smith and Griffiths were there. They remembered them, Smith more than Griffiths. Said he was bright, cocky, inclined to bully the younger boys.’

He put his notebook away.

‘That’s it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And were they friends?’

‘The computer-science teacher thinks they might have been. They sat together in class.’

‘What about the drama teacher. Why was Smith barred?’

Knotty raised his hand in a plea for sympathy.

‘I haven’t found her yet. It’s the school holidays and she wasn’t in when I rang.’

‘The doctor?’

‘Next on my list.’

‘Then what are you doing here? Get on with it.’

Fenwick watched him go, shoulders slumped, feet heavy. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so sharp with him. Knotty was doing his best and he’d only had two hours. Next time he saw him he’d be more understanding.

Chief Inspector Cave was about to leave when Fenwick found him in his office. He let his impatience show as Fenwick detained him.

‘What now?’

‘Thanks for your help this morning. I spoke with Siobahn.’

‘So you’ll be leaving now.’

‘Yes.’

Cave turned to go.

‘There’s just one thing.’

‘If it’s about the bites, that’s sorted.’

‘Great. But I thought you’d want to know that there was no police presence at the Matthew’s house.’

‘So? It was probably a shift change.’

‘Well…’ Fenwick felt a war inside between the wise diplomat he was trying hard to become and the direct, outspoken know-it-all that he really was. The smart alec won. ‘Don’t you think there should be someone there constantly. She’s unfinished business.’

‘A five- or ten-minute gap won’t do anyone any harm. Most of the journo’s are keeping away – she’s already old news.’

‘Killer B failed to kill the girl in Wales. I don’t think he’ll be prepared to leave another murder unfinished.’

‘If
it is the same man, he’s already shown the opposite. You’re wasting my time.’ Cave made to push by him but Fenwick stepped in front of him, close enough to smell stale coffee on Cave’s breath.

‘Please
. I know I’m way off my patch, but give me the benefit of the doubt. One extra officer doesn’t cost much and it would serve as a deterrent. I’m getting to know Smith and how he thinks…’

‘You’re becoming obsessed you mean.’

There was no point getting into an argument.

‘Possibly but I don’t think so and…’

‘No, Fenwick. This is my case and there’s absolutely no proof that Killer B and/or Smith is the man. Her mum or dad are always there, we have a car outside except for the shift change and there are regular patrols. Nothing you can say will convince me that she’s still at risk.’

With that he was gone leaving Fenwick the subject of long looks from officers passing by. In his cramped office he called Robyn but she’d barely started to analyse the old cases and had nothing to tell him. If he hurried he could catch the next inter-city train to London and be back by early afternoon.

Whilst the train was waiting for a signal to change outside Euston, his mobile phone rang. It was Knotty. Fenwick was conscious of the crowded compartment and tried to speak in a whisper but it didn’t work.

‘Ah…yes.’

‘Is that the Chief Inspector?’

‘Indeed it is.’

‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Except that you sound, you know, odd.’

‘No, I’m on a train.’

‘Still? Blimey, that’s hours late, that is.’

‘Quite. What’s the matter?’

‘Oh nothing. It’s just that you said to call you with
anything
that came up.’

‘Yes.’ The inflection in Knotty’s voice hardly raised his hopes.

‘Through Griffiths’ headmistress I’ve managed to trace some of the people who were at school with him.’

‘And the drama teacher?’

‘Still away but these people…’

‘She’s important.’ The woman across the aisle raised her eyebrows and glanced at him sideways. He ignored her. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, these people, one of them, Daphne Middleton, was in the same class and remembers Griffiths quite clearly. She said that he was always hanging around the girls’ changing rooms and that he had a habit of following her home from school. It went on for some time.’

‘How old?’

‘About fourteen or so.’

‘I see. Anything else?’

‘Not at present, no.’

The disappointment was clear in Knotty’s tone and Fenwick remembered that he’d meant to be more encouraging the next time they spoke. A stuffy railway carriage was hardly the time and place to begin so he made another mental note.

