Dead of Winter Tr (18 page)

Her hand lingered on the phone as she finished her call and looked up from her thoughts to see Ebony pointing discreetly at a damp patch on Jeanie’s chest.

‘Oh shit.’ Jeanie brought her arm across to hide it. She stood and pushed her chair away. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I need to get home
and feed my baby. If Davidson asks, tell him it’s milking time back at the zoo.’ She smiled at Ebony. ‘Won’t be long. I’ll see you in a couple of hours – four
max. I’ll take my nap at home.’ She picked up her bag and left.

There were only four of them in the ETO now. Ebony went to talk to Robbo, sitting on his own in the Intel room. He was on the phone to Sandford, who was at Blackdown Barn.

‘Yeah . . . I’ll ask her now.’ He held the phone away from his mouth and looked up at Ebony as she walked in.

‘Sandford wants to know whether you want to go back to Rose Cottage with him and Bishop?’

‘When’s he going?’

‘Tomorrow sometime. He’ll let you know. Yes or no?’

‘Yes. If I can.’

‘He wants you to get hold of the gardener anyway.’

‘Okay. I have his number.’

Robbo got back on the phone to Sandford. ‘She’ll come with you, if she can . . . but she’ll contact the gardener either way and speak to you tomorrow . . . By the way . . .
I’ve contacted several manufacturers for plastic curtains. I’ve got the samples for you. Yeah, yeah . . . I’m alright here thanks. It’s nice and warm here in the
office.’

Robbo hung up and checked his watch. ‘Although probably no good to call your gardener now at three-thirty in the morning. Right . . .’ He clapped his hands together in front of his
face and snapped his eyes open wide. ‘Coffee and then back to work. You heard from Carmichael since you went to see him on the farm?’

‘No. I have a funny feeling he’s not there.’

‘Yeah . . . that was always on the cards,’ Robbo shouted over grinding coffee beans. ‘You couldn’t expect him to take it lying down. You tell him the people who killed
his wife and child are back in town and you send him an open invitation to hunt for them himself. He’s got nothing left to lose. You better go back there and see if you can find out where
he’s gone.’

‘If he did come looking . . . how would he do it?’

‘If I was him? Either I would get to someone in this department – call in an old favour, ask
me
for instance – or I would dig up any contacts in the underworld I could
beg, steal or borrow from and go undercover.’

‘Has he?’

‘What – asked me? No. I checked with Sandford and Bishop – none of us have had a call or any contact with him. He doesn’t need us then. He must have another way
in.’

‘Would you have helped him?’

‘Probably. We all feel like we let him down. We let his wife and child down. Nobody came out of it with justice. It was in the days before we had a designated murder squad. A team would
have been assembled when it happened. Davidson was in charge. It was up to him to choose his team – doesn’t mean they were the best for the job. Davidson would also have been
responsible for all the clever stuff, working out logistics, analysing; all the things he doesn’t have to do now . . . we have crime analysts to do it.’ Ebony took a cup of coffee from
Robbo and looked around for the sugar. He gestured over to the shelf with the coffee beans. ‘What was he like when you went to see him? What is his life like out there? I haven’t seen
him since it happened.’

‘He lives in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales. The nearest town is twenty miles away. He lives like a hermit really. He works really hard. I don’t know what else to tell you. I felt
he was just working; it wasn’t a home. Maybe that’s the kind of man he always was. What was he like thirteen years ago?’

‘He was dedicated to his job, to his family. That was his world. He hardly ever came out with the lads. It wasn’t surprising he lost it after the murders. Someone pulled his world
from under his feet. He had nothing left worth living or staying together for.’

‘Really? He fell apart?’

‘Oh yes. He had what would have been called a nervous breakdown, except no one wanted to call it that.’

‘Could he have had mental problems before the murders? He had an affair. Did that surprise you?’

‘Yes. It did. I’ll be honest – I find that completely out of character.’

‘Do you think he could have killed his wife and child, Robbo?’

‘I think he could have done it if he had already gone stark raving.’

‘Certain parts of Rose Cottage look like that’s what happened. There’s a madness out there but also a containment. You know what I mean? Yes, the women were horrifically
mutilated, parts of their bodies removed, but at the same time, where is the blood? If someone ran through rampaging and killing, how come they anaesthetised them first?’

