Fenton's winter

TWELVE

On Monday Jamieson lost Vanney in town traffic and it was accepted as just one of those things, but when the same thing happened to Kelly on the Wednesday, the three men met to discuss tactics.

"Do you think he realised that he was being followed?" asked Fenton. Jamieson replied that he did not, adding that Vanney had shown no sign of 'awareness' on any of the other nights. Fenton had to agree with that, saying that he himself had had no trouble following Vanney on the previous Friday and the wrestling match that he had had with Denise Hargreaves in the car outside her house had not suggested the actions of a man who thought that he was being watched.

"How did he get on?" asked Kelly.

"She slapped his face," said Fenton.

"Good for her," said Jamieson.

Jamieson and Kelly compared notes and found that they had lost Vanney at the same place in town. He had made a left turn out of Leith Street and had apparently disappeared into thin air. "He must have turned into a lane or something," said Kelly and no one disagreed. Jamieson suggested that they should all attempt to follow Vanney on Monday. One of them should pick him up as he left his house just, in case he should do something different, the other two would wait in Leith Street, around the area where they had lost him on the previous occasions. Fenton said that he would follow Vanney from home. Jamieson and Kelly agreed where they would position themselves for the wait.

On Monday evening Vanney left home at seven thirty and Fenton followed on the Honda, keeping some two hundred metres behind and with at least two vehicles between himself and the Lotus at all times. Traffic was light enough at first and the only problem was the persistent drizzle which caused problems with his face visor.

Vanney appeared to be taking his usual road to town and Fenton automatically assumed his route, an assumption that nearly caused him to lose the Lotus when he found himself trapped in the inside lane when Vanney decided to turn right. By the time he had recovered the Lotus had disappeared. He had to make a guess. Did he go down to the Grassmarket or up to the High Street?

Fenton bet on the High Street and gunned the Honda up Castle Terrace which wound round and up the side of the floodlit castle rock. The needle was touching sixty-five when he braked at the top of the Royal Mile in time to see the tail lights of the Lotus as it sat at traffic lights. He free wheeled the bike down the steep cobbles, allowing a taxi and a Ford Escort to reach the Lotus first.

The lights changed and Vanney turned left. He was heading back towards Princes Street after having gone out of his way by nearly two miles. It didn't make sense, thought Fenton, unless of course, he was taking routine precautions to avoid being followed on Mondays and Wednesdays. The idea excited Fenton.

As the traffic high above Princes Street began to flow down the Mound, a steep hill connecting the Old Town to the New Town, Fenton's pulse began to quicken. It looked as if Vanney was now heading for Leith Street. He hoped Kelly and Jamieson were alert.

Traffic at the east end of Princes Street was heavy as night time commercial vehicles headed towards the main road south. Vanney was third in the queue at the lights and Fenton was seventh with an articulated lorry lying in fourth place.

The Lotus was three hundred metres ahead before the lorry had swung its tail clear of Fenton and he had a clear road in front. He fought the impulse to twist the throttle. There was no point in arriving in Vanney's rear-view mirror like a bullet. He passed the artic but held back as he saw the Lotus slow for a roundabout. There were now four vehicles between him and the Lotus, an ideal number.

Fenton took his turn at infiltrating into traffic coming from the right and saw the Lotus turn left. Same as last time, he thought and leaned into the corner. He straightened up to find that the Lotus had completely disappeared. There was a long straight road ahead but no Vanney. Fenton pulled into the side and cut the engine. He was relieved to see Jamieson come out of a shop doorway and walk towards him.

"All right, I give up," said Fenton.

"Basement garage," said Jamieson, "Twenty metres along on your left. The door was already open. He just swung into it and the door closed behind him. The whole thing took less than five seconds."

Kelly joined them from the other corner and said, "It all looks pretty dead to me." All three looked at the building. It was deserted and dark, no lights, no sounds.

"What now?" Fenton asked.

"We try to find out where Vanney entered the building. There must be an internal stair from the garage because he hasn't appeared on the street."

Fenton volunteered to have a look and Jamieson agreed. "Enter by the front door nearest the area of the garage."

Fenton climbed the short flight of steps to the main entrance of the dark building and entered the common stairway. The cold and damp was accentuated by the blackness. It felt like a tomb. He examined the ground floor doors as best he could, relying largely on light from the headlights of cars passing outside. They were filthy and the grime on the locks and handles said that they had not been used for a very long time. The smell of wood rot was everywhere.

