The Snow Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  Holly came up at 9:00 with another cup of tea while Barton drowsed. He stirred and caught her sneaking away.

  ‘Hey, why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘Zander said to let you sleep. You don’t need to be in ’til ten.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll grab a shower. What’s the weather like?’

  ‘It’s not as cold, but the snow’s not melting. Forecast is for a thaw tomorrow and milder for the rest of the week before a really bitter spell, minus five or something, for a couple of days. Winter’s last gasp. Then, apparently, spring will be sprung.’

  Barton gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘I’m only repeating what the forecaster said.’

  ‘Did he forecast a quick fry-up?’

  ‘It’s already on. You have half an hour. Do you remember Zander saying he’d give you a lift in?’

  Barton jumped out of bed and trotted down the stairs in his dressing gown eight minutes later. He found himself whistling. Strange’s news excited him. There was nothing like seeing a new baby, although Barton got a perverse pleasure from watching the joyful expressions on new parents’ faces, knowing they had no idea what lay ahead.

  Barton let his thoughts return to the events of the previous evening. It was sad for the Chapmans, but they led that kind of life. A brutal murder out in the open like that must have been seen. There were bound to be more clues. He now dared to believe they would catch this cold killer.

  ‘Help yourself: oven and microwave,’ Holly shouted to him as she passed him in her suit. ‘I take it you’ll be late, so do what you’ve got to do. I’m doing spag bol for the kids when they’re back. There’ll be a plate for you when you get home.’

  His wife had treated him if the smell was anything to go by. Barton’s belly rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime, which was virtually unheard of for him. He pulled a tray with eight sausages and another containing four hash browns out of the oven. Then burnt his fingers removing a big bowl of nuclear beans out of the microwave. The frying pan had oil in it and a box of eggs at its side with a spatula resting on top.

  Ten pleasurable minutes later, the eggs remained intact, but the rest had filled a giant hole. He released a small burp, marvelled at his good fortune, and went upstairs to change.

  It felt as if it might finally be above zero when he stepped outside. He even had fifteen minutes to spare to nip and get a newspaper. For some reason, the kindness of the doctor from the appointment with Kelly at the hospital was at the forefront of his mind. When he returned from the shops, he stared down the cul-de-sac and thought of the old bloke who had been confused in the street. Deciding to take the initiative, he strode along the path.

  The thick snow on the pavements remained treacherous, so Barton took his time. He didn’t know which house the man lived in for sure but didn’t care. Door knocking was second nature to a copper. He had a recollection of the guy coming out of a bungalow on the right. A house on that side had the brightest red door that Barton had ever seen. It stuck out a mile with the snow resting underneath it. Might as well start there, he thought.

  Barton’s wife had wanted their door replacing with a red one when it split last year. She said a red door in feng shui meant welcome. That was one of the few arguments he won when he explained they wanted to live there quietly, considering his profession. He said it would be like having a target on their house. She settled for a red tumble dryer, which he joked had murdered their electricity bill.

  The door opened and, instead of the man, the old lady who’d taken him shopping that day peered at him. It was hard to age her as she wore plain clothes and just a touch of lipstick. She stared at him with a small grin and widened her eyes.

  ‘Morning, Officer.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a bit of blurred vision. It’s probably the glare from the snow. Luckily, you’re big enough to recognise. Enjoy your eyesight and hearing while you still can, young man. And don’t get me started on knees!’

  ‘Erm, okay. You don’t live here, do you?’

  ‘No. After that day he got lost, I occasionally pop over to ask if he wants anything from the shop. He usually says no, and I see him go by himself later. He’s not in great form today. I had to let myself in. To be honest, he doesn’t say much. He never has.’

  ‘Can I talk to him? I don’t know his name.’

  ‘I call him Mr Smith.’

  ‘That’s very formal.’

  ‘It’s an old joke, and, as I said before, he’s very reserved, secretive even. He told me to call him Jen last time I visited. I asked why and he said that’s what his mates call him. The funny thing is, in all my visits here, I haven’t seen any friends.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give Jen a try.’

