The Winter House

by P. R. Black

  He reached into his coat and pulled out the pistol. He then reversed the gun expertly in his hands, and smashed it against the side of Prill’s head.

  She collapsed, simply and without fuss, into a pile of limbs and polyester on the floor, a dead weight seemingly dropped from some height, arms and legs splayed out.

  Cramond chuckled and shook his head. ‘All the times I’ve wanted to do that to nosy neighbours, man, I tell you…’ He bent down and took her by the shoulders. ‘Best we see if she’s still alive, first. I’ll grab the arms; you get her legs.’

  There was a sharp click. Cramond looked up; his chin dropped. Prill was dropped, too, her head striking the floor.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Where Vonny had been standing a second or two before, there was no one. She’d gone. She’d disappeared.

  Cramond touched the door, seized by the insane suggestion she’d somehow squeezed past him, opened the door and run in the second or two his attention had been diverted. But no; it was shut fast, and even a conjuror couldn’t have diverted his attention for long enough; nor could a contortionist have gotten out without him seeing it.

  The answer was directly ahead of him, at a section of wall just to the right of the kitchen, where the stairs began their spiral up to the balcony level and the bedrooms. A delineation that bulged for a moment, then settled with the click as a lock engaged.

  Cramond ran up to the wall, kicked it, battered it, and snarled his worst threats, his most dire warnings. It was to no avail. He stood back and surveyed it, still astonished.

  ‘A fucking panic room!’

  45

  They stopped shoving Seth long enough to laugh at the caravan, parked at the top of the slope.

  ‘Fuck is that?’ Vinnicombe said, nodding towards the glowing paintwork. ‘Apache? Jesus, they don’t half come up with some ridiculous names for these things. “Warrior Spirit”. Your nan’s sitting in front of it, reading the paper on Skegness seafront.’

  ‘I think it suits the big guy here,’ snarled Jay. Seth felt his breath tickle one of his ears: ‘You fancy being buried in it?’

  Seth didn’t answer him. His mind was about one hundred yards behind him, where the lights burned at his back. He couldn’t see any silhouettes moving, the last time he’d looked back. That had been when Jay had slapped him – hard, from behind, right in the ear. He hadn’t looked back again after that.

  ‘Mind if we take a look inside, big chap?’ Vinnicombe nodded towards the caravan. ‘Just in case you’ve got any nasty surprises in there.’

  Seth shrugged. ‘Be my guest. Take it away with you, if you like. It was going to be a pain in the arse towing it back to the showroom.’

  He reached for his pocket; Jay’s fingers tried to punch through the flesh of his arm; Vinnicombe’s shotgun appeared, Spaghetti-Western quick, from within the folds of his blue duffel coat.

  ‘Oh, come on now,’ Vinnicombe said, laughing. ‘Slowly. Throw the keys onto the deck, beside me. And for goodness’ sake, don’t give our boy here an excuse to zap you one. I think he’s itching to do it.’

  ‘For once, Captain Pugwash here is right,’ Jay said. ‘Now do what he says. Nice and easy.’

  Despite the hardware pointed right at him, Seth considered hurling the keys at Vinnicombe, and taking his chance on his heels. The moment he got to the woods, he surely had an advantage.

  Not yet. Not yet…

  He did as he was told. Vinnicombe stooped to collect the keys, never once taking the pistol off Seth. Then he disappeared up the short incline to where the caravan was berthed. ‘Can I say something to you, as a professional? Not sure about the positioning of your caravan here, pal. Hope it’s secure. This ends up going down the hill, the momentum will probably take it through your wall.’

  ‘You a builder?’ Seth asked. ‘Seriously, if you are, I might have a job for you when all this is over.’

  ‘He’s funny.’ Vinnicombe snickered, without apparent mirth. ‘He thinks if we like him he’ll be all right. Just go on believing that, big guy. Be safe in the fantasy.’

  Vinnicombe unlocked the caravan and went in, clicking on the light and rooting around.

  While he was gone, Jay whispered: ‘You know, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to shoot you.’

