‘We need to call for the Tactical Support Team. It’s too dangerous to storm a house when we know there’s someone in there with a shotgun, whoever we think is at risk in the building. Our rifles and pistols are outgunned in that kind of scenario. We’ll drive there now and contain the scene, but you’re going to want a trained sniper and specialists with smoke bombs and shields. If she steps outside and starts shooting, we’ll react, but until the others get there, our role will be stopping anyone else getting involved in the scene.’
Barton had suspected that would be the case. Ronnie had told him that the closest specialist unit was over an hour away. He tried Ellen’s mobile number one more time to no avail. He got Google Maps up on his phone and found a rally point a hundred metres further up the road from the house in Stilton. He jumped in the passenger seat. Zelensky pulled away, followed the ARV and accelerated out of the car park. Barton grabbed the radio.
‘Delta, Delta, control, four, zero, nine, Alpha.’
‘Four, zero, nine, Alpha, go ahead.’
‘Good afternoon, Delta. Please show me as double-crewed with PPE en route to the incident at North Street, Stilton.’
‘Roger, four, zero, nine, that’s all noted. Update on arrival, please, Delta, out.’
Barton listened to the radio as the ARV crew updated their movements. Control would do their job and notify the other departments, including the ambulance service. They pulled onto the A1, which thankfully was relatively clear.
‘Keep up with the ARV,’ said Barton.
Smith and Cureton had their lights on, but no tone. Zelensky looked over at Barton as the ARV accelerated away and disappeared. Barton smiled. It didn’t matter if they lost them as the riflemen were very experienced. Barton and Zelensky pulled into the edge of Stilton village and stopped about a hundred metres from the house, out of shotgun range. The huge house was set alone and was surrounded by a white metre-high stone wall. There were vicious railings on it to stop all but the most enthusiastic of burglars. The ARV had driven past the house and was parked further up and out of sight of it, blocking the road in the process. Barton’s phone rang. It was Cureton.
‘There’s a white Audi on the drive with a seemingly crucified body on the bonnet. The front door of the house is open, but there’s no movement.’
‘Okay, what’s the plan?’ replied Barton.
‘Close both roads off a couple of hundred metres either way. Luckily, they’re so rich they don’t have any neighbours. Jules and I will secure that front gate. If that’s Ewing on top of that sports car, then we’re too late.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Can’t see his face. Nice clothes, shiny black shoes, dark-brown full head of hair. Thirtyish.’
‘Shit.’
‘He looks very dead. Stay away. Once we’re in position and have that doorway covered, we’ll reassess.’
Barton cut off the call and watched Cureton and Smith slip out of their vehicle and go to the rear. They opened the boot. When they closed it again, both had rifles in their hands. Barton had worked with these men before; he trusted them implicitly. Smith took the lead, and the two men moved into position. The riflemen would want to contain the situation until the cavalry arrived, but Barton had lost two officers in the past year. He wasn’t going to lose another one for the sake of thirty minutes. He needed to see who the body on the Audi was. Barton hustled towards the scene.
Smith was at one end of the wall with his weapon trained on the door. Cureton was at Barton’s end. He gave Barton a filthy look as he approached. Barton cut him off before he could say anything.
‘We don’t have time for a negotiator to arrive. I need to know if that is Ewing.’
Barton let out the breath he was holding as he realised the dead man on the car was too old and thickset to be Ewing.
‘It isn’t him,’ said Barton. ‘Although, he’s definitely dead. You know what that means. Ewing might still be alive.’
‘You are not going in there. Even here we aren’t completely safe. We’re fifty metres from the front door, but a shotgun could still do some damage depending on the type of ammunition.’
Barton paused for a moment. Fucking procedures. He looked back and saw another two cars had pulled up behind him. He rang Strange.
‘Get Leicester to cruise one of the cars past the ARV and block the road this side of that blue car. Nobody comes down this road. Tell him to get rid of anyone who turns up. You cover that side, same deal. If you hear shooting, do not approach the house until I say so. These guys will have it under control.’
