Lee Weeks - Dead of Winter

‘Thanks.’ She took it and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘It’s beautiful.’ It was hand crocheted. The intricate weave looked like thick lace.

‘It’s a nursing shawl. It was my wife’s.’

Carmichael picked up the whisky bottle from the dresser. He poured out two shots and handed one to Ebony. He drank his whisky as he leant against the oak beam above the fireplace.

A few minutes passed as Ebony stared at the fire and Carmichael stared into his glass.

‘Can I ask you some things about your past?’

‘You can ask.’

‘You were tortured in the Iraq war?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you allowed to talk about it?’

‘Allowed, yes, some of it anyway. But I don’t choose to.’

‘Can I ask you about what you did after you left the Special Boat Service? Where did you go?’

Carmichael moved the logs around on the fire. He pushed the small sticks into the flames. His fingers were hardened to the pain.

‘I went travelling.’

‘Where did you go? I’ve never been abroad.’

‘Never?’ She shook her head. ‘Then I envy you. You have a world waiting for you out there.’

She smiled. ‘Maybe one day.’

‘I didn’t go anywhere specific. I searched for answers. I never found them.’ She looked at him with an expression that told him that wasn’t going to be enough of an answer. ‘South America, Africa, Europe. I told you I was searching.’

‘Searching for answers to do with Louise and Sophie?’

‘Yes. Mostly.’

‘Did you find anything?’ He shook his head.

She wrapped the shawl around herself and sipped the whisky. It wasn’t a drink she liked and she wasn’t much of a drinker, but the Scotch warmed her. She looked at him.

‘You resigned. Why didn’t you fight it? You have a lot of support from serving officers in the MET.’

He threw another log on the fire. Rusty jumped up onto the sofa next to Ebony. She was grateful for the heat of his small body as he lay across her lap. Carmichael shook his head, stared into the fire.

‘My mind went into meltdown.’ The fire crackled. ‘I trusted those in charge to think for me. . big mistake.’

‘Did you ever come up with a motive for the murders?’

He shook his head. ‘I delved into Louise’s life before she met me. . nothing. Nothing she hadn’t told me.’

‘What about Chrissie?’

‘She studied medicine at Edinburgh. She went off travelling for a year. She got pregnant — by accident or by design, I don’t know.’

‘Did you meet her father?’

‘Yes. . at the funeral. James Martingale is an arrogant fuck but you can’t argue with the amount of money he puts back into charities. Chrissie had an older half sister; I never met her.’

‘Were they here in the UK when the murders happened?’

‘No. Did you see his statement?’

‘Yes. I read it last night. I just wanted to hear things from you.’

He looked at her and almost smiled; deep creases were indented either side of his face. Ebony saw a glimpse of the handsome man of thirteen years earlier. ‘So. . at least I’m not the chief suspect in your mind, otherwise you wouldn’t have come here alone. Thanks. It’s a solid gesture. . it’s been noted.’

Ebony stroked Rusty’s velvety ears. He sighed. The room felt warmer.

‘Why didn’t you go there, that night, to pick them up like you were supposed to?’

‘I got drunk. Blind, steaming drunk.’ He spoke softly as he stared into the fire.

‘On your own?’

‘Yes. No one walks away from war and isn’t affected by it. You wouldn’t be human. You eat, sleep and pray to stay alive and see your family again but, when you do, you don’t know which is the reality any more. You live in constant alert mode and fear and nothing is real any more. Louise understood me when no one else did. . and Sophie gave me a purpose to my life. . but. . sometimes I needed to be alone. Sometimes my memories are too much for me. I thought they needed a break from me too. . I know how difficult it was sometimes.’

‘Was your marriage okay?’

He looked at her, surprised. ‘You mean about my affair?

She nodded. ‘Just seems an odd thing seeing that you were a family man.’

‘What you mean is: was it so out of character that it means if I could do that, I could do anything?’

‘No, not really. I just would like to understand what made you do it.’

He prodded the fire with a poker as he talked: ‘I’d like to say I really understood it, but I don’t. I had a brief affair with a woman I worked with. I let my guard down. I knew we were attracted to one another, had been for a long time and I kept well away from her until I had no choice but to see her every day, all day, all night. We ended up working together, staying late, we ended up in bed. She wanted it to happen, badly, and I was going through a phase of feeling unworthy, self-destructive. You destroy what you treasure most because you don’t think it can be real, it can’t last. I was guilty of believing I didn’t deserve Louise or Sophie. I regretted it as soon as I did it. It was one night, that was all. I told Louise. I couldn’t have kept it from her. Maybe I should have.’

‘How did Louise react?’

‘She considered leaving me, I know. She knew I was sorry. I wasn’t sure whether things would ever be the same between us or that she could ever forgive me.’

‘When you arrived that day at Rose Cottage and you saw what had happened. When you looked at the bodies. .’

He bowed his head. ‘Jesus. .’

‘I’m sorry. .’

‘Don’t be.’ He looked up and smiled sadly. ‘You have a job to do.’

‘Can I ask you why you moved the bodies?’

‘I moved Sophie. .’

‘You didn’t move the others at all?’

He shook his head as he swallowed the last of his whisky and wiped his burning mouth. He stared into the fire as he talked. ‘I got to the cottage and knew something was wrong even before I had parked the car. The curtains in the lounge were closed. The door was open. I saw Chrissie first. I walked into the kitchen and found Louise: butchered.’ He looked into the fire and coughed to clear his throat and his head before going on. ‘I looked around and I called Sophie’s name. Then I ran upstairs and found the baby, Adam, first; he was asleep, doped, but alive, and I had a few seconds’ hope that I would find my daughter. .’ He swallowed, shook his head. ‘They cut her throat.’ He stared at the fire. His voice dropped until it was barely audible over the hiss and crackle of the burning wood. ‘I know I shouldn’t have touched the crime scene but this wasn’t a crime scene; this was everything in the world I cared about and it had gone. These were my angels. I carried her down to lie next to her mother.’ He turned to look at Ebony and shook his head to clear it. ‘I don’t know why they did it but no matter what anyone says, if you ask me, it was premeditated, it was planned. There was a reason why my family died. Now we know that’s true because they’re back and killing again.’ The firelight reflected in his eyes. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this day to come.’

As he stared at Ebony she saw the eyes of a troubled mind that was never going to find peace. She’d seen it all her life. It was the look of someone not destined ever to live a normal life and be happy. The eyes were full of demons and nightmares. Ebony had seen eyes like that before, in the tortured souls that looked at her when she went to visit her mother. Broadmoor was full of them. Her mother was one. Rusty barked; Ebony jumped. He stood alert on the sofa and tilted his head to listen to some noise from outside. Carmichael held up his hand to silence him. ‘ Stay.’

‘What is it?’ Ebony whispered.