The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series)

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘I have some stuff to do,’ I say, ‘but I’ll return later and we can discuss your payment terms. If I don’t calm Scarlett down, we’ll all end up inside for a long time. I’m going out of your back window and through the graveyard. Lend me your mobile.’

  ‘No, use your own.’ He hands me the phone I pushed through his letter box what seems like fifty years ago.

  ‘They’ll be monitoring it, and I’ll need to hail a cab. Forget it, I’ll use a phone box. While I’m gone, don’t do anything or go anywhere. I’ll be back.’

  I open the window and climb out. My coat catches on his window lock, and Trent has to free me. He passes me the bin liner. The cold tonight penetrates my clothing with ease. I can only assume the polar express, as Scarlett called it, has arrived. I smile at what was a simpler time with my breath puffing out of my mouth in front of me as it would from a small steam train.

  Trent shivers and carefully pulls the window shut. There’s litter everywhere around the back of the flats, including used nappies, and I even see a needle. I step through it with caution. There are two loose metal panels, which I pull to the side. They screech a little but stay in place. I have to unscrew the one next to them. My already numb fingers make it a frustrating task.

  On the other side, I glide the bin liner through after me, taking care not to catch it on any sharp edges. I also grab the bag I threw over yesterday and creep through the cemetery. There’s not a cloud in the sky and the moon and stars light everything up as though under a spotlight. The tombstones glitter with ice and the sound of my crunching steps fill the air. There’s a trailer filled with bags of rubbish where the paths meet in the centre. My two go on top.

  I head to the lowish wall in the far corner from where I’ve seen the odd tramp leave. I pass the praying angel, but in this light she seems to be judging as opposed to pleading. Ice crystals on her face make her expression more demonic than angelic. Powerful glinting wings now give me the impression that she is not here to plead.

  I walk diagonally across the graves to keep off the gravel, imagining faces around me in the undergrowth and bodies underneath attempting to grab at my ankles. But only a fool would be outside in this weather. When I get to the far wall, I peek over and note the drop, but I’m tall and jump down easily, and soon I’m scurrying towards Brad’s house. I need to see a friendly face, to remind me that I have things to look forward to. I press the doorbell with a throbbing finger. The door opens.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ says a lined face from behind a safety chain.

  ‘Hi, sorry, I thought Brad lived here.’

  ‘He does, dear, but he’s playing football on the AstroTurf. Are you his girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I was passing and thought I’d stop for a coffee if he was about.’

  ‘Come in, or you’ll catch a cold out there.’

  I step inside the hall and gasp with pleasure at the warmth. She’s not quite as old as I first suspected. Only her face is lined, but her hair looks wonderful. Perhaps it’s a wig.

  ‘Will he be back soon?’

  ‘No, probably not. Although it’s nice to finally meet you. You must have been seeing each other for nearly a year. Do you want a coffee, Grace? Follow me.’

  ‘Grace?’

  She stops at the tone of my voice. Her kind eyes water at the obvious error. She wrings her hands and cringes.

  ‘Not Grace, then?’

  ‘No.’ Grace is the manager’s secretary. She’s only twenty and has a face that pauses conversations as she passes. It seems I’m even more on my own than I imagined.

  ‘It’s fine. Brad and I only had one proper date with a bunch of friends. I was hoping for more. I don’t suppose you could ring a taxi for me?’

  She calls A2B and we sit in the lounge.

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘Ah, well. These things happen. I’ll be free for Ryan Gosling when he pulls his finger out.’

  She perks up at my joke.

  ‘You’re better off out of it. Get a normal bloke. He keeps going on and on about football so much that I thought he was hiding something. I wondered whether he was gay. But no, unfortunately it really was football. Silly boy needs to grow up.’

  A beep sounds from outside.

  ‘Don’t tell Brad I was here, please.’

  She rests a hand on my arm.

  ‘Of course not, and be careful. A lot of nutters live around here.’

