The Snow Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Apparently, he only had one friend, and he’s just come in for an interview. I have a suspicion he knows something.’

  ‘In that case think out of the box. Unearth his old friends and past work colleagues. Okay, John, anything else you’d like to add?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

  Barton gave Strange a nod, and they left together. They stopped outside the interview room.

  ‘When he arrives, you lead so I can concentrate on watching him. He will be very nervous, so go easy on him,’ said Barton.

  Ten minutes later, they had Brick in the room with them and Strange began the interview, only just managing to keep a straight face.

  ‘This interview is being recorded and may be given in evidence if the case is brought to trial. We are in an interview room at Thorpe Wood Police Station. The date is twentieth October and the time by my watch is 18:15. I am DS Kelly Strange. The other police officer present is DI John Barton. Please state your full name and date of birth.’

  ‘Sandy Janes, 1-11-88.’

  Barton struggled to hear his quiet voice, focusing instead on the fascinating whiteness of Brick’s teeth. It was hard to concentrate on anything else. The room quickly filled up with a fantastic scent. He’d been in the car all day with Strange and knew it wasn’t her perfume.

  ‘Do you agree that there are no other persons present?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was more of a sob.

  ‘Before the start of this interview, I must remind you that you are entitled to free and independent legal advice either in person or by telephone at any stage.’

  Barton also read him the police caution.

  Brick’s eyebrows raised. ‘Am I being arrested?’

  ‘No. You are assisting us with enquiries. Do you wish to speak to a legal advisor now or have one present during the interview?’

  ‘No, I don’t need a solicitor. I haven’t done anything wrong.’ And then he cried. Barton passed over the tissues box that he’d brought with him. It was always the same with Brick.

  Barton had met thousands of people over the years, but Brick was unique. He contradicted all the rules. His features were chiselled like a movie hard man, although close up he was groomed to the point of being effeminate. He was softly spoken, yet he had the body of a seasoned heavyweight boxer and the wit of one who’d taken a few blows too many. The veneers looked new; probably a present from Celine. The phrase gentle giant was invented for him. He had been pulled in before for questioning because he moved in the same circles as the Chapmans.

  As far as Barton knew, he was squeaky clean. Too dim-witted to be a boss and too much of a liability to trust to do a job. He and Celine made an attractive couple. Maybe it was just mutual attraction. Perhaps their relationship only had room for one personality.

  Years ago, Brick had caught Barton looking at Brick’s fingernails in amazement when they’d interviewed him. He told Barton that he always wore gloves when he worked and took great care of his hands. Once the crying stopped, Barton knew Brick would be quite jolly and get his story out almost like a performance. Barton found it more exhausting than trying to pin down an evasive criminal. Finally Brick started talking.

  ‘I go for a jog most nights around nine thirty and often finish at the shops to pick up a snack. I was walking back from the centre last night a bit after ten – they close at eleven, you see – and bumped into Terry. He announced he was popping around mine on the off chance to check if I wanted to play computer games. I said, sure. I’m better than he is, but I still enjoy it. We were going to walk over the field by the BMX track, as it’s a bit of a shortcut, when he decided he would nip and get a couple of beers. I told him I’d meet him at my flat, and he never showed up. That’s it. Next thing I hear, he’s been killed. Isn’t it terrible?’

  ‘Did you ring him to see where he was?’

  Barton admired the sneakiness of Strange’s question, but the ruse failed.

  ‘No, he doesn’t have a phone. Said they were the scourge of society, whatever that means.’

  ‘How close were you?’

  ‘We met up, probably once a month, and hung out. I don’t know a lot about him. We didn’t talk much. We’d play for hours. Sometimes we’d both fall asleep in our seats, and then wake up and carry on playing.’ Brick’s laugh was almost a titter. Barton massaged his temples.

  ‘Did you know he took drugs?’

  ‘Of course. So what? He didn’t use in front of me. I used to tell him that stuff is toxic. But we all need a little help in life at points. Come to the gym with me, I’d say, but he never would.’

  ‘Did he drink a lot?’

  ‘No, he only ever bought a four pack, and he often left a few.’

  ‘Have you any idea why anyone would want to kill him?’

  ‘Terry? No. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Once they’d returned Brick to Reception, they wandered back to the interview room to chat undisturbed.

  ‘I see what you mean about him not being the sort. Unusual dude, that’s for sure. Hot too.’

  ‘Ring your bell, does he?’

  ‘With a body and a face like that, I don’t care what his personality type is.’

  Barton drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘You don’t talk much about your out-of-the-station life.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I was allowed one.’ She gave him a smile to say she wasn’t about to either.

  ‘Okay, at least he confirmed our timeline. It would help if we could discover who Terry scored from.’

  ‘I thought you said it would be the Chapmans.’

  ‘They will pull the strings but won’t get involved in street selling for twenty pounds a bag. We’d be lucky to find that out considering the dealers are unlikely to fess up. Another thing that came to mind is that there are a few arseholes that ride trail bikes over that field. Shitty things making a massive noise, backfiring and spewing smoke out. Maybe one of them saw something.’

