Dead of Winter Tr

by Lee Weeks

  ‘No need, I suppose. She wasn’t in this country; she wasn’t part of the investigation.’

  ‘She wasn’t a child then. She was twenty-seven. That’s hardly a kid. She was a grown-up that no one has ever really heard about till now.’

  ‘What’s the point in this? What are you thinking?’

  ‘That she was the child in the attic. That she was hidden away. Her dad is a bit controlling, possessive maybe?’ Ebony waited for Harding to react, but she didn’t. ‘Do you know whether he’s had many relationships?’ continued Ebony.

  ‘He had a good few. I would say he’s definitely a ladies’ man, but now he keeps it to sex only. He has a lot to lose, after all. The divorce settlement would make you think twice.’

  It wasn’t hard for Ebony to see that Harding was talking from experience. ‘What about Carmichael – did you get to the bottom of his relationship with Chrissie?’ asked Harding.

  ‘He still maintains they were never lovers. But she contacted him again after all those years?’

  ‘And she had a child by that time.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking too. She must have wondered whether he was worth a second shot, whether he was father material? But would she go so far as to break up his marriage?’

  Harding shook her head, opening her hands out in a shrug.

  ‘I don’t know. I am the worst judge when it comes to looking inside people’s heads. I can tell you what their last meal was but I can’t tell you whether they enjoyed it. I’ve had more affairs than I care to mention or can pretend to feel guilty about. Some have broken marriages some haven’t. Some have even done some good for marriages. But . . . the one thing I do know is that if a woman is determined to get a man she will.’ She looked across at Ebony’s expression. ‘Yeah . . .’ Harding continued: ‘. . . Maybe I’m not the best at dishing out pearls of relationship wisdom.’

  ‘What about her husband, Justin de Lange? Do you know him, Doctor?’

  ‘I know the name. I didn’t know he was Mr Martingale’s son-in-law. I know him as one of the trustees of the Chrissie Newton Foundation. We correspond about charity matters, that’s all. I see his name whenever we get a donation to the department. I haven’t met him yet. Can I help you with anything else? I need to get on with these slides.’

  ‘Sorry, one more thing – I wanted to ask you about cosmetic surgery practices.’

  ‘Okay, you can ask . . . not sure I can be much help. I don’t work in that field.’

  ‘I know Mr Martingale does, and some stuff’s come to light about cadaver products being used?’

  ‘Common practice. No secret.’

  ‘Is it legitimate?’

  ‘Yes. In this country we stay within the guidelines. Of course I could take you to twenty private clinics in Moscow where you’ll be able to get foetal stem cells injected into your face.’

  ‘What about Poland?’

  ‘Fast becoming the place to go if you want private work done.’

  ‘Mr Martingale has a hospital there.’

  ‘He has hospitals everywhere. You can be sure that whatever he’s doing he’s staying well within the law. I have to crack on now, Ebony. Is there anything else?’

  ‘Can I just ask you to read this when you have a minute? It’s just some extra information on Justin de Lange. I’d like your take on it.’ She left the file on Harding’s desk.

  An hour after Ebony left, Harding phoned Martingale.

  He was at home; in the background she could hear music, a female opera singer, she didn’t know which one.

  ‘Thanks for the other evening,’ she said. She felt apprehensive, never ceasing to feel overawed by his achievements.

  ‘Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time.’

  ‘Really? I had you down as a man who entertains a lot.’

  On a sexual level Harding hadn’t enjoyed the night as much as she had expected to. Martingale was a man who made love by numbers; there was no passion. By the end she’d felt exhausted by the constant manoeuvring into positions. It was clear he’d read all the books about sex, but he’d missed the point.

  ‘Not at all. I spend my entire life pleasing others; I forget to please myself sometimes.’ Harding resisted the urge to laugh. If he was waiting for a compliment he would be a long time waiting. ‘You have no idea how lonely it can be moving from place to place.’

  ‘I bet . . . so about the news . . . about the investigation.’

  ‘I saw the headlines. Is it true that these recent victims were killed by body harvesters, Bloodrunners?’

  ‘Yes. It looks very likely.’

  ‘And where does that leave my daughter’s case?’

  ‘We cannot be certain, James, but I think we have to accept it was the same scenario. Whoever killed Chrissie did it for her organs. Has to be a reality. Has to be considered. I’m sorry.’

  ‘How close are you to finding out who did it?’

  ‘The latest victim provided some clues; more than previous victims. She has fingerprint imprints on her body. She has semen in her vagina. We think someone is getting careless. You can be sure we’re doing everything, James.’

