Dead of Winter (28 page)

She thrust it at Fenwick who flicked it open with his right fingertips. Inside was material of some sort. He didn’t want to touch it unnecessarily in case it proved significant.

‘What is it?’

‘A T-shirt; hers, I think.’

‘So?’

Lulu blushed.

‘It’s stained down the front and on one shoulder.’ She looked away. ‘It might be semen.’

‘Why didn’t you give it to me immediately?’

‘I didn’t want it to make you think that maybe Issie had gone away of her own accord with a lover.’

Fenwick suppressed a surge of anger towards this most irritating woman. For someone so intelligent she could be remarkably stupid.

‘I need to get this to Surrey immediately. They’ll have the lab run tests and we’ll know what we’re dealing with. Do you have a clean paper bag I can put it in?’

As he waited Fenwick studied the carrier bag. It was from a Greek supermarket. He remembered Jane Saxby telling him the story of the sailing trip that had gone so disastrously wrong. When Issie had run away … to be found by Rodney Saxby. His mind leapt ahead to possible conclusions. Did they still have the man under surveillance or was he off their suspect list? He took the offered bag.

‘Thanks for the coffee and first aid.’

‘Thank you for your help. Who knows what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.’

She didn’t follow him down the stairs but released the lock of the front door remotely when he buzzed to be let out.

Fenwick had put on his coat, right glove and scarf before venturing outside but nothing prepared him for the force of the storm he walked into. He struggled to keep on the path and had difficulty opening his car door against the wind. Once inside, he left the engine running for several minutes until the windscreen started to clear, but the wipers were frozen solid to the glass and he had to step out again to ease them away. They scraped across the glass grudgingly, catching on stubborn ridges of ice that refused to melt.

Slowly the windscreen cleared and the interior of the car warmed. Fenwick eased the car out of park, regretting that he was no longer in an RTC vehicle with winter tyres but glad he had an automatic. His left hand hurt like hell, a distraction he tried to ignore as he steered one-handed into the snowstorm. He almost made it to the road but when he braked as he approached the gateway the rear wheels skidded and the car started to slide. His left hand reached the steering wheel too late and there was nothing he could do as the rear of the car slipped inexorably into the ditch at the side of the road.

‘I don’t believe it.’

Fenwick clambered out of the car, which had come to rest at an angle so that the driver’s door pointed upwards and the front offside tyre was off the ground. He looked at the snow that was settling already on the skid marks and the roof of his car, and concluded that there was no way he was going to be able to get the car out of the ditch without help. He checked his watch; four twenty-two but it was already dark.

He opened his mobile and pressed autodial. The screen flickered and flashed: ‘no network coverage’. There was nothing for it; he would have to go back and call for a car. After a moment’s hesitation he put Issie’s T-shirt, securely tied, under his coat. He wouldn’t risk leaving it in the car.

Fenwick tried to remember how far the school was from the front entrance. Not far, surely; a matter of minutes in the car but he couldn’t see any lights and the snow blew horizontally into his face, limiting his perspective. In the boot he had a Barbour, which he put on over his winter coat before starting back up the driveway. His shoes were heavy, thick-soled leather lace-ups but in minutes they were soaked through, as were his trousers below the coat.

It was hard to see and at times he couldn’t be sure he was still on the tarmac but the ditch either side guided him. Twice he almost fell as he pushed his way forward against the storm.

By the time he reached the school buildings his trousers were starting to freeze and his face was completely numb. The only feeling in his fingers was in his injured left hand, which throbbed with his pulse and had grown heavy as lead as he walked. When he reached the partial shelter of the porch at the old schoolhouse he leant against the half-glazed door too tired for a moment to do anything, then he pressed Lulu’s number.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me. I didn’t make it beyond the drive. Could you let me in? I need to call a car.’

The door buzzed. He climbed the stairs with difficulty, feeling light-headed and confused for no reason. Her door was open and
he pushed inside gratefully. In the tiny hall he slipped off his shoes, which were soaked through, and walked in sodden socks into the living room. The fire glowed with an orange-red light; jazz was playing softly, a Bud Powell number he recognised.

‘You look awful; are you OK?’

‘Just a bit cold; I’ll be fine in a minute.’

She looked at him sceptically and reached out to feel his face. He recoiled slightly from her touch but was too tired to resist.

‘You’re perishing cold. Where did you walk from?’ Her tone was accusing.

‘Just before the gates.’

‘What? That’s almost two miles. You’re bloody lucky you’re not lying out there freezing to death!’ She sounded really angry.

