Fenton's winter

THIRTEEN

Fenton deliberately chose to drive home fast on the winding coast road for he needed some distraction from thoughts of the evening. Controlling the Honda at high speed demanded his total concentration. Bend after bend loomed up ensuring that the bike was seldom upright for more than a few seconds before being swung over yet again. The road surface had almost dried out, leaving only the occasional puddle to be thrown up into the waving grass caught in the headlight.

By the time he reached the outskirts of the city Fenton was both physically and mentally drained. He slowed for the final roundabout and sat upright to proceed sedately along the well lit tarmac until he reached the flat.

The gas fire burst into life and Fenton switched on the kettle to make tea before sitting down to think. Jamieson was right. It would take time to put the case together against the Cavaliers if he were to break the organisation as a whole and that was certainly the way to do it. An isolated prosecution would only put the Cavaliers on their toes and give them time to re-group. But he was off to a flying start with the names and figures he had obtained from Vanney's report. He knew exactly where to look for evidence of corruption and that was half the battle.

Fenton still had difficulty in accepting how widespread and powerful the Cavalier organisation was. It was frightening but his resolve to see Neil Munro's killer brought to justice was undiminished. The kettle started to whistle and he returned to the kitchen to make tea.

There had been no mention of Nigel Saxon at Helmwood and this was both disappointing and puzzling. It meant that he could still not be sure where Saxon had fitted in to the scheme of things. If Saxon had been the originator of the plan to defraud International Plastics why hadn't he rated a mention at Helmwood? And if millions of pounds were involved in the fraud why was only the relatively paltry sum of twenty thousand pounds mentioned. Even if Saxon in the end had turned traitor under pressure surely something would have been said or was the elimination of a fellow member by murder too insignificant a matter to merit comment? Fenton found it a chilling thought.

A fitful night's sleep did not help improve matters. Fenton was still in bed when Jenny came home. She opened the curtains.

Fenton said, "Isn't it strange, you can't get to sleep all night yet the minute it gets light…" The words tailed off and Jenny said that she knew the feeling. She sat down on the edge of the bed and asked how things had gone.

Fenton told her everything and watched her face register shock as he told her about Helmwood and disgust when he told her about the slave.

"What's Jamieson going to do?" she asked.

"He's going to get to work on breaking them but it will take some time to gather all the evidence."

"And then what?"

"I don't know."

"What about Vanney junior?"

"That's up to Jamieson."

Jamieson phoned Fenton at around ten thirty to tell him that things were well under way with the investigation into the corrupt contracts and the police computer when fed with the registration numbers that Jamieson had collected at Helmwood had obliged with some very interesting names.

"What about Vanney?" asked Fenton.

"With Murray's help and a bit of luck over the car we think we will be able to nail him for Sandra Murray's death. With that facing him and being the little shit he is he might be spill the beans about the rest. Mind you, I still think that it was Saxon who killed your friend Munro. He was the only one with a motive."

"But if it really was Saxon how could he have hoped to blame it on someone else? Just coming up with a name would have been no good. The killer had to be someone in the lab at the time Neil discovered the truth about the plastic.

"Saxon was probably in a blue funk when he phoned you and prepared to blame it on anyone whether it made sense or not."

"Maybe," Fenton conceded.

"People do strange things when they're desperate." said Jamieson. "Believe me. I've seen it all."

Charles Tyson came into Fenton's lab just before noon and said, "I've got a staffing problem. Ian Ferguson has just phoned to say that he has injured himself working on his car. The point is he was due to be on call tonight and I have to go out this evening. Mary Tyler has a meeting at the school and…"

"No problem," said Fenton. "I'll do it. I wasn't doing anything."

"Thanks," said Tyson.

At eleven thirty that evening Fenton had cause to regret his generosity in agreeing to take over Ferguson's duty. He had been working almost non stop since seven in the evening and now the acetylene gas cylinder had run out. He would have to bring up a new one from the basement on his own and change over the reduction valve, a task best carried out by two people.