‘You cut someone open they usually die. You cut them open under anaesthetic you have a while to play.’

‘It must have been planned. The way Blackdown Barn was planned. If it’s the same man: Chichester?’

‘Has to be the same killer. The monster’s still out there.’

Carmichael slipped Sonny’s key into the main door of the old apartment block on Shaftesbury Avenue. It was four in the morning and Soho was quiet. It was nearing
kicking-out time for clubs like Cain’s.

Keeping his head down he walked up the stone stairwell. The echo of a homeward-bound drunk filtered up the stairs. Somewhere on the upper floors a cat meowed to be allowed inside one of the
other flats. Carmichael walked to the end of the first landing. He unclipped his hunting knife from its sheath on the inside of his calf and concealed it in his left hand as he slipped the key into
the lock and turned it. Silently he opened the door a few inches and listened. There was just the hum of a fridge, the dripping of a tap. He felt to his left on the wall: no alarm box. He opened
the door wider and slipped inside. The flat was in darkness; just the orange glow of a streetlamp filtered in through a gap in the curtains. The door clicked shut behind him. It was then he heard a
voice.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting ages. I’m in here . . .’

Carmichael walked along the corridor and nudged the bedroom door with his foot. A woman was in bed. She froze when she saw Carmichael standing in the doorway. Carmichael looked around the
room.

‘You alone?’

She nodded.

‘Get dressed.’

Carmichael went to check in the other rooms. When he got back into the bedroom she was fastening her bra.

‘You expecting anyone besides Sonny?’

She shook her head. ‘Is that his name?’ She glanced up from pulling down her T-shirt. ‘Is he coming back?’

‘No.’

She stared at Carmichael for a few seconds, not sure whether she was relieved or whether she’d found herself a worse problem.

‘How do you know Sonny?’

‘I don’t really. I came here last night. He went out and left me to wait for him.’ She was pulling on her jeans and turned to Carmichael as she searched for her shoes. ‘I
fell asleep.’

He looked around the bedroom. It was a man’s décor: black, red and grey. ‘You a prostitute?’

‘Escort,’ she snapped back as she searched around for her bag. ‘Haven’t been doing it long. My ex-husband fucked off and left me with debts. My first client robbed me and
now this one has run off.’ As she talked she kept one eye on Carmichael and one on her escape route.

‘Time for a change of career, maybe?’

She picked up her bag. ‘Yeah, seems a good plan.’

‘You been here to this flat before?’ She shook her head. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and Carmichael could see her face for the first time.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Pamela.’

‘Real
name?’

She smiled. ‘Linda.’

‘How did you find Sonny?’

‘I’m registered with an escort website. He got in touch through that.’ She was looking towards the door. ‘Look . . . I have to be getting home; the cat will need feeding
. . . you know how it is?’ She looked up to see him staring at her.

‘You don’t look like an escort.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘Girl-next-door kind of thing. He specifically asked me to turn up in jeans and a T-shirt. Shit, I should have made him pay me before he left.’

Carmichael reached inside his coat pocket and took out a card and three hundred pounds.

‘Hope that helps. If you remember anything else or anyone gets in touch about Sonny, let me know.’

‘Thanks, I will.’ She stopped in the doorway, looked back and smiled.

Outside, she pulled up her hood against the cold and hailed a taxi at the end of the road. She sat in the back and pulled out the black and gold business card Carmichael had
given her.

Michael Hart.

His mobile number and nothing else.

She took out her phone and made a call.

‘It’s Nikki de Lange. Sonny’s dead. We have trouble on our hands and his name is Hart. Meet me in five hours, usual place.’

Cain’s finally kicked the last punter out and closed its doors. Tanya sat at the dressing-room mirror in her T-shirt and knickers and looked across at Anna hiding in the
corner. Tanya put down the cotton wool pad caked in makeup and smiled at her as she waved her over. Anna stared back, unsure, until a second wave saw her get to her feet and walk cautiously across.
Tanya turned the chair next to her round and Anna sat down.

‘Close your eyes,’ Tanya said and mimed the action when Anna didn’t understand.

