Lee Weeks - Dead of Winter

‘It would fit for Silvia if she was trafficked, raped,’ said Carter. ‘But Sonny’s twenty-eight; he’s too young to have been around when the Carmichael murders happened. Plus. . he doesn’t fit the type we are looking for — Chichester.’

‘He may not be Chichester.’ replied Davidson.‘But he has questions to answer, not least how the mother of his child came to be buried under the patio.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In the last year Sonny has been narrowing down his enterprise; mainly because he’s being squeezed hard by the new gangs. Some of them have taken over the clubs north of London. We know he still has business with Digger though; he goes in there most evenings.

‘Is the surveillance cell still in operation? Do we have an undercover officer available, sir?’

‘No. But maybe we can still use the building opposite. Find out.’ Davidson reclaimed the photos on his desk, placed them together. ‘And find Sonny.’

Carmichael watched Ebony drive away down the lane. He watched the red dot of her car follow the undulations of the land until it disappeared from sight. Then he took out his phone and looked at the screen as he waited for it to respond.

Ebony pulled over to reset her sat nav to get back to the station. As she did so her phone lit up in her bag. Carmichael looked at his screen. It was asking him for an instruction. Did he want to test the program? Yes he did. Did he want to turn on the microphone? Yes he did. He put the phone to his ear and listened. He heard Ebony talk to herself as she read out the instructions for getting to the airport and keyed them into the sat nav.

Carmichael pressed ‘finish’ on the screen and he turned away from watching the lane. He took a deep breath of the cold fresh air and briefly closed his eyes to the low winter sun. Then he headed up over the gate to the paddock and walked up towards the top of the hill, from where he could see for miles. Rosie followed him up there. He sat on the trunk of a fallen tree that he planned to clear away in the spring and Rosie jumped up beside him. This was his favourite place on the farm. From here he could see across the magnificent Dales. Here he could lift his face to the sky and know that there was nothing between him and the clouds above. On the starry summer nights, when the heat and the memories would not let him sleep, he’d sat out there alone on his hilltop many times. Thirteen summers, thirteen springs, and now, on this winter’s day, he knew what it had all been for. He knew where he belonged. He said farewell to his farm.

He walked back inside his house, through to the sitting room and his gun cupboard. He took out his Steyr Scout rifle, laid everything on the kitchen table and took out his cleaning kit. Spreading the lubricating oil on a cloth, he worked it into the metal. He cleaned the barrel with rod and cloth. Afterwards he went upstairs to his bedroom and pulled down the gun bag from the top of his wardrobe. Inside it was a fleecy moisture-proof lining. He brought it back down to the kitchen and packed the rifle inside along with his hunting knife and some basic medical supplies. When he’d finished he went into the sitting room and sat at his writing desk, took out the key from its hiding place in the false bottom on the tankard and unlocked the drawer. Inside was a journal: a woman’s diary. ‘Louise Carmichael’ was written on the front. He didn’t open it. He knew what was written in it. He kept is as a reminder that he had betrayed her. It was still splattered with her blood.

By three in the afternoon Ebony was back at her desk in Fletcher House, with Jeanie working across from her. Carter had swapped his desk and now he sat back to back with her in the ETO. He swivelled his chair around to talk to her.

‘Did you know that Carmichael speaks Spanish, Ebb?’ Ebony didn’t even ask what had prompted his question. She had become used to the way Carter’s brain worked by now. He liked to think and talk at the same time, throw the ideas out in the air and see what they sounded like; his thoughts didn’t always follow one another. ‘Why did he move his daughter — do you know?’

‘He said he didn’t see it as a crime scene, more personal. He admits he lost control: broke down. But he didn’t move the other women. He also admits the affair, a short-lived thing, and puts it down to being self-destructive.’

Robbo came into the ETO and walked across. ‘You survived a night in the wild then, Ebb?’ He pulled up a chair between Ebony and Carter. ‘Why didn’t he show up that night, Ebb? What did he say?’

‘He got drunk. . alone.’

‘Well. .’ Robbo chipped in. ‘The killers can’t have known he wouldn’t turn up. . so Louise and Sophie were never meant to be the target: they were never meant to be there. Chrissie was. She rented the cottage. She chose her guests. What did he say about Chrissie?’

‘He said he didn’t know her well. She was his wife’s friend. She was a very private person, nervous around men. They were never in a position where she would think of opening up.’

‘He said that, did he? That’s not what I heard,’ said Robbo. ‘I heard Louise and Chrissie became friends via Carmichael. Chrissie was someone he met when he was in the SBS. She was called out to an emergency and they met then, kept in touch. Maybe her father James Martingale will know. Although I doubt it. I don’t think Chrissie Newton got on with her dad.’

Ebony was thinking things through; she had that horrible feeling that she’d been lied to.

Robbo enlarged a photo on the PC screen.

‘How would you like to look like that at sixty-eight? This is James Martingale.’

‘Very Pierce Brosnan,’ said Carter.

Robbo scrolled down the screen:

‘I’ve been finding out about him. He donates huge amounts to research facilities in universities around the UK. He’s a very wealthy man. I’ve found pages and pages on Google; none of which says anything personal. I haven’t come across any angry clients or court cases but, I did see an interesting guest list for the last annual dinner party for the top brass of Martingale’s Mansfield Group. Guess who was on the top table?’

Carter shook his head.

Robbo’s eyes opened wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He mouthed, ‘Davidson.’

‘Shit. You’re joking.’

Robbo shook his head, grinning. ‘I would say he’s been offered a very lucrative deal to sit on the board when he retires. Any trouble, he’s going to be able to sort it with his old pals he’s made over the years in the Force. When it comes to licensing or planning permission, for instance. If you’re an ex-chief superintendent in the MET people are going to listen to you.’

‘No shit. .’

‘He’s not the only one that Martingale is courting. Harding has received quite a bit over the years from Martingale and the Chrissie Newton Foundation.’ Robbo brought up a Google search. Top surgeon donates new dialysis machine to NHS hospital. ‘He gives a lot of laboratory equipment to Doctor Harding and her Pathology unit.’

‘No wonder Davidson’s not so keen on reopening the case. . embarrassing to haul your prospective boss over the coals,’ said Carter. ‘But what’s happening about the surveillance on Digger’s club. . any news about Sonny?’

‘We’re hoping to move cameras into the flat opposite: it’ll take two days to get permission and set up. We should have a good chance of finding Sonny. I’ve managed to get quite a lot of info on him from various UCs working on drugs seizures in the last two years. He has a big coke habit. Sonny’s a party animal. He does the circuit of all the clubs almost every night. Sometimes see him with a woman. . different one every time.’