Cursing his luck, Fenton ran down the stairs and switched on the basement light. He wheeled the cylinder transporter over to a row of gas cylinders and rolled an acetylene one out on its heel. He manoeuvred it with some difficulty on to the transporter and secured it with the catch chains before pressing the button for the service lift and waiting while the painfully slow motor brought it down.

As he came up in the creaking lift he heard a car draw up outside the lab and this was followed by a key rattling in the lock. Fenton assumed that it would be Tyson coming in to check on things after his evening out and was surprised to see Ian Ferguson appear at the head of the stairs while he was manhandling the transporter out of the lift.

"I thought I would drop in and apologise for this," said Ferguson, holding up his bandaged hand.

"You picked the right night to be off," said Fenton. "I've been running around like a cat with its arse on fire since seven o'clock and now this!" He nodded to the cylinder.

"I'll get the spanners," said Ferguson.

"What happened anyway?" asked Fenton.

“ I changed my car on the strength of my promotion. I was checking the oil in it and the bonnet fell on my hand."

"Nasty," said Fenton. "Anything broken?"

"No, just bruised."

Fenton brought over the empty cylinder to change over the head gear and looked to see if Ferguson had come up with a spanner.

"Will this one do?" asked Ferguson, holding up a spanner with his back still to Fenton as he continued to look in the drawer.

Fenton's blood ran cold. He was transfixed by the sight for, in his head, the spanner was transformed into a silver baton. The back view of Ferguson was the back view of the Roman with the baton!

Ferguson turned to see why Fenton had not answered. His smile faded when he saw the look on Fenton's face.

"You!" Fenton accused in a hoarse whisper. "The knowledge, the motive and the opportunity! Neil told you about the plastic! It was you at Helmwood! There was no accident with the car. The slave bit you!" The look on Ferguson's face told Fenton that he was right.

Surprise gave way to arrogant resignation. "Well, well, well," said Ferguson quietly.

"You bastard, it was you who killed Neil!"

The spanner hit Fenton just above the left eye. He had been totally unprepared for it when Ferguson suddenly threw it at him and now the room burst into a galaxy of stars as he slid to the floor.

When he came round Fenton found himself bound hand and foot with the chains from the transporter. Ferguson was looking down at him with a sneer on his face. "So you finally worked it out Fenton," he said.

"Bastard!"

"Tut tut. You always were a bit rough Fenton, bright but rough."

"Why? For Christ's sake why?" asked Fenton, struggling impotently with the chains.

Ferguson looked as if he was enjoying Fenton's discomfort. He looked down at him like a parent patronising a five year old. "Money. What else?" he said.

"But how? What did you have to gain?"

"Saxon was in love with me," said Ferguson. "I played him along and made out that I loved him. It was too good a chance to miss. Everyone wants to fall in love with a millionaire" Ferguson laughed at the thought. I arranged for him to become a member of the club and we helped him get his license for a fee. He was pathetically grateful. The fat clown promised that when the deal went through with International Plastics, he would sign over half his share to me and afterwards make me the sole beneficiary in his will, just as if I were his wife."

"And you had to kill Neil to make sure that the deal went through?"

"When Munro told me about the flaw he had found in the plastic that morning I saw all that money disappearing. I couldn't have that now could I? I took a short cut down to the Sterile Supply Department and waited till he arrived. You know the rest."

"Was Saxon in on it too?"

Ferguson seemed amused at the suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous," he sneered. "That idiot knew nothing at all about it. He didn't have the nerve to play for high stakes."

"But you did," said Fenton quietly.

"That's what being a Cavalier is all about Fenton."

"Did you kill Saxon too?"

"The slow witted clod finally twigged to what had been going on. I think he wanted to break off our engagement." Ferguson laughed at his own joke.

Fenton felt sick but he had to know it all. "Sandra Murray too?" he asked.

"She knew too much."

"Don't you feel anything?" Fenton asked, horrified at Ferguson's lack of emotion. He was angry with himself for not having suspected Ferguson sooner. Now when he thought about it, it had been Ferguson who had been on duty in the lab immediately before the incident with the fume cupboard and Ferguson had been present to hear him volunteer to come in that Sunday to help Saxon.

