‘I look forward to seeing Dwayne again. Any development on the footprints?’ he asked.
‘Thanks for reminding me. DC Whitlam, did CSI make any progress with that?’
Whitlam rose to his feet. ‘There were loads of different types as the crime scenes were contaminated. However, there is one that occurred at all the incidents. They’ve been matched to a standard brand of wellington boot sold by Shoe Zone. I’ve spoken to their head office. They have five hundred stores in the UK alone, and after the inclement weather started, they have been selling anything up to thirty thousand pairs a week. They estimate they’ve sold hundreds of thousands of that particular style since they began stocking them.’
A ripple of laughter spread through the room at Naeem’s exasperated face. She took a deep breath and was about to speak when the loud beep-beep of an incoming text message cut her off. Ginger chuckled louder at that, but Naeem stunned him with a fierce glance and pointed finger. Zander reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled his mobile phone out. His fingers danced over the screen.
‘It’s from Britney’s mobile number: “Stop calling me. I get that you think I’m next but if you don’t know where I am then the killer won’t know either.”’
Naeem’s jaw bunched. ‘I do not share her confidence. This killer has been one step ahead of us all the way.’
60
The Snow Killer
I stir from a deep slumber. I ate so much at breakfast that I fell asleep on the bed afterwards. The pills have numbed my thought processes again and, despite the nap, I’m groggy. I’ve missed the eight o’clock taxi, having slept past that time, and rebook it for nine, which is only fifteen minutes away. No matter, there’s little to do. The shower blasts some of the fug from my mind, and I pull on my winter clothes. This white coat has been my suit of armour. I check the final round is in the pistol and place that and the Stanley knife into my pockets. Uncle Ronnie’s keepsake from his father can come too, for when the moment arrives.
The taxi driver doesn’t acknowledge me, just drives away from the hotel when I get in the back seat. I wonder if it was him who had a wasted journey earlier. He’s going in the right direction, anyway. He drives past the business park with the flash new offices. It seems this place changes by the hour. I’ve enjoyed seeing the city develop over the years. Some find the expansion and multiplying population unsettling whereas I’ve loved the anonymity it provides.
I don’t feel nerves. I rarely have. Was that another part stolen from me on that wintry night? It’s possible that Britney isn’t at the girlfriend’s place, but that’s where I’d go if I were her. When the you-know-what hits the fan, people like Britney find they have few friends.
Still, I may be wrong. What will I do if she isn’t there? Maybe I should just put the last bullet in my own head. No, I have a plan for myself. That’s back up in case they try to save me. I know where I want to die.
I tell the man to stop on the small stone bridge that gives Stonebridge its name and give him fifty pounds and ask him to wait. If I haven’t returned in a few minutes, he can keep the change. There’s a path through to the property. It’s much colder than I expected. The wind swirls the snow into mini-tornados, and I watch my step. It wouldn’t do to fall at this late stage.
A few days ago, I hung around outside Britney’s girlfriend’s building. A leaving cleaner told me about the sheltered housing. There are eight flats with their own bathrooms and two communal kitchens. People don’t tend to stay long.
The owner of one of the neighbouring properties’ was keen to have a moan to me about the occupants. Loud, late music being the main point of irritation. She knew most of the culprits by sight and pointed to the flat that had been the worst recently.
I’m guessing the cause is Britney, who’s been hiding at her girlfriend’s place. Typical that she didn’t think to keep a low profile. She always did like her music. She likes women, too. It’s funny reading the papers nowadays. They seem to think lesbians, gays and transgender rarely existed before now. They were about. Perhaps people were just nicer to each other in those days.
I suspected the inhabitants would be late risers, hence my plan to get here early. I may have missed them by oversleeping. A man smokes outside. I might as well ask for confirmation.
‘Hi, I’m looking for the flat with the young lady and the baby.’
I can tell straight away that the guy isn’t the full ticket. He’s one of those whose mouth opens as their brain tries to engage. I’m reminded of Special. She did that sometimes. Then she’d laugh as she had forgotten what she was thinking about. I try a different angle.
‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Ronnie. I want to visit the young family.’
His simple smile splits his face. ‘Dwayne, I’m Dwayne. There’s a baby in number one. I hear it when the music isn’t too loud.’
It is the flat that the neighbour pointed out. ‘That’s very good. Which one are you in?’
‘I’m opposite in number three.’
‘I suggest you get back in there. It’s getting worse out here. I’d hate for you to catch your death.’
I follow him inside. He points at the first flat on the right and giggles. He puts his finger to his mouth and goes, ‘Shhh.’ There you are. Ignore different people at your cost. They can often understand what’s going on. When his door shuts, I push my hood back, grip the pistol, and knock on the door. A young girl opens it up enough to peek through. I smile. She recognises me but can’t place from where. Our paths have crossed at the shops and in the street. She wouldn’t see danger. She pushes the door wide.
‘Is Britney there?’
‘She’s asleep in bed.’
I point the gun at her chest. ‘She’ll get up for me.’