He searched for stairs that might lead down to the garage and found some though he half wished that he had not for they were in complete darkness. He stretched out his hands and touched both walls as he felt his way gingerly down them with the toe of his boot. He came to the bottom and found himself in a passage that ran through the building. There was a scurrying sound nearby which made him lash out with his foot. The sound stopped but Fenton's imagination made his pulse rate soar.

Feeling his way along the wall he came to a door and groped for the lock. He found a bolt but had difficulty in trying to free it. He could not see the rust but felt it with his fingers as he tried to budge it. The tongue of the bolt began to move and Fenton worked it backwards and forwards until, at last it gave and clattered back against its stop, only slightly cushioned by a finger that got in the road. He put his finger to his lips, simultaneously stemming the blood and the curse. He pulled the door open with his other hand and stepped out into a dark lane which ran along the back of the building.

There was a garage door to his right. Fenton looked at it and mentally plotted its relationship to the opening at the front where Vanney had entered. His heart sank as he realised the truth. The garage ran straight through the building. It had a front and a back door. Vanney was not in the building at all!

Fenton ran along the lane and round to the front of the building to tell Jamieson and Kelly.

"Did you check to see if the Lotus was still there?" Jamieson asked.

"I assumed that he had driven straight through," confessed Fenton.

"We had better check. He may have changed cars too," said Jamieson.

Fenton and Kelly walked round to the garage door at the back where, unlike the modern metal door at the front, it was made of wood and was rotting badly. Kelly knelt down to peer through at the bottom where the wood had decayed to leave the base like a row of rotting teeth. "It's still there," he announced. "He changed cars."

They agreed to keep watch in shifts until Vanney returned. One of them would stay near to the entrance of the lane while the other two could stretch their legs, get coffee at a cafe nearby or whatever.

Vanney did not get back till one in the morning. Jamieson was on watch when a green Mini slowed and turned into the lane. He got a good view of Vanney at the wheel and noted down the number. The Lotus left shortly afterwards and ten minutes later Fenton and Kelly returned.

The three men agreed to meet again on Monday near the entrance to the lane and follow the green Mini when it left. In the meantime they decided to abandon routine surveillance on Vanney, a move that proved equally popular with Jenny and Mary Kelly. Fenton wondered later about Jamieson. Was he married? The subject had never come up. It was not the sort of thing you asked him, it was the sort of thing he asked you.

Spring came suddenly to Edinburgh. It flooded the city with a yellow sunshine that highlighted the rash of buds that had broken out on the trees in Princes Street Gardens. It made drops of rain water, which had persisted from the previous night's rain, sparkle like precious stones on railings as Fenton rode to the lab through the morning traffic.

Faces were held high as heads that had spent most of the winter bent forward against wind and rain were lifted to receive the kiss of spring sunshine. Feet slowed as the lure of office central heating lost its grip on the imagination and people stopped to speak to each other in the streets. They were smiling; the annual war was over and the survivors were glad to see each other.

The sunshine had even invaded Fenton's lab. It sought out the dust that coated reagent bottles and illuminated the intricacies of a large cob web. Now that he had seen it the dirt began to annoy him. He fetched a wet cloth and started to wipe each bottle individually. He was doing this when Charles Tyson came in. He said, "I'd like to see you in my room in ten minutes if that's convenient?"

Fenton said that it was.

Fenton joined Tyson and Liz Scott brought in coffee. Tyson stirred his and said, "I'm considering recommending to the Health Board that you be made official deputy head of department, Neil's position."

"Thanks," said Fenton.

"Don't thank me just yet. I said I was considering it."

Fenton waited for Tyson to elaborate.

Tyson looked hard at Fenton and said, "A senior position like this demands something more than just scientific ability. It requires a certain degree of diplomacy. It requires discretion, a willingness to operate within accepted guidelines. A willingness to drift with the prevailing current rather than a tendency to…rock the boat. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," said Fenton controlling his temper. He was being warned off and offered an incentive. The question was what was he being warned off? Was it just his natural tendency to go to war with the hospital authorities that Tyson was concerned about or was it something more sinister? He couldn't tell anything from Tyson's expression.

"Well?" said Tyson.