"All that nonsense about wanting to change your job because you were scared…" said Fenton.

"I thought that was rather a nice touch," said Ferguson.

Fenton saw his own death warrant in Ferguson's eyes and was desperately afraid. The thought that he would never see Jenny again was unbearable.

Ferguson looked around him and thought aloud. "An accident with the cylinder I think." He said it as if he were thinking about the seating arrangements for a dinner party. "Yes, that's it. You were changing the heavy cylinder all on your own when it fell on you and knocked you out. The lab filled up with gas from the leaking valve on the cylinder and there was…a fire…an explosion."

Through his fear Fenton saw that he had one chance. Ferguson would have to bend down to release the empty cylinder. If he could hit the transporter at just the right angle and at just the right moment…"

Ferguson bent down and Fenton's feet shot out to send the heavy metal transporter crashing into him. One of the bars caught Ferguson behind the ear and he went out like a light. But for how long? That was the question that bred new panic in Fenton. He was still tied up. What could he do? Could he risk trying to roll across the floor and down the stairs? What was the point? He couldn't open the front door even if he succeeded. The phone! If he could just get the receiver off the hook surely he could dial three nines even with his hands behind his back.

Getting across the floor was more difficult than Fenton had anticipated, his frustration and fear growing with every second that passed. His mouth was drier than a desert when he finally succeeded in raising himself to his knees beside the table where the phone was but a sudden groan from Ferguson almost panicked him into losing balance. It took four attempts to get the phone off the hook, then, clatter, it was done.

Ferguson groaned again and Fenton turned to see him move slightly on the floor. He managed to dial one nine then slipped and cursed. Ferguson moved again and Fenton knew that it was hopeless. Even if he did manage to make the call Ferguson was going to come round long before the police would arrive. Despair threatened as he searched for a way of injuring Ferguson more permanently.

Outside, a police siren started to wail. "Please God, make them come here," said Fenton out loud as he failed to see any way he could keep Ferguson out of action. To Fenton's amazement the siren grew louder and louder until it stopped outside the door of the lab and he heard car doors being slammed. Fenton heard the front door being broken in and the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. "I'm in here," he yelled as Ferguson struggled on to his hands and knees.

Jamieson entered the room first. He was followed by two uniformed constables. He looked at Ferguson and then at Fenton's chains as Fenton fought to regain the power of speech.

"How?" stammered Fenton. "Just how the hell did you know?"

Jamieson said, "I didn't really. The truth is we didn't get a computer report for one of the cars at Helmwood until twenty minutes ago because of a recent change in ownership. When I found out that the car belonged to one, Ian Ferguson and bearing in mind what you said about Saxon not being Munro's killer and how the murderer would have to be someone in the lab I put two and two together. Ferguson wasn't at his flat so I put out an APB for the car. It was reported outside the lab…so here I am."

Ferguson was now fully conscious. Jamieson bent down to caution him and place him under formal arrest. Fenton told him all that Ferguson had confessed to.

"Is that a fact?" said Jamieson quietly.

"I'm saying nothing," said Ferguson.

"Of course not sir," said Jamieson with a sneer.

Ferguson put his hand up to his head to feel the place where the transporter had hit him and, in doing so, lifted the hair away from his ear. It had a piece missing from it. Fenton froze when he saw it and knew that Jamieson had seen it too.

Jamieson turned to the two constables and said, "Wait downstairs." The men looked puzzled but trooped out obediently and closed the door behind them. Suddenly and without any warning Jamieson spun on his heel and swung his right foot into Ferguson's face. Fenton winced but Jamieson remained expressionless. "That," he said looking down at the gasping Ferguson, "was a wee something for Madeline Gray."

When he could speak again through a mess of blood and teeth Ferguson spluttered, "You won't get away with this you bastard!" He turned to Fenton and said, "You saw that Fenton! You saw what he did to me!"

"Saw what?" said Fenton.

The winter was finally over.