Cold to the Touch

by Cari Hunter

  “Natalie Acre? The ex-bird of the first vic? What about her?”

  She flipped the leaflet around so he could see the name NAT written in thin ballpoint, and watched him compare the mobile number with the one on the screen.

  “Well, bugger me,” he said.

  “Precisely. She has a definite link to one victim and a potential link to our main suspect. We’ll need to—”

  “San!”

  Her head shot up at Nelson’s excited yell. He was waving at her from the opposite side of the office, where a small group of detectives was gathered around Carlyle’s desk. Eleanor already had her coat on, and Carlyle was reaching for his. Sanne and Fred hurried over to join them.

  “They’ve found the van,” Nelson whispered, as Eleanor raised a hand for quiet.

  “Okay, rendezvous point is the corner of Alain Road and Bedivere Mount,” Eleanor said. “The van was dumped on the wasteland that borders the canal and stretches right out to the start of the bypass, and there’s no sign of Rudd. It’s a hell of an area to search, and we don’t have much daylight left, so wrap up warm, vests on, and use blues en route, please.”

  The group dispersed in haste, most heading to the locker room. It was only when Sanne got back to her desk that she realised the leaflet was still in her hand. She shoved it into her pocket and grabbed her coat.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brittle flakes blew into Sanne’s eyes as she checked Nelson’s position and took a couple of strides closer to him. With the light failing and snow beginning to fall in earnest, the team was working to a buddy system, keeping each other within sight and earshot while listening out for updates from command. The expanse of wasteland was covered in brambles, nettles, and unexpected ditches, and Sanne could hear cursing at intervals as people stumbled and tripped over unseen obstacles. New homes had once been planned for the site, but the money had eventually gone elsewhere, and Malory’s kids and addicts now had free rein over the area.

  No attempt had been made to hide Rudd’s van. It had merely been driven until a rut claimed a front tyre, and then it had been abandoned. Although the weather and a convenient bramble thicket concealed it from passing traffic, officers assigned to a local search had soon spotted it.

  A prickly strand of bramble attached itself to Sanne’s trousers and wrapped around her boot. She stopped and used her stick to unravel the stem, casting it aside and then stamping on a remaining tendril. Her legs felt leaden, her toes numb in her boots, and she’d lost her grip on her stick countless times. Now that the adrenaline of the drive and the initial fear of ambush had faded, her lack of sleep at Meg’s bedside was starting to tell on her. Promises of a long bath and a warm bed were just about keeping her on her feet, but it was her unspoken responsibility for the safety of Nelson to her left and Scotty to her right that was forcing her to stay alert. She tapped her stick on a rusted beer can, pushing it aside to check the ground beneath it. Hearing the metallic clink, Nelson looked across, but she shook her head at him and moved on. No smoking gun uncovered, just decades’ worth of litter that would never biodegrade.

  The wind almost swallowed the sudden vibration of her mobile. She pulled off her glove with her teeth and took the phone from her pocket. Hopes that it might be Meg faded as Zoe’s name appeared.

  “Shit.” She watched the phone buzz, the noise like a wasp on a windowpane, and then steeled herself and accepted the call. “Hey, Zoe.”

  “Hallo!” Zoe—obviously not knee-deep in nettles in the middle of a blizzard—sounded full of beans. “Did you have any plans for the evening?”

  Sanne lifted her hat from her ear, sure she must have misheard. “Did I what? I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Zoe laughed. “Tonight, this evening, are you busy?”

  “I’m in the middle of a case, Zoe. Of course I’m busy.”

  “Ah, right.” Zoe’s playful tone became serious. “It’s just that I have something on your friend’s brother, and I was wondering if you could meet for a quick drink to discuss it.”

  Sanne rested her forehead on her stick and counted to ten. She didn’t want to go. She knew she would, of course, but she really didn’t want to. If she were being honest, she was mystified as to what Zoe saw in her. Everything about them seemed worlds apart, and the most plausible theory might be that Zoe simply liked a challenge.

