Cold Winter's Morning

by Alan Bexley

  Chapter 25

  Frank’s whole body was shaking as he drifted back to consciousness. Helen had hold of his arm with both hands and was trying to rouse him. His field of vision was filled by the white of the airbag. Wincing at the pain, he turned his head towards her. She stared into his face with frightened eyes but stopped shaking him. When he opened his eyes and grinned at her, she slumped back in her seat. She had bruising to the side of her face and blood dribbled from a scratch on her neck.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess,’ she said. ‘No thanks to your driving.’

  He opened his door and clambered out. There seemed to be unidentifiable pains all over his body. As he stretched and tested his arms and legs, he looked down the road but there was no sign of Joyce’s Mazda.

  Helen leaned against their car and studied him. ‘Christ, you look a mess.’

  He put his hand up to his face and winced. As he took the fingers away, they were smeared with blood. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

  He walked around to take a close look at her. ‘You’re sure you’re OK?’

  She nodded before placing her palm in the centre of her forehead. They looked at each other over the car.

  ‘We could radio for assistance,’ he said. ‘But she doesn’t look that badly damaged. Let’s see if we can get running again.’

  He pushed the passenger door shut and walked to the open driver’s door.

  ‘Here goes,’ he said. ‘Stand a little way in front. I’ll start her up and run forward a few feet. You watch and listen, see if you can spot anything wrong.’

  Helen nodded and stood back from the road out of his path. Frank climbed in and turned the key. The engine started, and he tried first gear. The car drove forwards with no worrying sound effects and felt normal. He stopped. Helen came forward and knelt at the front of the car. Frank heard her pulling away damaged trim.

  She climbed back in. ‘I’m not sure we’re legal but I think we’re safe.’

  Frank looked over, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Helen said. ‘But next time you fancy going rallying, leave me behind.’

  ‘We could call for assistance and stay here,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘No, just take it steady.’

  Frank drove slowly up the road until he found a passing space where he could turn the car around. ‘No point in chasing. She’s long gone,’ he said.

  ‘Right now, all I want is to get back to civilisation,’ she said.

  ‘Next on the agenda is to find a petrol station,’ he said. ‘We could run out before we get back to Arundel Road.’

  Laura Quinnan sat poker faced. Beside her was a mature solicitor in his sixties.

  ‘We have your bank records,’ Helen was saying. Altman had phoned their on-call doctor who had attended to their injuries and applied sticking plasters, and then declared them fit for duty at Frank’s insistence and against his better judgement. Frank and Helen looked battered but each was determined to carry on the investigation. ‘They show you drew out £5,000 the day before Victoria Crosby was killed. What was the money for?’

  ‘A foreign holiday.’

  ‘You can produce a receipt from the travel agent?’

  ‘I’m not sure I kept it.’

  The solicitor coughed to attract attention. Laura turned to him. He gave her a stern look.

  ‘It will be easy to check,’ Helen said. ‘Which travel agent was it?’

  ‘Actually, thinking about it, I—’

  The solicitor had raised his palm in Laura’s direction. ‘I think it would benefit us all if you let me have five minutes with my client before we continue.’

  Frank stopped the recording and he, and Helen, left the room. They stood in the corridor outside the interview room.

  ‘Let’s hope he’s counselling her not to tell us detectable porkies,’ Helen said.

  ‘She’s an amateur,’ Frank said. ‘Out of her depth. They panic. Say stupid things in desperation. You must have seen it before.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘On television, the criminals are all masterminds. Actually, most of them are really dense. The charge will be “soliciting to murder” won’t it? That’s a life sentence.’

  ‘The court may listen to mitigation but there’s been quite a long time between the miscarriage and—’

  He stopped as the solicitor pulled the door open. ‘Thank you. We’re ready to continue.’

  Laura was leaning back in her chair with her hands holding the edge of the table.

  ‘I ask you again, why did you draw £5,000 from your bank account?’ Helen said.

  ‘I paid Mrs Joyce Ingermann to murder Victoria Crosby.’

  Laura had been looking down at the table but now she looked into Helen’s eyes. Helen broke contact and wrote a note. ‘You knew she’d run Vicky down on Wednesday morning?’ she asked.

  Laura looked at her solicitor who simply looked back at her. His expression didn’t change and he made no gesture. She looked at Frank who was staring straight at her and then back to Helen again. ‘Yes, she told me that she would run her down from behind. She said Vicky would know nothing about it. I met her when I was having hypnosis to help stop smoking. She noticed I was upset and asked what was wrong. It went on from there.’

  ‘How did you pay the money to her?’

  ‘It was cash and we met at a local park. The one on Suffolk Road. A section not covered by CCTV, she said.’

  ‘This was on Tuesday?’

  ‘Yes, about four o’clock.’

  ‘Did your husband know?’

  She shook her head. Helen said, ‘For the benefit of the tape Mrs Quinnan has shaken her head.’

  Helen looked at Frank. He said, ‘Your solicitor will have explained you’ll be put in a cell while we contact the CPS to get their decision on charging you.’

  Laura bowed her head and said nothing.