  ‘Maybe one of them did it.’

  Barton would sleep on all these facts. His brain worked in a similar way to the HOLMES program. He poured information in, processed it, and solutions came out. Right now, he kept coming back to the method of killing. It didn’t make sense. He shrugged as he went to update the boss, assuming she hadn’t left for the day. Many cases seemed strange at first, but perseverance paid off.

  23

  Three days later

  I read the article for the fourth time. I had begun to think I’d made a mistake. The local news wrote what a great guy the man I killed was. No one seemed to have a bad word to say about him. They hinted at problems in the past but said he’d turned his life around. Trust it to be the tabloids, The Sun in this case, to dig up the truth. It turns out Terry Sax had always been in and out of trouble and served two prison sentences for drug dealing.

  Leopards don’t change their spots. He will have been involved with those awful Chapmans. I’ve been considering my next move even though my head feels fuzzy. I revisited the doctor to see if he could adjust my prescription, but he said if he went any lower it wouldn’t treat my condition. There were other drugs I could try, but they had worse side effects.

  That made me laugh. He must have thought I was crazy, and I didn’t even tell him about seeing my mother at the sink yesterday. Clear as day, too. I think about my family all the time now. Mostly the unfairness of their deaths, but also, I think of the people who ordered them killed. I dream of their blood in the snow. It sickens me they got away with it. They’ll probably be long dead, but I want to lash out.

  Why do the authorities put up with these drug dealers? If I know who they are, surely so must the police, but they never prosecuted those guilty of the crimes against my family, and they failed to solve the murders I committed. Such a useless bunch. Perhaps I should knock a few of them off their perches. That would focus their minds.

  The female Chief Inspector with the weird name who was on TV asking for witnesses to come forward was right
when she hinted that the murder was likely to be drug related, but she sounded worried about a turf war. As always, they won’t be looking for me. That will be their and the Chapmans’ downfall. I’ll send a message to drug dealers everywhere that ordinary citizens can help where the authorities can’t. I contemplate for a moment whether it’s my medication that has brought on this moral crusade or if, now my life is nearly over, I’m just enjoying going out with a bang.

  I will take from them what they took from me. And that is everything.

  24

  DI Barton

  Barton turned his car into the cul-de-sac and nearly ran over the old man he almost hit before. This time he was just standing in the way of Barton’s driveway and staring into the distance. It’d been a long, fruitless day, so Barton wound his window down. He opened his mouth to give the guy a sarcastic comment, but something stopped him. Instead, he parked at the kerb and got out of the car.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’

  Barton did a once-up-and-down of his attire and noticed he was wearing one brown and one black shoe. There was also a slight far-off gawp to the man.

  ‘Are you off for a walk?’

  He stared blankly at Barton for a few seconds before his vacant eyes refocused.

  ‘Damnedest thing. I forgot what I’d left the house to do. Don’t get old, my boy. It’s no fun at all. I do now recall I wanted a paper, and suddenly I couldn’t remember the way.’

  Barton pointed towards Baggswell Lane. ‘It’s down there if that’s any help.’ By the look on the man’s face, it didn’t seem to be.

  An older lady who lived a few homes from where the disorientated man did walked past. At first, Barton thought she wasn’t going to stop but eventually she did and gave them a cautious look.

  ‘Hi, this gentleman is on his way to the shops and is a bit confused. Do you know him well?’ said Barton.

  Sharp eyes analysed him. ‘No, not really. You understand what it’s like in our street. No one talks much. He’s been here years, before even I moved in.’

  ‘Okay. What’s his name?’ asked Barton.

  ‘Hmm. I forget.’

  ‘How come? Isn’t he your neighbour?’ Barton asked with a frown.

  ‘He lives a few doors away. Do you know your neighbours’ names?’

  Barton opened his mouth and then closed it. He looked around and his silence confirmed she was right. His shoulders slumped. He came across a lot of loneliness in his life, mostly old people. Men especially could be poor at maintaining relationships. If they never married, or their wife left for some reason, they often found themselves isolated and unhappy. He didn’t know what the solution was.

  Most lives started out with hope and possibility, but that wasn’t how they finished. He hated to think of an inevitable end filled with despair.

  Who were his own real friends? A working parent’s life left little free time for social activities. He had drinking buddies, but when they left the force, they seemed to slip away. Part of that was having a young family. Even Zander, who he counted as his closest friend, he’d seen little of when he wasn’t working with him every day. If he had one night free a week, he’d rather spend it with Holly.

  The woman cleared her throat. ‘And you’re our friendly neighbourhood policeman,’ she added to drive her point home.

  Barton took a deep breath and was contemplating if he’d have been better just running the fellow over, when the lady surprised him.

  ‘I’ll take him to the shop. He lives on his own and has always been a little off. Keeps himself to himself, this one.’

  Barton decided it was a good thing that the man wasn’t concentrating with the pair of them discussing him as if he weren’t there. On closer inspection, he only had a vest on under his coat. ‘Okay, that’s great. You sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘I think I can manage, assuming I don’t have to carry him. I often see him buying milk and the paper.’

