Snow Burn: A thrilling detective mystery

by PT Reade

  His computers were still there.

  Ashburn’s machines sat there among the mess, as yet unmolested by the police. They were presumably battling through the red tape of investigating the very building that paid their wages. Ashburn had a laptop and a desktop model sitting among the clutter. I walked quickly over to them and powered them both up. As they came on, I kept looking to the door and felt my heart nearly drop out of my chest when I realized that I had not locked it back behind me.

  I ran over to do just that, feeling like a fool. This was perhaps the riskiest thing I had done since being in London. If I got caught, I was looking at some very serious jail time. The fact that Ashburn was dead would likely also place me in the middle of the likely suspects. Heading back to the computers, I suddenly became very afraid that this might end badly for me.

  The computers came up at nearly the same time. I tried the desktop model first, but it was useless. It was set up to view the internal system within Parliament, and any files in there were locked up so tight Houdini couldn’t have gotten them out.

  The laptop, however, was a different story. It seemed to be Ashburn’s personal computer. There were a few password protected folders, but I was still able to find some private information in documents that were saved on the desktop.

  A bit more digging through these files and I was able to come to some more conclusions. It was like getting a psychological looking through the files and personal emails. Ashburn’s notes sounded paranoid and delusional. He was certainly under a lot of pressure and some of the wording certainly sounded like he had regrets about his actions, but was there more going on here?

  Had someone been blackmailing the Home Secretary? If so, to what end?

  It was too much to consider that all of this might have been taking place right within the center of government. Parliament had been the center of controversy for hundreds of years and it seemed traditions were alive and well, even today. The place seemed to have more cloak and dagger than a Renaissance Fair.

  As I was about to close up shop and get the hell out of Dodge before I was caught, another thought hit me. I pulled up Ashburn’s internet and checked his history. I scanned through various news sites, e-mail accounts, and sports sites before something jumped out at me.

  I saw my own website on his list and links to news articles about my previous case. The site had been Amir’s idea, and it had only been live for about a month.

  Instinct started to uncoil in my guts, and a line of reasoning began to knit itself together. It made no sense, but it also sort of did…in a weird way.

  This entire time, the source of my income from the Ashburn case had been coming from an anonymous source. Now, given the nature of his death and the fact that these files were out in the open on his public computer, I couldn’t help but wonder if Ashburn himself had hired me to find the original blackmail video.

  I shut the computers back down, wishing there was a way to take the laptop out of the building. I’d talk to Jamal and see if he knew any tricks that would let me have permanent access to the information. I rifled through the papers on the desk but found nothing of use. But there was a USB stick that had been buried under a few papers. I picked it up and was about to pocket it when I heard the door open and close quickly behind me.

  Wake up, Tom!

  I had been so distracted by the computers that I hadn’t been aware that someone had snuck into the room until the door had almost closed entirely shut behind them. I suddenly realized my mistake when I saw the woman standing there. She wore a face I recognized, but the malicious smile was all new.

  I was about to ask what the hell was going on when she raised the gun and pointed it at my chest.

  ELEVEN

  The wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Victoria Hargrave no longer looked like the sad and passive lady I had seen on television, sobbing and giving a speech shortly after Ashburn’s death. Gone were the doe eyes and innocent demeanor. Now she stood decked in all black, holding a confident shooter’s stance. Her dark brows were knit in a scowl, and there was a predatory iciness in her brown eyes that made me feel as if she would have no problem at all pulling the trigger.

  I had to give it to her. She’d fooled everyone.

  “Step away from the computers,” she snapped. I noticed her delicate British pronunciation had vanished; now she had an accent that was hard to place. I guessed Eastern European.

  What the hell?

  Wherever they were from, her words seemed colder than the weather outside.

  I almost wanted to reply that I was done with them and had shut them down for her, but I didn’t think my snarkiness was going to help me out of this situation. So I did as she asked, stepping away from the computers and slowly raising my hands into the air.

  “Now come out from behind the desk,” she said.

  Reluctantly, I followed along again. I had no other choice. The only real hope I had of surviving was the knowledge that we were in the Houses of Parliament and if she pulled the trigger, dozens of guards would be here within seconds.

  Surely she had to know that?

  She did.

  I stood cursing my luck as Hargrave reached into a pocket and withdrew a familiar lump of black tubular metal; a silencer.

  Shit.

  I considered rushing her right then, but the distance was not on my side so I decided to play along. As she carefully screwed the device to the end of the pistol, I also recognized the stubby gun as one of Russian design — a Makarov; cheap, reliable, and ubiquitous among Russian Police, Armed Forces…and ultimately Eastern European criminals. It was all starting to add up. It might’ve been a leap, but this made me wonder if there was some connection here. Ashburn’s death, Stoyanov, Hargrave…

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. Now more confident she wouldn’t be heard if she chose to pull the trigger.

  “My job,” I replied. “I was hired to get to the bottom of the leaks, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. I was trying to clear Ashburn’s name.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” she scoffed. “Unless you were planning on doing it grave-side.”