"I don't think I'm your man," said Fenton. "I reserve the right to play the game as I see it."

"I see," said Tyson tapping the end of his pen on the blotting pad in front of him. "Don't be too hasty. Sleep on it."

Fenton got up to go.

"There is one more thing," said Tyson.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to recommend to the board that Ian Ferguson be upgraded to senior biochemist. Do you have any views?"

"That's fine by me," said Fenton.

"Good," said Tyson. "I hoped you'd say that. He put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. "I'll be glad when everyone can concentrate solely on their work again."

Was that another warning? Fenton wondered. He looked for signs of an accusation but Tyson's was concentrating on his papers again.

Fenton was checking the day book in the main lab when Liz Scott came in and told Ian Ferguson that Tyson wanted to see him. Ferguson made a face at Fenton and said, "When the trumpet calls…"

Fenton smiled but did not say anything.

The good weather lasted over the week-end and Fenton and Jenny took the opportunity of taking their first real walk of the year. They went out to Colinton Village and climbed up into the Pentland Hills to the south of the city. As they reached the top of Bonaly Hill they stopped to catch their breath and look at the view. Jenny was standing slightly lower down than Fenton so, as she looked north over the houses to the Forth Estuary, he looked at her. Her hair was like spun gold in the sun and her fresh complexion seemed to embody the spirit of the season. He stooped to kiss her lightly on the back of the neck and she raised her hand to touch his cheek. She did not speak.

"I love you Jenny," whispered Fenton.

Jenny still did not speak.

"All right, I don't love you."

Jenny smiled and turned. She said, "Tom, you will be careful tomorrow?"

Fenton reassured her and hugged her tightly from behind.

They walked through a pine forest on the way to Caerketton Hill and their feet were silent on a thick carpet of needles. Sunlight sneaked through the branches to create little pools of light on the floor of the woods.

On Monday morning Jamieson rang Fenton at the lab to finalise details about following Vanney. He and Kelly would tail the Mini in his car, an unmarked Ford. Fenton was to follow on the Honda. If Vanney should tumble to the Granada Jamieson would turn off leaving Fenton to pick up the tail.

Fenton was glad that Jenny had already left for the hospital when he got home because he felt nervous and needed to be alone. Where would Vanney go? Would they be any closer to discovering the truth about Neil's death at the end of the evening?

The butterflies in his stomach did not subside until the Honda had started and he had set out for Leith Street. Jamieson was already there when he arrived, although he was not late. He handed him a two way radio and gave him a crash course in how to use it while they waited for Kelly to arrive.

Kelly arrived and, with ten minutes to go if Vanney were to be his usual punctual self, Fenton got back on the Honda and moved some two hundred metres away from Jamieson's car. He parked it again and waited in a doorway watching the street.

Two minutes late, the Lotus swung into the street and nose dived into its garage. Fenton felt the adrenalin begin to flow as he changed to watching the far end of the lane. The lights of the green Mini appeared at the junction; it paused then turned left on to the main road. Fenton saw the Granada start to move. He walked out from his doorway, as if he had just emerged from the building, and got on the bike. He took off from the kerb and settled at a comfortable distance behind Jamieson, feeling pleased at how smoothly it had all gone.

The Mini was making for the coast. Fenton hoped that it might take the main road south where there would be plenty of traffic to provide cover but it was not to be. Vanney made a left turn at the edge of town and joined the old, winding coast road which meticulously followed the southern shore of the Firth of Forth. The Granada's headlights would be in Vanney's mirror all the time, thought Fenton. The odds were that it would not alarm Vanney unduly but that he might feel obliged to take routine precautions to prove to himself that he was not really being followed.

The test came as they entered the small coastal village of Port Seton. The Mini's left indicator began to flash and Vanney pulled in to the side and stopped beside some shops. The move obliged Jamieson to drive straight past. Fenton was able to stop well behind the Mini. The street lighting was good. Vanney would have been able to get a good look at the Granada as it passed, maybe even taken its number. There was no way that Jamieson could take up the tail again.

Fenton got out his radio and called up Jamieson. He told him what he thought and suggested that he should pick up the tail on Vanney from now on.

"All yours," replied Jamieson.