  Frank and Helen sat in the station’s canteen. The only other occupant was a uniformed officer sitting reading a tabloid newspaper a few tables over.

  Frank swirled the remains of the coffee around in a plastic cup. ‘There’s CCTV in the streets near the park. We should be able to place Mrs Ingermann in the park's vicinity for the handover. We have Laura Quinnan’s confession incriminating her.’

  ‘You spoke to her husband?’

  ‘Yes, he refused to believe me at first.’

  ‘He didn’t know what his wife was up to?’

  ‘Yes, he was shocked. No doubt in my mind that he wasn’t involved. Married couples are good at keeping secrets from one another.’

  ‘That’s rather cynical,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve seen it time after time.’

  ‘Do we have enough to charge Joyce Ingermann when we find her?’

  Frank emptied his coffee cup. ‘Ideally we need more. Concrete evidence.’

  ‘What about the money?’

  ‘Used notes, the bank said. No record of the numbers. Bundles of £20 notes in two sealed plastic bags. They weren’t found at Joyce Ingermann’s home.’

  He slapped down the plastic cup. ‘We’ve got to find her first.’

  ‘There have been no more hits on the ANPR network,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s hope that means she’s gone to ground in the vicinity. The car hasn’t turned up at a railway station or parked on the street. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘She could have been organised enough to have a second car, a motorbike even.’ She smiled. ‘One scrap of information came through Crimestoppers. Anon. She had a nickname. Fellow crooks called her “Merk”.’

  Frank shook his head.

  ‘It’s not one you hear much. It’s a shortened corruption of “mercenary”. A killer for hire.’

  ‘Jade showed me a transcript of a door-to-door where one of her neighbours reckoned that she was forever away on foreign holidays. They always wondered where she got the money from,’ he said.

  ‘Medical records show she had an abortion ye
ars back. I wonder what sort of mother she would have made?’ Helen said.

  Frank screwed up his face. ‘Let’s get back to work.’

  Dinner had gone down well with a decent bottle of wine. Now Frank and Barbara were drinking some rather good coffee.

  Barbara sipped. ‘You look a sight. And I assume we won’t be “celebrating” our anniversary in bed tonight.’

  Frank groaned. ‘I’ve got bruises everywhere. I look like a tattooist has gone berserk on me.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no point in telling you that you should be more sensible.’

  ‘It’s part of the job. There’s always some risk. You know that. It’s not the first time I’ve come home with lumps and bumps.’

  She shook her head gently.

  ‘Helen gave me a hard time over my driving.’

  ‘Good for her. I bet she didn’t appreciate your recklessness.’

  ‘At this point, in the good old days I would have lit up a decent cigar,’ Frank said.

  ‘I’m glad those days are gone,’ Barbara said. ‘Besides, the stink used to get on your clothes.’

  ‘You always were practical,’ he said. He pulled out a long slim box from his jacket pocket and handed it across.

  She opened the top to reveal a silver necklace.

  ‘It’s supposed to be tin,’ he said. ‘But I trust you’ll forgive me.’

  He got up and fastened it for her, and then they kissed.

  ‘You did choose it and buy it yourself? You didn’t send one of your female officers out to get it?’

  ‘On my life. This is one hundred per cent me.’

  She patted the necklace. ‘Here’s to ten more good years.’

  ‘At least,’ he said. He sat in quiet contemplation, sipping the coffee.

  ‘It’s really bothering you that she got away, isn’t it?’

  He lowered his voice and looked around. ‘I just hope we track her down soon.’

  Barbara stretched her arms out in front of her and put her palms on the table. ‘You’re a good detective. You’re a determined man. But I want you to come home to me at the end of the day.’

  Merk scrolled through the list on her mobile phone and prodded Ed Morgan’s entry.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘This is a quick call to say that I am still one step ahead of Grey and his band of merry men.’

  ‘I heard you had to run. Are you safe now?’

  ‘How kind of you to ask,’ Joyce ‘Merk’ Ingermann said. ‘I’m heading for a bolt hole that I arranged a while back. I’ll let the dust settle for a few days and then I’ll make an unofficial crossing to the continent.’

  ‘Take care,’ Ed said. ‘We’re not exactly close friends but we do go back a long, long way.’

  ‘I’m organising a change of appearance and a new passport and driving licence. The whole deal. In a few months, I’ll pay you a visit.’

  ‘Until then,’ he said.

  Chapter 26

  Joyce Ingermann’s picture and details were distributed to all officers in the mid Sussex area. The decision was made not to release these to the public and media for a few days for fear of driving their quarry underground. The hunt was on in the towns and villages for a stranger who had arrived unexpectedly.

  A nosey rural copper in the small village of Harlswick came up trumps. A row of four holiday cottages were popular in the summer but usually empty during the miserable weather of the winter months.

  Helen was rubbing her hands together. She had already set the heater full up and turned the fan to its highest setting. Frank gave her a sideways glance.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  They were sitting in his car parked behind a grassy bank well away from the cottage Joyce had occupied. Officers out of uniform had strolled down a path that ran along the back of the building and radioed in to say there was movement inside. They had now concealed themselves covering the rear ready for the frontal assault due in ten minutes. The force had allocated twelve officers in all to the operation. They were going to make sure she did not escape.

