Blood on Snow

by Rachel Amphlett

‘Just after eleven.’

  Christie frowned. ‘It doesn’t take that long to get to your house from here and back.’

  ‘I couldn’t find it when I got there. Took me a while to remember it was up in the bathroom, not where I usually leave it.’

  Christie straightened and pushed the chair away as he moved to the door. ‘Next time, Mr West, I’d appreciate it if you told us everything.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  As Kay followed the more experienced detective constable back to their car, she clutched her coat around her as a fresh flurry of snow scampered around her heels, and bit back a rising sense of frustration.

  ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’ she said, launching herself at the heating controls as soon as Christie started the engine.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but whether he was telling us everything remains to be seen. I still think he’s hiding something from us.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Based on what you’re telling me, we don’t have enough evidence to arrest Ryan West at this time.’

  DS Sharp pushed himself away from his perch on a desk close to the whiteboard and peered at the updating notes that Christie added in capital letters.

  Kay blew across the top of her coffee and then stifled a yawn.

  The incident room was quiet save for their muted conversation, the computer screens blank and only the sound of the custody suite on the ground floor filtering up the stairs to where the three of them gathered to review the case to date.

  An occasional siren bleated from the street outside as a patrol vehicle swept out from the car park behind the police station, but otherwise an uneasy peace had descended on the town.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Christie said, a note of frustration seeping into his words, ‘but he was nervous about something. We just haven’t found out what yet.’

  ‘Okay, keep your eyes and ears open,’ said Sharp, turning away from the board. ‘And don’t be hanging around here for much longer tonight. There’s another storm heading this way, and I’d rather you both got home safely.’

  Christie flicked his wrist, his eyes widening as he saw the time. He swept his coat off the back of his chair, loosened his tie and jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘Speaking of which, I’m a dead man if I don’t get going – it’s our anniversary.’

  ‘Regards to the missus,’ said Sharp over his shoulder, already heading back to his desk.

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ Kay watched the detective constable leave, then wandered over to the small kitchenette at the back of the room, rinsed out her coffee mug and left it to drain.

  At her desk, she tidied the reports that had been left for her and ran her gaze across the sticky notes stuck to her screen and keyboard that jostled for space with memos requiring her urgent attention.

  She wiggled her toes to encourage some circulation back into her extremities and tried to remember if there was anything in the freezer to eat when she got home.

  Probably not.

  Picking up a manila folder, she flipped it open and found print-outs of all the statements taken by the investigating team that morning as they worked their way around the crescent.

  She found the one for house number four and rested her chin in her hand as she read through Jeff Bernsen’s statement, followed by those of his adult children – all of whom were shocked by the brutal slaying of Liz Carter, despite any previous disagreements between them.

  Kay flipped the page and started to read the final statement, that of Nicole Bernsen.

  Then stopped.

  Flicked back to the beginning and read it again.

  ‘Sarge?’

  She peered over her computer screen to where Sharp sat with his back to the wall, his jaw clenched as he read through his emails, and pushed back her chair, Nicole Bernsen’s statement in her hand.

  ‘Sarge – can I run something by you?’

  He jumped at the sound of her voice, then recovered. ‘I thought you’d left when Christie went.’

  ‘Just going through some last-minute paperwork.’ She held out the witness statement. ‘Can you take a look at this? When you and Christie spoke to Nicole Bernsen this morning, she said that she was looking out her bedroom window at eight oh four this morning and saw Liz out on her patio holding the cat.’

  Sharp took the statement from her and ran his eyes over the typed text. ‘That’s right. It ties in with the Carters’ kids’ statement that it had escaped the house and she had gone out after it.’

  ‘How could Nicole Bernsen be so sure about the timing?’

  ‘She said it’s her morning routine to wander around while she brushes her teeth, and that she saw the time on the alarm clock beside the bed when she turned away from the window to go back into the en suite. Why?’

  Kay sighed. ‘Because it means the timeframe within which Liz Carter could’ve been murdered is even smaller than we thought.’

  The detective sergeant blinked. ‘Because Andrew said he went looking for his wife at ten past eight.’

  ‘Right – so how did Liz’s killer get in and out of the garden in under six minutes without being seen?’

  Chapter Seven

  When Kay returned to the incident room the next morning, Sharp was already briefing the team about her findings from the previous night.

  A few faces looked her way as she found a seat at the end of the semi-circle of chairs in front of the whiteboard and pulled out her notebook, but soon returned their attention to the detective sergeant.

  She huffed her fringe from her eyes, trying to calm her heart rate after running up the stairs two at a time, cursing the traffic accident on the main road between Wateringbury and Maidstone that had created a tailback an hour long.

  Save for the scratch of pens on paper, the only sound in the room was that of Sharp’s voice and as she heard him recite her findings from Nicole Bernsen’s statement, her cheeks flushed.

  A guilt seeped into the confidence she’d felt when she left last night, an overwhelming awareness that she hadn’t helped her colleagues, and only created another problem – and more work.

