Dead of Winter Tr (20 page)

‘Mainly smears around the walls, drips on the floor; not arterial spurts, except for Sophie. What do you think happened?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. The forensics team are going back there to see if we can find out more. All I know is they might have died where you found them but I think their
injuries were caused somewhere else. There’s just not enough blood in the house. Whoever did it, whatever it is they wanted, they are still looking for it.’

For a few minutes they sat in silence as a waitress came up to clean the tables around them. When she’d gone back downstairs Carmichael continued: ‘I know you don’t have an
undercover officer who can do what I can. You don’t have one ready. I can be that for you.’

‘It’s too risky. If you need help you won’t get it. No back-up.’

‘I’m not prepared to wait while Davidson gets his head out of his arse. I’m not asking for help. I have nothing to lose here. I wouldn’t want Davidson ballsing it up
again. I am telling you, Ebony, because I trust you and because we might need one another before this is over. Look . . . I respect you . . . You’re a good cop. You do what’s right for
you. I’ll do what’s right for me and get inside Sonny’s organization.’

‘Davidson will have you arrested if he knows what you’re doing.’

Carmichael smiled. ‘Here’s my number. Keep in touch. And don’t worry. Davidson couldn’t find me if I was sat metres from his office having coffee with you.’

After the big freeze had come the big dirty melt. The Thames ran high and icy cold.

Digger kept his eyes on the pavement now turned to slush as he walked towards the escalator and the new shopping precinct. An Italian café had somehow managed to survive amongst the
concessions of fast food. He liked to sit and watch the children play. He bought a cappuccino with a dusting of chocolate and sat at one of the tables on the edge of the play area. The place was
busy today.

He didn’t need to look to know that she had sat beside him. He felt a small flutter in his heart, the way he always did. His eyes stayed on the TV screen in the centre of the mall.

Totteridge Village bodies found.

‘Morning, my dear . . .’

Nikki de Lange followed his eyes to the TV screen. ‘I see you have heard the news?’

Digger nodded. His eyes were dark but a smile remained.

She looked at him anxiously, her eyes flashing towards the TV screen. She was chewing the inside of her lip like a child.

‘Now, now . . .’ He patted her hand. He looked at the aerial shot of the back garden, the patio and the white crime scene tent. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. Things will be
alright. Are you feeling okay? You look pale.’

He was right. She felt nauseous; she had pains in her lower back. She followed Digger’s eyes as they moved from the TV screen to watching the children playing nearby.

‘I’ll be better soon, as soon as it’s over. I was in Sonny’s apartment when a man named Hart let himself in with Sonny’s keys.’

‘I’ve met Hart.’ Digger looked away from her back to the news on the screen. He pretended to watch it but she could see he was giving himself time to think. ‘We need to
keep a close eye on Hart.’ He turned back to her. ‘I think he isn’t who he says he is. He walks like a Para. He smells like an ex-policeman. Oh, he covers it well enough with a
backstory that reads like a Bond film but it’s not sitting right. I think we should err on the side of caution and kill him. What were your impressions?’

‘A man with ambition.’ She couldn’t hold Digger’s eye contact.

Digger smirked. ‘Do I detect a soft spot for the new man?’

‘I just don’t think we should kill him, yet. We could do with a shake-up. I’m thinking this is my time to break free with your help.’

Her hands were shaking as she lifted her cup to drink. Digger’s hands were rock steady as he sipped his coffee.

‘Yes, you are right, my dear.’ The sound of the children laughing in the play area filled the space between them. Digger’s eyes searched hers. ‘What do you want from
me?’

She stared at him, unsure of his meaning and then she shook her head. ‘It’s all business, Digger. It has to be.’

‘You want me to keep an eye on him?’

‘I want you to give him what he needs to do the job we have to do and then I want out of it. I’m not going to stay with him after this trip. This trip will change everything for
me.’

‘Of course. I will do anything you ask me to. You know that. You are my god-daughter and I am very fond of you. Back in the days when your father and I were friends we had such marvellous
times.’ He looked across at her impassive face and sighed. ‘I remember—’ he began, but she cut him short.

‘No more memories, Digger.’ She smiled. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go.’