It started to rain and the sound of the drops hitting his leathers sounded unnaturally loud to Fenton as he sat, motionless, waiting for the Mini to move off. It was a full five minutes before he heard the rattling drain sound of the Mini being started. Vanney moved off from the kerb and Fenton prepared to follow but held back until the Mini had left the edge of the village and disappeared round a right hand bend for he did not want Vanney to get a look at him under the street lights.

As soon as Vanney was out of sight Fenton gunned the bike to the edge of the village then took a risk. He throttled back and turned off his lights. He reckoned that if he could pick up the Mini quickly he could ride on its tail lights. The rain on the rear screen would also help to obscure his presence.

Fenton could see red lights some two hundred metres ahead. With his heart in his mouth he accelerated to close the distance between himself and the car, knowing that the road between him and Vanney was an unknown quantity. One unseen pothole could bring disaster. He closed to within fifty metres and felt more comfortable with the Mini's headlights now acting as pathfinders. The winding road did not allow the Mini to move fast. Just as well, thought Fenton.

They had travelled about three miles when Fenton thought that he had caught a glimpse of something metallic off to his left, something in the sand dunes among the maram grass. As he passed the spot he saw that it was Jamieson's Granada, sitting with its lights out. Fenton wondered if Vanney might have seen it too but concluded not for it was still raining heavily and the Mini's side windows would be speckled over. Vanney's view would be confined to the two hemispheres cleared by the wipers.

Another two miles and the Mini's brake lights lit up the night like Christmas candles, making halos of pink rain. Fenton's foot shot to the brake pedal but he stopped himself in time for his own rear brake light would give the game away. Instead he clawed at the front brake lever, full of apprehension as he concentrated on keeping the bike perfectly vertical. The slightest angle on the front wheel in the wet and it would be off like soap in the bath.

Fenton let out his breath as the Honda slowed to walking pace and conceded control to him. Up ahead the Mini was turning off to the right but not on to another road. It was entering what appeared to be the driveway of a big house. Fenton got off the bike and walked across the road to the entrance. 'Helmwood' said the letters etched in the stone pillars. He looked up the drive but there was nothing to be seen but darkness. He listened for a moment but there was just the sound of the sea and the rustle of the conifers over the wall.

Fenton radioed the news to Jamieson who said that he knew the place. "Move on a quarter of a mile. There's a beach track to your left. We'll meet you there."

Fenton got into the back of the Granada and felt the warmth for he had not realised how cold he had been getting standing around. He purred appreciatively.

"Monkton's place," said Jamieson.

Fenton needed more.

"Lord Monkton, ex-minister of state, pillar of the community, power, wealth, influence, just the job for the Cavalier mob.

"Shall we go take a look?" said Kelly.

Fenton detected a note of caution in Kelly's voice and recognised it as the reticence displayed by even the most law abiding in the company of policemen.

"Why not," replied Jamieson. "There's no law of trespass in Scotland."

They got out of the car into the salty night air and made their way up to the road. It had stopped raining but the grass and the trees were heavily pregnant with water and a conifer delivered on Kelly as he brushed against it.

"Ssh!" said Jamieson as Kelly cursed.

Fenton had an advantage over the other two in that he, at least, was dressed for the occasion, immune to the wetness inside his leathers and safe from sand and mud inside his boots. It was he who led the way back to the entrance to Helmwood, flattening a path through the long grass for the others to use.

The sound of an approaching car prompted Jamieson to say, "Down!"

The three men crouched in the grass as a sleek Jaguar saloon slowed and turned into the driveway. They had barely got to their feet when another car arrived. Fenton did not recognise the make but it looked Italian and expensive.

When all seemed quiet they stepped out of the grass and on the tar of Helmwood's drive. "I think we had better stick to the trees," said Jamieson.

"This side," said Fenton, picking the less dense pine woods and smelling the pine resin that made him think briefly of the previous day. But this forest was different, it was hostile. The tall trees waved their branches threateningly against the dark sky as they made their way towards the chinks of light that advertised Helmwood House.

"Must be having a party," whispered Jamieson as they crouched at the edge of the trees and counted the number of cars in the car park. "I'd like to collect some numbers." he said.

Fenton and Kelly waited while Jamieson sprinted across to the car park in a low crouch and disappeared among the gleaming machinery, notebook at the ready. It was ten minutes before he returned, slightly out of breath. "This should keep the computer happy for a bit," he panted.

"What now?" asked Kelly.

"A closer look?" suggested Fenton.

