Dead of Winter (39 page)

On his way to Guildford Saturday morning Fenwick telephoned Saxby Hall. He was in luck; the butler answered and told him that the master was out but Lady Saxby was at home. When he was put through Fenwick wasted no time and told her what he needed and why. She understood at once. By the time he drew up in front of the marble columns of the Hall she was waiting for him at the top of the steps, outside despite the cold.

She thrust a large envelope towards him.

‘Here; I think it’s what you need. I hope it helps you nail the bastard!’

‘I intend to do my best.’

She reached up and kissed his cheek quickly, then turned away without another word.

The drive into Guildford town centre took a long time as the roads were solid with shoppers making the most of the pause between snowstorms. When he arrived he went straight to the detectives’ room and found Bernstein with Bazza and Cobb.

‘At last! I thought you’d never get here. We have precisely three hours left to crack the bastard or he walks.’

‘You have a DNA match.’

‘He now claims it was consensual and Issie was seventeen; so it’s disgusting but not a crime.’ She passed him a folder.

Fenwick read the interview transcript quickly.

‘I’m amazed his brother is funding the best lawyer money can buy given what he’s said he did with Issie.’

‘He only admitted having sex with her late yesterday evening. I doubt Lord Saxby knows.’

‘Interesting,’ Fenwick started to smile. ‘You made him rattled enough to get a lot of detail from him. That’s going to be helpful.’

‘Glad you think so; it hasn’t done us any good. He’s all yours, in interview room three with Box. We’re going to observe.’

‘I’d like one of you with me for continuity, don’t mind which. And I want photos of all the evidence numbered and ready in a folder.’

There was something in his tone that made Bernstein ask, ‘Ready for what?’

Fenwick grinned and tapped his nose.

‘Never you mind, but I think you’re going to enjoy this.’

He squared his shoulders and swung out of the room. Behind his back he heard Cobb ask, ‘Is he on something?’

Bazza sat in while he started the interrogation in a slow, polite manner that annoyed Saxby junior, who had clearly been looking forward to an aggressive encounter given that the police were running out of time. However, Fenwick was doing everything by the book. He did not expect answers, let alone the truth, but the interview was visually recorded and he was confident that Saxby would reveal the sort of man he really was. When that happened the prosecution would receive a gift; no jury would be unaffected by his arrogance and disdain for Issie or the law.

‘So when did you first have sex with Isabelle Mattias?’

‘I’ve told you lot this already.’

‘Tell me, please.’

‘It would have been about two months ago.’

‘And that was the first time; you are quite sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where did you have sex?’

‘I’ve told you, in my car.’

‘Where was your car parked at the time?’

‘I can’t remember. In woods somewhere.’

Fenwick continued to ask questions, forcing Saxby to elaborate on each time he had what he claimed was consensual sex with Issie. When what he said didn’t match his previous answers Fenwick drew attention to the differences. Saxby became increasingly irritated. When he stopped talking Fenwick turned his attention to the folder of photographs on the table between them.

‘I am showing the suspect a photograph of a painting labelled Exhibit A.3, by the missing girl, Isabelle Mattias. It shows a man with a gold medallion, matching one worn by him when he was arrested.’

‘So what? The girl’s clearly obsessed with me.’

Box leant over and whispered in Saxby’s ear.

‘I am showing the suspect a second painting, Exhibit A.4, by Isabelle Mattias that depicts her being raped by the man who, in the previous photo was wearing the medallion. Do you dispute that the man in this painting looks like you?’

‘The girl was fantasising. I can’t help it if she’s got a warped imagination.’

Box whispered again. Saxby looked irritated and shrugged.

‘I am showing the suspect a third photograph of a T-shirt, Exhibit T.1, from which we extracted DNA matching the suspect’s own. Do you recognise this T-shirt, Rodney?’

‘No.’

‘Wouldn’t you say it is a summer item of clothing, not really suitable for a winter’s assignation in a car?’

‘She must have worn it under her jumper. I don’t know.’

‘I am now showing the suspect a printed album, which will be entered as evidence after this interview, obtained from the Saxby family containing photographs of a sailing holiday in July last year. They were taken by one of the crew who had been charged with making a photographic record of the holiday.’

Saxby twitched and looked away as Fenwick opened the album at a marked page and placed it on the table. The double-page spread contained seven images. The date, time and location of the photos were printed across the top of the pages. In the first picture Issie was sitting alone at the bow of a yacht; in the second she was glaring mutinously at the camera. In the third and fourth she was sitting at a lunch table with her mother and both Saxbys. On the table between them was a meal of prawns, Greek salad, bread, ouzo and wine. In the fifth picture she was in a tender with Rodney Saxby coming towards the yacht; the sixth had her climbing aboard and in the seventh she was standing rigid, eyes wide, staring at the camera.

