The Dead Of Winter

by Billy McLaughlin

  Myra Rooney discreetly slipped into the hallway when Kevin Wallace beckoned.

  The gesture hadn’t been lost on either Joanne or Dan and they both rose to their feet at the same time. Joanne stretched her shoulders up to unknot the tightness in her back and cocked her ear in the direction of the two officers. It was difficult to hear everything that was being said.

  “… doesn’t know when she… she went up to check… yeah, Samantha Bradley…”

  Myra suddenly became aware that Joanne had edged towards the door. She held up her hand to Wallace and ordered him to keep her in the loop. She then returned to the lounge, taking Joanne’s arm gently and sitting her down.

  She was a small woman with a mass of scraped back, silver hair and blotchy skin that looked as if she had had an allergic reaction to something. Still, she seemed nice and Joanne certainly trusted her more than she did the men who had now finished grilling her husband. Not that she wasn’t tempted to strangle him herself right now.

  “The girl next door, Samantha, do you know her very well?” Myra was straight to the point and she could see the relief and the anger merge on Joanne’s expression.

  “Not really. She came and helped babysit last week. My friend’s daughter Shannon has looked after Archie a few times. Just whilst Dan was at work and I had some things I needed to do.”

  Myra watched Joanne closely and it became instantly clear that Joanne felt she had to defend her decision to leave her six-month-old baby with a neighbour. “Listen, Joanne. I’m not here to judge. So what if you had things to do? You entrusted your baby to your friend’s daughter. Nobody’s arresting you for that.”

  Joanne sighed loudly, it was apparent she hadn’t just been blaming her husband, but also herself. She smiled slightly and for the first time since the police had arrived, they saw something other than distress on her face. She covered her mouth and began to cry again.

  “We also don’t judge smiles, Joanne. It’s not a point scoring system. We’re not less likely to find Archie because you smiled.” Myra sensed that Joanne often mentally punished herself for everything she didn’t get right. She was like most new mothers; learning on the job and living on frayed nerves when they didn’t get it right. Myra wanted to tell her she would be in for a long miserable life if she was going to torment herself over everything she didn’t get right. She decided against imparting wisdom that she had only just acquired herself.

  “So, Samantha Bradley? Did she seem okay to you? Was there anything odd about the way she was with Archie?”

  Joanne pulled herself together and looked at Myra sharply. She looked at Dan for assistance but he simply shrugged. He had probably been too engrossed in work, or the PlayStation, or another rugby game. He had never looked so idiotic to her. She glimpsed back at Myra who was watching the exchange of glances between the couple. “No, there was nothing. She seems a pleasant enough girl. I had to ask her not to pick Archie up so often as he was becoming a little irritable. Nothing strange about that though.”

  Myra nodded in agreement. “No, it was the same with my niece when I had my youngest. They think they’re little dolls.” She paused. “And was Shannon the same. Did you have to speak to her about the amount of attention she was giving Archie?”

  “No! She was a natural. That’s why I trusted her. You could tell she’s been around a lot of babies. Laura said she’s forever babysitting her younger cousins.” Joanne still wasn’t sure where this questioning was going. “Do you think Samantha is involved?”

  Myra knew it was too soon to give out that kind of information. They didn’t yet have any proof that Samantha had done anything. The fact they had found her button at the backdoor of the Wilson house and she was now also missing might still turn out to be a coincidence. Myra doubted it though. Still, she decided to play it safe. “We’re not sure yet. Her mother just reported that she’s not at home. We’re making sure we’ve looked at all the options. Our men are checking all the houses on the street. Just in case he’s with a neighbour or somebody’s seen something.”

  “I’ll bloody choke somebody if they’ve just come in and taken him for a walk.” Joanne was furious now at the suggestion, although she’d be most relieved if it turned out to be the case. She looked close to tears again.

