Dead of Winter Tr (19 page)

Tyrone looked momentarily shocked until the feel of the wad inside the envelope calmed him. He stuffed it inside the pocket of his jacket and looked pleased with himself.

‘You’ll get a lot more money if you co-operate. I want a list of all Sonny’s contacts. I want to know everyone he deals with. You know Digger Cain?’ Tyrone nodded.
‘Digger gets no more women. None of these women leave your care. I expect you to look after the women till I say I’m ready. You tell them I’m the man to deal with. No one –
I repeat, no one – takes any of those women out of that house . . . understood?’

Carmichael waited as Tyrone shuffled in his chair, dug his hands in his pocket and then settled down again. He looked across at Carmichael.

‘No can do.’ He shook his head, wiped his mouth. ‘There’s outstanding deals. Sonny set them up. They got to be honoured.’ Tyrone was chewing the inside of his
cheek.

‘What deals?’

‘Digger wants most of these girls I got: six, two young ones.’

‘Stall him for a few days. I’ll cover it by then. What else?’

‘Sonny told me to find a special girl.’ Tyrone looked nervously at Carmichael. He was looking squeezed. ‘It happened a while ago, the same thing . . . I have to test the girl.
If it comes up with what they’re looking for then they pay. Just the one pays the same as ten girls—’

‘What’s the test?’

‘Starts with blood.’ He shrugged. ‘If she’s got the right blood she has more tests.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know what for; I never asked.’

‘When was the last time you found the right girl?’

‘A few hours ago. They made a match. Girl named Tanya, dances in Cain’s. Digger said someone paid a lot of money.’

‘Have you been asked to test again for another match?’

‘No. Might not happen again, who knows?’

Carmichael looked away angrily. ‘Where did he take her . . . do you know?’

‘No.’ Tyrone shook his head nervously. He pulled up the hood of his parka. ‘Listen . . . I ain’t looking for trouble. He already paid for the girl. He took her. I
couldn’t do nothing ’bout it. How do I know Sonny is dead?’

‘Look out for it on the news. Then spread the word with all Sonny’s agents. I will pay big money to whoever comes on board with me now. I have contacts all around the world. I will
shut down anyone else.’

After he watched Tyrone shuffle away Carmichael dug out the ‘pay as you go’ mobile phone that he’d picked up on his way down from Yorkshire. Then he sent a
text voice recording to the local police in Whitechapel, telling them what to look for. He kept it simple . . .

Dead man in red Ferrari down slipway on Isle of Dogs.

Ebony didn’t bother to switch on the sat nav this time. She left the train station in the hire car and kept her eyes peeled for the junctions. The snow was starting to
melt from the fields now, glossy and bright like wet icing on a wedding cake.

As she neared Carmichael’s farm the sun was bouncing bright off the top of the buildings. The cockerel weather vane glinted as it tilted and caught the sun. Bridget heard the car approach
and stopped to listen. She knew it would be Ebony; Carmichael had told her to expect another visit. Bridget stood at the entrance to the stable and watched Ebony drive in and park. Rosie went over
to say hello. Bridget locked the stable and wheeled the barrow across to the dung heap past the farmhouse. Tor came to stand with his head over the stable door and watch the proceedings.

‘Hello, Bridget. Is Callum in?’ Ebony screwed up her eyes against the low winter sun as she got out of the car.

‘No.’ Bridget tipped out the contents of the barrow and wheeled it back to stand against the woodshed wall.

‘Where’s he gone, do you know?’

Bridget shook her head.

‘How long will he be away?’

‘T’aint my business.’

Ebony looked about her. ‘Are you looking after things here for him?’

‘Aye.’ Bridget shut the barn door and walked across to the house. She scrutinized Ebony as she passed. ‘What do you want?’

Ebony followed her into the tack room. ‘He must have said how long he thought you would be looking after it?’ Bridget didn’t answer. ‘Can I scrounge a cup of tea?
It’s a long way back. I promise I won’t stay long.’

Bridget looked Ebony over, weighing up in her mind what Carmichael would want her to do and what she could be bothered with.

‘Was stopping anyway.’ She prised off her wellingtons in the tack room and washed her hands in the scullery sink, then walked through to the kitchen.

