The Winter House

by P. R. Black

  She propelled herself along the concrete tunnel, scraping her fingers and tearing a nail. This was not painful; it barely registered in the dark and cold. Her chest burning, she expected the hatchway to touch her fingers at any time.

  It didn’t. She kicked on, pulling at the walls. Nothing… Still nothing.

  A bubble burst from her mouth. Instinctively, she headed for the surface – but there was no surface, only the upper edge of the pipe, and it was concrete, and she bashed the top of her skull on it. A sudden, biting pain. Blood might well have curled into the water in tapered red threads, had there been any light to see it. But there was no light, and no air, and seemingly no end to the tunnel.

  Focus! Push forward, it’s there, it must be there!

  But there was no end to the tunnel. Surely she had gone beyond ten feet? Twelve feet? How long had they made the tunnel?

  Another bubble burst from her mouth. Panic reared, full, untrammelled, and she thrashed in the water. It had to be there! She was going to drown!

  She pulled herself through the tunnel, faster now, her fingers and palms glancing off the fine-grained texture of the new tunnel. Something that might have been a fallen leaf prickled at her forearm. Tucking her arms in at her chest, she surged forward. Then, suddenly, the end of the tunnel was there. She crashed into it, her forehead and nose taking the brunt of the blow.

  More air escaped as she screamed, a horrified gurgle that could scarcely have been worse if she had met a crocodile. Her hands found the wheel that locked the hatch, the metal like ice on her fingers, a measure below the numbing cold of the water.

  It won’t turn!

  Now out of control, beyond the realms of rational thought, she gripped the wheel hard and planted her feet, knees bent, keeping herself anchored as far as possible, and heaved…

  It gave a quarter inch. Then more.

  Now the lights were streaking across her vision, purple and white comets. This is it. This is the end.

  The wheel gave another inch, two, more, definitely moving, just as Vonny felt herself sinking into a light-speared pit that she knew she would never emerge from, and then the water was rushing past her. She had opened the hatch and was carried through as the water gushed out. A gap that felt like air, a different kind of frigid knife blade stropping her neck and shoulders compared to the water, and she inhaled, at last, plenty of water there now, full dark but the water was escaping. She was bundled into a new structure, the fake electric meter cover, and she nudged it forward and then she tumbled out into snow rendered into slush, head, shoulders, sodden clothes flailing, into clean, cold air with the thick motes of snow still falling onto her face.

  Vonny got to her feet instantly. She was in the garden, the pool covered in leaves and filled with snow, the loungers glazed with the stuff, glittering frost on the surfaces. Her breath was making great spuming ever-changing sculptures in the air, and she sobbed and gasped for breath. She was alive; all that was required now was an escape over the back wall using the loungers, then into the trees, and from there it was the road.

  Cramond appeared from nowhere. His hands clamped over her neck and shoulders, and she was thrown to the ground, ruthlessly, efficiently, easily. A boot clamped on Vonny’s chest as she tried to get up. She didn’t. She was in a state of stupefaction, frozen, exhausted, defeated. She might have been dead, lying there, flat on her back, hands formed into claws, jaw gaping, eyes wide open.

  Cramond smirked. ‘Had a quick look at the blueprint. We stole that, you know. When we were casing the house. You left the panic room off, which was clever. But all I had to do was draw a line. And I had a decent employee on contract. Bad luck. C’mon into the house. You look like you could use a towel.’

  He extended a hand, and the pressure of the boot was eased on her chest. She took the hand, and got to her feet.

  Then Vonny clawed at his face, snarling at him. He threw up a hand and turned away, utterly shocked. Vonny turned and ran, her trainers slapping wetly against the snow. She slipped and stumbled forward. Cramond grabbed her, caught her really, before she fell full on her face. His scratches oozed blood. And he was laughing. ‘You can’t do it, love. Forget it. Time you realised…’

  She elbowed him, hard, and he let go long enough for her to turn away, and strike out blindly. She tripped full into the snow, clearing the edge of the pool, and plunged into that vast, dirty white square.