61
DI Barton
Barton spoke to the woman in Records who’d kept to her word by arriving early and finding the information online. She rang the company, and they’d agreed to email her a PDF of The Times newspaper the day after the family had died, and the copies from the following week. The chilling headlines on that first morning were simply: Snow Killings. Barton had just received the email that she forwarded to him. Only the initial facts appeared on the front page. He was flicking through the later pages when DC Rodgers waddled past looking as if he’d been inflated with a pump.
‘I’m off to see that slow fella in the hostel who we caught peering at the body. He’s in flat three.’
‘Cool. Ask him if he knows the Chapmans. You sure you don’t need a few more layers?’
‘It’s protection from snow and bullets. I think if I fell over, I would bounce back up again.’
‘Ginger. I wanted to say I was out of order when I grabbed you the other morning. I shouldn’t have done it.’
‘Hey, forget about it. We’re old school and I should know better. I’ll make it up to her.’
Barton found himself alone in the office when Rodgers left. He read the newspaper of the day after the murders again. It contained very little detail. He rubbed his hands and decided a drink would warm him up. Someone had foolishly left some Cup-a-Soups on the side. A chicken one would be just the job. He sat down and resumed his search.
The incident dropped from the front pages quickly, as if the press struggled to get hold of any facts. Barton wondered if the police withheld information from them for the purposes of the investigation, or for reasons unknown. He finally found the names of the deceased. Alan and Vicky Smith, and their disabled six year old daughter, Michelle. A fifteen year old child had survived but remained under police protection in hospital with serious injuries. Their details were being hidden for the time being.
Barton rubbed the sides of his forehead and grimaced. It was the name Smith, again. Think, you idiot. A common surname, but still. The age of the victim worked. They’d be less than seventy now and around eighteen when the later murders were committed. He cursed at the lack of information, then another email pinged through from the woman in Records.
John, I read the newspapers I sent you but couldn’t find the details of the child who survived. I flicked through the next few weeks’ front pages. They have thumbnails on their website. I came across this. I’ve blown up the image, and it’s a little blurred, but the information you want is there. If you bear with me, I’ll ring the company again to get the whole paper. I thought you’d want to know straight away.
Barton clicked on the photograph she’d sent. The picture of the survivor stared out at him. He frowned. The kid reminded him a bit of Oliver Twist. The headline declared: Snow Killings Survivor Vanishes from Hospital. Then he read the child’s name. Barton’s stomach turned over. How could he have been so stupid?
62
The Snow Killer
Britney charges from the bedroom as the girl backs away. She freezes at the sight of the gun, which follows her progress.
‘You two, on the sofa.’
Britney’s fingers tighten on the knife at her side. I point my pistol back at her girlfriend. ‘Last chance.’ They sit down.
It’s a gloomy, damp room. I step to the cot and look in. The baby is fast asleep and appears clean, warm and well fed. I peer into the bedroom, which looks empty.
‘Who are you?’ demands Britney.
‘I’m the Snow Killer.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘I killed Terry Sax, your sister, her boyfriend, and now I’m here for you.’
Britney’s face whitens. She bares her teeth. The other girl sobs into her hands. Britney jumps out of her seat. My gun stays pointed at the crying form.
‘You going to shoot us all, that it?’
‘No, Britney. I’ve come for you alone. Unless you make it difficult for me.’
‘Why, what did I do?’
We chuckle together; I admire her spunk. I know she was born into a life she couldn’t escape from and got on with it. But now it’s caught up with her.
‘You sell drugs and ruin lives.’
‘You’re mad. My sister was a businesswoman. Brick a builder, hence the name, dummy. And Terry just a junkie, and not even much of one. He only scored off me every month or so.’
I can’t help my right eye flickering. Have I been wrong? My hand shakes uncontrollably, and I have to put the pistol in the other hand. Then her comment sinks in. ‘You admit to being a drug dealer?’
She realises her error. Her face droops as she accepts that this might be it. I expect a desperate lunge, but instead she sits down.
‘The others won’t get hurt?’
‘No. I promise.’
‘What’s wrong with your hand?’
‘I have Parkinson’s disease.’
‘Are you dying? Is that why you’re doing this?’
Clever girl. ‘My family were killed years ago. It was drug related. I murdered the men responsible, but nothing changed. I watched you and your sister break the law for years. You, in particular. Do you remember breaking my bottle of sherry?’
‘Shit. Do you know when I left that night, I had a weird feeling I’d done something that would come back to bite me. So, you’re taking out the trash before you check out, that it? Am I the last? Someone new will only take over from me.’
‘You’re the last. Well, it will finish with me.’
The girlfriend’s snuffles strengthen considerably. Britney sighs. ‘Can I tell her to go in the bedroom with the baby?’
‘Yes, fine.’
The girl doesn’t need further permission. She scoops her child up, leaves, and slams the door shut before either Britney or I move. Britney leans back in her seat.
‘Are you ready, Britney?’
‘Not just yet. If I have nothing to lose then I’ve got something to say. Perhaps you’ll have another target. I’ve heard your story. Now hear mine.’
I assume she’s playing for time. There’s no rush, and I give her a nod.