  “Can you not tell me over the phone?” she asked.

  “No, it’s something I need to show you.”

  Ten yards ahead of Sanne, Nelson hesitated and turned back. She waved at him, letting him know she was all right. “Okay, I can probably be with you by eight,” she said, when Nelson had walked on. “I’ll text you if anything changes.”

  “Great. Do you know the Bay Horse on Suffolk Street?”

  “Yep, I know it. I’ll see you there.” Sanne ended the call and tugged her hat back down as Nelson jogged over.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just fabulous,” she said. “I have a date with the Valkyrie tonight at eight.”

  He whistled and bumped his stick against hers. “How did she manage to wangle that?”

  “She dangled a carrot in the form of Luke Fielding.”

  “Ah.” Nelson winced in sympathy. “So basically she has you over a barrel.”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it. I just wanted to go home and have a bath, Nelson.”

  He slung a comforting arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him. “Grin and bear it, San. Guzzle a lemonade, listen to what she has to say, and you’ll be home by ten.”

  “God, I hope so. If it helps Meg, it’ll be worth it.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He released her and turned her in the right direction. “Come on. If we get as far as that patch of crap over there, I have a KitKat with your name on it.”

  *

  Detective Fraser had a habit of licking his pen nib, and a tongue speckled with black ink. Sitting on Emily’s couch with a long-finished mug of coffee, he patiently talked Meg through the events of the previous day and transcribed her answers into statement form.

  “I’m not sure what time Sanne found me,” she said, trying again to find a position that didn’t make her want to cry, and settling for one that was tolerable. “It’d been dark for a while, but I’d lost track. It was late, I think.”

  “And Detective Jensen—Sanne—she has her own key for your house?”

  “Yes, she’s had one for years. She usually knocks if I’m there, though. She hates just letting herself in.”

  That detail made Fraser smile. He was older than Meg’s dad, with grey, thinning hair, and eyes that missed nothing. “Lucky for you she broke her own rule.”

  Meg nodded. “I was very glad to see her.” She glanced around as Emily ducked her head into the room.

  “We’re almost finished,” Fraser told Emily. She had taken herself off to the shops as soon as he’d arrived, and a rustle of bags suggested she’d had a fruitful outing. He waited for her to close the door again. “Sanne’s statement details everything I need from that point onward. Are you happy for me to incorporate that into yours?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Meg could feel sweat gathering at her hairline. She stared out the window as Fraser resumed writing. It was snowing again, a small drift collecting on the balcony and the skyline disappearing amid streaks of white. All at once, the room felt too hot and too small, and she pushed at the blanket covering her knees.

  “Meg?”

  Fraser’s voice made her jump, although he hadn’t raised it.

  “Can I just…?” She pointed to the patio doors, and he understood at once, giving her an arm to lean on and walking with her across the floor. As she stepped outside in her slippered feet, raising her heated face to the snow, the breath she took seemed to loosen her lungs.

  Fraser stayed beside her, his hand wrapping around the balcony’s railing a safe distance from hers. “I know you’re a doctor and that you’ll probably have access to all of this anyway,” he said, “bu
t if you need someone to speak to, I can give you the relevant contact numbers.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll manage.” She listened to the patter of snow hitting the concrete and tried to imagine talking to a complete stranger about what had happened, when she couldn’t even bring herself to tell Emily.

  *

  Two inches of snow in less than an hour had transformed the derelict patch of land into a pleasant field of gentle slopes and glittering foliage. The clouds cleared as dusk gave way to true night, a large low moon providing better visibility than the daylight. The weather would play havoc with Sanne’s journey home, but she still couldn’t resist the lure of a good snowfall: the scrunch of it beneath her boots, the giddy glee of something so different from the usual murk and drizzle of a northern English winter. The hills would be at their most spectacular, and the city streets, even on estates like Halshaw and Malory, would look clean for once. Halfway to the middle of nowhere, her breath puffing out in mint-scented clouds from the humbug warming her throat, she was sorry to hear the call from command ordering everyone back to the rendezvous point. Nothing useful had been found in the hours they had spent out there, but the repetitive forward-prod-uncover-recover routine had worked to take her mind off everything but her colleagues’ well-being and the placement of her own feet.