  50

  There was no need for Susie and Whelan to creep along the drystone wall at the edge of the plot, but they did. There was something in the trellis of shadows cast against the edifice by the orange sodium lights, straggled along the main road. The thick snow and the unsmudged white path at their feet gave everything a curious mellow light.

  Susie resisted the urge to crouch as they skirted the wall. She lowered her scarf in order to speak. ‘Where did you say the two motorbikes were found?’

  ‘Just up there, near where that big Christmas tree thing is.’

  ‘You mean the fir tree?’ Susie was glad of the cover for her smirk.

  ‘Whatever,’ the policeman said, defensively. ‘It’s just over there.’

  ‘Ah yeah, just by that passing place. And they were just abandoned?’

  Whelan shrugged. ‘Looked that way. No sign of the two guys they belonged to. My gaffer said they belonged to two dangerous characters, but according to the database they were stolen ages ago.’

  ‘Interesting. Where are the bikes now?’

  ‘We had them lifted. Maybe still on the back of the flatbed truck, I’m not sure. Might be returned, but more likely they’ll end up at an auction.’

  ‘Why would you just abandon some bikes? Surely you should have a word with Vonny or Seth about it?’

  ‘My gaffer did.’

  ‘That’s DI Leonard.’

  ‘Yeah. Guy from the Met.’

  ‘You know him well?’

  ‘He’s not bad,’ Whelan said, dipping his head as a particularly harsh blast of snow sliced across him. ‘Quite fair as far as it goes. Good laugh, like. For a DI.’

  ‘And what does he reckon?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To Vonny and Seth. Does he think they’re involved?’

  ‘He thinks that the DJ guy, Seth, might be involved in something. Apparently he knows some dodgy sorts. Doesn’t have a record or anything.’

  ‘You checked?’

  ‘I do my research,’ he said, tersely. ‘How far have we got to go before we get to the house?’

  ‘I reckon we should take a shortcut.’ Susie nodded towards the gap in the wall, leading onto the lane. ‘I think there’s an old track here, cuts into the property, and leads onto a gate at the bottom. We get down there, we’re into the property itself.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because, it’s a shortcut.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a shortcut on someone else’s property. Why not just go to the front door? It isn’t that much further, surely?’

  ‘Well… I’ll level with you. Before we knock their door, there are one or two things I want to take a look at. You could say I’m curious.’

  ‘You were at the house the other day, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. And I want to take a look at the old shed. The one they found the stuff in. The place where they found the car. I just want to check one or two things, make sure I’m remembering everything right. And to see if anyone’s burned it down since then, say.’

  ‘Well… That’s trespassing. Technically you’re breaking the law. Technically you could get arrested. By, eh, me.’

  Susie smiled as best she could, and turned her wrists in front of his face. ‘You can cuff me, if you like.’

  Bless him, he might have been blushing. It was difficult to tell. ‘I mean it, I don’t want to wander onto these people’s property and get a mouthful of shotgun pellets. Or have to crowbar a guard dog off my backside.’

  ‘We’d only be trespassing for about fifty yards. Besides – you’re a copper. You can say you were investi
gating something untoward. You can say it was me. You can say you caught me.’

  She nudged him, then. He looked harassed, but followed her into the cut. ‘OK. Let’s get down here quickly. I don’t like this spot at all.’

  ‘That makes two of us. It’s got that sort of crime scene look to it. Sorry,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I guess you’ve seen a couple of those.’

  ‘Once or twice,’ Whelan replied. His face took on something of a Clint Eastwood cast as he slightly turned his head. The illusion was broken as Susie’s footing slipped on the uneven ground, covered in thick snow. He grabbed her as she fell.

  ‘Sorry,’ Susie said, straightening up. ‘I should have packed my snowshoes.’

  ‘I hope you’ve packed an excuse,’ came a new voice.

  Susie and Whelan stopped. In the eerie light, a figure moved forward from the edge of the five-bar gate that marked the entrance to the woodland path. It wore a bulky parka jacket with the hood up, but the face, pinched as it was in the cold, was easily discernible to Whelan.

  ‘Who are you?’ Susie said, drawing back.

  ‘I’m DI Leonard, PC Whelan’s boss,’ returned the newcomer. ‘Who might you be?’

