by Alex Walters
He presumed there had been no sign of Marsh, unless that was the explanation for Hoxton's "odd" call. In any case, there was nothing much Winterman could do until the others returned. Except think about how he was going to break it all to Spooner.
He made his way through to the office. He could at least call Mrs Sheringham and see if she had any news of Marsh. He was behind Brain's desk, his finger poised in the telephone dial, when he heard a voice from out in the hallway.
'Anybody home? Hope you buggers aren't still in bed.'
For a moment, Winterman thought it was Hoxton. Then he recognised the voice and rose to his feet, just as Spooner pushed open the door. Spooner's stocky body was bundled up in a heavy overcoat, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead. He appeared relatively untouched by the rain.
'Sir.'
Spooner regarded him for a second, as if surprised by Winterman's presence. Then he pulled off the hat and unbuttoned the coat.
'Winterman. Didn't know if you'd be down here yet.'
'Just got here. I was calling the office.'
'Don't let me stop you.' Spooner strode across the room in a manner that suggested he had no serious expectation Winterman would go ahead with the call.
'No hurry, sir. Only picking up messages.'
Spooner nodded, gazing curiously around the room. 'Runs a tight ship, young Brain. Or a tidy one at any rate.'
'He seems well organised.' Winterman gestured towards the window. 'You were right about the weather.'
'Bit more dramatic than I'd imagined.' Spooner placed his coat across the back of the chair facing Brain's desk. He lowered himself into the chair and sat facing Winterman.
'You're earlier than we expected,' Winterman said.
'Early bird and all that. Truth is, I'd got up early to allow for the snow, then I realised the bugger had more or less gone. So I thought I might as well head down here anyway. See what was what.' He put an additional emphasis on the last four words, as if to imbue them with a particular significance. 'Where is everyone? Don't tell me I've got to go and rouse them.'
'I don't think so. PC Brain left a note. He and DC Hoxton have gone out on some business. Don't imagine they'll be long.'
'Up with the lark, eh? Country types. What sort of business would that be then?'
'Brain didn't really say.'
'You lot all stayed down here last night then? Cosy.'
'It seemed sensible. With the snow.'
Spooner nodded absently. 'What do you think of me, Winterman?' The question was abrupt, unexpected, a non sequitur.
'We haven't really worked together, sir. I'm not sure I can express an opinion.'
'No, I don't suppose you can. Which is probably just as well for both of us.' Spooner leaned forward across the desk, still smiling. 'But I could express an opinion for you, if you like.'
Winterman shrugged, but said nothing.
'The thing is, DI Winterman, you've got me lumped in with the rest of them.'
'I'm not sure I understand, sir.'
'You're not sure, are you? You're usually pretty sure about things, from what I hear, DI Winterman. Pretty sharp is what I hear.'
'If you say so, sir.'
'I've heard all about you, Winterman. High-flyer. Though not flying too high just at the moment.' He glanced round the office, his expression suggesting, perhaps, that a village police station was the appropriate level for Winterman.
'I don't think I'd ever have described myself in that way,' Winterman said.
'Plenty of others happy to do it for you. In the old days, at least.'
'With respect, sir, I'm not sure where this is leading.'
'You don't think much of me, Winterman, do you?'
Winterman could think of no response. He pushed back his chair, looking for a way to bring the dialogue to a close.
'You're not stupid,' Spooner went on, 'so I don't imagine you think I am either. But you think I'm unethical. Slapdash. More interested in furthering my own career and protecting my backside than in solving crimes. And you think I'm like the rest of them.'
Winterman remained silent. The conversation had reached the point where nothing he might say would make any difference to wherever Spooner was heading.
'I know what happened to you, Winterman. Word gets around. I know you ruffled feathers. I know your career got canned as a result. I suppose I almost admire you for it, even though you must have been a bloody idiot.'
Winterman looked up. There was a new tone to Spooner's voice, traces of a warmth that hadn't been evident before.