  “I don’t know how this feels. I left my kid in the art galleries once. I think every mother has one of those stories. Three minutes she was gone, and it felt like I’d been through the wars. I just want to let you know Joanne that this isn’t your fault. The last thing you need to do is blame yourself. Let’s focus on getting Archie home.” She rubbed on Joanne’s arm until the girl snatched it away.

  “Oh, I don’t blame myself,” snapped Joanne, suddenly and without pause. “I blame him,” she roared, pointing at Dan before rolling onto the sofa and allowing everything to just crumble from within.

  EIGHT

  Casey Miller sat perfectly rigid, and dazed, on her bed as she nursed the mobile phone in her hand. Her bedroom, a former ode to One Direction, was dimmed so she could only just see her own reflection in the mirror. It was a face she did not want to recognise. She was being asked to lie again and it didn’t sit well with her at all. In actuality, it left her feeling quite isolated. She was 15-years-old and yet, she felt like she had the weight of a forty-year-old on her shoulders.

  Carla threw open the bedroom door and bounced into the room with her usual exuberant gait. “Guess what?” Carla was Casey’s senior and spent her life ricocheting from one disaster to the next. In some ways, she tried to mother Casey but in other ways she was so much less sensible than Casey. Usually!

  The two girls were so utterly different it was difficult to equate them as sisters. Carla had a wild mop of brown hair and breasts that were too big for her five-foot frame. She wore clothes that looked like they’d been thrown together in an art class. Her make-up was caked on like somebody who had just escaped from the eighties. All she needed was big hoop earrings and she’d have been a bona fide throwback to a time before she was born.

  Casey, by contrast, was quiet and studious. She wore small black glasses that both highlighted her blue eyes and accentuated her cheekbones. Her tousled hair fell around her face, framing it so it was just the right shape. By all accounts, she was prettier than her sister but wasn’t the type to acknowledge it when it was pointed out to her.

  “What’s wrong babe?” Carla noticed Casey hadn’t responded to her and now rested her chin on her knees. She looked desolate. It wasn’t a look Carla had ever seen on her before. She began to worry. “Casey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is it because you’ve heard about little Archie going missing?” She moved along the bed so she could wrap her arm around Casey’s shoulder.

  Casey felt her lip tremble and had to choke back the tears.

  “Come on, they’ll find him. This is not something you should have to worry about.”

  The tears defeated her and she felt herself begin to retch. As it began to pass, she found her voice “It’s not that,” she muttered and took a deep breath.

  “What then? I’ve never seen you like this before babe. You know you can tell me anything.” Carla knew she worried too much about Casey but she also knew when there was something not right. Her sister was level-headed, sensible and generally only re - acted if something got out of hand. She could feel Casey tremble now. “Casey, you’re frightening me now. Tell me what the matter is? You know I’ve always got your back.”

  “Not this time,” snapped Casey. “You’ll hate me and so will everybody else.” Her chest heaved as she tried to control the tears. A bead of sweat trickled down her distraught face.

  Carla wrapped her arms a little tighter round Casey’s back and rested her chin on Casey’s head. “You know I could never hate you. Neither could mum nor dad. We can only help you if you tell us what it is that’s gotten you so upset. Is it a boy?”

  Casey dropped her eyes. Every trauma Carla had ever endured had been centred around a boy. She’d thought of nothi
ng else when she was thirteen years old. Neither of them could count the times Carla had come home broken hearted when another short-lived relationship had ended. Back then, the house had been held in the grip of her teenage angst for five years. So far that hadn’t been the family’s experience of Casey. Their mother could weep with relief.

  When Casey didn’t respond to her last question, Carla tried to delve a little deeper. “Is it Shannon? Have you fallen out with her?” This time she got a reaction. She saw pleading in her little sister’s eyes. What was she pleading for though? Did she want Carla to keep pushing the subject or did she want her to drop it altogether? What could be so awful that Casey would be this distraught? What could Shannon have possibly said? Whatever it was it wasn’t getting talking about tonight, so Carla leaned over and pressed her red lips against Casey’s forehead. “I’m here for you when you want to talk. Love you loads.”

