The lack of conviction is damning, even if I didn’t know the truth. I shake my head. ‘Try again.’
His face drops, but again I am far from convinced. ‘They made me do it. They threatened my family.’
‘It’s strange you say that. The Colonel mentioned that you and he were friends at school. He struggled to believe you joined the force as you were the worst of all of them. He didn’t know my father. The people my father stole the money from came from London. The Colonel said it was you who contacted him and requested the hit. It was you who ordered them to slaughter everyone.’
‘Are you here to kill me?’
‘Yes, I am.’
I circle behind him. My right leg almost gives way. I put my hand with the gun on the work surface to stop me dropping it.
I beckon with my other hand. ‘Outside, in the garden. Don’t worry. You won’t need your coat where you’re going.’
He walks past me meekly, out the door, and treads into the middle of the lawn. There’s a small bench next to his pond. I tell him to sit on it. He doesn’t bother to move the snow, just drops himself down. His breathing struggles with the numbing air.
‘Any last words?’
‘I don’t really understand. I’m not really sure where I am. Why am I on my own?’
‘I assume that’s because you are a heartless cretin. You have Alzheimer’s, which is why you’re so confused. Don’t fret, you aren’t missing much.’
A loud knock sounds on the back door. The snow softens my steps as I tiptoe towards it. A young woman and an older man stand there. I watch them for a few seconds. It looks as if the police have finally solved the case. Maybe there’s hope for the future. I clear my throat and wave the pistol in their direction.
‘Evening, Officers. Please come into the garden. I’d hate to start shooting.’
They freeze at first. That’s understandable. I back away and they follow. The woman’s face pinches as she sees the man on the bench. ‘Mr Griffin, are you all right?’
‘I’ll be asking the questions,’ I say. I don’t think he heard her anyway as his head lolls forward. ‘Why are you two here?’
‘We came to ask him if he had an idea where you might be,’ says the ginger man who wears an enormous thick coat.
‘My God, you still haven’t got a clue. Can’t you see all roads lead to this man? I’m sure someone will put two and two together before his funeral.’
I throw the gun at their feet. They glance at each other, open their hands, but don’t move. Understandably so. Eventually, the woman steps forward and picks it up. I expect her to point the weapon at me. Instead, she surprises me and checks if it’s loaded. It isn’t. The last bullet is in Britney’s leg. She throws the gun in the bushes anyway.
‘You’re under arrest,’ she says without conviction.
‘Save your breath. We’re leaving. Now you’re here, you can join us.’
I take Uncle Ronnie’s hand grenade out of my pocket. His father agonised over whether to pull the pin out as the enemy approached but I have no such dilemma. No one moves. They wouldn’t have been expecting this. I hold it up slowly and remove the pin. There’s a moment of worry as the seconds tick by. Is the grenade still live? A final breeze blows snow off the fence tops and, for a second, the world is swallowed in white. Everyone vanishes. As it clears, I see the ginger officer yank the woman back and step in front of her.
77
DI Barton
His house was still when Barton opened the front door and entered. His family should all have been in bed and the silence confirmed that. It felt so warm and safe. He walked into the lounge and smiled at the mess. His shoulders shook as he fought back a sob. Barton sat on the edge of the sofa. Then he stood up, recalling what he’d done to his trousers. He picked up his little man’s T-Rex figure and kissed it on the head.
Would they have caught Veronica by now? The more he thought about it, the more he struggled to understand why she had stayed to shoot the policemen. She could have just finished off the Colonel and left. What next? Would she kill more people? Was there something else she needed to do?
She blamed the police for everything. That was rich considering what she’d done. But she spat out the word ‘corruption’. What had she said: wall-to-wall corruption, and then Major and Colonel? He couldn’t imagine anyone he worked with being corrupt, or being involved with dealing drugs. Not nowadays. This wasn’t about the present, though. He understood that now. He’d guessed himself that the cases back then weren’t conducted properly. Who better to hide evidence than the person investigating it?
Inspector Griffin’s name was all over the documents. Could he have been involved? If he was, he might get a midnight visit from the Snow Killer, never mind Strange and Rodgers. Suddenly, it dawned on him. Captains, Majors and Colonels. They were ranks in the British army. What came next? General. What had Veronica said about Griffin – that he told her his mates called him Jen? Could that be short for General?
Barton put his coat back on and stepped out of the door. Veronica had shown that even the police were fair game if they got in her way. Barton had told Ginger and Strange to steer clear of any trouble. But if the Colonel had informed the Snow Killer about a General, then she would be heading there next.
With a dry mouth, he hurried down the street. And that was when an almighty boom filled the air.
78
The Snow Killer
I try to open my eyes, but only one of them cooperates. All I see are grey clouds above, and I can’t hear anything at all. Strange to experience total silence. I’m not in pain, but my mouth is incredibly dry. It takes a few seconds for me to realise I’m on a sheet of ice. My head drops to the side, and I see I’m in the frozen pond. The General waits in his seat except now he doesn’t have a face.