"All right, but let's take it easy," said Jamieson.

"Do you hear music?" Fenton asked the other two as the wind dropped momentarily.

"I keep thinking I do," said Kelly.

"There it is again."

"Must be coming from the other side of the house," said Jamieson. "There are very few lights on this side."

"We could circle round," Fenton suggested.

They sank back into the trees and moved laterally to hug the contour of the pinewood fringe as they made their way towards the back lawn of the house. They could now see that a bank of windows were brightly lit on the first floor and the music seemed to be coming from there.

"What kind of music is that anyway?" asked Kelly.

Fenton shook his head, "Some kind of string instruments maybe."

The size of the windows where the sound was coming from suggested that it was a very large room. "A ballroom?" suggested Kelly.

"A ballroom with a balcony…" added Fenton. He looked at Kelly and said, "I can't see them coming out on the balcony on a night like this can you?"

Kelly took his point and said, "There's a fire escape running up the side of it."

Jamieson pretended that he had not heard but Fenton and Kelly stared at him until he conceded that he had. "All right," he said. "Let's take a look."

Fenton climbed up the fire escape ladder first, Kelly followed and then Jamieson. Fenton got to the top and swung his legs over the stone balustrade. He nestled down in a corner, taking comfort in the fact that there was no danger of them being overheard because the music and laughter coming from within was far too loud. The only problem would be the possibility being seen in the light that flooded out from the tall windows.

The music stopped and the hubbub started to subside. Almost imperceptibly the lights began to dim. "Something's happening," whispered Kelly.

"I wish we could see what," answered Fenton. The lights continued to dim and Fenton decided to risk wriggling out along the base of the balcony to a point just below one of the windows. Kelly bit his lip as he watched him do it then signalled that it was safe for Fenton to raise himself up for there was no one standing near the window.

Fenton raised himself slowly till his eyes were above the level of the sill and his mouth fell open. He was looking at ancient Rome, a palace of the Caesars.

Men clad in togas and sandals reclined on couches to be waited on by slaves bearing wine jugs and trays laden with food. At one end of the room three musicians sat with lyres. At the other centurions in full leather armour guarded tall double doors. Another centurion was standing in the middle of the room and he carried a standard. Fenton thought at first that it was a Roman eagle but then saw that it was not that at all. It was a golden tree, the symbol of the Cavalier Club.

Fenton saw Vanney inside; he was sitting near the musicians and threw back his head to drain his goblet as Fenton watched. It was refilled almost immediately. Fenton crawled back along the balcony to join the others.

"A theme party?" suggested Jamieson.

"It looks too real," Fenton replied. "Everything, the mosaics, the marbles, the clothes, the trappings. They all look real."

Before there was any more time for questions a fanfare sounded from inside and Fenton signalled that they should move out to the windows again. Jamieson joined Fenton at his window; Kelly took the next one along.

"My God," murmured Jamieson.

A large square of rush matting was being spread out on the floor by four men dressed as slaves. When they had finished one of the Romans, a tall distinguished man wearing a purple trimmed toga, raised his arm for silence.

"That's Monkton," whispered Jamieson.

The double doors at the end of the room were opened to admit two gladiators, naked to the waist, their bare torsos glistening with oil. They marched down the centre of the room and saluted Monkton by crossing their forearms across their chests. Monkton nodded and the wrestlers began to circle each other on the mat. All lighting in the room had been extinguished save for wall torches and candles. Their spluttering flames were reflected in the sweat of the combatants as they struggled to gain advantage.

Fenton could not take his eyes away from Monkton's face for the man was in the grip of some terrible excitement. He was no longer the urbane man he had been at the beginning, his mouth quivered as he exhorted the wrestlers with silent words to greater efforts. His hand reached out almost absent-mindedly and gripped the thigh of the slave who stood by his couch. The boy, an effeminately pretty youth, winced as Monkton's fingers dug into his flesh but he smiled as soon as Monkton looked up at him. Savagely Monkton pulled the boy's face down on top of his.

"Nice to see a return to Victorian values," whispered Jamieson.

A few minutes later, as the wrestlers finished their bout to loud applause, Monkton and the boy left the room. Several other pairs did the same. The lighting came up again and the music re-started Fenton and the other two crawled back along the balcony floor and into the safety of the corner.