‘Very well, er, keep at it and call me later.’

It was late afternoon when Fenwick finally arrived back in London so he decided to go straight home. MacIntyre didn’t expect him and he hadn’t seen the children for three days.

His spirits rose at the greeting he was given. Even the housekeeper seemed pleased to see him. After tea, games and a bedside story, Fenwick sank back into an armchair and sipped his single malt. His good mood evaporated as he thought about his difficult week and then inevitably about his career.

He was spinning his wheels and not just on this case, trading off his image as a tough, hard-working and successful detective. Look at him, attached to some task force at the Met that didn’t have enough for him to do; jaunting off to the North West on a quest that had turned into a wild goose chase; and apparently not even missed in Harlden. He wondered when people would start to see through him and felt an unusual stab of insecurity.

He poured himself another drink. Nightingale’s continued absence caused him great unease. He was failing her and that worried him even more than his drifting career. He was draining his second glass when the phone rang, shattering the silence.

‘Yes?’

‘Oh dear! Perhaps I’ll call back later when you’re in a better mood.’

He recognised Claire’s voice. It only served to remind him that his love life was a complete void as well and he grunted an answer.

‘Andrew. Come on. I recognise that tone. You’ve been spending too much time in your own company and that’s enough to make anybody miserable.’

‘Ha, ha. Very funny. Why are you so cheerful anyway?’

‘There’s a new man in my life.’

‘I’m glad, really.’

‘No, you’re relieved. Look, that’s not why I called. Are you busy tonight?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Do you mind if I come round? There’s something I should have said to you and it needs to be done face-to-face.’

‘Sounds ominous.’

‘Just important. Can I?’

‘Come round – sure. I’m here all evening.’

Claire arrived within the hour. There was a glow in her face that Fenwick hadn’t seen before. She noticed the empty whisky glass and raised an eyebrow.

‘Solitary drinking?’

‘When you live alone, it’s the only kind.’

‘Sit down, Andrew, I don’t want you charging out of the room because you can’t face what I’m telling you.’ She sounded like the elder sister he’d never had.

He perched on the edge of his chair as if poised for flight. She closed the door and then sat on the floor beside his feet. It was a deliberately non-threatening pose and he admired her manipulative skill. Even though he knew it was contrived, he immediately felt more relaxed.

‘It’s about Louise Nightingale.’

‘You know where she is?’ The hope in his tone was painful.

‘No I’m sorry, I don’t. But I do know one of the reasons she went away.’

‘She was screwed up about work – she had to get away.’

‘It wasn’t just about work, Andrew,’ Claire looked at him sadly, her eyes full of sympathy, ‘it was also about you.’

‘Me? I was never anything but supportive. I had…have nothing but the utmost respect for her.’

‘That’s the problem.’

He shook his head in confusion.

‘You really don’t get it do you? My God, Andrew, for a man renowned for his insight you can be incredibly dense when it comes to people close to you. Louise Nightingale was hopelessly in love with you. It’s why she had to go away. She knew that you only saw her as a police officer, never a woman. It finally got so bad she couldn’t cope.’

‘No way, I’d have realised.’ He shook his head in denial but as he spoke, images of Nightingale replayed in his mind: finding her distraught in the forest, going to her flat, working cases together when he’d felt an unusual meeting of minds. He forced himself to argue with Claire but even as he did so he realised that she might be right.

‘How did you know?’

‘I had a fair suspicion of it just by looking at her with you, then after I saw her following us once I went round to her flat.’ Claire had the grace to blush.

‘You confronted her?’ There was a trace of anger in his voice and Claire looked away.

‘Not exactly, but I needed to know. I thought that I was in love with you. I realise now there was a lot of infatuation mixed up with it – and lust.’ She looked at him sideways and blushed again. ‘I was desperate for you to love me back yet you wouldn’t. That’s when I began to suspect that there was something going on between the two of you.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I’d never get involved with a junior officer.’