‘You will note, Rodney, that Issie is wearing a T-shirt in the photos I am showing you that is visually similar to the Exhibit T.1. In fact, if you look carefully at the right side on the hem you will see a small tear that is identical. That would suggest it is the same T-shirt.’

Saxby continued to look away but the vein at the side of his forehead was pulsing.

‘When we asked our forensic facility to analyse the T-shirt, they not only recovered your and Issie’s DNA, they also isolated the following trace evidence: suntan lotion; a breadcrumb fragment; microscopic drops of olive oil and juice from a prawn; specks of charcoal from a barbecue and a splash of tomato juice.

‘Please would you take a look at the last photograph in the sequence and then compare the T-shirt Issie is wearing with Exhibit T.1? No, you won’t? Then I’ll tell you what a comparison shows. A stain in the photo taken on the yacht is identical to that on the T-shirt we have in evidence.’

‘This is a stitch-up! That bitch has framed me and you’re in on it. You told her what you needed and she Photoshopped it. That’s what they’ve done! Box, get me out of here. This is a travesty of justice.’

‘The original SD card for these photos is with all the others at your brother’s house, in a safe in his private office. Issie’s mother
does not have a combination to that safe, only to the family one. Your brother had the album printed immediately on return from the holiday by a supplier they have used for the past two years. A detective is taking a statement from them, which will confirm exactly when the album was commissioned, printed and paid for.

‘Every day has a section dedicated to it. When your brother suggested they should skip over the record of when Issie ran away and you found her, his wife disagreed. She needed to work out what had happened to Issie on that holiday, when she turned from a happy, confident teenager to a virtual recluse who hardly spoke. Jane Saxby recognised something had happened on that day and wanted the record of it preserved; mother’s instinct you might say.

‘Based on the evidence we have in front of us I think we can solve that problem for her. Issie ran away from the yacht, probably as a result of unwanted sexual advances from you. You pursued her to the island where she was hiding and forced her to perform a sexual act, thereby asserting control over her in a way you could use without her mother knowing.’

‘Nonsense; this is bullshit. Why would I do that?’

‘I can think of reasons. Perhaps you were motivated by desire for Issie, a beautiful, virginal sixteen-year-old; or by the need to hurt Jane Saxby because of your intense jealousy towards her. Having abused Issie sexually, you then brought her back to the yacht.

‘This last picture shows a girl in shock, the evidence of abuse fresh on her T-shirt. Here!’ Fenwick slapped his hand down over a stain on the front of Issie’s shirt.

‘NO!’

Box put a restraining hand on his client’s shoulder.

‘Yes, Rodney. You have lied about when, where, how and why your semen ended up on a seventeen-year-old’s clothes and these photographs are categorical proof of that. I am going to leave the pleasure of charging you to my colleagues while I go and inform her parents.’

‘You can’t do that! These are unfounded allegations, twisted lies concocted by that bitch of a mother.’

‘I think we can safely leave that to a court to decide, Rodney.’

As he stepped out of the interview room Fenwick found that he was shaking. Bernstein leapt out of the observation room and hugged him.

‘Have I ever told you you’re brilliant?’

‘No.’ He tried to smile but the tension was too much.

‘Are you really going to Saxby Hall now?’

He shook his head.

‘That’s for you and Norman to do. I only said it for effect so that he realised his lifeline to his brother was about to be cut. Go in and charge him. It has to be you. Every detail of this must be done by the book, everything. We cannot let that bastard walk. He abused Issie, virtually driving her into Mariner’s arms.’

Bernstein opened the door to the interview suite and walked in, head high.

Cobb was hovering outside the observation room. As Fenwick passed he said, ‘Well done, sir.’ Fenwick nodded an acknowledgement. ‘But if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look very happy.’

Fenwick turned heavy eyes to the sergeant briefly before turning away.

‘We’re no closer to finding Issie, are we, Cobb? No closer at all.’

And with that he walked away.

Nightingale was at her desk even though it was the Saturday before Christmas. Big Mac had done a good job of tracing and talking to all the Flash Harry victims in Sussex and had been sweet enough to leave a thank you card from one of them on Nightingale’s desk with a yellow Post-it note attached, which read:
This should have been sent to you. You did this. Fancy a celebratory drink sometime? M.

It was a nice idea. Maybe he was free that evening. She was looking up his mobile number when Alison Whitby walked into the detectives’ room unannounced and headed straight for her desk. Nightingale stood up.

‘Sit down, sit down.’ Whitby’s voice sounded as if she still had a cold and she looked pale. ‘I came to thank you for standing in for me on Wednesday.’