'I'm not like you, Winterman. You're right that my main objective is to look after number one. You wouldn't catch me doing what you did. Climbing out on a limb with a saw clutched firmly in my hand.'
'My motives weren't wholly altruistic, sir. As you're no doubt aware.'
'Aye. No doubt they weren't entirely altruistic,' Spooner echoed, a tinge of mockery colouring the last two words. 'But you did it. Most of us don't have… well, whatever it is. Courage. Recklessness. Stupidity. But just because we don't, it doesn't mean we're in the other camp. Most of us are just doing our jobs as best we can, while not buggering up our chances of taking home a pension at the end of it all.'
'I recognise that, sir.'
'Do you, Winterman? I hope so. Someone like you, you need to know who your friends are.'
'I didn't seem to have many friends. Not so's you notice anyway.'
'More than you think. If you'd give a few of the buggers the time of day.' Spooner pushed himself back in the chair, its legs creaking alarmingly. 'For a start, don't treat me like a bloody idiot.'
'I wasn't aware that I had been, sir.'
'Really? Let's start with your two mates here – Hoxton and Brain. You reckon they've gone out on some business, but you don't know what. For some reason, you and Hoxton decided to stay over here last night. I find you down here in the station at sparrow's fart. Now why do I think there might be something you're not telling me?'
'I don't know where they've gone, sir.' Winterman was beginning to recognise he might have misjudged Spooner. Or at least underestimated him. He pushed Brain's note slowly across the desk towards Spooner.
Spooner picked up the scrap of lined paper and scanned the words. Then he looked up quizzically at Winterman.
'Your guess is as good as mine, sir.'
Spooner frowned. 'What do you make of Hoxton?'
'Don't know, really.' Winterman gave the matter a moment's consideration. 'Salt of the earth copper, or that's the impression he'd like to give. Seems to know everyone in these parts. Bit of a gossip, but good at sucking up all the fag ends of information. Pretty smart. After a few weeks I couldn't say much more.'
'Do you trust him?'
'I've no reason not to trust him.'
'No, me neither. But I don't.' Spooner leaned back on the chair, tipping it so that it rested only on its rear legs. For a moment, Winterman was afraid the wooden frame would splinter under him. 'Maybe that bluff man of the people act's a bit too neat to be true.'
'I'm not sure I'm quite following this, sir.' Winterman pushed himself to his feet. 'Shall I make us some tea?' He felt that some kind of physical move might help him regain control of the dialogue.
'Why not? We can't do much till your chaps get back. I've suggested we meet up with my team here at around ten. Start to think about how we're actually going to tackle all this.' He dropped the chair back onto the ground and followed Winterman through into the kitchen. 'If that wouldn't be treading on your toes.'
Winterman was busying himself filling the kettle, tracking down Brain's teapot. He glanced back and surveyed Spooner's face for any trace of irony, but the other man was smiling benignly.
'We need all the help we can get, frankly.'
Spooner lowered himself on to an even more fragile chair than those in the police office and gazed at Winterman across the kitchen table. 'Aye. We all need to pull together on this one. Speaking of which, what's happened to your chap Mars
h?'
Winterman was rummaging in the kitchen cupboard, searching for tea. The activity bought him a few seconds while he decided how to respond. His first thought was to play dumb, but there was something in Spooner's tone that warned him the question was not merely casual.
'That's a good question, actually, sir. Since you ask, I don't exactly know.'
Spooner was still smiling, apparently unsurprised. 'Losing your own men now, Winterman? That's not a good sign.'
'Not really.' Winterman had found the tea and was spooning it into the pot.
'Par for the bloody course in this place though. When exactly were you planning on breaking this news to me?'
'Just about now, to be honest. I'd been hoping that he might turn up this morning.'
'Bloody hell. How long's he been missing?'
'Thirty-six hours or so. He was staying here along with Hoxton. Seems to have gone out sometime overnight. We don't know why.'
'You've not been worried?'
'I'm getting worried now. He's an adult. Seems very capable, if a bit headstrong. I think he's off pursuing some line of his own.'
