A Deadly Thaw

by Sarah Ward

  Sadler’s hunch was that Mary Alton wasn’t armed. They had the gun that she had used to kill Andrew Fisher in their possession. It had been given to her by Lena, who had, through manipulation, eventually had a hand in the crime of which she’d been convicted.

  At the entrance to the building, he stopped and called into the doorway. ‘Mary!’

  No answer. Palmer came up behind and pushed past him. Sadler swore and followed. The single room was empty. Palmer was examining the ground and knelt down, his hands sweeping across the stone floor in an arc. He stood up, and crimson glistened on his fingertips.

  Their eyes met. They ran out of the building and went in opposite directions around the back. The grass was more overgrown here, and the recent rains had made the soil soft underfoot. Sadler heard a shout and arrived to see Palmer sprinting towards the field behind the building where a tall figure stood.

  Sadler also started running, but Palmer had halted suddenly about ten or so metres from the girl. As he joined him, he could see what had made him stop. In front of them stood the girl. She had her hood low over her forehead and from underneath he could see her eyes blazing at them in the spring glare. By her feet was a figure, curled up into a ball. Sadler saw, with a sickening glance, that the body on the ground was Connie. He could smell petrol, the pungent tang infusing the air.

  The girl held a cigarette lighter in her outstretched hand. ‘Don’t come near me. I’ll set it off. Don’t think I won’t. I know I’m responsible. Mum started drinking again and then walked into the river because she guessed what I’d done. She asked Lena if she’d killed Philip all those years ago. But all the time she was talking to Lena she was looking at me. She didn’t care that that bastard Philip Staley was dead. It was what I’d done that killed her.’

  Sadler could see the wildness in the girl’s eyes. Now her hood had moved, he could see her angular face, her gaunt features showing tension and determination. ‘Did you know that the ancient Britons used to celebrate the end of winter with fire? It was called Beltane, and they’d light a fire to burn their winter straw beds but they also had human sacrifices. To promise a fruitful harvest.’ The girl glanced down at Connie. ‘She’s not the sacrifice. She’s already gone.’ She kicked at the inert figure. ‘Or if she hasn’t, she’s nearly.’ Again she kicked her.

  ‘You little bastard.’ Palmer covered the remaining distance in a flash and threw himself at the girl. In terror, she flicked at the light. It sparked and sparked again, but nothing caught. At last, a whoosh of light travelled from her hand and up her sleeve. Sadler pulled off his coat and moved towards the blaze. He pushed Palmer out of the way and saw that the front of his jacket was also alight.

  A man appeared out of nowhere. Short and stocky, he ran to Sadler. ‘Throw her on the ground. The grass is wet but be careful not to burn yourself.’ Palmer had managed to rid himself of the burning jacket but was clutching his arm. Mary was in a much worse state. The petrol flames were licking up her body. The smell of burning flesh was overpowering, and steam rose from where the body came into contact with the ground.

  The man was deftly rolling her in the grass, and eventually the flames were extinguished. He leant over the thin figure and looked up at Sadler. He shook his head. Sadler turned to look for Palmer, who had slid over to Connie. With shaking hands he was feeling her neck for a pulse. ‘Help me.’

  Sadler was immediately at his side and also laid his hands against Connie’s neck. ‘There’s still a pulse.’ As he pulled out his phone he could hear the approach of the sirens in the distance but he didn’t look towards the sounds. Instead, he watched his sergeant lie down beside Connie and put his arms around her.

  95

  ‘She will be okay, won’t she?’ Where had the note of desperation come from? He had a sergeant in the serious-burns unit despite the fact that the consultant had assured him less than an hour ago that Palmer’s injuries weren’t, in fact, serious. Not life-threatening anyway. His expensive jacket had taken much of the flame, and its natural wool fabric had ensured that the material hadn’t stuck to his skin. Palmer would be okay, although, at the moment, no one was allowed see him. Not even his wife Joanne, who Sadler had left anxiously pacing the corridor outside Palmer’s room.