  I had a million questions but decided to keep it simple. “Why the gun?” I asked, feeling perspiration beading on my forehead. Was it the stress or was I merely sweating out the booze? Hard to know.

  Heroes in movies never sweat a loaded gun pointing at them, but people in real life are smart enough to know different. Whether by intention or a slip of the hand, a negligent discharge can cause a world of problems.

  For some reason I remembered the words of my firearms instructor when I was a rookie back in the States.

  “A bullet has no conscience. It can’t be reasoned with.”

  Hargrave eyed me skeptically, and for a moment, the room was heavy with tension. Like two master poker players engaged in a high-stakes bluff-call over an expensive game, we were in the ultimate gamble.

  I tried to gauge how quickly I could disarm her. She was trying to decide how much I knew, whether I could blow her cover.

  And whether she should shoot me dead.

  “So, did you kill him?” I asked, taking a hesitant step forward. “Did you poison Jonathan’s stash?”

  Her reaction answered for her.

  With a snarl she raised the gun to head height and thrust it toward my face. I saw her finger tremble on the trigger.

  “I made him.” She spat. “Jonathan would have been nothing without me….But then he decided to come clean, the fool.” The briefest twinge of regret crossed her features. “Once he saw those images in the papers, he was almost happy. He told me he was done. No more drugs, no more deals, no more lies, he said. He was going to come clean and resign. We couldn’t risk that.”

  “We?” I asked

  She took a step closer to me and for a moment, I was certain that she was going to pull the trigger. I silently called out to Sarah and Tommy, knowing we would soon be reunited.
<
br />   When the bullet didn’t come, I summoned the last of my bravado. Shaking with adrenaline, I continued.

  “You going to shoot me?”

  Whether it was courage or stupidity, my heart was beating into my throat and I wondered if she could hear it from her position. “You know a gunshot in a government building – even a silenced one – will cause lockdown. You’ll be thrown into the kind of place that makes Guantanamo look like Disney Land. Just another forgotten footnote in the messed up story of Jonathan Ashburn’s life.”

  “Shut up,” she said, scowling at me. “I ask the questions.”

  I knew that she had all of the answers too. A few of them were clicking already in my head, but there were so many more that I needed.

  There were only three feet between us now, and the barrel of the gun looked impossibly dark.

  “You’re the detective?” she snapped.

  “Something like that.” I replied. “And I found some information I think the press might be very interested in on that computer right there.”

  The bait was irresistible. I could see the cogs turning behind her eyes as she thought about the implications. As she did, her posture relaxed the slightest bit. Almost unnoticeable. I knew it was my only chance. I felt the USB stick still in my hand and, to carry out one last comical act in this whole adventure, I drew it back.

  ***

  It’s a strange thing about instinct, I mused. No matter how strong or how well trained we are, our reflexes are always stronger. We hold our breath when we hit water, we pull a hand back when we burn it…and we close our eyes when something threatens our face.

  It was a dumb move, but in the absence of any smart moves, it was all I had.

  So I launched the memory stick towards Hargrave’s face with a flick of my wrist. I never meant to cause injury, just distract her.

  I was surprised when it worked.

  The motion itself distracted her, and she nearly dropped the gun. The USB stick then hit her under the left eye, making a soft thunk sound, and she cried out in surprise. By the time she had regained her composure, I was already charging in. I drove my shoulder into her stomach, and her feet came off of the ground as I shoved her back and felt the drywall crumple under the impact.

  Still, as she slid down the wall with a groan, she threw a knee up. It caught me squarely between the legs, and I went to one knee right away, gasping for breath as pain threatened to overwhelm me.

  Through my narrowing vision, I spotted the gun on the carpet. I lunged for it, but Hargrave twisted away and managed to snap her foot out in a powerful sweep against the back of my knee. I caught my balance just in time, still arched over in pain from the blow to the crotch. But Hargrave was on me again, grabbing my head, driving me to the floor.

  She was fighting dirty, and there was no way I could win this by being a gentleman.

  I hated to do it (my mother had taught me much better, after all), but I cocked my elbow up and threw it squarely into the side of her head. I didn’t hit women, but this harpy was a killer, and by my estimates, didn’t qualify.

  She stumbled against the wall, holding her temple. I leaped for the gun and managed to snatch it up without any problem but my balance was spinning. I got to my feet slowly, and when I did, I saw the door to Ashburn’s office opening. Hargrave dashed out of the office and into the hallway beyond.

  I fully expected her to scream for help. After all, hers was a familiar face around here. The fact that she didn’t was basically the proof I needed that this woman was deeper into all of this than I thought.

  I palmed the weapon, tucked it into the inside of my coat, feeling the old familiar weight.

  And then I sprinted after her.

  TWELVE

  Falling skies.

  The halls of power were just as empty as it had been when I had entered Ashburn’s office. Apparently, the scuffle I’d had with Victoria Hargrave had not made enough noise to arouse anyone’s interest outside. I was thankful I’d prevented the gun from going off, for now. I needed to move fast, unhindered by security.