  Altman’s voice came over the radio. ‘Everybody ready. Commencing operation now.’

  He was aboard a police van loaded with uniform officers which passed Frank’s car as it approached the cottage. Frank started his car and followed.

  The van stopped, blocking Joyce’s car parked at the side of the cottage with a plastic cover over it. The rear doors opened and the uniformed officers jumped out. An officer carrying an ‘enforcer’ battering ram led the way through the garden gate to the front door. While he gripped the ram with both hands, another officer rang the door bell and banged on the door with his fist. The other officers grouped around behind them. Frank and Helen got out of the car and stood on the outside of the low stone wall at the front of the cottage. The inspector sat on the front seat of the van.

  They got no reply from inside and the enforcer splintered the door frame.

  A stressed voice came over the radio. ‘She’s out the back. Out the back and she’s carrying a knife.’

  Frank and Helen followed the uniformed officers as they streamed in through the front door. They ran down a hallway and into the kitchen at the back. Frank followed the copper in front out the back door and down the grass of a sloping rear garden.

  Out of the confines of the garden, the officers spread out. Joyce was about fifty yards further down the hill running along a muddy track between the sparse trees. A long carving knife was held in her right hand. Three officers were following closely but at a safe distance.

  Frank had stopped with a hand up against a tree to stop himself slipping in the muddy conditions. Helen stood beside him as they watched the chase. Further down, the officers had spread out and were moving as swiftly as they could manage in an attempt to surround her.

  Joyce stopped and turned around. She raised the knife in front of her. Two officers had drawn CS sprays from their belts. They held them out pointed at her face. They were shouting but Frank couldn’t make out what they were saying. She was turning from one to the other and threatening them with the knife. One of them took a pace forward and triggered her spray.

  Joyce doubled over and then dropped to her knees. She kept hold of the knife but two officers moved in and grabbed her arms. Her head was bowed. Another officer peeled her fingers from the knife’s handle. A further two officers got involved in the scrum and the knife was pulled away by one who walked off with it. They were still yelling at her.

  Frank stumbled down the track followed by Helen. As he approached, he could hear that they were telling her to open her eyes. He could see she was blinking and tears were streaming down her face. She was still on her knees. He knelt down and arrested her.

  After a few minutes, they helped her up and led her away.

  ‘She’s added a few more charges to the list this morning,’ Helen said.

  ‘We’ve got our killer,’ Frank said, scratching his neck. ‘At last.’

  Chapter 27

  Frank and PC Liz Barnham stood waiting for the kettle to boil in the kitchen of Arundel Road police station. She was one of the next shift of response officers.

  ‘It just shows you killers come in all shapes and forms,’ she was saying. ‘A harmless old woman can be a violent sociopath.’

  Frank nodded. ‘Joyce Ingermann was hardly on my radar through the investigation. You are right, there is no telling from a person’s appearance what they might be capable of.’

  Liz said, ‘Laura Quinnan is easier to understand. The loss of a baby or a young child is the worst thing that can happen to a woman.’

  ‘She wasn’t capable of killing the person she held responsible for her loss but she sponsored Joyce Ingermann to run her down. And the justice system will punish her for it.’

  ‘Doesn’t it frustrate you that everyone lies to you?’ she asked.

  ‘In the course of the investigation into Vicky’s murder, everyone I interviewed either lied or corrupted the facts in an attempt to save their own skins. Even the
reasonably honest ones allowed their emotions to colour the information they gave. You just have to keep chipping away until you get to the solid facts.’

  ‘You did an outstanding job cracking the case in four days,’ she said.

  ‘It was a team effort.’

  ‘Though you never did figure out if Vicky was a drug dealer, did you?’

  ‘No. Witnesses suggested she was but we never figured out what the entries in her diary meant or why she needed a gun. I guess we will never know. Not that she deserved what happened to her. Definitely not. We never figured out if there was a mole either.’

  ‘It was the most horrendous death I’ve seen,’ Liz said as she poured the boiling water into the mugs on her tray.

  Months later, Frank looked at Barbara over his copy of the Sunday Telegraph. ‘Guilty’ the column headline read. ‘Sussex woman convicted of hit’n’run murder.’

  ‘The article on Joyce Ingermann’s trial is on page five. Front page is the Brexiteers threatening Theresa May with open revolt. That and something about our nuclear deal with Iran.’

  ‘How big’s the article?’

  ‘Just a few paragraphs in column two. No photograph or anything. Doesn’t seem much considering what she did. We have to wait while they consider her sentence.’

  The doorbell rang. Frank was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown although it was 10:30. ‘It’s Sunday morning,’ he said. ‘Who can that be?’

  The bell rang again.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Barbara said. ‘At least I’m dressed.’

  ‘I get little chance to slob out.’

  Frank listened as she answered the door. He heard voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. He munched on another slice of toast. There were footsteps. Barbara had let the visitor in.

  Barbara walked in, ‘Look who’s here.’

  ‘Get dressed,’ Helen said. ‘We’ve got a body. Young woman fell from a tenth-floor balcony.’

  About the author

  A message from Alan Bexley