  He had been glad to leave the burns unit. The complexity of Palmer’s private life made his head ache, and he had more pressing concerns. Connie was in the high-dependency unit, and she wasn’t allowed any visitors either. Her father was holidaying in Scotland and would be driving down first thing in the morning. There seemed to be no other relatives. Friends? She must have some but not many, it seemed. This damn job got in the way of the casual relationships that the normal person would make.

  He was standing opposite another doctor, a woman this time, wearing a hijab and thick black spectacles. She was competent and not very encouraging. ‘Ms Childs has received a number of severe blows to the head. She has a fractured skull and a subdural haematoma. We’ll be taking her into surgery shortly to remove the clot. It’s not routine. These things never are. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more news at the moment. I can update you after the surgery.’ The woman touched him lightly on the arm, and he watched her disappearing figure, feeling helpless.

  He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Llewellyn walking up the corridor. He was so surprised to see his boss outside the station that he was momentarily lost for words.

  ‘Any news?’

  Sadler shook his head and sat heavily into one of the chairs in the corridor. ‘They’re operating soon.’

  Llewellyn rubbed his face with his hands but said nothing.

  ‘Palmer’s upstairs. He has burns on his arms and chest. Not life-threatening. He should be back at work soon enough.’

  ‘Do you think that’s why I’m here?’ Llewellyn’s voice was gentle.

  Sadler shook his head. Llewellyn sat down next to him. It was the first time that Sadler had seen him not wearing a suit. He had brown corduroy trousers and a black fleece with deep pockets. It was into one of these that his hand delved, and he pulled out a silver hip flask. ‘Have a sip, man. Go on. It’s brandy. Good for shock.’

  Sadler lifted it to his lips. It was cold but fierce.

  ‘Metaxa Five Stars. Hits the spot every time.’ Llewellyn took the bottle back off him and wiped it with his sleeve. Then he took a long swig himself.

  ‘Who’s this Mark Astley?’

  ‘He’s a friend of Kat Gray.’

  ‘Sounds like it’s just as well he turned up when he did to help you. I could’ve lost the lot of you. We couldn’t get the Land Rovers along that bloody track quick enough to get to you.’

  Llewellyn wasn’t stupid enough to ask what had caused him to go there without back-up. It had been an emergency. A colleague’s life in danger. Connie’s life. They’d got there only just in time. ‘When will we know more?’

  Sadler shrugged. ‘They’re going to update me after the operation but I don’t know how long these things take.’

  They sat in silence for a moment. Llewellyn screwed the top back onto the hip flask. ‘It’s probably not the right time for me to be telling you this, but it looks like we’re going to be in for a long night. They found Daniel Frears. He was staying at his sister’s house. He didn’t try very hard not to be found, if you ask me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s been charged with the murder of Lena Gray. That’s the extent of his role in this drama.’

  ‘According to Kat Gray’s interview, he didn’t seem desperate when she saw him in Whitby and at her house.’

  ‘Revenge isn’t always hotheaded. I’ve seen a few cold-blooded murders in my time too. Let’s not lose sight of that. But it’ll be for Daniel and his lawyers to explain the Whitby side of the drama to the courts. The rest is a Bampton story, and we have all the answers, don’t we? We know what happened in 2004 and why.’

  Sadler reached out for the flask. He unscrewed the top and took a long swig of the fiery liquid. ‘It was all about
what men do to women. Again.’

  96

  Bill Shields perched on the edge of Connie’s bed. ‘I won’t have the pleasure of seeing your innards for the time being.’

  Connie tried a laugh, but it felt like her head was about to explode. She put her hands up towards the bandage but then stopped short. Any pressure, however slight, brought a pain so exquisite in its agony that she thought she was, in fact, dead. Instead, she pointed to the sign that sternly instructed all visitors to refrain from sitting on patients’ beds.

  Bill made himself more comfortable. ‘I’ve heard about your trouble.’

  Connie closed her eyes.