  Carla didn’t bounce out of the room with the same energy as she had come in. It was almost as if she had stepped into a vortex and matured. She blew a kiss across the air to her little sister and then closed the door.

  When she was gone, Casey rolled over onto her bed and looked at her phone again. She still didn’t want to respond. She curled herself into a ball until her knees were folded into her chest. She had lied once too often for Shannon. This time her friend, and neighbour, had gone too far. This time she had left Casey with no choices. She would have to say something. Her worst fear, though, was that when her parents and Carla learned of what they’d done, they would never be able to look her in the eyes again.

  NINE

  Laura opened the door and ushered Irving into the lounge. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?” It made what she had to say a lot easier knowing he’d already met the man from the photo. She barely acknowledged Wallace as he entered.

  Shannon sat on the sofa in her pyjamas and fanned her face with a piece of paper.

  “You said you had something to show us?” Wallace sniffed at Laura as he walked past her and stood by the fire. She was distinctly drunker than Joanne and he surmised she had continued to drink after coming home. His hunch was confirmed when he eyed a half empty bottle of wine and a glass on the table.

  “Shannon,” she nudged her head at her daughter, who sat quietly on the sofa. “Show the officer the photograph.”

  Wallace walked towards her and reached for the photograph that she held in her hand. He recognised the corner of the house because he’d only just searched around it a while before. “Who is this?” He pointed towards the figure in the centre of the photo.

  “Greg Burns,” spat Laura as if the words dirtied her mouth. “You know him, don’t you officer? You remember him from the last time you were here?”

  Irving moved towards the table and grabbed for the photo. “How do you know it's him? It’s dark and the picture is quite pixelated.”

  Laura laughed through gritted teeth. “It’s him. Look at it.” She slapped her hand against the page. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognise him. You can see the evil from a mile off.”

  Irving sneered at her. “Mrs Gilfeather, Greg Burns was exonerated of any crime. His step-father is now serving thirteen years for murdering his mother. You know that. The only evil I saw around here was the way people treated a young man with a severe learning disability. I’m pleased nothing much has changed.”

  Wallace darted a silent warning shot.

  “Then why the hell is he lurking in this picture not six hours ago?” Laura sniffed and reached for the chardonnay bottle.

  Shannon still hadn’t spoken.

  “The question is why you have this photo in the first place?” Irving learned towards Shannon who flushed guiltily.

  “Oh what, so now it’s a crime to take photos, but not to stalk people?”

  “It depends on the reason for taking the photo. Shannon, why do you have this picture?”

  Shannon finally found her tongue. “I saw him standing there, so I took the photo just in case.”

  Irving refrained from laughing. He didn’t know whether to pick her up on the obvious lie or commend her on her incredible foresight. “Then why didn’t you call us. You have a photo of a man lurking outside the house where a baby has been kidnapped and you didn’t think to tell anybody.”

  Laura glowered at him. “She told me.”

  Wallace had been watching the exchange quietly until now. He had decided he would let it play out and see what Irving got out of them. After all, he had more of a history with these people than Wallace did. His patience was beginning to wear thin, so he interjected. “Then why didn’t you call us. You’re the responsible adult here.” He eyed the bottle again as she lifted it from the table. “Or appear to be, anyway.”

  Laura scowled and slammed the bottle down. “Well are you going to arrest him. My friend’s baby is missing and I’ll bet you a pound to a penny he’s responsible.” She wrapped her arms around her body and then slumped onto the sofa beside her daughter.

  “Well I think that’s a bit of a leap Mrs Gilfeather. I will take the photo if you don’t mind. I’m sure if Mr Burns has any connection to the Wilson’s or their baby, we’ll soon find out. In the meantime, we’d appreciate your discretion.” Wallace was quite certain she wouldn’t keep it to herself for very long. They’d have to act quickly if they wanted to follow up on this lead.

  As they were about to leave, Wallace crooked his head to Shannon. “Do you have the original of this photo before you cropped it?” He hadn’t accused her of anything, but the look on her face told him she certainly had something to hide.