‘My father beat us kids rotten. He was a cocaine-snorting psychopath at the weekends. He had no idea what he was doing. By Tuesday, he would be back to work and running his business. He’d apologise for his actions even if he couldn’t remember them. Then it’d all start again on Friday night. Celine said she didn’t kill my dad. She did though. I know it because of what he did to me.
‘We knew all the guys who he scored his drugs off. Everyone did. I went to the police and gave them their names. I was a minor and my conditions for cooperation were that they kept Celine and me out of it. A father and son ran the scene back then. They got eighteen years. Someone stabbed the father to death in prison.
‘They learned their trade from their grandfather. He was a ruthless man who’d run a big empire before handing it down to his offspring. He’s still alive, and hates me because he suspects I gave the police enough information to trap them. I ruined his life. He fumed when Celine and I took over. What could he do? He was an old man with a dodgy back. He was yesterday’s news. You should wipe out the Colonel before you go. It would be a favour to me.’
The Colonel. What were Hardy’s words all that time ago, just before I beat him to death with the hammer? He said that the Colonel ordered him to do it.
‘Tell me about this Colonel.’
She talks, I question. It must be him. Five minutes later, I am incredulous of life’s little peculiarities. The Colonel is the short-tempered old fart who lives next to the green. For over fifty years, I’ve been walking by the house of the man who ordered my family killed. He’s been living near a policeman for about ten. Unbelievable.
I stand to leave. ‘Come with me. We’ll pay him a visit.’
‘No way. You’re the Snow Killer. You’ll shoot me outside.’
My reputation precedes me. She stands and stares me down, which is unsettling. I can’t place my thoughts in the right order. I have to finish this, but I need to get to the Colonel. Another thought occurs to me.
‘Where do you get your drugs? The Colonel?’
‘No, he’s retired. I buy them in bulk from a Bulgarian guy. It’s well cheap. Do you want to know where to find him?’
I shake my head. The whole world is at it. I’m too tired for much more.
‘Do not talk to the police. I’m going to see him now.’
‘I’m not saying anything about this. You understand? I don’t want you caught because he has to pay.’
I consider my options. She looks so young in just an over-sized T-shirt. I realise she must be freezing.
‘Do you deserve to live?’ I ask.
‘I want a chance,’ she says.
My finger flexes on the trigger. Her eyes close. The enclosed space magnifies the bang. It’s deafening. Britney’s mouth opens and closes. She stares down at the wound and collapses onto the sofa. I open the door and hear Dwayne’s door open. An enormous round man with ginger hair comes out of his room. I raise my arm and point the gun at his head.
‘Back inside. Anyone steps outside in the next five minutes, I start shooting.’
The ginger man remains calm, as if he’s been in this position before. Police. I don’t have much time.
63
DI Barton
DI Barton’s phone rings. Ginger’s name is on the screen.
‘Barton.’
‘It’s me, I’m with Britney. She was staying with her girlfriend at the same hostel as bloody Dwayne Tyne. The Snow Killer’s just shot her. I’ve rung for an ambulance and everything else. You aren’t going to believe this.’
‘I might, if you’re about to tell me it’s a woman.’
There’s a pause on the line. ‘How did you know?’
‘The child who survived was a fifteen year old girl called Veronica Smith. She disappeared from the hospital after leaving for some fresh air with her uncle. I presume your shooter is in her late-sixties.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘It has to be her. We’ve managed to determine her date of birth, but there’s no Veronica Smith listed in this area. There isn’t a Veronica Smith on the local electoral roll either, never mind tr
ying to match the age. Is Britney going to make it?’
‘Yeah, she got shot in the leg, but she’s not talking. She also warned her girlfriend not to say anything. I’m not sure why. I’ll get the guys out looking if you want, but the Snow Killer is armed and dangerous. PAVA spray won’t be enough.’
‘The Armed Response Vehicle should be on its way. Do you know which direction she went?’
‘No, I thought she was going to shoot me. Her finger twitched on the trigger while she pointed it at my head. It was a horrible feeling. I had total clarity that I didn’t want to die. Crazy eh? I never believed for a moment the killer would be an old woman. There must be quite a few living around here.’
Barton suddenly remembered. ‘Oh my God. I know who it is.’
64
DI Barton
The snow fell. More a fine mist as opposed to big flakes. It swirled and fluttered as the passing cars blew it around, which meant he couldn’t see much further than the end of his bonnet. Luckily, he didn’t have far to go. When he pulled into the village and the traffic eased, he put his foot down and controlled the skids. He’d told Ginger to wait at the property for him and to arrange for the armed unit to cover the building. DC Malik clenched his fists next to him. Barton still hadn’t been able to get hold of DCI Naeem.
He arrived at the property as a woman in a green uniform helped Britney into the back of an ambulance. Barton stopped them from closing the rear door.
‘Half a minute?’
‘And no more,’ said the paramedic.
‘Tell me what you know, Britney.’
Britney stroked the thick bandage on her leg. She smiled at him.
‘I think it was Meryl Streep.’
The paramedic laughed and slammed the door shut.
The Snow Killer Page 21