  Seth said nothing. Through the window, he saw Vinnicombe opening drawers and festooning surfaces with a handful of clothes Vonny had left behind. He recognised what he called her ‘comfort bra’, an off-white warhorse that she’d had for as long as Seth had known her. He clenched his teeth.

  ‘No,’ Jay went on, ‘what I’ll do is, cut you with the blade. Remember? The kukri? Family heirloom. Grandad traded it, back in the day. Know how many people I’ve cut with it?’

  ‘They say you have to draw blood every time you draw it.’

  ‘That’s absolutely right,’ Jay said. ‘And it’s going to be yours – if you don’t give us what we want.’ The voice was closer again. ‘You’re running out of room. You’re running out of tricks. And you’re running out of time. Your mind will be racing, just now. You’ll be making plans. You might even think you can run for it. So here’s your first and last warning – don’t be doing anything we don’t like. I won’t hesitate.’

  Seth didn’t reply. Vinnicombe came out of the caravan, grinning. ‘Nothing in there that I could see. Course, if it’s under a panel or it’s stuffed somewhere underneath, we’ll find it, one way or another.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ Jay said. ‘But first, tell us where we’re going.’

  ‘If we’re going in the dark, we’ll have to follow a strange route – if you want to go straight, you have to go through the woods, and I wouldn’t trust my judgement in the dark. We’ll follow a path to the left, heading up towards the drystone wall. Then we cut around it, back towards the pond in the middle of the estate. That’s how we get to the hanging tree.’

  Jay chuckled. ‘Sounds familiar.’

  ‘You been there before?’

  ‘Couldn’t draw you a map. But I can see it, in my mind’s eye. That’s where you left the gear?’

  ‘That’s where we’re going.’

  Vinnicombe’s face darted forward; even in the gloom, it came into sharp enough focus to discern the stiff white spines of stubble on the end of his boxer’s chin. ‘Don’t get smart. The man asked you a direct question: is that where it is?’

  ‘Yes,’ Seth said.

  They followed the slushy path, the air becoming slightly less frigid. As they passed the treeline, slow, fine flakes began to fall again.

  ‘Why couldn’t they have done this in the summer?’ Jay whinged.

  Vinnicombe kept step beside Seth, with the gun held towards his ribs, while Jay was somewhere behind. Seth’s breath steamed up in the chill air, and he cinched his coat tighter.

  ‘Where did you hide the other half of the deal?’ Vinnicombe asked. ‘Out of interest?’

  ‘In the bole of a tree, on the other side of the pond.’

  ‘Might take a look, after we’re done,’ Vinnicombe said, menacingly. ‘You’ll point it out to us, won’t you? Just to make sure you’re not telling lies about our two friends having done a runner with the gear.’

  ‘Be my guest.’ Then Seth stumbled, and fell flat on his face.

  Jay chuckled, as Seth got back up. ‘I thought you were about to plead, then,’ he said. ‘I thought you were going to go on your knees and beg.’

  Vinnicombe frowned, his eyes pooled in shadow. ‘What’ve you got in your hand there?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Seth said. ‘Slipped on the snow. Greasy surface, here.’

  ‘Greasy surface, my plums,’ Vinnicombe said. He shoved the pistol in Seth’s face, then grabbed Seth’s wrist. He twisted, quickly, expertly, and a rock about the size and shape of a slice of sponge cake fell out of Seth’s hand.

  ‘Hey,’ Jay said, all traces of mirth gone.

  Vinnicombe scooped up the rock in one fluid move. ‘Sly bastard. Was that for me, maybe?�
�� Before Seth could answer, Vinnicombe wrapped his fingers around the rock and swept it round, hard, into Seth’s face.

  This time he fell genuinely, and in all seriousness. The cold bit into his backside as his mouth filled with blood where his cheek met his teeth, and he couldn’t feel the pain yet across his cheekbone, but he could feel his pulse throbbing along the place where the rock had hit him. He touched it; his fingertips were stained blackish with blood in the silvery light.

  Vinnicombe hurled the rock deep into the woods. ‘Now, you won’t be doing that again, will you?’

  Seth said nothing. Vinnicombe kicked him.

  ‘Get up. Keep going. I’m watching you.’