  71

  The Ice Killer

  The taxi driver takes notice of my serious demeanour and, apart from asking me my destination, keeps quiet. While he drives me to Stilton, I consider my options. Scarlett’s behaviour will be the key to my actions. The gates are open for a change at her house, and the driver heads straight in. We pass the right-hand gate and I see it’s bent in the middle. I pay the man and walk past Scarlett’s Qashqai. The bonnet is scratched, and a headlight has a crack in it.

  I press the doorbell. The beam from the taxi’s headlights highlight Tim’s gaunt face as he opens the door.

  ‘She’s been ranting about you,’ he says. ‘But you’ll have to come back another time if you want to talk to her.’

  I raise an eyebrow, and he gives me a tired shrug. He beckons for me to follow him in.

  Scarlett is laid out on the sofa in the lounge. Empty glass in one hand, phone in the other. Her white top is mostly red. Even unconscious, her hatred has made her ugly. I scowl at another bruise on her forehead, but Ewing’s body being in her car is more pressing. Tim walks to a small fridge next to the spirit bottles and grabs a can of Diet Coke.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks.

  ‘No. I won’t stay. Can I borrow her car to get home? I’ll bring it back tomorrow.’

  He studies me for a moment. ‘Sure.’

  I wait for the catch.

  ‘You’ll have to find the keys first. She drove it into the gates earlier, which you probably saw. She tried to drive it again later, but I’d disconnected the battery because she was so drunk. In a rage, she threw the keys in the pond. The silly cow had thrown the other set in the same spot last week.’

  Anger sparks inside me. ‘Why are you so horrible to her?’

  To my surprise, he replies with venom. ‘Me, horrible to her? You’re her friend. Her only friend. You must understand what a drunken bitch she is.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, living with you.’

  ‘What? I’m only ever kind to her. I’ve tried to get her help, but she refuses—’

  He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘I understand why, but I can’t take any more, and I’m leaving her. Do you know what she said she would do to me tonight before she passed out?’

  Confused, I shake my head.

  ‘Kill me in my sleep. Crazy cow.’

  ‘But you get drunk and hit her. You say awful things. She’s covered in bruises and you stop her leaving the house and don’t let her have any money. You’re the monster.’

  The disbelief on his face is so natural and immediate that my fury leaches away. He plonks himself on the sofa next to Scarlett, who moves slightly and begins a stuttering snore.

  ‘Ellen, I don’t drink. I haven’t touched any alcohol since I decided I had to deal with the baby dying. Every time I had a hangover after that happened, I was swamped with depression. One of us had to carry on and look after Dwayne, so I got sober. That way I could function. Scarlett already drank too much and chose the alternative route, being rarely sober. Once, I got her dried out in a detox clinic, but all she thought about was our loss, so she resumed her drinking. I suppose she had more guilt to bear.’

  It’s a lot to take in. ‘And you keeping money from her and the bruises?’

  ‘You know she has a black Amex, and I put a thousand pounds a month in Scarlett’s current account, which goes on top of her wages. I did hit her once, but only because she was biting me. She is forever falling over things, slipping down the stairs and tripping in the garden. It’s amazi
ng she doesn’t hurt herself more. I often put her to bed after cleaning her up.’

  I try to think back to how he was with me. ‘You’re creepy with me, and over keen when I arrive here.’

  ‘That once was a mistake. Surely we’re all allowed one slip-up. She shows me no love of any kind. Apart from that drunken pass, I’ve been faithful, which is more than I can say for my wife. I caught her bringing a man here earlier. Scarlett and I haven’t had sex for years, not since…’ His Adam’s apple bobs a couple of times until he steadies himself. ‘I was always pleased when you came because Scarlett would lighten up and live a little. I wanted her, us, to be happy, but she’s too haunted. You being a friend to her has really helped. That’s why I offered to give you some money.’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Scarlett said she asked you if you wanted it, but she told me you’d been doing escort work to get by.’

  ‘What? She said I was selling myself?’

  ‘Not exactly, just that you were escorting.’

  Incredulous, I decide to ask the terrible question. ‘What did happen to the baby?’

  ‘She fell asleep with the baby while I was away on business. She found out when she woke up.’