Ebony followed her and saw Rusty tucked up in Rosie’s basket in the corner of the kitchen, a lamb in beside him. She knelt to stroke Rusty. Bridget slid the kettle onto the top of the
Aga.

‘How’s he doing?’

Bridget nodded, softened. ‘Good.’

‘Who’s his new friend?’

‘We’ve had a lot of twins this year. This mother’s not the best at looking after her young.’

Ebony sat at the kitchen table where she’d sat opposite Carmichael just a couple of days before.

‘I’m hand-rearing this one and Rusty’s helping keep him warm.’

‘Can I use the bathroom?’

‘Upstairs . . .’

‘Thanks . . . be back in a minute.’

Ebony finished in the bathroom and she quietly turned the handle of Carmichael’s room. His bedding was neatly folded and placed on top of his bed. His wardrobe was empty.

Back in the kitchen, she asked, ‘Has he been gone long, Bridget?’

‘Not long.’

She handed Ebony a cup of tea.

‘Hours?

‘A day or so.’

‘Carmichael’s lucky to have you here, not many people would be able to look after things for him.’

Bridget stood with her back to Ebony as she put sugar in her tea.

‘Tis what I always do. Nothing queer in it. I got my dad to come down and help. We’ll manage the lambing.’

‘Do you know where he’s gone, Bridget?’

As Bridget put her own tea on the kitchen table and her eyes settled on Ebony’s face. Her eyes were the same colour as the dusky blue hat she was wearing. The lashes around them were thick
and fair.

‘He must really trust you then to leave you in charge of the farm. You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’

Bridget looked away for a few seconds then back at Ebony. ‘He took me in when I had nowhere else to go; taught me about rearing sheep, taught me how to look after things . . . and myself.
He never wanted nothing from me.’ She glanced up at Ebony. Ebony gave her a smile that said I know what it’s like to love someone and not get it back. ‘I owe him a lot. If
he’s in trouble I want to help.’

‘You can help him, Bridget. Tell me where he’s gone and I’ll do my best for him. I promise.’

She could see Bridget thinking it over, her hands tight round the mug of tea.

‘I told you, he’s not one to trust; but he liked you.’

Ebony smiled ‘He’s facing a tough time.’

‘Will you bring him back here to the farm, to me?’

‘I promise to try.’ Ebony passed her over a card with her mobile number. ‘If he turns up or contacts you, let me know, Bridget. I am on his side.’

Bridget took the card. She turned it over in her hands. Ebony could see she wanted to talk. ‘If he phones I’ll tell him to call you.’

‘Where do you think he’s gone, Bridget?’

‘All I can tell you is that he’s taken their photo and he’s taken his gun.’ Her eyes flitted over Ebony’s face. ‘Never seen him so troubled. I think
he’s gone searching for the people who murdered his wife and child. Don’t think he’ll ever be coming back here, save in a box, to be buried up there on the hilltop.’

Robbo walked down a floor to the exhibits room in Fletcher House. He keyed in his code on the door. Each murder squad in the building had their own designated exhibits room.
Inside were shelves floor to ceiling with the various sizes of scene-of-crime bags, plastic containers of all sizes and packets of forensic suits. To the left was a small partitioned area where two
DCs could sit.

He unlocked the door to the caged area where the exhibits were housed waiting to be taken to court or sent to the forensic laboratory. On a high shelf he found the Carmichael case exhibits,
newly arrived back from the warehouse. Robbo lifted the exhibits box down and began going through the bags inside. After an hour of searching he phoned Ebony. She was on her way back to Fletcher
House from the station.

‘Yeah, I found it, have it in my hand right now.’ He looked at the small brown packet. ‘It’s a piece of fabric, ten-centimetre square.’ Robbo looked at it through
the plastic window at the front. He moved it round. ‘It’s heavily bloodstained.’

‘Does it say whose blood it is?’

‘Yes. It’s got a note attached.
Louise Carmichael’s blood, found on path outside gate.
It’s not fabric; it’s hospital gauze. And I’ve checked all the
police records for that day; there was no report of a police vehicle sustaining any damage on that visit. The hospital confirmed that their ambulance was not the one that knocked over the
gatepost.’

Ebony left the Tube and walked past the few shops on her way back to Fletcher House. She was nearly back at the office when she saw a man walking towards her. His eyes were fixed on her from
twenty metres away. He took long strides, walked straight. Others stepped out of his path. It was his eyes she recognized, the rest of him was nothing like the farmer she’d seen a few days
before. Carmichael stopped in front of her. ‘You want to talk?’