Anna felt the cool cream spread over her skin as Tanya wiped her face in sections. She cupped Anna’s face in her hands when she was done. Anna’s eyes opened slowly: reluctantly she
emerged from a memory stored in her senses where a mother she had once known had cared for her just like that; had touched her just like that. Tanya smiled at her, looked deep into her eyes and
then hugged her. Anna lay limp in her arms and started to cry.

Digger didn’t knock before he entered the dressing room. The dancers were used to it. Anna sat back in her chair. Tanya turned back to the mirror and picked up a fresh cotton pad.

‘Tanya, I have a client for you. Get dressed and hurry. A taxi is coming in ten minutes.’

Tanya nodded her agreement but her face clouded over as she reapplied foundation to hide her bad skin and scraped her hair back. She drew kohl into the rims of her eyes and applied mascara
again. She stood and pulled on her floor-length military-style coat and stopped as she saw Anna still watching her. She went across to her and rested a cold hand against Anna’s baby face.
Anna reminded her of her four-year-old son Jakub who she’d left behind for her mother to look after. Tanya smiled and leant in.

‘Close your eyes.’ Anna did as she was told. Tanya kissed each eyelid in turn. That was the last thing she’d done when she said goodbye to Jakub. She’d kissed his eyelids
and said: ‘Remember me when you close your eyes, I will be with you.’

Outside, the taxi was waiting, Tanya stepped inside and closed the door and it pulled away. Inside the taxi someone was waiting for her. She smiled. She remembered him from somewhere. At first
she thought it was a punter. Was it a man she’d been sent to meet in a hotel room? He was good-looking anyway. As he moved across towards her on the back seat of the cab, she looked down at
the bruising on the inside of her elbow and then she remembered that this was the man who had wanted her tested.

Carter heard the buzz of his phone as his alarm went. He’d set it because he knew Ebony would give him a few minutes longer than he’d asked for. He washed his face
in the bathroom, spent five minutes re-gelling his hair. Then he sprayed deodorant inside his shirt and sniffed his armpits to make sure he was passable before emerging to locate Ebony, who
wasn’t at her desk. He found her with Robbo.

‘Greetings . . .’ Robbo looked up as Carter entered.

‘Any coffee?’ He looked around and saw the half full cafetière then helped himself.

‘Ebb, you better get a few hours’ kip now.’

‘I feel fine, Sarge.’

‘Yeah, but you’ve got a long day ahead. I need you to head back to Carmichael’s farm today and check on him. Things have gone a little quiet.’

Tanya felt the cold air whoosh around her as she moved through the air horizontally. Trolley wheels rumbled, vibrating below her body, and then everything echoed around her as
she entered into a building and the wheels found a smoother surface. When her eyes managed to stay open for a few seconds they saw a high ceiling with pipes running across it.

She was lifted from the trolley, guided onto a bed, hands held her weight. She opened her eyes briefly and looked around the unfamiliar room. It wasn’t a hotel room. It was a hospital.

Tanya’s eyes were struggling to stay open. ‘What are you doing?’ She saw a nurse walk around the bed and then start undressing her. She felt the cool air in the room flow over
her body as the nurse drew back the covers and began to wash her. She took her time – long, slow, warm strokes that soon turned cold on Tanya’s skin. But Tanya didn’t mind as the
warm flannel stroked her tired limbs. Her mind wandered back to being in a bath with Jakub; the first time he had laughed. Then she thought she could hear his breathing as he lay beside her
sleeping. Feeling heavy now. Her arm was being pulled out straight. In her dream it was her son Jakub pulling it. What did he want?
Mama? Mama?
Tanya felt a sting in her hand but still she
could hear the rhythmical breathing of someone asleep. She felt another’s body next to hers.

‘Jakub?’

She struggled to open her eyes and turn her head to see her son. A woman’s face was inches from her own, watching her.

That morning Carmichael watched Tyrone shuffle his way between the tables over to where he sat with a double espresso in the busy café. He grated a chair out opposite
Carmichael and sat down. ‘Got your message. Have to be honest wid you, I don’t really understand what you want from me . . . as much as I appreciate the offer of ten G, I ain’t
figured out how I earned it.’

‘You will.’ Carmichael pushed an envelope across the table to him. ‘Sonny is dead. I am taking over.’