  At my horrified face, he continues. ‘It does happen, sudden infant death, but I think Scarlett was drunk. It explains why she’s never forgiven herself. The loathing she feels is only for herself. It will only end badly and I don’t wish to be here when it does. There comes a time in your life when you’ve had enough, and Scarlett’s there now.’

  ‘She does seem particularly out of control at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll say. She’s the runaway train approaching the end of the line. Anyone else would have left her long ago. Scarlett told me not to tell anyone that Dwayne asked to attend boarding school, because he couldn’t stand to live here any longer, and now I need to leave. I’m going to tell her in the morning.’

  I stare at Scarlett, who appears to have settled somewhat. She still clutches the phone and glass. I remove them from her hands. I suspect Tim’s news will cause her to snap, especially after what she’s been threatening to do to him. What he’s said though makes sense. She’s suffered since the baby died and, without help, she’s deteriorating fast. Should I have done more and is she beyond help? We’re all so consumed by our own troubles that we can miss others going under.

  I have to think of myself first, and I might need Tim on my side, so I stand and walk towards him. Up close, I see his cheeks redden and he looks away first, but then he returns my stare with a shy grin. Has he told me the full truth, or does he have secrets too?

  ‘It’s funny you should say that,’ I say. ‘Scarlett wanted help killing you.’

  ‘What? When?’

  I turn Scarlett’s phone on and lift her hand. After some gentle poking, her index finger opens it. I flick through a load of raging texts that she sent me today with increasing desperation. I nod slightly, noticing they implicate only her. Eventually I find the one saying she wants me to kill him. I pass him the phone. His eyes flick up with real concern after he’s read it. I take his hand and give it a little squeeze. It’s clammy.

  ‘Come on. You can drive me home.’

  He gives Scarlett a long backwards glance as we walk from the house. His Audi bleeps, and he opens the door for me. We roar through the gravel, out of the gate and down the country roads back to the A1. I smile as I feel the back-end slide around. Even with all the madness, the thrum of the powerful engine stirs something inside me. You could easily get used to living this way. Tim realises the roads are slick with ice and slows down.

  I ask him to drop me at the cemetery, saying I’m nipping to a friend’s nearby. We drive past the Conservative club where he dropped Trent. He doesn’t say anything, but I wonder if it registers inside somewhere. When we arrive, he pulls up, gets out and pulls me into a hug. It’s a few seconds too long. I kiss him on the cheek and start to walk away.

  ‘Ellen!’

  I stop. He has a sad smile.

  ‘I knew when I first met Scarlett that I’d love her for the rest of my life. Don’t worry, even if I do leave in the morning, I’ll find her the help she needs.’

  I nod and stride out of sight. There’s a concrete marker against the cemetery wall where I came over. I have to strain to pull myself up, but manage it with two attempts. I pass the angel monument with my head down, not wanting to feel her judging eyes upon me. It’s so cold that my brain pounds inside my head. Everything around me is white and blue and doesn’t feel real. It’s impossible to imagine a summer breeze or flowers in bloom while this deathly wind howls through the skeletal trees and bone-china graves.

  I stuff the red wig I’m wearing in the trailer as I pass it. My scalp shrinks as soon as it’s exposed. I pull on the hat in my coat pocket, but it makes little difference. My chest wheezes from sucking in the frigid, thick air. Events are in motion now. There’s no way back from here. What’s the phrase? Let the chips fall as they may. It’s always been clear to me that everyone looks after number one. We all keep secrets and we all tell lies.

  I slide through the gap in the fence with the agility of a wooden horse. I struggle to coax any dexterity from my useless fingers, but finally the screws link, and the metal panels fix into place behind me. I check my watch. Three hours have gone by. I tap on Trent’s window, but through the condensation I can see he is already staring out. Has he even moved?

  He helps me through the window, and I shiver violently in his lounge. My jeans are stiff through cold, and my teeth chatter. Empty eyes blink at me, but finally he relents and makes a cup of tea and puts a blanket over my shoulders. When I have control of my teeth, I give him the news.