  ‘Go into the lounge, but he might not remember you. If he gets cross, which is possible, just leave.’

  Barton didn’t like the sound of that but tentatively pushed open the door. He edged into a stifling hot room where the man dozed in a chair. Barton could see the top of his shirt was buttoned up incorrectly. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He decided he wouldn’t wake him. The woman had entered as well.

  ‘Toasty in here?’ Barton commented.

  ‘Yes, nice isn’t it? I put it on full whack because he forgets.’

  Barton wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. ‘You have a key?’

  ‘Yes, he insisted one morning. I don’t think he remembers some days, but I rarely use it. He usually leaves the back door open because he can’t hear the front doorbell, just in case he has a fall. It’s like many old-age illnesses. Sometimes you’re okay, others not. Social services came around shortly after I started coming. They’ve been pretty good. I agreed to do a fridge clear-out once a week to stop him eating out-of-date food. They left CO alarms and fire alarms. But they said he’s getting close to the end.’

  ‘I thought you said he’s fine most of the time?’

  ‘Not the end, but the end of independent living. He’s deteriorating, and he hasn’t got any family. You can do a lot of damage with forgetfulness. We don’t want him leaving the gas on and blowing up the street. Besides, I don’t really know him, and I’m not in the arse-wiping business.’

  Barton laughed as he stepped towards the door. ‘I hear it’s a dirty job.’

  She smiled, but it was only half of one. ‘When you’re elderly, your biggest fear is being a burden and losing your dignity. This place is familiar to him and therefore comforting, whereas the outside world constantly changes, I suspect the curtains and carpets here are twenty years old. That TV is probably older than you are. Leaving this bungalow will kill him.’

  Barton doubted they had flat screens forty years ago but still nodded. He left her doing the washing-up and walked up the middle of the road where the snow mushed underfoot. Zander’s vehicle had pulled up outside his house and Barton let out a groan. The Colonel from opposite ploughed through the slush and parked his mobility scooter next to the car. His head virtually entered the driver’s window.

  Barton got in the car next to Zander and placed his newspaper in the glove box. He leaned forward so he could see their visitor.

  ‘Morning, Colonel. You well?’

  ‘I just asked this fella about the murders.’

  ‘I don’t reckon he did them,’ Barton replied.

  Zander stifled a snigger and put the car into gear.

  ‘No, no, I expect not. I wondered, maybe it’s the Snow Killer. Come back for more victims.’

  Zander turned the engine off. ‘Who’s the Snow Killer?’

  ‘Ages ago, we had three murders in the snow. Around here, they were. One of them was amongst the graves at the church. The rumour was that they received a note before they died, telling them to watch out.’

  ‘How long ago did this happen? Is the culprit still in prison?’

  ‘They never caught anyone for it, but I don’t think the authorities searched very hard. The people killed had lengthy records. It probably sa
ved the police time and money.’

  ‘Twenty years ago, thirty years?’

  ‘Fifty years, more maybe. They say on some nights when it snows, a ghost can be seen placing flowers at the graves.’

  Barton exchanged a glance with Zander. ‘Okay, thanks. We’ll look into it.’

  The Colonel’s face seemed to drop at that news, and he turned and sped away. Barton tapped Zander on the arm. ‘Every time I speak to him, I feel like drinking immediately afterwards.’

  ‘Do you think the boss will move the meeting to the pub?’

  That reminded Barton of a team building trip at a bar a few years back. Most of the youngsters drank soft drinks and made their excuses. Barton, Zander and Rodgers had turned it into a session and weren’t at all productive the next day. Those changes were for the best, but he couldn’t help missing the old days. Zander interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘I wanted a quick chat. That’s why I said I’d pick you up.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘I hope not. How have I appeared of late?’

  Barton considered the question. ‘Back to normal.’