'Without telling you?'
'Apparently.'
'This about his brother?' Somehow, from everything he'd seen and heard over the last half hour, Winterman was unsurprised that Spooner should be aware of Marsh's history. 'Predictable enough, I suppose, with these kiddies' bodies turning up. You should have told me before.'
'I didn't want to start a full-scale panic. After all, how do we normally respond when someone reports an adult missing?'
'We assume they can look after themselves unless there's good reason to think otherwise. Fair enough. Mind you, I'd have been bloody livid if one of my people had gone AWOL like that.' There was an undertone of reproach in Spooner's voice, as if Winterman had failed some management test.
'These haven't been normal conditions. In any case, we've had a couple of other things to worry about over the last twenty-four hours.'
'Your Mrs Sheringham's heard nothing from him either,' Spooner said, gloomily. 'Just in case that's what you were about to check when I arrived.'
Winterman poured the tea. So that was another mystery solved. It was clear where Spooner obtained his information about Hoxton and Marsh. What was less clear was the nature of any relationship between Spooner and Mrs Sheringham. Something for another day.
'No milk, I'm afraid. Or sugar, as far as I can see.'
'The cup that cheers.' Spooner pulled a silver hip flask from his pocket and waved it vaguely in Winterman's direction. When Winterman shook his head, Spooner shrugged and poured a generous measure into his own cup.
'Seeing as there's no milk. So no theories on Marsh's whereabouts?'
'Not really. It's quite possible that the finding of these bodies had sent him off on some lead related to his brother.'
'Or sent him back over the edge. I understand he's got a bit of a history.'
'I don't know, sir. I heard he took his brother's disappearance hard at the time.'
'Hard enough to send him to the funny farm is what I hear.'
'Pity no one thought about that before deploying him on this case,' Winterman said pointedly.
'Aye, maybe not the cleverest of moves. I imagine they thought he'd be out of harm's way down here.'
Like me then, Winterman thought. A little quarantine ward, for those too dangerous to be allowed near the real action. Which, after Spooner's earlier words, made him wonder what Hoxton was doing among them.
'So what do we do about Marsh now then?' Spooner said. 'Treat him as a missing person?'
'I think we have to be concerned. Thirty-six hours, in the weather we've been having. And there's the blood that was found in the churchyard. That's being checked. Just in case. The question is whether we can afford to deflect resources away from the murder enquiry.'
'Of course we bloody can't. We've hardly made a start because of this bloody weather. But we can't just ignore the bugger either. Do we have the foggiest notion of where to start looking for him?'
'Not the foggiest, sir.'
'What about family?'
'No close family locally. I understand his parents live in Nottingham. The closest relative he's got around here is Mary Ford.'
'From your office? That would be the lass you were canoodling with yesterday?'
'She brought over some information, yes, sir.'
'Information, was it? I hope she's keeping you well informed. She's a relative of Marsh's?'
'Cousins, I understand. He was evacuated over here. Lived with Mary and her mother.'
'That would be Mrs Griffiths who found one of the kiddies' bodies?'
Once again, Winterman had cause to admire Spooner's memory and attention to detail. 'That's her.'
'You'll have asked young Mary where her cousin might be?'
'She's no idea. The spot where his brother went missing is miles away. It's unlikely he's gone up there.'
'What about her mother? She have any ideas?'
'She doesn't know Marsh is missing yet. But it's a route we have to explore.'
'I'll leave that one to you,' Spooner said. 'Seeing as how you've made the lady's acquaintance.' He made this sound slightly salacious. He looked at his watch. 'But later. We need to get down to business first. Think about these bloody murders. What are we going–?'
His words were interrupted by the sound of the front door being thrown open. A moment later, Brain appeared at the kitchen door. His oilskin cape was pouring water on to the linoleum floor, and, peering from beneath the hood, Brain himself bore a close resemblance to a semi-drowned rodent. He bent forward, struggling to regain his breath.