He knew he should explain it was only a short walk, just the snow had made it more difficult, but his lips somehow were not connected properly to his mouth, and anyway, it was warm in the room, why have an argument?

‘I just need to call … they’ll send a car.’

He had the number in the mobile phone in his jacket pocket but it was quite hard to find and after a moment she flicked his hand away and reached in herself to retrieve it. He dialled Tate’s number as he needed someone who wouldn’t blab about where he was. The man answered quickly. When Fenwick asked for a car to come on the quiet and pick him up from St Anne’s he sensed a moment’s surprise.

‘I think it will be better if I do that myself, sir. We’ve got a real blizzard blowing but leave it with me.’

Fenwick broke the connection with a sigh and tried to think. Who else did he need to call? Struggle as he might he couldn’t remember.

‘… I said, you need to get out of those wet things. Come on, Superintendent, you can’t stay like that, you’ll catch your death of cold.’

‘Hmm?’ Fenwick struggled to concentrate. Lulu Bullock was standing in front of him holding a pair of men’s trousers, corduroys in a particularly nasty brown.

‘Don’t look at them like that; they were my dad’s, God bless him, and they’re all I’ve got. Come on, into the bathroom with you and you can change your shirt as well – it was soaked before and I doubt it’s dried off.’

She thrust a bundle of clothes at him and virtually pushed him into the bathroom. He closed the door and sat down on the closed loo seat. He felt so tired and couldn’t understand why. All he had done was walk from the school gates back to the main house. How could he feel like this? The clothes were warm and dry and he lowered his head into them, closing his eyes.

Knocking on the door roused him.

‘Coming.’

He opened it to see Lulu holding a phone out for him. It was his mobile.

‘A man called Tate needs to talk to you.’ She looked him up and down, shook her head and walked away.

‘Fenwick.’

‘I’m really sorry, sir, but RTC are advising no travel unless absolutely essential. Roads are closing and I won’t be able to reach you until the blizzard passes.’

Fenwick realised that if he insisted on Tate trying to reach him he might be putting him in danger, as well as asking him to draw attention to himself on an errand they would both rather keep quiet.

‘Understood. If you could just call me if and when you set out? Oh, and text me the details of a haulage firm to help with my car?’

‘Of course.’ Tate sounded relieved.

Fenwick broke the connection and looked around for Lulu Bullock. She had gone off somewhere so he returned to the bathroom and changed into the dry clothes. They fitted quite well, even the trousers were long enough, and he started to feel warmer apart from his feet, which remained stubbornly numb.

When he stepped back into the living room she was there on the phone.

‘—yes, don’t worry. I’ve already spoken with Peter and Winston.
They’re double-checking all the buildings and a cousin is coming in to provide backup in case we have an emergency, so we’re all right. I’m more concerned about all of you.’

Fenwick realised the school party must still be in Guildford.

‘Well that’s a relief. Hopefully the girls will think of it as an adventure … if there’s any problem at all I will call, don’t worry.’

‘They’re stranded?’

‘Yes; the staff at the cathedral have arranged accommodation for the girls and housemistresses in their hall and found spare beds for the other teachers.’

‘So you’re on your own here – with the caretakers and cousin.’

‘And you,’ she said, ‘at least I assume you’ll need somewhere to sleep tonight?’

‘I, ah, well, yes, I suppose … er, thank you.’

‘No problem; pass me those wet things. You need socks but I want to check your feet first. You were gone an hour and I’d rather be sure they’re OK.’

‘I was only out there thirty minutes.’

‘An hour, Superintendent, and that’s bad.’

He insisted he could check his own toes and did so quickly. They were fine, though it was a bit worrying that he still couldn’t feel them. Just as he finished Lulu came in with a bowl of water.

‘It’s only just warm – too hot and it would be agony for you. Once you get the feeling back I’ll heat it up. It will hurt like hell for a while but then they should be back to normal. With luck you’ll escape with chilblains.’

Thus it was that he spent the first part of the evening sitting with his trousers rolled up and bare feet in a galvanised bowl of water that was steadily made warmer by the ever attentive Lulu. He tried not to think what he looked like and closed his eyes for a moment.

He needed to think. There was a call still to make …

‘Superintendent … Mr Fenwick? … Andrew!’

Someone was interrupting his briefing; he wanted to tell them to be quiet but he didn’t know their name so he said, ‘In a minute; let Big Mac finish.’

The shaking continued and he half opened an eye to see a strange woman looming over him. She reminded him of someone he knew very well but the realisation only served to confuse him further.