  I stayed motionless for a moment, listening for any sounds of movement. I heard the slightest scuffing of hurried footsteps to my left echoing from around the turn in the hallway.

  I bolted in that direction and rounded the corner just in time to see what, at first, seemed very peculiar. An empty hallway. Then I saw one slender leg, dressed in black slacks, disappearing through an ornate window halfway along the passage. It took my confused mind about two seconds to realize that Hargrave was making an escape bid through the fire exit. And since she knew these grounds much better than I did, I needed to get on her trail quickly.

  I raced to the window and saw that Hargrave was in such a hurry that she didn’t even bother closing it behind her. I had to lift it a bit more to squeeze out. As I emerged onto the fire escape I was immediately pummeled by the freezing wind and howling flakes all around. I stepped precariously out onto a slightly slanted roof and saw that a heavy dusting of snow had coated the walkways. That was going to make for treacherous pursuit…as if chasing after someone on incline roofs wasn’t treacherous enough.

  I took a single step to give chase after Hargrave — who was already to the edge of the roof and making the breathtaking jump to the next — when I heard a voice call out behind me.

  “Hey, you! Stop right there!”

  I wasn’t surprised that security had finally gotten involved.

  I assumed that this was someone who had seen a stranger crawling through the third floor window in the House of Parliament. That meant that not only did I have Hargrave and the snow to contend with, but also the possibility that I’d have armed police chasing me down within minutes.

  I raced forward as carefully as I could, leaning back slightly to adjust to the downward angle of the roof. As I started to get a feel for the terrain, I looked ahead and saw that Hargrave was getting her footing on the next roof over. She was headed in a southerly direction which confused me because that would lead her directly to the end of the buildings with only a three story drop waiting for her.

  I came to a stop at the edge of the first roof, sliding a bit on the gathering snow and buffeted by the gusts from below. The distance between the two buildings was less than three feet. It was an easy jump, but from three stories up, I don’t think any jump was easy.

  I didn’t even bother looking into the gap between the buildings. I simply looked ahead at Hargrave’s moving figure, took a breath, and leaped across.

  I landed solidly on the other side, but my left foot lost its traction when I tried to start running, and I nearly went sliding down the tiles before I caught my balance.

  I looked back and saw that a single guard was coming out through the window. Through the glass, I could see two others behind him.

  I had to ignore that for now. I dashed after Hargrave, still uncertain about what might happen. Already, she was coming to the edge of the second and last roof. Behind and below her, the Thames churned on, turbid grey waters threatening. She turned to look down then back at me. From the thirty feet that separated us, I could see the sudden panic and distress in her face.

  I closed the distance and slowed my pace, not wanting to frighten her. I assumed she didn’t have another weapon on her because she would have pulled it out by now. I felt her pistol inside of my coat pocket and hoped to God I wouldn’t have to use it.

  “Stop!” Hargrave said as I neared her.

  I did, coming to a halt about seven feet away. I was very aware of the guards bearing down on us from the first roof. I didn’t have much time, so I was going to have to make it count.

  “Look, you have to tell me what’s going on,” I said. “You know as well I do that when those guards get here, we’re both in a lot of trouble.”

  She seemed to sag, knowing she’d reached the end of the line, one way or another.

  “I didn’t want to hurt him,” she said defensively. “I was just suppos
ed to watch him. Jonathan, he was a good man originally. But then he got involved with some bad deals. And the drugs. I didn’t know they were going to take it this far. I didn’t know they were going to poison him.”

  “Who?” I asked softly, although I was pretty sure I knew she wouldn’t tell me.

  She looked at the ground as if debating internally, then finally spoke quietly with a resigned sadness. “I can’t tell you. They will find me.”

  “Then let’s tell the authorities. We can bring them down. We can —,”

  “No,” she said. “I have no choice. You don’t understand. There’s nowhere to run. They’ll kill me.…”

  “There’s always a choice,” I said. But right then I those words were as hollow as they had been earlier. For some people there was no choice.

  “I’m sorry” She spoke quietly. And for the briefest of seconds I saw that she truly was. She looked at me for a second, and turned.

  “No!”

  Before I could move, before I was even aware of what she was doing, Hargrave placed her feet on the low brick enclosure around the roof and jumped. She leaped from the concrete, and before I could make it to her, she had started to drop.

  She didn’t scream as she went down. My eyes were glued to the sight of her thin body hurtling towards the choppy waters of the River Thames.

  Then suddenly everything turned to pale sky and swirling snow. I felt myself thrown backwards as a pair of hands grabbed me roughly on the shoulders and forced me to the ground.

  As two of the guards held me down and the other looked over the side of the building, I thought I could hear the splash through the howling winds as Hargrave hit the icy water below.

  Or maybe my mind conjured the sound, hoping another life hadn’t been lost. Either way, from that height I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving.

  “Dammit,” the first guard that was looking over the side of the building shouted. He started yelling orders into his radio. “Get someone on the phone. Have someone looking in the river. Keep sentries along the banks for a ten block radius!”