‘I know that now and so did Nightingale poor thing, but she’s a woman and you’re a single man…most men would do a lot to have a relationship with Louise Nightingale, I can assure you.’

‘Did she admit it to you?’

‘Not in so many words but it was obvious from what she didn’t say.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘In part because she asked me not to, at least that’s the reason I gave myself at the time, but to be honest I was scared in case you loved her back. Don’t look like that.’

‘How could you think that? I…’ Fenwick stumbled over his words.

He’d been going to say that he had no feelings for her beyond professional respect but even as he thought the words, he knew them to be a lie. He cared more for her than that, but what he felt couldn’t be love. There was amusement at her outspoken ways, enormous respect for her courage and intellect, perhaps even grudging affection, and he did worry about her a lot. But that wasn’t love was it? It bore no resemblance to the all-consuming fire that he had felt for his wife from the moment he first saw her until the day she died.

He became aware of his silence. Claire was looking at him with a knowing expression as if she could see beyond his defensive walls. She stood up and kissed the top of his head.

‘I’ve told you now. How you feel, what you do with the knowledge is entirely up to you. I’m not going to give you any advice except to say use the information wisely. Don’t squander it. Be honest with yourself. You must – you owe it to her. A woman’s love is a rare gift so don’t ignore it, even if you do decide, as you did with me, that you can’t reciprocate.’

She let herself out, leaving Fenwick to stare at the carpet where she had been sitting.

He couldn’t sleep. Images of the last time he had seen her kept running through his mind. Her eyes, lips, her dark hair so shiny it looked wet. What should he do? The sensible thing would be to leave well alone. She was too dangerous. He would risk everything if he went after her. And yet…

And yet, she compelled him. He couldn’t ignore her, not now. If he was lucky enough to find her, and have time with her uninterrupted, would he be able to get away with it?

Her face was beginning to haunt him. There were plenty of photographs around, shots from the newspaper coverage that emphasised her looks, and those eyes. He had seen them fill with tears, had watched while they grew huge with pain and fear. They were wonderful eyes.

There was warmth in his groin and his hand slipped beneath the covers. Thinking of her was arousing, more exciting than anything that had broken the recent ambiguity of his life. He began to fantasise about what he would do to her when they met, the excitement building inside him. When he climaxed, he cried out and bit the heel of his hand until it hurt. There could be no doubt that he had to have her. She was unfinished business. He needed to prove to himself that he could do to her exactly as he wanted, not because he had any doubts but because it was what a real man would do.

Unable to sleep he washed and poured himself a large tumbler of gin with a splash of tonic. He needed to quit this place and soon he would have no need of a base. Even the cottage made him feel trapped now. Leaving would be as easy as it had been vacating his parents’ house.

When the neighbours had started to ask about their return from the surprise round the world trip that he had fabricated to explain their disappearance, it had been time to go. He’d cleaned the traces of their lives from the house and written to a letting agency in Telford, using addressed notepaper and his father’s much-copied signature. When a representative visited he explained that his parents were away and sent them the signed agreement and bank details by post.

They called up of course as he had expected them to but Wayne answered the phone, well rehearsed to sound exactly as his father would have done. Afterwards they’d moved to this cottage together. That first winter had been quiet. They built fires against the bitter cold and lived simply using cash they took from his father’s account. All the standing orders had been cancelled, even the rates were paid by the agents. He had thought of everything.

When they started to need money, Wayne found a temporary job in the computer department at a local firm. He was good and they offered to make him permanent. It was dull work but well paid and he took evening classes to gain more qualifications. After a year he moved on and started to earn them proper money.

For a while he’d simply let Wayne feed them. Apart from videos his amusements were free after all but then he’d discovered recreational drugs, simple stuff but it increased the highs and stopped the black spells. Money became a problem. Stealing was easy but carried a risk he didn’t want so he’d made a copy of Wayne’s NVQ certificate and found himself a job. Anyone with half decent programming skills was able to get a job back then.