Fenton's Winter (29 page)

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."

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.