An hour later Nikki de Lange was walking along an underground corridor; she looked up at the pipes above her head. The building above her creaked and hummed with the noise of
trolleys and moving beds and nurses’ feet. She stopped at a room on the right and unlocked the door.

‘Hello, did you miss me? Have you been a good boy?’ She stopped just inside the door to cover her hands and arms with antibacterial gel and then walked across to the bed. The room
had the smell of lavender. She sprayed it in a room mist. It helped him sleep. It helped him to stay asleep, just like her voice: calming, constant. It told his brain that he needn’t worry;
he mustn’t fight it. Three weeks he had been in an induced coma. Nikki walked over to the bed and checked his chart. She flicked a switch controlling the drips into the boy’s neck and
wrist and pressed buttons on the monitor at the head of the bed. The boy did not stir. The noise from the ventilator: the bellows breathing was a comforting sound. She bent down to check the
catheter bag hooked to the underside of the bed then she peeled back the sheet and gently washed and dried around the electrodes that were stuck to his chest. She cleaned around the entry sites
into his body: the neck, the wrist, into his mouth, his nose, his groin. She massaged the muscles in his legs. She looked at his face and sighed. He no longer looked like the boy he was. The drugs
had bloated his face and the corrugated ventilating tube going into his mouth had distorted it.

She walked across to the chair, picked up his Arsenal shirt and folded it neatly.

‘Arsenal shirt,’ said Carter to Ebony as she got back to her desk. ‘Large boy’s. This season. They changed fabric, changed manufacturers this year.
Whoever he is he loves his football enough to pay over fifty quid for a shirt.’

‘Could it be Silvia’s?’

‘No, the DNA doesn’t match.’

Carter looked at her face as she sat down. ‘What is it?’ She was just about to tell Carter that she’d seen Carmichael when Robbo burst through the door of the ETO.

‘We got a phone call . . . anonymous tip-off about a body in the Thames. First officer at the scene said he recognized the body . . . it’s Sonny.’

The water was the same colour as the sky – steely grey. In contrast the bright red Ferrari being hoisted by a crane hung like a firework in the winter sky.

Ebony had invested in a sky-blue beanie hat which she pulled down over her ears. As they turned the corner the icy fog lay like a shroud over the water. Divers were getting changed after having
fished Sonny’s waterlogged body out of the Thames.

‘Nice motor. Pity it didn’t float,’ said Carter.

Harding looked up from where she knelt on a piece of plastic sheeting next to the body. She looked pale with cold. She had the hangover from hell. She and Mathew had worked late and the
inevitable had happened, and when she woke up and saw his face on the pillow she had hated herself marginally more than him.

Carter squatted beside her. ‘Yeah, this is definitely Sonny. This might answer why we couldn’t find him.’ He opened Sonny’s jacket and pulled out a wallet. He passed a
driving licence to Ebony. ‘Run this through Robbo, Ebb, and give him the make and licence plate of car . . . see if he can come up with an address for the little mermaid here.’ He
turned to Harding. ‘He doesn’t look the suicidal type. Were his keys in the car, do we know?’

‘They weren’t.’

‘Wasn’t robbery . . . plenty of money still in his wallet.’ Carter closed it up again and tucked it back into Sonny’s pocket. ‘How long’s he been in the
water, Doc?’

‘About twenty-four hours max.’

‘It’s a dumb question, I know, but was he dead before he drowned?’

He helped her turn the body on its side then roll him onto his front as she lifted his jacket at the back and looked for signs of injury. ‘No obvious bullet or stab wounds.’ Carter
helped her roll Sonny onto his back again and she turned his head to look at one side and the other. ‘It looks like he might have had a head injury going into the water. There’s
bruising on the side of his head here. Could have banged his head in a panic trying to get out as the car filled up. The bruise hadn’t time to spread: it’s intense. It definitely
occurred minutes before death and not hours. There’s a line of four dark circles decreasing in size. Looks a lot like a—’

‘Fist,’ said Carter. ‘So someone banged him unconscious with a hit to the head.’ Carter pointed to the pits and scrapes of missing flesh in Sonny’s face. ‘How
did he get these other injuries, Doc?’

‘I would guess when the current dragged through the car. The windows were open. The water would have carried debris with it. The rest we can put down to the local river-life having a few
meals on his face.’