  ‘Susie McCracken. I’m with the Brenwood Green Advertiser and Chronicle.’

  ‘I thought it was the Chronicle and Advertiser? Anyway, ah… Miss Scoop! I heard all about you.’ In the ever-thickening snowfall, the cheery voice was incongruous. Everything about his posture and positioning radiated threat. ‘Now, you first, love, before I speak to your boyfriend: why are you here?’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she said, carefully and calmly. ‘And actually, I came here to apologise. They wanted me to showcase their interior design skills; I wrote a silly story about a Datsun Cherry.’ She patted the bottle of prosecco – mercifully untouched in her bag. ‘It had already gone to the printers. I’m hoping to come back for another photoshoot when the house is completely finished, so…’

  DI Leonard cocked his head. ‘You old enough to have a bottle of prosecco in your bag, Miss?’

  ‘Yes I am. I’m eighteen years old.’

  ‘I’m only pulling your leg. Try to smile a little.’ Leonard’s demeanour barely changed. He turned to Whelan. ‘And what’s your excuse, Officer Lighthouse – he is awfully tall, isn’t he? Why are you here with Miss McCracken?’

  ‘I bumped into her earlier. I’m escorting her onto the premises. Given that we know there’s been some unusual activity on this road, lately.’

  ‘Very gallant and civil of you. Don’t blame you, son.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, the bad news is that you can’t come onto the property. The place is locked down.’

  ‘You what? Sir?’ Whelan bit at his fingernail. ‘I wasn’t aware…’

  ‘You wouldn’t be, would you?’ Leonard returned, still smiling. ‘It’s an operation for the bigger kids. Full secondary school boys. Have you got a car?’

  ‘We parked a bit further up.’ Whelan nodded back up the road. Susie could have kicked him for this.

  Leonard asked the question that Susie would have done, had she been in the detective’s shoes. ‘Why did you park all the way up there? There’s a driveway you could have parked on, next to the security gate.’

  ‘I thought it was blocked off,’ Susie said. ‘Or they were having work done on it, the other day. Pretty sure Vonny told me it was blocked off.’

  ‘When did you speak to her?’

  ‘Just the other day.’

  Leonard nodded. ‘Anyway… best you both get back to it. I’ve got a long night out here. Just out for a cigarette break.’

  ‘Didn’t know you smoked,’ Whelan said.

  ‘I might go for a big steamy piss against the wall while I’m at it,’ Leonard thundered. ‘Now get your arse up that path, Officer Whelan, quick as you like – and take your girlfriend with you. I’ll talk you through the dangers of cosying up the press at the station. Now, goodnight.’

  ‘Sir,’ Whelan said. He actually strong-armed Susie back up the path. She fought free, utterly furious, but kept in step with Whelan as they retraced their steps in the shin-deep snow.

  ‘Don’t put your hands on me again,’ Susie said, through clenched teeth, ‘unless I give you permission – which isn’t likely, for the record.’

  ‘Sorry. Leonard… I heard that about him. That his bite is worse than his bark. He can go from nought to ninety. Hard case, they say.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. And did you notice something about DI Leonard?’

  Whelan shook his head. ‘Apart from the dodgy jacket, like?’

  ‘He had a gun in his hand when he stepped out.’

  ‘Bollocks he did,’ Whelan snorted. ‘A gun?’

  ‘Yep. Guarantee you. He had a handgun on him. Put it in his pocket when he made out who we were.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Whelan scoffed. ‘He’s not licensed to carry a gun. This isn’t America.’

  ‘Yes. You’re getting the picture. He has a gun. That’s unusual. So come on.’

  They had reached the cut in the wall. To the right was the road they’d come down; to the left was the path that led to the main driveway towards the house. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Where I said we were going. To take a look around in the house.’

  ‘I could get sacked for this.’

  ‘Then stay here, if you want,’ Susie said, simply.

  She heard him trudging along behind her, and she smiled.

  51

  ‘If it was up to me,’ Jay said, taking careful aim, ‘I’d just finish you and have done with it.’