‘What?’

‘I’ve cooked some supper. It’s eight o’clock. I probably should have woken you earlier but you were fast asleep so I left you.’

He managed to open both eyes and at the same time remembered to close his mouth. Recognition triggered memory and he struggled to sit up straight. His feet were no longer in the water but covered with a dry towel.

‘What time did you say?’ He sounded even to his own ears as if he were castigating reception for forgetting his wake-up call.

‘Eight; you’ve been asleep for two hours. You’re staying here at St Anne’s, remember?’

Of course he did. He glanced down at the unfamiliar trousers, eased the collar that was scratching his neck and tried to smile. He should be grateful.

‘I don’t know if you’re hungry but I was cooking supper for myself anyway; it’s coq au vin with sautéed potatoes and spinach. I hope that’s OK?’

‘It sounds wonderful, thank you. I hadn’t expected anything.’ That was true. ‘Have I time to call home?’

‘Of course; I’ll be in the kitchen. Come through when you’re done.’

He used his mobile to call and forced himself awake as the number rang. Alice answered. She had expected him for supper but annoyance was soon replaced with concern for his safety. He was sorry to have worried her. The children were in bed early having misbehaved and, no, she wasn’t inclined to go and get them so that they could say goodnight to their father. When the call finished he wandered towards the kitchen, hovering at the door.

‘Here,’ she passed him a glass of a red Burgundy. ‘Don’t look like that. You’re not on duty and you have absolutely nowhere to go tonight so you might as well relax.’

Of course she was right.

The wine was a bit light for his taste but he didn’t care. Suddenly he felt hungry. There was a small table against the window, which she had set for two. Mercifully there was no candle.

‘Can I help?’

‘Just put the bread and wine on the table and then we’re all set.’

There was a moment’s embarrassment when she had to cut up his food for him because of his injured hand but after that the meal was fantastic. Maybe it was because he was so hungry, or perhaps his experience in the snow had made him sensitive to simple comforts. He ate a second helping and relaxed back in his chair, too full even to contemplate the cheese she offered.

He felt more comfortable than previously. Lulu was keeping her distance; the perfect hostess but no more. There was something about her that intrigued, attracted and repelled him in equal measure but if she felt the same she gave no hint. The evening had become a pleasant interlude and he felt more relaxed than he had done in weeks.

They moved into the sitting room for coffee. She served brandy because the wine was finished. It was quite a large measure and he thought he wouldn’t finish it but as the fire died down he noticed that most of it had gone. When he returned from a trip to the bathroom his glass looked rather fuller than when he had left.

Lulu sat in a chair by the fire, leaving him to relax on the sofa on his own. She was easy to talk to and didn’t ask awkward questions, though she was naturally curious and asked about his family. As the level in the brandy glass ebbed he found himself sharing his concerns about Bess.

‘She’s obviously missing her mother,’ Lulu said. ‘It’s a pity she doesn’t have a role model to look up to; it might help as she navigates puberty.’

‘Oh, but she does,’ he said, feeling the warmth of the brandy expand to meet the heat of the fire on the soles of his feet. ‘There’s
this police officer – a woman – that she really likes and looks up to. I’m sure that Bess sees her as a big sister, someone she admires and wants to impress.’

‘Well that’s good. And this young woman – I assume she’s young’ – Fenwick nodded – ‘is she special, I mean to you? Are you and she …’ Lulu sipped her brandy, not meeting his eye. ‘I don’t know why I’m being coy. Are you and she lovers?’

Fenwick almost spilt his drink.

‘No way! She’s a colleague, that’s all. I respect her deeply but no, that is, never.’

Lulu was looking at him with a half smile, not mocking exactly but not kind either.

‘So is there anyone special for you?’

‘Other than Bess, Chris and my mother, no.’ It had seemed a smart line before he said it.

Lulu stood up and came to sit beside him.

‘Good; that makes things a lot simpler,’ she said as one of her elegant fingers traced the line from his temple, down his jaw and back up to his ear. The delicacy of her touch made him shiver.

‘I only have one bedroom. Of course I could make up a bed for you here on the couch but there’s no need when you can as easily share mine.’

He knew what he wanted; more than anything at that moment: he wanted her, with a dry heat born of abstinence and denial. It would be so easy; no implications or obligations, just a simple night of pleasure with no regrets. But there was a nagging voice at the back of his mind: she’s connected to the case, a witness at the least, maybe even more.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not guilty of anything,’ she said and closed the gap between them, ‘except of being unbelievably attracted to you.’