  They walked on for a little while, the line of trees closing in to the right. Falling snow penetrating the black bundling of branches gave an impression of a constantly shifting landscape; Seth and his two captors’ eyes were drawn to the movements, unconsciously.

  One white flare was bigger and brighter than the others.

  ‘What in the name of Christ was that?’ Jay exclaimed.

  They all watched the ghostly arc gliding through the treeline before disappearing somewhere in the forest.

  ‘Barn owl,’ Vinnicombe said. ‘Big bugger as well. Must have spotted a mouse.’

  ‘That’d have your eye out, man,’ Jay said.

  They approached the five-bar gate. Seth strained his ear, listening out for the sound of someone in the lane. Would the police have kept a lookout for him, this long into the night? Bound to have, he thought.

  If there was a raid of some kind, he could argue his way out of it. Say the intruders asked him to guide them through the estate, to where they’d hidden the stuff… It was as good an argument as he could manage. And they had the guns.

  ‘It’s along here, now. We head up the path, then turn right again, through a clearing in the trees. The gap should be harder to spot if there’s been fresh snow.’

  They left the gate behind; there was no sign of the other police officer, now, and no sign of the lanky PC who’d been waiting at the top of the road where the lane opened out. They soon came to a gap between two ancient oak trees whose growth had taken a weird turn, with the branches spread out like the legs of a dead crab – oddly arresting in any kind of sunlight, but simply sinister in the treacherous dark.

  ‘This is it.’

  ‘We got far to go?’ Vinnicombe asked. ‘This has taken too long for my liking.’

  ‘Almost there. Two minutes, tops.’

  The temperature wasn’t low enough to freeze over the stream, and its trickling told Seth that the hanging tree was nearby. Sword-quick flashes of light showed through the trees as they picked their way over the path, barely affected by the snowfall, the winter-bare trees providing enough cover. There was no wind to stir them; they only creaked.

  ‘Oh, I remember now,’ Jay said. ‘That’s where Dan’s other boy took his last gasp.’

  It looked strangely lonely in this ghastly night, Seth thought; with its tousled head and thin, slightly kinked bough, it could have been a maid in mourning for a husband who never arrived.

  ‘If someone had asked you to point out which one someone was hanged from, that’s the one you would pick,’ Vinnicombe said. He stabbed a finger towards the hanging tree. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘That’s it,’ Seth said.

  ‘Dan Jr died yellow, you know,’ Jay added, almost casually. ‘Once he knew Daddy and the tough brother were out of the game. I thought he would. You know the type.’

  Vinnicombe spat on the ground. ‘Dirty job, that,’ he remarked. ‘It’s one thing putting them out the game, but it’s another thing to make a mockery. Wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with it.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t have anything to do with it,’ Jay returned. ‘And no one’s interested in what you think about it, either.’

  ‘Just telling you, son. Not much class involved, there.’

  ‘Class?’ Jay snorted. ‘Yeah, tell us about the war, Grandad. Don’t give me “class”. You and “class” don’t match.’

  ‘Maybe. But I know it when I see it,’ Vinnicombe said. ‘And I’m not seeing much of it here. Big guy – you saying it’s at the hanging tree? Explain. Whereabouts?’

  ‘You see the hanging tree? Now look to the left. There’s an ash tree up there. Now look at one of the thicker branches, stretching out towards the hanging tree.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Vinnicombe’s attention was fixed on the tree, the gun held loosely at his side. Now was the time!

  Then a pistol barrel nestled into the small of his back.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Jay whispered. ‘I was in your position, I’d think about it, too. Just don’t.’

  ‘There’s a box, in among the branches. Is that a bird feeder, or something? A hide, or a nest?’ Vinnicombe squinted hard.

  ‘A nesting box. Or, it used to be. Vonny got it in; it was meant to go on top of a bird table, but I made it into something else. I sealed it tight so nothing could get in. That’s where the stuff is. That’s it.’

  The structure was bulky, about two foot square, and precariously balanced, maybe eight or nine feet off the ground. There were no obvious ways to get to it.

  ‘Wait here,’ Vinnicombe said, cautiously, and stepped closer to the tree.

  Seth waited until he was out of earshot, then said to Jay, quietly: ‘You going to let him talk to you like that?’