The forensic photographer was done. He stood to one side viewing his work on his camera. He nodded to Harding. ‘Got what we need. You can move the body now.’

‘Sarge?’ Ebony had finished talking to Robbo. ‘Car’s traced to Sonny’s mother’s address. They’re sending someone round there now.’

Harding stood, peeled off her gloves. ‘Okay. That’s it for me. I’ll start the autopsy as soon as I get back to the hospital.’ She began walking back up towards her
car.

‘Doctor?’ Ebony ran to catch her up. ‘Could we meet up again soon? I need your help with Rose Cottage.’

‘Yes. But not now and not later this evening, I have plans. Come and find me tomorrow.’

Ebony waited for Carter to catch up. He was taking his time. He called her over to take a look at the Ferrari.

‘Interesting choice of slipway this, Ebb. Not many you could get down without a four by four. Not many people know about this one, not the general public anyway.’ They stood watching
the red Ferrari as the crane held it a few feet over the slipway; a loader turned up ready to take it. Carter walked across to the man driving the crane.

‘Let’s make sure she’s not holding any more surprises. Set her down on the slipway for me before you load her.’

While they waited for the car to be lowered Ebony turned to Carter:

‘Sarge, I saw Carmichael.’

‘When?’

‘A few hours ago on my way back to the office. He stopped me when I came out of the Tube. Bridget must have told him I visited the farm.’

‘You should have told me straight away, Ebb. ‘

‘I was trying to get a chance, Sarge.’

Carter turned to face her and took a step closer to make sure that in the still damp air his voice didn’t carry as far as the officers around the car.

‘What did he say?’

‘He knows everything we do.’

‘Did he know about Sonny?’

She nodded. ‘He told me that he was a small part of it and not important.’

He gave a nod towards the Ferrari. ‘Obviously someone agreed with him.’

‘He’s going undercover. He says he can infiltrate Sonny’s organization.’

‘Like this? Dead men’s shoes, is it, Ebb? Was this Carmichael’s doing?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Sarge.’ She’d had a sick feeling that wouldn’t go away, ever since she heard of Sonny’s body being found.

Carter looked away to gather his thoughts. ‘You know if we tell Davidson that we have the slightest inkling this could be Carmichael’s work then he’ll arrest him.’ She
nodded. ‘Did he say anything that might tell you what his plans are, where he’s staying?’ She shook her head. ‘After all this time he can get in undercover? Shit. I take my
hat off to him, Ebb. He must have had some very clever help. Or he must be taking an incredible gamble.’ Carter looked across at her and smiled reassuringly. ‘Okay. The main thing is he
trusts you, Ebb. There’s nothing to really tell Davidson. We didn’t learn anything from him that’s new. But we did get closer to him and that’s a good start and it will do
for now. But next time you tell me as soon as something happens, okay?’

She nodded.

‘Start trusting, Ebb. You’re not a one-man band. We’re a team.’

That evening Jo Harding waited for the young Irish barman from Cork to come back her way.

He’d stopped to chat with a couple of girls who were on a Friday night out. Harding tapped her new nails against the side of her glass. He glanced her way and then back at the girls, his
elbow on the bar, his smile fixed. Even as he sauntered over he kept glancing back to the girls to make sure they were checking out his rear view.

Harding was irritated:
who the fuck did he think he was, keeping her waiting?
She pushed the glass towards him. ‘Same again.’ He smiled at her, not open-mouthed, not full like
he did to the girls at the other end of the bar. He smirked almost.
Fuck him . . .
she would remember not to suck his cock the next time she took him home. She was aware of someone standing
next to her. She turned to see the good-looking face of James Martingale.

‘Hello, beautiful . . . as lovely as ever.’ He leant in to kiss her.

‘Good to see you, James.’ Harding smiled.
He was still the charmer.
Seldom did she see the charm offensive aimed at her but now she felt its full impact.

Fucking men . . . how come they get better-looking as they get older?
Martingale definitely had, she thought. He had that confidence that says, I will be great in the bedroom; I have
studied every book written about how to bring a woman to orgasm.

The barman left the girls and came over. He looked suitably impressed by Martingale, who cut a very distinguished moneyed look.