Fenton asked Jamieson if he had recognised anyone else in the room.

"A few," replied the policeman. "Mind you it's hard without their normal clothes. It took me ages to figure out who one of them was, although I knew the face well enough. Then I thought of him in a dog collar…"

"Did anyone see who Vanney was with?" asked Fenton.

"Couldn't see for the pillar," said Kelly.

Jamieson nodded and said, "We'll have to wait until he stands up."

Once more the lights began to dim inside and they returned to their positions beneath the windows in readiness. Fenton could see that the absentees had come back and Monkton was smiling, his features restored to distinguished calm. He raised his arm and the music ceased.

Four slaves marched towards Monkton carrying silver trays with wine jugs and goblets and waited until Monkton personally had poured a little wine into each goblet. All the Romans in the room gathered in a large circle as the wine was handed out then they raised their goblets in some kind of toast and drank in unison.

One of the slaves dropped his jug and it threw up a plume of red wine over Monkton's pristine white toga. Even in the dim lighting Fenton could see the clouds of anger roll across Monkton's face. The slave dashed himself to the floor but Monkton ignored him and made some kind of signal to the man Vanney had been with, the man who had been hidden by the pillar all night. The man had his back to the windows. He was wearing an elaborate head-dress and carried some kind of silver baton in his right hand. A centurion approached him and took orders.

Fenton watched spellbound as a metal frame was brought in to the room and dragged up in front of the man with the baton. Another signal and the slave who had dropped the wine was tied to the frame. One of the guards from the door approached and removed his helmet and cape. In his hand he held a whip.

The man with the baton spread the fingers of his left hand twice to indicate the number ten and the punishment began. Through the glass Fenton and the others could hear the sound of leather hitting flesh. The slave's teeth were bared in anguish and his eyes rolled as the skin on his exposed was back was cut open to mingle blood with the sweat of his fear.

After five lashes his torturer paused to adjust his stance and cover new ground. As the man raised the whip again Fenton got a good look at him and felt weak. "He was the bastard who beat me up in the pub!" he whispered to Jamieson.

The slave appeared to have passed out. The Roman with the baton put his hand out to his neck to check but as he did so the slave suddenly sank his teeth into the back of his hand. The Roman wrenched his hand away and raised his baton in anger. Fenton waited for it to fall but it did not. The Roman regained his composure and spread his fingers to indicate another five lashes.

The unconscious slave was carried out and the floor cleaned of blood. The lights went up again, glasses were replenished and Monkton held up his hand for silence. "To business gentlemen!

A murmur ran round the room and then it became quiet. Fenton noted that Jamieson had taken out his notebook. He smiled at Kelly.

"The figures please!" said Monkton.

Monkton stood to one side and another man, small and balding with several long strands of dark hair combed individually across his scalp got to his feet. He held a sheaf of papers in front of him.

"Hale-bloody-lujah," whispered Jamieson.

Fenton and Kelly looked at him and the policeman said, "That's Vanney senior."

Vanney cleared his throat and said, "Fifty thousand pounds from Theta Electronics for rating concessions on their new premises." There was applause in the room.

"Two hundred thousand pounds from Corton Brothers for assistance with planning permission for their new housing estate and re-defining of the green belt in that area.

More applause.

"Forty-two thousand pounds for motorway maintenance contracts, fifty thousand pounds for housing stock maintenance contracts in the central region and a total of one hundred and eight thousand pounds for various supply contracts in the country as a whole."

Loud applause.

"And now gentlemen, an extra item.”Twenty thousand pounds from Saxon Medical for our assistance in obtaining a Department of Health license for their product. Despite subsequent 'problems' I am reliably informed that the sale of the license by Saxon to International Plastics will be deemed tomorrow by the courts to have been made in good faith."

Vanney held his hands up and shouted above the hubbub, "I think you all know who we have to thank for that!"

There was general laughter.

"This concludes my report."

Monkton got to his feet again and announced an end to business for the evening.

“ Let’s get out of here," whispered Jamieson.

Nobody spoke until they were back at the car then Fenton said, "I think I'm out of my depth."

"You are not alone," conceded Jamieson. "To do this right is going to take time but I'm going to get every last one of them."

Fenton said, "I wish I could have seen the face of the man with the baton. There was something familiar about him."

"I thought that too," confessed Kelly. "But I'm damned if I can think why."