Lee Weeks - Dead of Winter

‘He insisted on having meters installed in Blackdown Barn. I had to see to that before he moved in.’

They studied the photos. Ebony looked at the one of the master bedroom. ‘The carpet was replaced with lino in this room. Why was that?’

‘Chichester had very exact requirements. Replacing the carpet with linoleum was one of them.’

‘Did he tell you why he wanted the works done?’ Simpson shook his head. ‘And you didn’t think it was odd to want to put lino in a bedroom?’ He shrugged. His face was turning red. ‘You must have had to agree the work with the owners?’

‘Well, it wasn’t always necessary to bother the owners. I have handled their properties for many years. Chichester covered the whole of the costs. I didn’t feel I needed to. .’

‘Can I please have a full list with all the receipts from that refurbishment.’

‘I no longer have them — I’m sorry. As I said, I can’t keep everything.’

‘Can I see Chichester’s original emails to you?’

‘Again I’m sorry. It’s eighteen months since I first received them from him. They are no longer on my computer.’

‘You seem really sure about that. What about in your Sent Items or Trash folder? Do you need me to wait whilst you check?’

‘I can assure you there’s no need to check. They are definitely not on my computer.’

‘Do you remember anything about the way he worded them that might help us find out what kind of a person he was? What about his spelling?’

‘Good.’

‘What about the way he wrote things, could he have been foreign?’

‘I have no idea.’

Ebony looked at the photos again. ‘Did you oversee these works yourself? Did you have this lino floor laid?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you make a private financial arrangement with him?’

His face reddened some more. ‘I had a lot of extra work.’

‘Is that normal practice to make a private financial arrangement with clients without informing the owner of the house?’

‘I wouldn’t say it was an arrangement. There were costs incurred. The family are more than happy with the rent they received from Mr Chichester. I don’t see why I should have to answer any more of your questions.’

‘I suppose the thing is, Mr Simpson, at the moment you are the nearest thing we have to a friend of Mr Chichester. You got the house ready for him and a woman and her baby were murdered there. You don’t seem overly eager to help me with this. It’s an offence to withhold information and this is a murder investigation. We can talk here or I can take you in with me now and you can make a formal statement. I can also ask for these premises to be closed down while we conduct a search for the missing invoices. It’s up to you.’

He paled. ‘Of course. I will be happy to answer any questions.’

‘Let’s take another look at these photos and you can run through each one with me and tell me what he said he wanted to keep and what he didn’t.’

Ebony stopped off to see Harding afterwards. She looked up as Ebony came in; she was studying the diagrams from the original crime scene at Rose Cottage. She closed the file, opened a drawer, and pulled out three autopsy reports from the victims at Rose Cottage before handing them over to Ebony.

‘On no account share this information with anyone. I trust you to be discreet. Now is not the time to make things worse. We all did the best we could; that includes me.’

Ebony looked at Harding’s face as she handed over the reports and thought she looked almost vulnerable: brittle under the hard shell. But Ebony knew very well that Harding had got to where she was in life by destroying marriages and people and if she was attempting to show Ebony her vulnerable side there was probably a plan.

‘Of course, Doctor.’

‘Are you going to see Carmichael tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come and see me when you get back.’ Harding turned back to studying the file on her desk.

Ebony headed home on the number seventy-three. Four stops from home she managed to get a seat. She looked out of the window and watched the snow coming down. When it had first hit it was fun — now it was a pain in the arse. The bus smelt like a wet dog basket. Outside, Christmas lights fought hard to colour up the sleet and snow.

She heard her housemate Tina’s heavy metal music as soon as she put the key in the door.

Tina’s voice came from the kitchen. ‘Ebb?’

‘Yeah, it’s me. .’ Ebony put her coat over the banister, took off her shoes and put them by the front door.

Tina emerged stuffing toast into her mouth and wearing the maroon dressing gown that her nan had given her for last Christmas. Everyone in the house walked around in duvets and dressing gowns. It was impossible to keep warm. The house was old and draughty and the radiators were too small and decrepit to cope. But the rent was cheap so no one dared complain to the landlord.

‘Any news?’

Ebony shook her head. ‘It’s not going to happen, Tina. I told you he has Cabrina. He’s practically married. Cabrina’s pregnant.’

‘Bollocks. .’ Tina screwed up her face. ‘Oh well.’ She turned up the stairs and went up to her room. ‘Back to the dating sites.’

Ebony walked through to the kitchen, made herself some tea and poured out a bowl of cereal then she went upstairs. Her room was on the top floor. It had everything she needed: a bed and a desk. If she wanted to watch telly she made herself be sociable and sit in the lounge. It didn’t come easily for her; she wasn’t used to it. That was why she’d chosen to live in a house with three others. She wanted to get used to it.

It was a lovely room that made her smile when she went into it. It overlooked the street below and had a London plane tree right outside her window. In the spring the birds came to sit in it and sing in the morning. It had been like a Christmas card when the snow covered its branches. But the downside of the room was that it was furthest from the bathroom, two floors up and last to get the heat into the ancient radiators.

She set the tea and cereal bowl on the desk and took out the file. Ever since Carter had told her about the handprint match she had been talking to people who remembered the case. She phoned Carter.

‘Sarge? I found out as much about Carmichael as I can. I talked to several people this afternoon: people who knew Callum Carmichael at that time. But I can’t find anyone who counted him as a mate.’

‘He wasn’t that type. . loner. . but great boss. So frigging good at his job. He was an inspector in the Tactical Firearms Unit. Not the kind of job you make mates in.’

‘But as a person?’

‘Can’t answer that one. . I didn’t know him that well. I’d just joined when it happened. .’

‘I did get a bit of back history from Sandford,’ said Ebony ‘and I talked to the local police in Kirkcaldy where he grew up and got hold of his dad. Carmichael joined the Marines at eighteen and went to Devon to train. He was in trouble for minor offences when he was a teenager. Lucky not to get a sentence.’

‘So he might have had a little help with signing up?’

‘Yes, could have. His dad is a local publican. Well respected. Carmichael did well in the Marines. He served in the Falklands straight away. Then he was recruited into the SBS at twenty-two. He served in the Iraq War and in January 1991 he was sent to try and rescue a previous mission that had gone wrong. He was captured and subjected to violent torture which included burning and electric shock.’

‘Tough bloke, Ebb.’

‘Yes, but this is what I can’t find out, Sarge. I can’t find out where he was after he left the SBS and before he joined the Police Force for almost a year, October 1992. I can’t find any mention of it. It’s one of the things I’d like to ask him tomorrow. Harding seems to think he was definitely suffering with PTSD. But none of his workmates made any observations about strange behaviour or a change in his attitude around the time of the murders. He did have an affair, though.’