Barton watched the house as the car drove past them. There was definite movement inside. He thought of the incident with Twelvetrees and the postwoman on the day he’d returned to work after his recuperation. It was the same thing – get those in danger out – but this time the stakes were much higher.
‘I’m going to shout,’ said Barton.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Cureton. ‘But if you do, remember we know there are at least two people in there. See if you can get them to come out showing their hands. If they don’t reply after the first call, leave it. Smith can cover that door and I’ll have a look at the rear in case anyone sneaks out. When Tactical arrive, they’ll decide if and when to storm the building.’
Barton had been the captain on the school rugby team. He didn’t need a loudhailer. He nodded to Cureton, who took aim at the front door. Smith also had his gun trained there. It felt strangely quiet. Barton spotted another three cars and an ambulance pulling up in the distance. He heard the door to one of them shut. Barton gritted his teeth to stop him cursing. He filled his lungs while poking his head over the wall.
‘Scarlett Starr, come out with your hands raised.’
79
The Ice Killer
There isn’t much doubt who’s outside. Scarlett sobers up fast and sweeps past me, although I’m beginning to wonder if she’s had anything to drink at all. Usually, she moves around in a cloud of Chanel with a hint of meths, but I didn’t detect that when I hugged her earlier. I follow her to the door, and we look out towards the gates.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ she says.
‘Me neither.’
Then the sun glints off something next to one of the stone gateposts. I clearly hear the voice again.
‘We can see you both. Please leave the house with your arms raised.’
I pick out the rifle barrel poking through the railings, even though the people behind it are mostly hidden. One of them has a shaven head. It has to be Barton.
I glance across at Scarlett. Her eyes narrow.
‘How did they know about this?’
I try to sound nonchalant. ‘Maybe a neighbour rang them.’
‘We don’t have any.’
‘Passing car?’
‘You told them. Bitch.’ She hisses the last word.
‘Yes, I didn’t know what to expect.’
Scarlett laughs. It sounds surprisingly genuine and happy.
‘I’m glad it ends this way,’ she says. ‘You’ve been both a thorn and a rose to me ever since we met. The boys wanted to be with you, and the girls were scared of you. I hoped to be the same, but you’re more broken than I am. I know why you called the police. You’re going to tell them I killed Robert, aren’t you? That maggot neighbour of yours will say anything you want. I suppose it’s poetic then that I kill you.’
I already had an eye on the shotgun behind her, but she twists and turns much faster than I expect. She has the weapon in her hand and is lowering it when I manage to get my hands on the barrel. We struggle and tug, with the gun jolting between us. Scarlett’s teeth gnash with frenzied fury. She’s incredibly strong, possessed even. I summon my reserves to haul the gun away from her, but only succeed in pulling her towards me. She keeps shoving and we stagger out of the front door and into the courtyard.
With my back prickling at the imminent arrival of a bullet, I release one hand and thump her as hard as I can in the face. It
hurts me, but seemingly not her. Something inside me is telling me not to hurt my friend; my only friend. With a wild shout, Scarlett spins the shotgun and when I’m off balance, she rams the heel of her hand into my chest and knocks me to the floor.
The sun blinds me for a moment, but then it disappears behind a cloud. Scarlett’s face is terrible. The thing that stares out from her eyes is merciless. She raises the gun to take aim.
‘No, Scarlett, don’t!’ I scream. ‘Please. I don’t want to die.’
She pauses, then smiles.
‘Fuck you.’
80
Acting DCI Barton
Barton observed the scene in front of him with dismay. As the barrel of the blonde woman’s weapon came down to point at Ellen, events were out of his hands. Everything appeared to be happening in slow motion. As the gun levelled, Barton knew it was decision time for Smith and Cureton.
