Dead of Winter djm-1

by Lee Weeks

  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.

  Chapter 29

  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.’

  Chapter 30

  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 info
rmation 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.

  ‘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.’

  Chapter 31

  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.