The café wasn’t busy upstairs. It used to be the ‘smoking’ section and people just forgot about it now that smoking was banned. Carmichael took off his
thick cashmere overcoat and put it on the seat beside him.

‘I went back to the farm to talk to you. I saw Bridget.’

‘She told me.’ Carmichael’s eyes roamed the room as he answered, checking out a man coming upstairs to use the bathroom.

Ebony looked away, fiddled with her cup.

‘Why didn’t you stay on the farm? Thought you understood we would keep you informed?’

‘Thought I could inform myself much better. You must have known I wouldn’t stay where I was. Did you honestly think I would take the information you gave me and do nothing? You chose
to involve me. You came to see me . . . remember?’

‘I was sent to talk to you.’

He looked at her and remembered what it felt like to be betrayed by someone in authority, someone further up the chain of command. His voice softened. ‘You must have known I would do all I
could to find the people who killed Louise and Sophie. I’m not the one putting your career in jeopardy. Consider the fact that they’re using me and they’re using you to do
it.’ Ebony looked into his eyes. ‘We can help one another, you and I. Let me tell you what I know, then I want something back from you. You use whatever I tell you in any way you see
fit. You are looking for Sonny?’ She looked at him, trying hard to hide the surprise she felt. She had underestimated him, but she shouldn’t have. Robbo was right: Carmichael had ways
inside the system.

‘Yes. We are looking for him. His DNA matches the dead baby’s at Blackdown Barn.’

Carmichael didn’t give anything away.

‘Don’t waste your time with him. Sonny is just a trafficker. He gets the girls over here and he breaks them. Sonny only supplies girls for Digger, no one else. Digger starts them on
the circuit of clubs and brothels. Now your turn to talk.’

Ebony looked across at him. ‘You didn’t tell me you knew Chrissie well. In fact, you said the opposite. You said she was Louise’s friend but actually . . . she was
yours.’

Carmichael shrugged it off. ‘We once thought about dating but never did. We kept in touch with a twice yearly email. After she had the baby she got back in touch with me. I was married by
that time. She didn’t seem to mind. She slotted in and Louise was really fond of her. From that minute on I faded into the background.’

‘Why did she get in touch with you, do you think? Do you think she wanted to strike up something; after all, lots of people go back to past relationships that “might have
been”, especially as she found herself alone with the baby.’

‘I never got that impression. But . . . as it turned out, she and Louise got on better than we ever would have. How far have you got with new evidence from Rose Cottage? Is Davidson
reopening the case?’

‘Not yet. He believes the key to finding out who killed your wife and child is finding out who Chichester is. I’ve been looking over the old autopsy reports. Did you ever see
them?’

He shook his head. ‘I told you – I was in no fit state to see anything for the first year. I never queried anything I was told . . . I never saw the autopsy reports. It’s not
something you show to the family, even if they are police. You know that.’

‘There is a briefing today. We will be discussing your case. Jo Harding is going to be talking us through those autopsy results.’

‘Harding has her own agenda. She hates me, always did. She was a good friend of Chrissie’s. They trained together. I could see she always blamed me. Maybe she was right to . . .
Harding won’t like being pushed. She might be straight out of the pages of a Jackie Collins novel but she doesn’t like people knowing anything about her that she hasn’t told them
whilst performing fellatio.’

‘You might be wrong about Harding.’ Ebony hid a smile behind her coffee. ‘She says she barely knew Chrissie. She’s fought to have the case reopened. I went with her to
Rose Cottage.’

‘What did you find?’

‘It hasn’t been touched since that day. A gardener looks after the outside, that’s all. When you got there that morning did you notice a section of the gatepost was knocked
down?’

‘The gate was open . . . yes, there was rubble at the foot of the post.’

‘Large tyre tracks were found. Something had difficulty turning. They took out the upper part of the post. A large van maybe.’

‘Significant?’

‘Maybe. Did you see blood outside the house?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Inside the house, where Louise and Chrissie were, was there a lot of blood?’

The pain on his face made him turn away, watch the street outside, see people shopping. The Christmas lights swung in the wind. Christmas music played in the café; a waft of cinnamon,
clove and orange circulated. He turned back.