  ‘How are we getting on with CCTV cameras near the bus stop on the street beyond the crescent?’

  Sharp’s question jolted Kay from her thoughts and she looked across as a young uniformed constable rose from his chair.

  ‘We’ve received it this morning, Sarge,’ he said, ‘so I’ll make a start as soon as the briefing’s done.’

  ‘Let me know the minute you find anything, and––’ Sharp broke off and turned his attention to the back of the room. ‘What is it, Maurice?’

  Kay turned to see Sergeant Hoyle hovering at the door, a sheaf of paperwork in his hand.

  ‘Thought you might want to know – I was going through the call logs from Monday night and checking them off against the system. One of our community officers was called out to Ryan West’s wife’s home at quarter past ten – says here he breached a restraining order.’

  Kay’s eyes locked with Christie’s as the detective constable pushed back his chair.

  ‘He told us he left work that night because he forgot his asthma inhaler,’ he said.

  ‘Which makes me wonder what else he might be lying about,’ said Sharp. ‘Best you and Kay get yourselves over there now.’

  Chapter Eight

  The thick snow was starting to retreat by the time Kay parked the pool vehicle next to the kerb outside Ryan West’s house.

  Her boots sank into a soft slush as she got out and peered over the car roof at the second house in the crescent, a weak sunlight blinking in and out of grey clouds that promised rain before the end of the day.

  She shivered and hurried to join Christie as he strode towards the front door and beat his fist against the metal letterbox set into the wooden surface.

  ‘He’s probably asleep,’ she murmured, gesturing to the drawn curtains across the front windows, both downstairs and at the bedrooms above.

  ‘Hope so,’ Christie said, his eyes hard.


  She turned back to the door at the sound of footfalls thudding down the stairs, then a security chain rattled.

  A bleary-eyed Ryan West peered out at them, a confused expression turning indignant.

  ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘Can we come in, Mr West?’ said Christie, taking a step forward.

  West moved, shifting his body to block the detective constable. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You missed out some vital information when we spoke to you at work last night. Specifically, the fact that you lied about your whereabouts between the hours of ten and eleven o’clock.’

  Christie cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the man’s response.

  ‘All right.’ West moved to one side, and slammed the door the moment they both stood in the hallway. ‘Come through here.’

  Kay followed the two men into a spartan living room, the bookshelves bare and a lighter shade of paint on the wall where once a large television had been.

  West stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face them.

  ‘Look, I did come home to get my inhaler. I just stayed a bit longer – to calm down before I went back to work, that’s all.’ He exhaled and rubbed his hands down his face. ‘I know I was stupid, trying to approach Ann-Marie before I came back here – I suppose it’s because of the time of year – we used to love Christmas together, and now look at me.’

  Kay snapped her notebook closed as Christie let out a sigh.

  ‘Don’t leave town without letting us know, Mr West,’ he said. ‘And keep away from your ex-wife.’

  ‘Do you think he’s telling the truth?’ said Kay as her colleague closed the front door and led the way across the driveway to their vehicle at the kerb.

  ‘About being an idiot? Yes.’ Christie pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the car. ‘As to whether that makes him capable of murder, I’m not sure.’

  ‘What if––’ Kay broke off as the front door to number three opened, and PC Alice Brooks, the Family Liaison Officer peered out and beckoned them over. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Mr Carter spotted you arriving,’ said the FLO, ‘and wondered if you could come in? He’s quite anxious to speak with you both.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She followed Christie into the living room, a retro-fitted multi-fuel burning stove in the corner of the far wall creating a cocoon of warmth offset by a heavy atmosphere of grief that permeated the whole space.

  A television played silently in the corner, the sports channel ignored as three faces turned to her and then Andrew Carter rose from his seat and held out his hand.

  ‘Richard, thanks for dropping in.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Christie, and introduced Kay to the family. ‘Alice said you wanted a word?’

  ‘Actually, it’s Michael here who wanted to speak with you.’ Andrew beckoned to his teenage son. ‘Come on, they don’t bite.’

  Kay smiled at the man’s gentle tone and turned her attention to the fifteen-year-old who was already the same height as his father, but who hung back with the reluctance of someone not used to being in the spotlight.

  Christie’s face softened as he nodded to the boy. ‘It’s true, we don’t bite. What did you want to talk to us about, Michael?’

  The teenager blushed. ‘I only remembered it when Dad mentioned you were outside,’ he said, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat, blinked back tears. ‘It might be nothing, of course.’

  ‘Let us worry about that,’ said Christie. ‘Is it something about yesterday?’

  Michael nodded, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘We were in here, watching the telly while we were having breakfast as usual. Dad was up in the shower. Jesse – that’s the cat – he’s not meant to be outside for another week but he was in the kitchen with Mum. I think she must’ve forgotten he was there – she’s always rushing around in the mornings…’ He broke off, gulped in a breath. ‘There was a break in the adverts on TV – just a few seconds before the programme came back on, and that’s when I heard it.’