My aches are also absent, only this terrible thirst remains. I can touch slippery ice under my left hand. My right hand feels strange. When I raise my arm, I realise that it’s gone.
My chest constricts, and I try to pull air into my lungs but manage only a shallow breath. There isn’t any chance of me getting up. In fact, I barely have the energy to keep my remaining eye open. It’s as though someone is gently pulling it shut.
Detective Barton materialises in my view with frantic eyes. He looks behind him and puts a hand to his mouth. His chin thrusts forward as he stares down at me.
‘Why?’ he mouths.
As my eye finally closes, I attempt a smile. ‘He knows why.’
79
Two Days Later
Barton sat on the bed and stared at Kelly Strange’s sleeping face. He had no tears left. He’d arrived to find three bodies lying on the snow and a bloody corpse on a small bench. The air seethed with the taste of metal and the sickening smell of burning flesh. Strange and Ginger Rodgers were still breathing. Veronica Smith died as he stared down upon her.
Ginger’s body rested slightly on top of Kelly’s and it was obvious, looking at his blackened back, that he’d taken the brunt of the explosion. Barton rang for an ambulance. Strange sobbed. Ginger’s layers had protected everywhere apart from his head. Barton used his hand to staunch the bleeding while he screamed at Ginger to open his eyes.
The paramedics were already at the church, so the ambulance arrived two minutes later and blue-lighted the pair of them away. DCI Naeem ran to him and grabbed his shoulders. He didn’t remember much else.
Kelly’s injuries were superficial apart from a piece of shrapnel entering her lower back. He didn’t know exactly what damage that had caused, but she’d miscarried the baby. They kept her sedated, but she had been told. The tears that leaked down the side of her face at times broke his heart a little more.
The door opened behind him, and Zander walked in. They hugged without embarrassment. Zander had gone to check on Ginger, who’d been scheduled an emergency operation on his brain.
‘How’s Ginger?’
‘The worst news, I’m afraid. There’s nothing they could do. They’re
contacting his next of kin before they turn the machine off.’
Barton reflected on what Ginger had said. He did make it up to Kelly, just as he said he would, in the most noble way possible. Barton nodded at Zander’s matter-of-fact words. That was what this job did to you. Where did all the hurt go? When was it all too much?
‘Naeem’s retired with immediate effect. I’ve spoken to DCI Cox, as we’ll now be calling her, at the station. We’re not expected back in for a week. The workload’s light, anyway. I guess the whole city is stunned.’
‘It’s my fault. I let them head down there. I should’ve known.’
‘You can’t think like that, John. She was a sick woman. It’s her fault, not anyone else’s.’
Barton thought back to the quiet old lady. She hadn’t seemed crazy to him. Dark and vengeful, of course, but she knew what she was doing. He wondered what he’d do if someone slaughtered his family. He decided not to think about it too honestly. Mortis had done the post-mortem and found the sliced skin on the Colonel’s chest. He shuddered as he imagined that happening.
Barton had also read Veronica’s parting note and the final picture had been revealed. A cold-case team in London dug deep into the new details. Careers would end; reputations were in tatters. Old people, he mused; disregard them at your peril.
Britney hadn’t cracked despite another attempt from Zander. Barton had gone to visit her private room this morning, but she’d disappeared during the night. He wished her well.
Barton visited the vicar, too. He left thinking that the man knew more than he was letting on. Especially when he said cryptically, ‘Be sure your sins will find you out.’
The door opened again; this time, DCI Naeem and her son, Aryan, entered. Judging by their red eyes, they also had a tough path ahead. Thoughts of what might have been would darken the rest of their days.
Naeem embraced Barton as well. ‘Thank you, for everything.’
Zander squeezed Barton’s shoulder. ‘Come on, John. Let’s go into town and get hammered. We’ve got days to sleep it off.’
Barton let himself be led out of the building and slumped in the passenger seat of Zander’s car. He’d never wanted to be drunk so much in his whole life. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t be the same again. None of them would forget the Snow Killer, but what he needed right now was oblivion.
Acknowledgement
Many of those who helped with my previous books have again given freely of their time, and their assistance and support remain greatly appreciated. However, the stand-out supporting act for this novel is Julian. He retired recently after twenty-five years in the police and kindly offered to answer any questions I might have, not realising that it was going to be about a million.
I couldn’t have done it without you.
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About the Author
Ross Greenwood is the author of six crime thrillers. Before becoming a full-time writer he was most recently a prison officer and so worked everyday with murderers, rapists and thieves for four years. He lives in Peterborough and The Snow Killer is the first instalment in the DI Barton series.
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First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
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Copyright © Ross Greenwood, 2019
Cover Design by Nick Castle Design
Cover Images: Shutterstock
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