  Turning back made her stumble, her legs too accustomed to a slow onward plod. She dug her stick deep for balance and waited for Nelson to join her.

  “I have officially out-frozen the capabilities of my long johns,” he announced with all the gravitas of a BBC news reporter. A layer of snow had stuck to his wiry curls, giving him an impromptu cap. “You look cosy. What’s your secret?”

  Sanne took his arm and set off toward the closest pavement. “Layers, mate. Lots and lots of layers. Also, you need a hat that’s not made out of ice.”

  He batted at his hair, but more snow quickly began to fill the gap he made. “Reckon Carlyle will share his brolly with me?” he asked as they neared the shivering group of searchers reconvened by the roadside.

  “I doubt it,” Sanne said, releasing his arm once she felt the firmness of concrete beneath the snow. “The sarge has never struck me as the sharing type.”

  Carlyle wasn’t even sharing his umbrella with Eleanor, who stood nearby, gauging how many of the team were yet to arrive. Seemingly satisfied, she lowered her hood.

  “I’m going to keep this brief,” she said. “I know you’re all cold and knackered, and it’s getting late. So in a nutshell, go home, and be back at HQ tomorrow at six for assignments. Most of you will either be out here again or farther along the canal to continue searching the buildings and warehouses we’re in the process of obtaining warrants for. The forecast is for more of the same, so don’t turn up dressed for the office. And thank you for your efforts today.”

  The group broke apart with a flurry of hails and shouts, arranging transport home or to cars left at HQ. Sanne checked her watch: twenty past seven. Given the state of the roads, she would have to go straight into the city if she wanted to meet Zoe.

  “Keep the pool car,” Nelson said quietly. “I can get a lift back to HQ with Scotty.”

  “Would you mind?” Sanne peered around to see who might be listening. Protocol dictated that the car be returned at the end of a shift. “I think I’ll miss her otherwise.”

  “Of course not.” He brushed a snowflake off her nose and held out the keys. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I have a horrible feeling that I’m going to need it.”

  He hurried off to catch Scotty, leaving her to scrape the snow from the car and then sit hugging herself as the windows defrosted. The cold draught from the heater made her nose run, so she delved into her pocket for a tissue, pulling out the Mission Cross leaflet along with it. Still unable to see a thing through the windscreen, she made a snap decision and dialled the number on the back of the leaflet. Her pulse galloped as she waited for the call to connect. She didn’t have a clue what she was going to say, and it was almost a relief when she heard the automated message: “This number has not been recognised.” She lowered the phone and double-checked what she’d dialled, but the number was right, and she knew it matched the one listed for Natalie in the case contacts. She half-considered phoning Eleanor, but was loath to until she’d dug a little deeper, something she would do as soon as she got into the office the next morning.

  Spurred on by her plan, she wiped the last of the mist from the windows and pulled out onto the road. She reached Sheffield’s city centre with two minutes to spare and threw a handful of change into the first available parking meter. Leaving the ignition running, she adjusted the rearview mirror and gave her hair a quick once-over. Her hat hadn’t done her any favours. What it hadn’t flattened, it had pushed into wild tufts, while windburn had chapped her lips and left her face scarlet.

  “Oh, fuck it.” She switched off the ignition and plunged the car into darkness.

  Suffolk Street was lively with happy hour-seeking office workers, no doubt making the snow their excuse for staying out late and going home drunk. A pair of women, tottering along in high heels and dresses that barely covered their arses, shrieked as they clutched at each other for support and begged Sanne to lend them her boots. One of them blew her a kiss when she declined, but she was doing them a favour really. After a day in the field, her boots were so disgusting that the smell of them alone would probably suffice to keep Zoe at a safe distance.