  “No,” she replied frostily. “I deleted it once I printed it off. I didn’t think I’d need it again.”

  “She’s a liar,” said Irving once they’d left.

  Wallace nodded his head. “Of course she is. She’s in very good company though. I wouldn’t trust this lot with my dog. Do you know how we can get in touch with this Greg Burns?”

  Irving held his hands up in immediate defeat. “Not a clue. He lived in the house where the Bradley’s live now. If I remember correctly though, there was one neighbour who was friendly with him.”

  “What’s the gig with this kid? Is he nuts?” Wallace was past the point of mincing his words. He wanted to get home to bed whilst his wife was still in a good mood with him.

  “No. He really isn’t. They treated him like shit around here. It was like watching a witch hunt. The stepfather was Mr Friendly, so naturally everybody was quick to believe him when he tried to pin the blame on Greg. It’s easy to see why people were so quick to believe it. He’s a big lump of a guy. Size of a barn. Looks at you like he’s staring right through you. But he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.” Irving still got goose bumps when he thought of that stare. It had given him the creeps the first time he’d met Greg. Then the young man had opened his mouth.

  “I suppose you have to ask if he really is benevolent though. I mean, what’s he doing here? Why’s he lurking around his old house and watching the neighbours? It does seem an awful coincidence that he should suddenly appear the night a baby and a teenage girl should go missing.” Wallace was certain he was missing something. He couldn’t fathom why Greg Burns would even want to take a baby from somebody he didn’t know.

  “If the picture was even taken tonight. Deleted from her computer? Yeah, right?” Irving sighed loudly and walked back across the road.

  Wallace stepped onto the road behind him and kicked away some of the black sludge. “Hey, Allan. Do me a favour. While I see if I can get an address from the station, would you go and speak to that old neighbour and try to get some more information? Maybe she knows why he’s hanging around here. Right now, though, my money’s still on the girl next door.”

  TEN

  Morning came and Kevin Wallace parked his car at the front of the Wilson house. He and Irving had managed to get home for a few hours shut-eye. Now it was back to the grindstone. Wallace sat alone in his car and stared the length of Golf Road. It wa
s one of those picturesque streets, even in the heart of winter, that he and his wife could only dream of living in. The road was so long and the horizon so white that he couldn’t even tell where the tarmac met the sky. It was lined with detached houses, every one different from the last and gardens that would be manicured to perfection if they hadn’t been flattened by the heavy winter fall.

  Wallace cranked up the heat in the car and took a well-earned ten-minute reprieve from the emotional heckling of the Wilsons. In his twenty-year career with the police force, he discovered almost every door he ever knocked on masked lives that were never really what they seemed. He was already learning that Golf Road was no different. Every house walled in its own variance of secrets and lies.

  In that moment, as he thought of his own family unit, he resisted the persistent urge to take a drink. He only ever got to those dark moments when the stress became too much. It was the first time he had ever worked on the case of a missing kid. His terror was like a house of cards. He worried that he would screw this case up and Archie wouldn’t be returned safely. Then he worried that his worry was palpable and everybody could see it. Then he worried he would end his one hundred and eightieth day of sobriety and that terrified him more than anything else he would face.

  The wait for a response made him impatient as he tried to bury the lingering need to drink. To brighten his mood and to bury those dark thoughts, he pulled down the sun visor and revealed a photo of his family. He had a wife who had already endured too much of his bullshit and two kids who he was determined not to throw into the mixing bowl of his dysfunction. If he could get them right, then he would have something in his personal life to be proud of.

  The phone rang and disturbed him from his transience. “Jimmy, what have you got for me?”

  The man at the other end spoke in a brittle tone that vibrated through the loudspeaker. “Nothing. The guy is as clean as they get. No convictions. No arrests. Not even a disturbance complaint. The only contact he’s ever had with us is when he was being harassed by a 15-year-old girl at the school he works. A couple of the boys in blue had to go out and speak to her parents about it. I think you’ve got nothing here.”