  ‘Right. I took all the family pictures down and cleared out my boy’s room and his wardrobe. The constant reminders kept me depressed. This murder case gave me something else to focus on. Being with the team and seeing how everyone has ups and downs has given me perspective as well.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Diane came around last night to get the rest of her things. She called me “unfeeling” and some other nasty stuff. Said I was trying to erase my son’s memories. I wondered what you thought.’

  The terrible loss of his friend’s son had made Barton consider how he would handle losing a child. He’d even discussed it with Holly. She’d called him morbid and told him it didn’t bear thinking about. He’d seen others go through it before and knew the answer to Zander’s question.

  ‘You do what’s best for you, mate. I wouldn’t want to be reminded of it all the time either, but everyone’s different. I couldn’t talk about my dad after he died, but we do now. It’s nostalgia in a way, and that’s often tinged with sadness. You’ll get the pictures out again when you’re ready. As for Diane, she’s only lashing out.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. It seems crazy how we are with each other now, especially after how close we were.’

  ‘It’s all over for you two, then?’

  ‘Yeah. She blames me for distancing from her, but we grieved in different ways. I can’t see a way back.’

  They’d reached the station by then and Zander parked the car. When they got to the office, DC Rodgers took one look at their long faces and said, ‘Looks like the entertainment’s arrived.’

  40

  DI Barton

  DCI Naeem waited for them to settle down. Barton detected the energy in the room. An event like this would also cause drama in the criminal fraternity for sure. The Romanian crews that ran the north of the city were a ruthless bunch, and they wouldn’t be able to believe their luck, if they weren’t the culprits. Because it was so unexpected, it might take a while before the others moved in, but react they would.

  ‘Quiet, please, thanks for your promptness this morning. I’ll summarise, even though I’m sure you know the story. A few months ago, someone executed a man with loose connections to the Chapmans. There were no witnesses, and the evidence didn’t lead us anywhere. In many ways, it was a flawless crime. The chance of solving that murder without further information is unlikely.’

  ‘Where’s the top brass today?’ shouted DC Rodgers.

  Naeem ignored him. They all knew that upper management wouldn’t want to be visible in a failure, and that was what the Terry Sax case had been until this point.

  ‘Since then, we’ve had nothing. Then, on Tuesday, Brick disappeared. Celine Chapman was unusually worried about her boyfriend. He still hasn’t shown up. Is he dead? Or did he kill Celine in a lovers’ tiff?’

  Most of those present chuckled at that.

  ‘I would suggest it’s likely that Brick is deceased and I doubt he’s responsible for Celine’s death. If Terry Sax ran drugs for them, it’s possible Brick did. With Celine gone, the hierarchy of their gang has been destroyed, and they’ll be ripe for a takeover. What are your views on that, DI Barton?’

  Barton stood up and walked to the front. ‘Personally, I think Terry Sax and Brick were collateral damage. All of you should be aware that Celine is, was, a despot. To save Ginger asking, that means she held absolute power, tolerated no subversion, and governed oppressively. She ruled by fear but she also had respect, and those close to her reaped the rewards. Were there any witnesses from last night?’

  ‘No, incredibly. No one’s rung in so far.’

  Barton shook his head. ‘I know this is their hood, but thousands visit those shops every day. Someone must have seen something.’

  ‘Think of the weather. People had their heads down in that freezing rain. The wind would have whipped the sound away.’

  ‘Even gunshots?’

  ‘The top ballistics guy is coming here this afternoon. He’ll have a look at our body. I spoke to him yesterday, and he said that most people’s experience of weapons is from war films where there’s multiple firing, or movies about robberies inside buildings where the bangs are amplified. One or two shots in an open space with an average calibre pistol in adverse conditions would be easy to miss. Might sound like an engine backfiring. We have so few guns in this country that most people wouldn’t have heard one firing without watching TV programmes.’

  ‘What about the post-mortem? Forensics on that screwdriver?’ asked Barton.