Winterman took Brain's arm, guiding him to one of the chairs. He was soaked through, shivering from the wet and cold. He looked up at Winterman, as though unsure of his identity.
'Try him with this.' Spooner thrust forward a cup filled with hot black tea. 'I gave it a shot from the flask.'
Brain's hand appeared too shaky to hold the cup, so Winterman held the rim carefully to the young man's lips. He coughed at the unexpected bite of the whisky, and then gratefully took a deeper swallow.
'Thanks. Bloody wet out there,' he added unnecessarily.
'Where've you been?' Winterman asked. 'I found your note but I can't pretend I understood it.'
Brain glanced nervously at Spooner then, still breathless, recounted his overhearing of Hoxton's telephone conversation and his subsequent pursuit.
'You went after him on a bike?' Spooner said.
Brain nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. 'I didn't know what else to do. Anyway, it worked, more or less.'
'You caught up with him?' Spooner asked sceptically. 'I knew those bloody Wolseleys were no good.'
'Not exactly. But I could see where he went. It's so flat around here you can see a car for miles. It was the only one on the road this morning.'
'Not bloody surprised,' Spooner said.
'I could see which way he was heading, north out of town. He went towards Welstone but turned off before that, towards the river. I saw the car go off the main road, then I lost it behind some farm buildings until it reappeared further along the riverbank. It looked as if he was stopping so I cycled after him.'
'Did you catch him?'
'More or less. I got to the river and the road that runs alongside it.' He paused. 'The river's already very high, spreading into the fields.'
Winterman could envisage it. The river was no more than a tributary of the Welland but at this point it seemed broad enough to be a major river in its own right. Like many of the fenland rivers, it was lined with washes, low-lying pastures designed to accommodate any surplus water as the level rose.
'Won't take long to flood those fields in weather like this.'
'I didn't like the look of it,' Brain said. 'You could almost see it spreading across the washes. The road's raised above the fens, but it'll get covered before long. That's one reason I came back but–' He stopped. 'I don't know what's
going on up there.'
'How do you mean?' Spooner held out the flask, but Brain shook his head.
'I saw the Wolseley parked – I don't know, perhaps a quarter of a mile off the main road. There are some farm buildings along there – a barn and a couple of stone sheds. It's a natural island. Sticks up above the fens, and it's been built up further to accommodate the buildings. The car was parked just off the road.'
'Any sign of Hoxton?' Spooner asked.
'He was in the front of the car, just watching one of the buildings. I wasn't expecting that. I thought he'd have got out and be somewhere inside. Nearly caught me out. I didn't want him to think I was following him–'
'But you were,' Winterman pointed out.
'I know. But I was a bit embarrassed. I'd gone there with the best intentions. I wasn't trying to catch DC Hoxton out. I was worried. It all sounded so strange.'
Winterman nodded. 'You've been very conscientious. You did the right thing.'
Brain was clearly not entirely convinced himself. 'At first, I thought he must have seen me. But with all the rain – and he had the car engine off so the wipers weren't going – I don't think he could see much. I dropped the bike and moved round till I was at the side of the car.' He gestured down at the grey oilskins. 'This stuff gave me decent camouflage. I couldn't see much myself with all the rain, but I could see DC Hoxton in the car. He was watching the farm buildings.'
'You didn't see anyone else?' Winterman asked.
'Not at first. I moved round until I was at the back of the car. Then I could see more clearly where DC Hoxton was looking. There was something between the barn and the other building. Off the road. I was a bit confused at first, with all the rain still coming down, then I realised it was another car. But it was on its side – I don't know how long it had been there, but it must have skidded off the road and turned over.'
'Was there anyone in the vehicle?' Winterman asked, wondering whether, after all, Hoxton had simply been called out to some traffic accident.
'There was no sign of anyone. But the car hadn't been there long – I mean, hours rather than days. You could see the marks in the wet ground where it had ploughed off the road.'
'DC Hoxton wasn't doing anything?'