  ‘What did you hear?’ said Andrew, placing his hand on his son’s arm.

  ‘That’s the thing. I’m not sure. It sounded something like one of those hang gliders with a small engine, y’know?’

  Kay frowned. ‘Do you mean a microlight?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, a moment later Jesse managed to get past Mum and out the back door while she was checking what the weather was doing, and then…’

  The teenager turned away, burying his face into his father’s chest while his shoulders heaved with sobs.

  Kay turned to Christie, the confused expression in his eyes mirroring her own tumbling thoughts.

  What was a microlight doing flying in this weather?

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Come on, I need to get something for lunch and you need to eat, too.’

  Kay grinned as Higgins hovered next to her desk, her stomach rumbling as her eyes found the time displayed in the corner of her computer screen.

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  She locked the screen, plucked her coat off the back of her chair and followed him out of the door, squinting as a cold blast of air assaulted her face when they got outside.

  ‘What d’you fancy?’ said Higgins, leading the way across the busy main road and up the pedestrianised cobblestones of Gabriel’s Hill. ‘Sandwich or pie?’

  ‘Something hot. And full of carbs.’

  ‘You’ll be moaning about that in a few months when it starts to warm up.’

  ‘I’m willing to risk it.’ She followed him into a café to their right at the top of the hill, the windows wet with condensation and a cosy warmth inside.

  Passing the smattering of wooden tables along the wall to her left, Kay made her way to the glass counter next to the till and eyed the display of hot pastries.

  She picked out two sausage rolls, ordered coffee and moved to a table near the window while Higgins bought his lunch.

  Beyond the glass, the pavements were crowded with office workers seeking out their lunches or running errands within their allotted one-hour break.

  Sighing as she took the first bite, Kay eased back into her seat as Higgins joined her, and passed him a ketchup sachet.

  ‘Thanks. What are you doing for Christmas this year?’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘Any plans?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve signed up to work through the holiday.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I figured it’d be easier than spending it with my parents.’ She forced a smile. ‘Besides, there’s only me at home – it makes sense that I take on the shifts rather than someone with a family and kids.’

  ‘I reckon by Boxing Day, some of those will be wishing they’re at work instead.’

  Kay laughed, then licked the grease from her fingers before crunching up the paper bag. While she savoured the coffee, her gaze returned to the street as a uniformed patrol passed and she held up her hand in greeting.

  When she turned back, Higgins was staring into space, his chicken pie halfway to his mouth.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said.

  He blinked, then lowered the pie and leaned forward, lowering his voice.

  ‘I think I know who killed Liz Carter.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘It was us talking about Christmas that made me think of it.’

  Higgins stood beside Sharp in front of the whiteboard, and tapped the enlarged map showing the crescent where the Carters lived and the neighbouring properties.

  Kay sat on the edge of her seat, battening down her excitement as her colleague spoke to the gathered investigative team, his initial nerves disappearing as he warmed to his theory.

  ‘Go on,’ said Sharp.

  ‘When Kay and I spoke to Hugh and Beverley Starling, we noticed he’s an avid modeller – you know, airplanes and the like. He said he was building a Spitfire at the moment, and that if he finished it before Christmas, he was hoping their kids would buy him some more k
its to work on.’

  ‘What does that have to do with Liz Carter?’ said Christie.

  ‘His wife mentioned Hugh builds radio-controlled boats – I took a look at them while Kay was talking to his wife outside.’ Higgins paused, then shuffled his feet as his face turned red. ‘Anyway, I wanted to check the side gate to see if anyone had gone through there to access the Carters’ garden and when he showed me through the garage to get to it, there was one of those radio-controlled drones on a workbench next to their car. It looked damaged. I just wondered if––’

  ‘––Starling was messing about with it that morning, and lost control. Factor in the height it dropped from plus velocity, and Liz wouldn’t have known what hit her,’ said Sharp, his voice full of wonder.

  ‘And it could be the case that Hugh Starling has no idea he’s responsible for her death,’ said Kay. ‘I mean, it would’ve only taken seconds. If he did something with the controls, or the cold weather affected the drone’s responsiveness, he might’ve re-established control and flown it back to his garden none the wiser.’

  Sharp clapped Higgins on the shoulder. ‘Good work, Simon.’

  Kay nodded to her colleague as he took a seat beside her, the incident room buzzing with an excited white noise.

  ‘Let’s have some quiet and work through this,’ said Sharp, his voice rising to be heard. He turned to Kay. ‘What about when you were outside in the Starlings’ back garden – notice anything?’

  ‘There were a lot of footprints, Sarge, but none near the hedgerow or trees that border the Carters’ garden. When I asked whose they were, Hugh Starling said they were his and that he’d been out feeding the birds and taking out food rubbish to the compost bin.’ She frowned. ‘He never mentioned the drone.’

  ‘Well, according to the guidance that comes with those things, he shouldn’t have been flying it out there,’ said Christie. ‘That’s if he’s got a licence for it – it’s not compulsory at the moment.’