  ‘Mortis said he’d have the post-mortem done by this afternoon. I spotted the CSI lady, Sirena I think her name was, and him on site. They gave me their initial observations last night. Combining them both, the conclusion is two blasts from close range with a moderately powerful gun. From the powder burns, most likely a pistol. The screwdriver was probably inserted into her throat after the shots. Mortis said it was unnecessary to kill the victim as one of the bullets passed straight through the lower abdomen and came out the other side, which would have caused extensive bleeding, and the other one hit higher and exited the chest cavity.’

  DS Zander picked up on that immediately. ‘Torture? Although why not take the screwdriver with you? Why commit a professional hit that you might get away with, but then leave a clue behind?’

  DS Strange put her hand up. ‘We had this kind of thing in London all the time. It’s a message. They wanted it found. They know that adds extra shock to the killing. There won’t be any fingerprints on the weapon. My guess is the type of implement used will match Terry Sax’s back stabs. They wouldn’t leave the gun like they do in American films because they are too hard to come by over here. They might want to use it again.’

  The room remained silent while they digested that piece of information.

  ‘Good call,’ said Naeem, who had been writing the facts down on a whiteboard. ‘Who’s next? Will more people be targeted?’

  A fairly new officer, DC Malik, shouted out the obvious. ‘Britney’s got to be next.’ Someone threw a paper cup at him and received a rebuking scowl from Naeem.

  ‘Correct, Malik, thank you. Rodgers, do that again and I’ll throw something heavier at you. We state the obvious in this room because everything isn’t always obvious. This looks simple. A gang are trying to take over. They eliminated a few soldiers, maybe others we don’t know about, and now they’ve taken out the boss. Let’s discuss what’s going to happen.’

  DS Strange spoke. ‘There’s a power vacuum. Will Britney step into it? She doesn’t seem the managerial type, more operational. How will this affect the building business they were running?’ She stopped talking. A dawning expression came over her face, and she smiled at Naeem.

  ‘Yes, Kelly, you’ve got it. Speak up.’

  ‘We’re thinking drugs. What if it’s a building competitor? I would
say it’s unlikely to be a local firm, but it might be an east European gang.’ She slumped back in her seat. ‘It could be either of them, over anything.’

  Naeem took over. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Put your opinions to one side. As the great Kuato said in Total Recall, “open your minds”. We follow the obvious leads first but there will be surprises in this case. Find out what’s happening to the business in Celine’s absence. Is it still functioning? Britney has refused to talk to us since we arrested her. She might have had a breakdown and killed her sister. Is she scared? Does she think she’s next? Locate Brick. Check the CCTV at the shops. Anyone got anything else to add?’

  ‘There are going to be a lot of nervous people in the area,’ Zander said. ‘My belief is that Britney won’t take on the construction business. She doesn’t have the experience to manage a company like that, nor the drug trade. Without her sister, she’ll crack up sooner or later. The runners will be filling their pants. Let’s talk to them, apply some pressure.’

  ‘I suspect that the supply chain will falter,’ said Ginger. ‘People with habits might lose their ability to score. Someone having a cluck is a sitting duck for strong questioning!’ He grinned.

  Naeem good-naturedly threatened to throw a pen at him but let him continue.

  ‘Also, that was a close kill. With Brick missing, Celine wouldn’t allow a masked killer to wander up and blow her away. I believe she recognised the shooter, or it was someone she wouldn’t expect.’

  Malik couldn’t help himself. ‘She wouldn’t be expecting Kuato.’

  They all chuckled, but Barton thought that was the best work DC Rodgers had done in years. He would look forward to seeing what HOLMES produced.

  ‘That’s brilliant stuff, Ginger,’ he said. ‘Think like that, everyone. It might have been a friend, or maybe a kid. We know some of these youngsters don’t value their own lives, never mind others’. Fifty quid buys you a lot these days, perhaps even a minute’s work with a loaded gun.’

  They all paused to acknowledge that worrying fact.