  ‘Scarlett has everything in hand. Her husband is leaving tomorrow, so she’ll be able to get rid of the body. I’ve got to attend the police station in the morning, but I don’t think they’ll keep me in. It’s phone records they’ll be checking and mine add ballast to my explanations rather than implicate me. I’ll go to Scarlett’s after and help her, then we’ll be in the clear.’

  His blank stare hints at disbelief, but then I realise he isn’t listening. He only has one thing on his mind. I stand to leave, although I doubt there’s any chance he’ll let me go. He steps in my way.

  ‘You know what I want.’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  ‘I’ll tell the police.’

  ‘You’ll go to prison too.’

  ‘Yes, but for nowhere near as long as you will.’

  ‘I’m freezing cold.’

  ‘I don’t care. It’ll warm you up.’

  I have to buy some time. What he wants is nothing to me, or at least I didn’t think so. I don’t want to be like this, but I don’t know how to change. Crazy Ellen is too much for this world. It’s a place she doesn’t belong. But medicated Ellen doesn’t have a life. She breathes, but she doesn’t live. I nod at Trent. He leaves the room and goes to his bedroom. I hear rattling and movement in there. I assume he has gone to get a condom or something weird like a cowboy hat. Instead he returns naked, armed only with a satanic smile.

  A rage from the depths of my being urges me to fight him off. I’ve had enough of being used like an inanimate object, but I stifle it. I need to give him this moment, but I won’t make it easy. As he approaches, I lean towards him and spit in his face. He smiles and slaps me with an open hand, then throws me towards the sofa. I’m bent over it and his nails tear at the raw skin on my legs as he yanks my jeans down.

  Then he takes me, like a beast. He uses me as all men have. His guttural grunts echo around the walls, but I do not cry. He can’t hurt me. No one can.

  72

  The Ice Killer

  I wake from a dreamless sleep the next morning and take a warm shower. It still feels as if my insides are frozen, even though the heating has thawed my extremities. I pull back the curtains and look into the car park. There’s a man waiting in a Toyota with the engine running. I bet he’s had a long watch. When I
returned to my room last night, I gave the woman a thumbs up before I turned out the light. She must have been relieved from duty at some point.

  I decide on no make-up today, and no wig. My hair seems to be falling out where it wasn’t and growing in the bald patches. Perhaps I’m like a snake, and it’s all for a fresh start. Put on black jeans, a black shirt and black boots. The wig goes in my handbag. I stare at my pills on the kitchen table. I only have a few seconds’ pause, before I grab the ones I didn’t take yesterday, put them with the ones I should take today, and throw them in the sink. I’ll need ice-cold Ellen if I’m to survive.

  My phone rings and I see it’s my sister. I answer it.

  ‘Hi, Lucy. Are you on your way?’

  ‘Sorry, Ellen. Greg’s still in Intensive Care.’

  ‘I’m on my own, then.’

  ‘Of course not. We’re sending Carson. He’ll pick you up at nine-thirty and take you in. I’ve briefed him. He’s an old friend of ours. Don’t worry, Ellen. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  We attempt positive farewells, but I struggle not to focus on her absence. I wish Greg well. That’s the thing with partners – you choose them. It’s a decision, whereas families just are. It’d be nice to be chosen for once, but I swing between two opposing personalities, and who’d want to be with someone like that?

  An enormous saloon car pulls into the car park at half-past nine. I walk downstairs and ignore Trent, who is standing at his door.

  ‘Come around when they let you go,’ he orders.

  A small man with grey hair and a tailored suit climbs from the vehicle. He looks straight into my eyes, not at my mostly bald head.

  ‘Carson Black. Sit in the front, please. I have a few questions and I’ll explain how we will deal with this morning’s proceedings.’

  I walk around to the passenger door, passing the Asian man in what must be the police observation car. He has the window open and is staring at a moving pile of clothes on the floor next to the exit. It seems we have another vagrant in residence. Word of my free soup must have got out. It’s a different one, because the other man was bald, and I can see a head of hair. The other one was also silent. This guy groans as though he’s been kicked in the stomach.