The woman’s fingers moved onto the trigger. Two sharp bangs echoed out, filling the air. Scarlett wobbled but made no sound. She staggered to the right and took a few clumsy steps towards them. She shook her head twice and sank to her knees. One of her arms dropped away from the weapon, but the other swung it in their direction. Smith and Cureton fired again, and Scarlett’s face and neck exploded with red spray. Her head slumped back, but she remained sitting as she died.
Barton went to stand but Smith put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. With their weapons raised, Smith and Cureton advanced on the two women. Barton stood up as Cureton picked up the shotgun beside Starr’s inert body. He opened the weapon and paused. Looking back with a pained expression, he shouted out the devastating news.
‘Empty.’
They checked Ellen was unarmed and uninjured, with Smith staying by her side until Cureton returned with the second shotgun that was listed on the licence. Cureton confirmed the house was clear. Barton rang Zander, who he could see next to the ambulance, then made his way to the scene.
Barton shook the hands of the two shooters.
‘We’ll wait over there,’ said Cureton, pointing at a bench on the lawn.
He watched them trudge away, knowing they would replay this afternoon in their minds for the rest of their lives. Authorised Firearms Officers crew were highly trained, but they weren’t soldiers, and they weren’t killers. They would need support to get them through what they’d done. Ellen, however, stared impassively at them as they left, and then at him. She answered his questions around what happened, and who’d died, without emotion. Zander listened, before moving away to update Control.
‘Are you okay?’ Barton asked Ellen.
‘I’ll live.’
‘What the hell happened here?’
‘I don’t really know. Scarlett had been having an affair with Ewing for years. He treated her like shit, though, and she was an unstable alcoholic. Her husband found out and said he was going to leave her. She told Ewing that she was free and he told her that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Last I heard, she was going to discuss it with him. She rang me and said she’d killed Ewing in the heat of an argument. Then she’d returned here and shot her husband as he tried to leave.’
Barton heard crunching in the gravel behind him. It was Zelensky, being followed onto the drive by Leicester and an ambulance. He didn’t want Zelensky seeing Ewing and what could only be another dead body.
‘Zelensky, take Ellen to the paramedics, please, and get her checked over.’
‘Where’s Ewing?’ asked Zelensky.
Ellen gestured at the cars. ‘She said she’d put him in a boot.’
Barton nodded at Zelensky to take Ellen away. Then he walked past the deceased on the bonnet to the rear of the Audi. Flies buzzed around the horrific entry wound in the man’s chest. Even in death, it was easy to match the face to the Tim Ovett who owned the shotgun licence. The car and its boot were locked. Strange and Zander stood either side of him.
‘Apparently, Starr put Ewing in the boot,’ said Barton.
Strange stepped towards the dead body. She glanced down at the groin area and put her hand in the right pocket, pulling out a pair of keys. She pressed the fob, and the boot popped open a few centimetres. Barton yanked it up, eyes wide as he peered in, but it was empty. He swallowed hard, then turned to the Qashqai parked next to it.
81
The Ice Killer
The paramedic asks me my name and gives me the once-over, but I tell her I’m fine. She seems more interested in what’s going on near the cars, as is the officer who drove me home the other night, Zelensky. She was the one that Ewing hurt and she obviously hasn’t got over his behaviour. I’ve done her a favour but she doesn’t know that yet. Her pretty face is tormented. There’s concern for a colleague, but I can tell she still loves him. I expect she retained a glimmer of hope that one day he would come back to her.
‘Scarlett said she’d put him in the boot of the Qashqai. Perhaps he’s still alive,’ I say.
Zelensky’s features soften. The conflict is evident on her face.
‘Go over.’ I nod. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
The paramedic picks up on Zelensky’s worry.
‘Ellen’s all right,’ the paramedic says to her. ‘Just a bit of shock. She’ll be okay here.’
Zelensky looks at me, then past the ambulance, as though confirming there is nowhere for me to go. She doesn’t linger and swiftly walks back to the murder scene.