  ‘What you say?’ He heard Jay step forward.

  ‘Jean Paul Gaultier’s black sheep cousin, there. He talks to you like you’re an idiot. If I was you, I’d smack that little prick.’

  ‘I see your thinking,’ Jay said. ‘If you were me, yeah, you might smack the little prick. I might even applaud you. But you’re you, and I’m me. And I’ve got the gun. So shut up.’

  ‘You’re getting angry at me – you should be getting angry at him. Guy doesn’t rate you. It’s obvious.’

  ‘I said, shut up.’

  ‘And, begging your pardon,’ Vinnicombe called out. ‘How do you propose going up there?’

  ‘That’s the tricky bit. You see the stumps, on the bark of the tree? Places where the branches were removed, right? You have to climb up.’

  Vinnicombe burst out laughing. ‘No, you have to climb up. Go on. Show us your skills. Become the Human Fly!’

  ‘Whatever you have to do, do it slow and careful,’ Jay said, shoving him forward.

  Seth remembered how easy it was to clamber up the branches, but the darkness and the melted snowflakes added considerations. He called out like a startled pigeon when his foot slipped off the lowermost stump, and he had to cling hard to the bark, feeling it pinch his swollen cheekbone. Soon, he reached the box, bracing his feet against the stumps. He was relieved to see the catches were still intact on the wooden lid – his greatest fear had been that his forest friends both furred and feathered might have found a way in, and spoiled what was inside. He tried the lid once, for luck; it was shut tight. Then he flicked open the catches, and opened the box.

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘Whatever’s in there, throw it down,’ Vinnicombe said. ‘Bit by bit. Toss it down. Just let it drop beside you. Don’t lift your hands, and don’t turn around.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Seth said. His voice squeaked with tension and panic.

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ Jay snarled. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s gone,’ Seth said, panting, his head seeming to expand and contract with every convulsion of his heart valves. He clung onto the tree bark tighter, the better to stop himself falling. ‘There’s nothing there. The stuff is gone!’

  46

  ‘I’m going to shoot him.’ Jay pocketed the kukri, raised his pistol and took aim. Seth flinched, throwing his arm up, tucking his head into his armpit like the bird in the nursery rhyme.

  He had nowhere to go but down. He prepared to drop from his ungainly perch, trying to second-guess when the explosion would come. Perhaps th
e slicing agony would come before the report; a white-hot meteor tearing through him; the sense of being unseamed.

  ‘Not yet,’ Vinnicombe growled. Seth heard, but did not see, a brief struggle.

  ‘Just one in the leg. Just one to motivate him. Bastard.’

  ‘Put it down, I said!’

  Seth dropped his arm and chanced a look. The two men were wrestling, legs braced like two jujitsu fighters.

  He let go, forgetting to put his legs together but remembering to roll. His back still sang upon impact, a terrible agony that bent his frame the wrong way. Seth wondered for a terrifying moment if his back had broken; but his legs moved, and he got to his feet, only to find that his actions had ended the scuffle, and both men were pointing their guns at him.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Jay said, backing away from the older man. They were both breathing hard; Vinnicombe had a scratch down the side of his face, stark and black in this light. It was the first time Seth had seen him discomfited in any way. He wondered if Jay had taken his advice.

  ‘Do not shoot him. Understand?’ Vinnicombe turned to Seth. ‘Not to say we won’t shoot you, if you don’t explain yourself.’

  ‘I can’t explain it.’ Seth could barely stand. He wondered if he might fall to his knees, just as they’d said when he tried to pocket the rock. He wondered if he might plead for his life. He couldn’t plead for Vonny’s.

  Vonny. Alone in the house with that grinning used-car salesman twerp. It sickened him, agonised him. The thought gave him what was required to stand up straight. That gave him the nerve.

  ‘You say there’s nothing up there?’ Vinnicombe said, pointing to the box. ‘You say that’s where you left the stuff?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Prove it,’ Jay said. ‘Go up there and bring it down. Slowly.’

  Seth did as he was told. His joints ached as he climbed up once more. ‘I nailed it in. It’s attached to a bracket… Hold on.’