  The doorman at the Bay Horse looked at her askance, as if permitting entry to such a downtrodden ruffian would be bad for business. He stepped aside just as she was about to pull her ID on him, his grudging “Good evening” aimed at the floor.

  “Thank you. Good evening,” she said with perfect diction, her head held high. She was used to people making snap judgements about her, and it always amused her to confound their expectations.

  The Bay Horse had the façade of a traditional pub and the interior of an upmarket wine bar, its open-plan design forcing most of its customers to gather around floor-to-ceiling concrete pillars while gazing enviously at the lucky few who had managed to secure a booth. The lighting was minimal and tinged with red, giving it the ambience of an over-populated bordello. As Sanne walked past a speaker, she could feel the deafening bass beating against her sternum.

  Starting at the near end, she scanned each face in turn, the dingy lighting forcing her to venture farther into the crowd. Everyone seemed to be taller than her, their cheeks pink with alcohol and the strain of shouted conversations. She was on the verge of turning tail and making a run for it when she heard Zoe’s voice. Zoe was sitting in one of the smaller booths, an intimate curve of leather seating around a circular table. Three pint glasses and a shot glass already sat empty in front of her, and she swayed slightly as she stood to greet Sanne. The kiss-blowing girls on the street would probably have rejected her blue satin dress on the grounds of indecency.

  “Hi!” She left the booth to kiss Sanne’s cheek, a warm waft of beer on her breath. “What can I get you?”

  “Something soft, please. Apple juice?”

  Zoe passed no comment, her broad shoulders merely rising in an elegant shrug as she headed for the bar. Sanne wriggled into the booth, edging away from Zoe’s spot and taking off her coat before anyone could stage a coup. Although her instincts were screaming at her to find out what Zoe knew and then scarper, she didn’t want to appear rude. If Zoe had discovered something useful about Luke, then the least Sanne could do was take the time to have a drink with her.

  “Here you go.” The booth wasn’t designed for a graceful entrance, but Zoe somehow managed one, handing Sanne a tall glass of sparkling apple complete with straw and cocktail umbrella.

  “Sorry, I should’ve got these.” Sanne patted her coat, searching for her wallet.

  Zoe waved the offer down and clinked her glass against Sanne’s. “My pleasure. It’s really good to see you.”

  As if given permission, Sanne sucked
up a quarter of her juice, but her mouth was dry again the second she released the straw. “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting. I got stuck at work, and the main roads were worse than I’d expected.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I had the day off, so I came in to the shops.” Zoe indicated a heap of bags stashed beneath the table. “I usually head here to unwind when I’ve finished. The chap on the door is a good mate of mine.”

  “I nearly didn’t get past him. I don’t think I’m compliant with the dress code.” Sanne’s heart sank as she looked again at the bags by her feet. There was little likelihood of Zoe having obtained any information while busy on a shopping spree. Sanne swirled the straw in her glass, trying not to betray herself by stabbing it into the ice cubes. “Zoe?” she said.

  Even with the music pounding, Zoe must have heard the warning note in Sanne’s voice, because her lips curled into a rueful pout. “Okay, it’s a fair cop. You got me,” she said. “I wanted to see you, and I couldn’t think of any other way.”

  Sanne pushed her glass aside. “You lied about Luke just to bring me here?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Zoe grinned, her teeth a flash of brilliance in the crimson gloom. She leaned across and brushed her fingers down Sanne’s cheek. “Come on. I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’d be flattered if I were you.”

  Sanne flinched away, more annoyed at herself than anything. She really should have seen this coming. “I don’t have time for this, Zoe. I’ve got so much to do, with the case and everything. I have to go.” She had gathered her coat and inched to the end of the seat when Zoe caught her arm.

  “You can’t even finish your drink?”

  Sanne shook her off. “No, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.” She managed to get out of the booth and headed for the exit. The racket from the bar left her ears ringing, and she didn’t realise anyone was behind her until she turned onto the side street where she’d left her car.