Stuart Pawson - Chill Factor

“Who?” I asked, all innocence.

“Him. Chilcott. The Chiller, whatever you call him. You thought it was the Chiller following us.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I thought he was a mugger. He’d seen us and decided we’d be easy prey, so he followed us. I thought we’d give him a surprise.”

“So I had to run as fast as I could to the pub and lock myself in the toilet? For a mugger? I don’t believe you.”

“Yeah, well,” I mumbled.

“I saw the look on your face, Charlie,” she told me. “When we were behind the bins. You were…eager. You were enjoying yourself. You were about to tackle someone you thought had a gun, who wanted to kill you, and you were enjoying yourself.”

“I wasn’t enjoying myself,” I protested. “I was scared stiff and I was worried about you.”

“But you admit that you thought it was Chilcott?”

“It crossed my mind, Annette, in the heat of the moment. But now I see the idea as preposterous. He’s a long way away and I’m just history to him, believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

After a long silence I said: “Shall we cancel the cocoa?”

“I think so,” she replied. “If you don’t mind.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I minded like hell. I minded like a giant asteroid was heading towards Heckley, and only a cup of cocoa in her flat, listening to George Michael CDs, would save the town. But who was I to make a decision like that?

As she opened the door I said: “You’re upset, Annette. It was a frightening experience. Go have a nice hot bath and stay in bed until lunchtime. I’ll make it right. Have the whole day off, if you want.”

She looked at me and sighed. “I think it’s you who needs some time off, Charlie,” she said, opening the car door and swinging her legs onto the pavement. “I’ll be there,” she stated. “Bright and early, as always.”

I braced myself for the inevitable door slam, but it didn’t come. She held the handle firmly and pushed it shut, so it closed with a textbook clunk. She didn’t slam it. I watched her sashay across the little residents’ car-park and punch her code into the security lock. A light came on and she went inside. She didn’t slam that door, either, but turned and held the latch. For a few seconds I could see her shape through the frosted glass and then she faded away, as if she were sinking into a deep pool. She didn’t slam the door, and that’s the moment I fell in love with her.

On Tuesday afternoon, when Somerset Bob sat her in an MGB, Eileen Kelly went bananas. The poor woman had never really recovered from the attack and had drifted from one unhappy relationship to another. At the moment she was alone, living in rented accommodation and working in the kitchen of a department store in Bath. He said that she was pleased, at first, to have a change in her routine and go along with him to the house of a Bath traffic cop who had a much-cherished model of the car. On the way there she reiterated her story, glad that at last someone was listening, and no doubt encouraged by the change in attitude over the last eighteen years.

Her attacker’s car had been parked at the roadside, and she hadn’t realised which it was until he opened the door for her, so she never really saw it from the outside. Bob said he opened the passenger door and beckoned her to get in. As soon as she dropped into the low seat she started shivering and shaking. He climbed in next to her and saw that she had turned white, her wide eyes taking in the instrument panel, glove box and everything else.

The traffic cop’s wife made them tea and Eileen slowly regained her composure, sitting in their kitchen. “I’m sorry,” she’d sobbed, blowing her nose.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Bob had assured her. “What can you tell me about the car?”

“It was one of them,” she’d declared. “Definitely, but it had a little animal on the front, like a Jaguar does.”

“Find it, Bob,” I ordered, when he finished his story.

“Might not be easy, it was written off.”

“Well find where the bits went. We need that car.”

There was a note on my desk from the twilight detective, who just happened to be Rodger. Two of them alternate, afternoons and nights, because their wives work shifts at the General Hospital, and it suits them. I’d asked for a watch to be kept on Silkstone, when times were slack, and the note said that he’d fallen into the habit of strolling along to the Anglers for a meal, usually between six and seven. I grow restless when a case stagnates, like to jolly things along a little. It was time to go pro-active, I decided. We’re big on proactive policing at the moment. First thought was to take Annette with me, but I changed my mind. It would be better if I was alone, my word against his. Except I would have a witness. I rang our technical support people and asked to borrow a tape recorder.

Annette came into my office just before five, carrying a coffee. “Hi, Annette,” I said, pointing to the spare chair. “Sit down and talk to me.”

“Coffee?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

“You’ve been after me.”

“Yes,” I replied. “I rang you because I’m going to accidentally — on-purpose bump into Silkstone, in that pub near his place, and I thought it might look more natural if you were with me.”

“No problem,” she replied. “What time?”

“It’s OK, there’s been a change of plan. I’ve decided to be alone, in the hope that I can tempt him into the odd indiscretion.”

“But it won’t be worth a toss,” she informed me.

“I know, but if it were he wouldn’t say it, would he? We could have a drink after,” I suggested.

“Socially?”

“I suppose so. You’ve been avoiding me since…since the weekend.”

“I don’t think so, if you don’t mind, Boss.”

“It’s Boss again, is it?” I said.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she replied, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to think.” She looked more unhappy than I’ve ever seen her.

“I cocked-up on Sunday,” I admitted. “I know I did. Something just happened inside me. I was scared, but for you, not myself. I thought I’d got you into something. Maybe it was the music, or the words of the songs. I don’t know. We need to talk, but this isn’t the place. Let me come round to your place, later.”

“I don’t know.” More head shaking, her hair covering first one half of her face, then the other, as it tried to keep up. I glanced out of the window across the big office. Nobody was watching us, trying to decipher the touching scene between the DI and the attractive DC.

“Friday night,” I began. “I thought it was rather special. I thought that, you know, it said something about how we felt for each other.”

“So did I, but…”

“But what?”

She gave a violent shake of the head and started sobbing. I looked out and caught David Rose glance across. He quickly looked away. “I’m sorry, Annette,” I said. “Maybe I read too much into it. OK, it’s back to strictly a working relationship, if that’s how you’d prefer it. I don’t want to lose you as an officer and I can switch it off, live a lie, if you can. Shall we just…call the whole thing off?”

She sniffed and looked at me for the first time. “Yes, I think we should,” she replied.

“Right.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

“Me too, Annette. Me too.”

I did paperwork until just after six, then hared off to the Anglers. In the car park I tested the tape recorder, running the tape back to the beginning and pressing the play button.

Male voice: “Hi, Annette. Sit down and talk to me.”

Female voice: “Coffee?”