  ‘Then I guess you don’t get your precious stuff,’ Seth said. He lurched towards a tree, with the aim of leaning against it. His breath came in starts and stops, thick and mucosal like a stuttering chainsaw, and he still bled from his mouth, and possibly his nose. Drips of it infused the snow at his feet. One tree was coated in snow, and he wanted to press it against his lips.

  ‘Don’t touch the tree,’ Jay said. ‘Seriously, anything appears in your hands that looks like a weapon, you’re done. Stand back.’ The gun moved to cover him. Seth stopped where he was.

  Separate to stopping himself falling to the ground, the other aim had been to divert the squat, muscular man from what Seth had seen over his shoulder; he’d changed Jay’s line of sight so that the two eyes he’d seen peering from the branches were staring into the back of the shaven skull.

  ‘See, the thing is, I don’t think you’ve got the stuff any more,’ Jay mused. ‘If you still had the stuff, and you actually meant to drag us out here then pull your magic trick by showing us an empty box, then you would have to be insane. Either that or you’d need a really, really good plan. And I don’t think you’ve got a plan, have you?’

  ‘Wonder what’s happening up at the house?’ Seth said absently. ‘With the phone call.’

  ‘Yeah, I wonder?’ Jay grinned. ‘Whatever it was, the little guy out here seemed upset.’

  ‘Maybe my missus has escaped?’

  ‘She could have done, very true. But you see the little guy out here? He’s a bit of an expert, you know. Safe cracker. But he’s known for other things, too. Mass murderer. A real one. Not a sex killer or anything, but he’s put a lot of people in their graves. Nice quiet graves. Maybe the same kind of quiet grave you’re heading for?’

  Seth said nothing. He only fought for breath, plumes of it steaming in the ethereal light.

  ‘So just imagine what he could be up to right now, with your missus,’ Jay leered. His tongue protruded through his teeth. ‘She could be in all sorts of trouble. Beautiful lady. Wouldn’t mind interrogating her myself. Looks like Iman. You know, David Bowie’s wife? A real stunner. Just imagine what’s going on right now.’

  Seth ground his teeth.

  ‘I mean right at this very second. And you could stop it. Just tell us where the stuff really is. That’s all you need to do. Put your mind at ease.’ Jay nodded, eyes bulging. He was like a desperate strip-club tout in a city too handsome to be sel
ling itself so cheaply.

  ‘I think she’ll do just fine, pal. I wouldn’t get yourself worked up about it.’

  ‘No, that’s true, I need to stay calm and think through what I’m going to do to her. Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing you want to tell me about the stuff?’

  ‘I think it’s probably been moved off site.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘That I don’t know,’ Seth said, helplessly. ‘The guys I talked to… honestly, I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s going to cost you your life,’ Jay said. ‘Let that go through your head.’

  ‘Yeah. Or through your head. Right now,’ Seth said.

  Jay twigged that something was going on, and turned quickly, but not quickly enough.

  He flinched, and wheezed like an old man with a morning cough.

  He grew a branch, it seemed – from the centre of his chest. It protruded outwards, having punched through the material of his top and torn the zip of his jacket open. The tip of the new appendage appeared wet.

  The shaft had flown true, and gone right through Jay’s back, a perfect shot.

  Jay squawked, not unlike a bird, and pitched forward onto his face. The bolt that had pierced him stopped him from landing fully face-first, anchoring him at a slight angle. His arms waved; he made a snow angel, a final obscenity. Then he was still. The back of the bolt protruded from the centre of his back. It was thin and shiny grey, a bit like graphite. The white-feathered end of the arrow quivered, once, twice, then no more.

  Behind him, Crispin’s gangling shadow dropped to the ground. Seth saw that he had on what appeared to be army fatigues, and… dear God, camouflage make-up?

  Crispin’s eyes peered out through a dark wave arcing across his forehead. He had a crossbow, with a long stock and a broad string. The kind of thing that might be used to kill a bison, by someone who fancied a challenge.

  Seth snatched the handgun up, inches from his fingertips in the snow. He put it in his pocket, and watched the teenager approach.

  ‘I killed him,’ the boy said.

  ‘Yes. You probably saved my life.’