‘It was no problem, ma’am.’

‘It’s Alison, remember? Have you got a minute? There was something I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Of course.’

Nightingale stood up and walked towards the stairs. As she opened the fire door, Whitby said.

‘Let’s go and have a bite to eat, shall we?’

Harlden no longer ran to a fully staffed canteen but there was a kitchen to which hot food was delivered two or three times a day, depending on demand. As they walked in, Nightingale smelt pies, pasties and soup. Whitby chose a sausage roll while Nightingale put a carton of tomato soup in the microwave. A uniformed constable waltzed in whistling, did a double take and about-turned.

Whitby grinned and closed the door.

‘As soon as they know I’m in here we won’t be disturbed.’

Nightingale smiled uncertainly.

‘I’ve had Acting Chief Constable Harper-Brown on the phone,’ she said, peeling the plastic wrap off the roll.

‘Oh yes?’ Nightingale fussed over finding a spoon.

Whitby waited patiently for her to sit down, chewing quietly.

‘He’s impressed; it doesn’t happen that often.’

‘By what, ma’am … er, Alison?’

‘You; why else would I be talking to you? The way you insisted on following up on Flash Harry, even when it went to MCS; your attention to Jenni as a witness—’

Victim
, she thought.

‘—and the fact that you’ve had MacDonald following up to inform the victims on our patch. The chairman of the PCC had a call from one family to thank him, and the victim support group is impressed for once. It all reflects very well on the boss.’

‘That’s good to know, but Mac did all the hard work.’

‘That’s as may be but you were the SIO.’

‘Original SIO,’ she corrected.

‘Yes, well poor old Andrew hasn’t come out of it too well.’

Nightingale pushed the remains of over half her soup to one side.

‘You should eat some more, Louise; you’re losing weight.’

‘I’ll eat properly later, thanks. Why is Superintendent Fenwick not being credited with Flash Harry?’

‘Because you made the arrest and insisted the girl Jenni was watched day and night.’

She hadn’t put that last part in her arrest statement. Someone must have told H-B.

‘Big Mac was working for him when he did all the legwork with the victims,’ she insisted.

‘Yes, but Andrew made sure H-B knew it was you who had ordered him to do it, just as he mentioned having Rogers stay with Jenni had been down to you as well.’

‘That’s decent of him.’

‘It is; particularly as he needed the kudos himself.’

Nightingale felt uncomfortable talking about Fenwick. And why was Whitby on first-name terms with him?

‘I can see I’m embarrassing you so I’ll stop, but I thought you should know and I wanted to say well done in person.’

‘Thank you.’

Nightingale stood up.

‘There’s one more thing.’

She sat down again.

‘I know you’re prepared to work across Christmas, Louise, but I honestly don’t think there’s much point. Stanley Turner is in custody pending his trial. The paperwork for that is well advanced, as it always is with you, and Jenni is out of hospital.’

‘She is?’ Nightingale raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Milky was meant to call me. That’s great.’

‘Don’t be hard on him. He’s probably at home getting some sleep. He was the one who persuaded her to talk.’

‘Will she be going home now?’

‘The shelter is prepared to let her stay there over Christmas and no one from social services was around to disagree. After Christmas things might change but for now she’s where she wants to be, or so I’m told.’ Nightingale smiled with relief. ‘So you might as well take the chance to have some time off. There’s simply no reason to wreck your Christmas. I have sufficient cover for the period without you.’

‘It doesn’t feel right. I’d volunteered to come in.’

Whitby nodded.

‘I know; I would feel the same but take my advice: when you have a lucky break seize it because there’ll be plenty of times when
it works the other way. If anything comes up or a new lead develops on Stanley, Operations will let you know. In the meantime, go home and be with your family.’

Nightingale decided not to argue. There was just one errand that she had to do and then she would go back to her flat and let her brother know the good news. After that she’d see if she could track down Big Mac.

The front door of the shelter was brightened by a holly wreath and there was a decorated Christmas tree in the hall. The woman who ran it recognised Nightingale and shook her hand warmly.

‘Jenni’s not here, I’m afraid. She went out as soon as she had washed and changed, even though I told her she should take it easy.’ She sounded resigned rather than angry. ‘Is that present for her? That’s a kind thought; I hope she appreciates it.’

Nightingale placed the gift under the tree and left with a heavy heart. Jenni should have been recuperating but she was so headstrong – literally! Despite her best efforts, she suspected that Jenni did not want to be saved and, if anything, resented her continued interest. Her only hope was that common sense would eventually prevail. Nightingale made a determined effort not to think about Jenni and by the time she reached home had almost succeeded.