  ‘Scott told me. For a moment we thought you were a goner, and he was pretty cut up about it. He told me what you’d been talking about in the pub. It’s no good, you know. He won’t leave his wife for you.’

  Connie could feel tears beginning to well up under her eyelids and felt one escape from underneath her eyelashes. There was silence from the bottom of the bed although she could still feel the pathologist’s weight next to her.

  She felt it shift slightly. ‘You’re still young enough. Don’t fret about it. We all make mistakes, but take a piece of advice from an old hand like me.’ She sensed him lean towards her and felt his breath on her ear. ‘You’re worth ten of Damian Palmer. Don’t set your sights so low next time.’

  ‘What about you? Your job, I mean?’

  Bill grinned at her. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. There’s going to be an investigation. I’m still waiting to be even contacted about it. I’ll take whatever they throw at me. That’s the point, isn’t it? You take responsibility for whatever you do.’

  *

  ‘How’s Connie?’ Sioned Rhys snapped her briefcase shut and put her raincoat over her arm. Llewellyn got the impression she wanted a swift leave-taking, which was fine by him.

  ‘Not brilliant. But better.’

  ‘Out of danger?’

  ‘Yes, but she suffered serious head wounds. I don’t expect her back at work for a few months. She’ll be in hospital for a few weeks more.’

  ‘Has she said much? About what happened, I mean?’

  ‘Not much. We’ve got the sequence of events that led her to go to where Mary Alton was living, but about anything else, she’s clammed up like an oyster. She won’t see Palmer. I went to see her to assure her that both he and Sadler did their best to get to her in time. She doesn’t seem to blame either of them for what happened but, at the same time, she’ll see Sadler but not Palmer. Very strange.’ He saw Rhys frown. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. You men can be so obtuse sometimes. How is Palmer?’

  ‘Back at work next week. Feeling sorry for himself, I would have thought. He has a nasty burn mark on his arm. That’s not going to go away. Doctors mentioned the possibility of a skin graft, but he didn’t seem that interested.’

  Rhys put her briefcase on her lap. ‘It’s been quite a mess here. You’ve got your work cut out.’

  Llewellyn sighed. ‘I’m thinking of retiring.’

  ‘That’d be a shame.’

  ‘Would it? That’s very kind of you to say, but I doubt I’ll be missed. I’ve been in charge of an embarrassment of blunders.’

  ‘None of which, I’d say, were personally down to you. What’s happening about the original misidentification of Andrew Fisher?’

  ‘I referred to your lot as soon as I found about it. At the beginning of the case. You’ll know more about it than me.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that and, anyway, I’m just a humble superintendent.’ They both smiled. ‘What I will say is if they thought you were seriously culpable at this stage they’d already have suspended you.’

  Llewellyn stood up and crossed to the window. ‘I’m going to think about it anyway. If I don’t go now, I might be pushed. Even if there’s no comeback from that original mistake, not going now means staying on for another couple of years. I’m not sure I’ve got the stomach for it.’

  ‘Case get to you?’

  ‘Everything got to me. Lying to my team. The policing methods of thirty years ago. I was a copper then. Part of the problem.’

  ‘But we’ve seen the changes, haven’t we? Rung them in. Let’s hold on to that.’

  Llewellyn grunted.

  ‘Anyway, I need to you to stay on for a bit.’

  He looked surprised. ‘I thought you’d concluded everything.’

  ‘Philip Staley took photographs of his victims. The team have managed to match some of them to the reported cases. They form part of the case files.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘I have photos that haven’t been reconciled with any reports, allegations or whatever. We both know there’ll be women out there who haven’t come forward.’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’

  ‘I’ve a press conference at two o’clock today. I’m going to get asked that same question.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’ll be a community consultation. With women’s groups and so on. It’s the best we can do. No one’s prepared to let those photographs languish in the police files. Some of the women we have identified want them destroyed.’

  ‘Will you be able to do that?’

  ‘Once upon a time, I would’ve said no, but public opinion is a powerful force these days. The police commissioner is involved. This force could well be setting the standard for how these cases are dealt with in the future.’