  At that moment, raucous laughter carried from the green next to Barton’s house. They all stared over at Britney Chapman and a group of friends standing under a tree, drinking and smoking. With fabulous timing, the Colonel came out of his house on the other side. He glared at the youths and limped over. Barton had seen him slumped on an electric scooter yesterday, but clearly the chance for a good moan had invigorated him.

  ‘Can’t you nick them?’ asked the Colonel when he arrived.

  ‘For having a picnic?’

  ‘That’s anti-social behaviour. I bet they’re doing drugs.’

  ‘It’s just young people letting off steam. We can’t arrest them for that.’

  ‘That’s the problem nowadays. These youngsters have no respect. You should go over and beat some into them.’

  Barton stared at the Colonel. Then at the other two. The woman nodded her head. Even the bewildered gentleman scowled in agreement. His patience worn out, Barton uttered a goodnight and turned on his heel. His car could be moved later, perhaps under the cover of darkness. You’ve got to love old people, he thought.

  He recalled being young himself and having nowhere to go with his friends. He imagined they used to go to the BMX track but weren’t so keen now. As he arrived at his front door, an easily recognisable whiff of marijuana enveloped him. Maybe the Colonel had a point.

  25

  DI Barton

  Barton opened the front door and slipped into his house. A cup of tea and a few quiet moments were required. Holly came down the stairs with an exhausted expression that mirrored his.

  ‘Tough day?’ he asked her.

  ‘I feel like a prison officer. I’m tempted to beat the inmates, but the rules prevent me.’

  ‘Sounds familiar. What’s for dinner?’

  ‘There are four chicken nuggets left on the oven tray and a few beans in the microwave. That rhubarb yoghurt went out of date yesterday, so you can have that for dessert.’

  ‘Lucky me.’

  She came over and put her arm around him. She still looked happy despite the kids giving her the run-around. ‘You are fortunate to have me, Detective Barton. You just caught me at a low ebb and then trapped me.’

  It was a familiar joke of hers that they only got together because she was vulnerable after the nasty break-up with Lawrence’s biological father. He pulled her into a cuddle. A marmoset compared to his silverback; she was right. Blessed was how he felt when he met her all those years ago, and that feeling had never changed. When she’d wanted to get married for security, he couldn’t agree quicker. Not once had he considered cheating on her.

  He thought about events earlier at the station. DS Strange had worn a white blouse with an unreliable top button. She had searched online for the deceased’s social media profile, which turned out to be absent, so spent much of the afternoon with her arms crossed and leaning over her keyboard. The only time the detectives’ department had been as popular was when the previous Super retired and brought Krispy Kreme doughnuts in on his last day. Today, he’d had to threaten Zander with filing to get him out of the office. Then he’d caught Strange checking Zander out as he left the room.

  Strange suited her tumbling hair framing her face. But Barton admired her in the same way he would a car. He could smile at the bodywork without needing a ride. Perhaps having three kids had drained his ardour as well as his bank account. Zander sent him a joke birthday card once that had the symptoms of low testosterone on the front. Worryingly, Barton had the weight gain, hair loss, decreasing muscle mass, mood swings, fatigue and diminishing sex drive. If his morning glory went, he’d have the full set.

  Truthfully, Holly and Barton only needed a weekend together without the kids for it all to come back. Amazing what a bit of sleep can do.

  Holly reached up and whispered in his ear. ‘If you’re really lucky, Luke might have left some chips on his plate.’ Smiling now, she added, ‘I take it that you haven’t had a break on the murder?’

  ‘No, not yet. It’s only been three
days but the whole case feels very cold. The victim had no friends or enemies and led a quiet life. There’s no DNA recovered of any immediate use, no witnesses, no evidence, no murder weapon and no confessions. No further clues from the post-mortem. We cross-checked the footprints, nothing there. A wellington boot comes up repeatedly in the area, but it could have happened at any time. There were fingerprints everywhere which is as you’d expect seeing as they hold BMX meets there. He’s not on Facebook or any other social media. All in all, no nothing, and probably no promotion because of it. The most concerning aspect is that we’re struggling to see a motive.’

  ‘What’s going on with the promotion?’

  ‘It won’t be long before the DCI leaves. Application deadline is the end of the month, and then the process starts, so there’s a couple of months’ handover if we’re lucky. As with all things police, it will drag on and be painfully slow and then rushed at the finish. Navneet’s also not happy with this case because she doesn’t want to go out on a final failure.’

  ‘Why is no motive bad?’

  ‘The easiest way to solve a murder is to find out why someone might want to kill them. It’s money or sex, usually. This man’s footprint on the world was virtually non-existent. I don’t see who would want him dead, so I haven’t got any suspects. It could be that he had an argument with someone, but unlikely. Everyone we talk to says the same thing: quiet bloke. That means he might have been murdered for no reason other than somebody wanting to take another’s life.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘That it could be virtually anyone, and that person could be a psychopath. We’ll struggle to solve it quickly unless something terrible happens.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘They kill again.’

  26

  Four months later