I sit on the bed in the ambulance. Raised up, I can watch as Barton uses a baton to smash the driver’s side window on the Qashqai. He fiddles inside for a minute, then walks to the rear of the car. The boot rises, followed by audible gasps. The paramedic stands up on the back of the ambulance next to me, straining to see.
‘Go. You’ll be needed there. I’ll just have a lie down.’
He’s not been told otherwise. No one has arrested me. I’ve done nothing wrong here. While he strides over, I slip out of the ambulance and try to leave, but the other paramedic is in my way.
82
Acting DCI Barton
Barton stared down at the tightly taped-up duvet and pillowcases that concealed a body shape. He checked for evidence of a rising diaphragm but knew he was wasting his time. Strange stood next to him and took her penknife out of her pocket. She found an area of loose material and slid the knife into the thick cotton and made a slit. The smell of death enveloped them.
Holding his breath, Barton reached down and ripped the liner open. He soon exposed the rictus grin of Robert Ewing. The deep cut in his neck revealed his fate. His face looked serene, which was strange because it couldn’t have been a peaceful end. A howl arose from behind him. Zelensky stared at Ewing with her mouth in a haunted snarl. She sank to her knees.
‘No, no, no.’
Barton picked her up and held her to him, moving her so she wasn’t looking at the body. He nodded at the paramedic, who dutifully, yet pointlessly, checked Ewing for a pulse. The shock of staring at one of your own was tough to bear, and nobody spoke for a minute. Zelensky lay limp in his grip. He carried her towards the ambulance as though she weighed nothing. As he approached the back and saw it was empty, he frowned as to where Ellen had gone.
The other paramedic was sitting on the rear of the ambulance. He helped Barton lay Zelensky on a stretcher.
‘Where did she go?’ demanded Barton.
‘The girl with the black hair?’
‘Yes!’
‘She wanted some fresh air and wandered over there. No one said to keep her here, but she can’t have gone far.’
Barton ran hard through the gates and looked left and right. Both roadblocks were still in place. The one on the right had a uniformed officer staring straight at him. Barton’s stomach lurched as he jogged towards him, shouting as he did.
‘Did you see the tall girl?’
‘Yes, she’d been out walking and heard gunshots. Her car was parked on the other side of the barrier, so I let her go.’
The look of disgust on Barton’s face caused the man to
step backwards. Strange had caught up with him by that point.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘She’s gone?’
‘Yep.’
‘I took her reg,’ the officer said. ‘Just in case.’
Strange wrote it down and called Control.
‘Trace this registration in real time, please. She’ll have headed for the A1. Ring me when it’s set up.’
For a brief moment, Barton imagined himself leaping into a car and chasing after Ellen, sirens blaring, and speeding up the motorway in hot pursuit. But instead he felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and returned to the scene. Three people had tragically lost their lives, and the police were responsible for one of the deaths. Rare events like this had to be dealt with so carefully due to the overwhelming interest from the public.
Cureton and Smith would have to stay at the scene until they were relieved of their weapons. They’d had little choice but to shoot Starr, but that didn’t matter at this point. There would be an investigation into the shooting, and they’d probably be on light duties until its conclusion.
As for chasing after Ellen, that wasn’t an option either. In a few minutes, she would be on one of the busiest roads in the country. If she realised that the police were pursuing her, she would likely put her foot down. If she had a head-on collision with a family, the police would take part of the blame. It wasn’t worth the risk. He was pretty sure he knew her destination, and the road cameras would track her if she kept to the main routes.
At that point, the Tactical Support Team arrived. He called Zander over to him and Strange.
‘Kelly, take Malik and drive to Ellen’s sister’s address in Harrow. I’ll brief Tactical and they’ll go as well. You can update them fully on the way. They’ll take over if Ellen is there. It’s the only place I think she’ll head for. Call me when you arrive and let the Met know what’s happening. Ellen needs to be brought back to the station. Zander and I will still be here. It’s going to take CSI days to sort this out.’
The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series) Page 31