  Llewellyn smiled. ‘Don’t tell Connie. She’ll want to be back at work in weeks at this rate.’

  ‘It might be what she needs. In any case, I think you’re what’s needed. A safe pair of hands. Think it over. The reverberations don’t all have to be negative.’

  Llewellyn nodded.

  97

  Kat felt the brazier surge with heat as Mark added the photographs to the flames. She watched the images of the curly-haired child he’d been vanish as the paper shrank and puckered with the heat. An acrid chemical smoke turned the air black.

  She pulled her cardigan around her, shivering despite the warmth of the day and the flames. ‘You don’t have to destroy everything.’

  ‘Are you talking as my therapist or my girlfriend?’ He turned to her, the smile in his eyes softening the words.

  ‘Former therapist,’ she corrected. ‘And it’s too soon for us to be using the word “girlfriend”.’

  Mark was silent, watching the flames.

  ‘We need to have a proper talk about this. According to the code of practice, I’m not supposed to enter a relationship with an ex-client for at least two years.’

  ‘But these things happen.’

  It was Kat’s turn to be silent. There was a lot of soul-searching still to be done but perhaps now wasn’t the time for it. At some point, sometime soon, choices would need to be made.

  ‘Let’s focus on the photographs for the moment. I’m simply asking you whether or not you need to destroy everything. You can hold on to the photos if you want. Or even some of them. Not everything is ever completely bad. You must have had some good times with your mother.’

  ‘You’re wrong on that one, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m just saying, you could keep some.’

  ‘What for? I’m not going to look at them again. Don’t credit me with a sentimentality I don’t have.’

  ‘How come you have so many? Photographs, I mean? Did you take them with you when you left your mother?’

  Mark snorted. ‘She sent them all to my uncle’s a few weeks after I’d left. Once she knew that I’d gone for good, that was it. Obliterated out of her life.’

  ‘Well, not quite. She got in touch recently, remember?’

  ‘Not likely to forget, am I?’

  ‘You didn’t reply to her email?’

  ‘No.’ He threw another couple of photographs onto the fire. He was older in this batch. Early teens, Kat guessed. Not long before he made the break. His mother had still cared enough to take some photographs of her so
n. Families, she thought. As long as they continue to exist, the world will need therapists. She leant forward to pick up one of the images from the flames.

  ‘Leave it, Kat. I’m not keeping any, and I don’t want you to have any either. You take me as the adult I am, not the child I once was.’ Reinforcing his point, he picked up the remaining photos and threw them into the blaze.

  They stared into the orange glow. ‘Does it bother you? That there’s a photo of Lena out there? Possibly in the police files or maybe somewhere else?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. But he moved closer to her and slipped an arm around her waist. Together they watched the flames consume the kaleidoscope of images that swam before their eyes.

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to everyone at Faber & Faber for their hard work on this book and for the fantastic job they did in promoting In Bitter Chill: Hannah Griffiths, Sophie Portas, Samantha Matthews and to Katherine Armstrong. Also many thanks to Anne Brewer, Jennifer Letwack and Shailyn Tavella at Minotaur Books in the US.

  Kirsty McLachlan is my fantastic agent, first reader of my books and my port of call for sensible advice. Also grateful thanks to Alison Baillie-Taylor and Kathy Durkin for their comments on early drafts of this book.

  So many bloggers and fellow crime authors have been huge supporters of my writing and there’s not room to thank everyone individually here. You know who you are! Thanks too to everyone at Iceland Noir and my fellow Petrona Award judges, especially Kat Hall for the use of her first name for one of my characters.

  Thanks to Peter Westlake for the police help and Andy Thomas for chatting through therapy practice. Thanks to Mike Linane and Maura Lynch for being such enthusiastic supporters and Tweeters and to Neil Smith for the DM chat and advice. Also to Karen Meek for being a great pal and another sensible crime-y friend. Thanks to Tony Butler for his eagle eyes.