  ‘I hope so. I appreciate your help with this. I cannot stop the thought that I am at the heart of it. Someone targeted Chrissie because of me. I worry every day for my other daughter, Nikki, with these killers still around.’

  ‘I never knew you had another daughter besides Chrissie until recently.’

  ‘It wasn’t common knowledge. I just didn’t want her dragged into all this. I am a private person and so is she.’

  ‘She grew up with you?’

  ‘Yes. Her mother left. I brought her up. No big deal.’ Harding could hear his mood switch just like in the restaurant with the wine waiter.

  ‘Did she go to school in South Africa?’

  ‘I home-tutored her.’

  ‘Really? Why was that? I heard that the schools in South Africa are very good.’

  She could hear him getting colder by the second. His voice became clipped, and sharp. ‘I had my reasons. I wanted to keep my daughter close; I wanted control over what she was taught, and I thought I could do a better job than the schools. I was right. She turned out just as I wanted her to. She is an asset to me and my organization.’

  ‘And your son-in-law? You must really like him; he’s a big man in your empire.’

  ‘Yes. He was a good choice.’

  ‘He has history.’

  ‘We all have history.’

  ‘For rape?’

  ‘Please!’ She could imagine him rolling his eyes. ‘It never went to court. A girl’s hysterics, nothing more.’

  ‘His mother paid people off.’

  ‘Alright, okay. Maybe he got carried away. Everyone makes mistakes in their youth. Justin has surely atoned for his a thousand times over through the good work he’s done for the Chrissie Newton Foundation and for the Mansfield Group. I could not have done it all without Justin. He is extremely loyal and takes away ninety-nine per cent of the stress for me; leaves me to do what I am good at: saving lives. You know what? I am a little put out by this conversation, Jo . . . I was hoping for better from you. I feel a little bit like I’m on trial here? If there’s something for me to worry about please tell me. I am reliant on you to keep me informed. We have a deal.’

  Harding paused. ‘Deal?’

  ‘Understanding then,’ he replied. ‘Is that more to your liking? The Mansfield Group has been very supportive of your department. And will continue to be so. All I ask is for a little loyalty. I think that’s reasonable considering the amount of money I’ve invested . . .’

  ‘Invested? There is no deal, James. I owe you nothing.’

  There were a few seconds of frosty silence between them before Martingale smiled as he said, ‘Of course not. I’m sorry if I got a little passionate. You owe me nothing. I guess I get a little defensive about Justin. Justin is family.’

  ‘Are they actually married? Is there a certifica
te?’

  ‘Yes. What are you implying?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s just a question . . . there’s no record of it.’

  ‘What? Is my daughter being looked into? I get extremely angry when people intrude into my privacy. What right have they? What right has anybody? I lost a daughter in this country and what justice did I get? None . . . and now the police are wasting their time investigating me, my daughter and my son-in-law? What the hell for?’

  Harding took a breath. She remained calm. Harding had the knack of remaining calm when a man got angry.

  ‘That’s the way it is now, James. The internet has opened up opportunities like that. The police can check on every detail.’ She heard him take control again. She heard him take a deep breath. ‘You’re upset. I understand.’

  ‘No. I’m being irrational. We all want the same things. We’re all singing from the same hymn sheet, after all. Please forgive my little outburst.’

  ‘It’s really not a problem.’

  ‘When this is all over, I hope we’ll be spending many more and much happier times together.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she agreed. ‘Fuck you,’ she added as she put the phone down.

  She went over to her laptop and began to research all the hospitals in reach of Rose Cottage; and all the surgeons who worked in them. Two hours later she rang a number. It went to answer machine. She left a message:

  ‘Simon . . . it’s your ex-wife. Ring me.’

  Chapter 46

  Tina heard the whine of a distant police car as she walked along the waterlogged street. The snow flooded the pavements as it melted. It wasn’t that the night was particularly warm. The smog trapped the light and gave the street an artificial warmth. The street echoed with the sound of her heels; she was scuffing her feet as she held the bag of shopping in each hand and trudged doggedly towards her front door. The bags were ‘bags for life’ that broke after one use and you couldn’t be bothered to ask for another, couldn’t be bothered to take the torn bag back to the supermarket and ask for your replacement ‘bag for life’. Fuck, Tina thought, was life just one day now? One heavy load, one crisis point and the bag for life just broke? Life was full of false promises.

  It had been a shit evening. Justin hadn’t shown. He’d said sorry about the hotel; said he wanted to make it up to her. Who the feck did he think he was? Yeah, good-looking guy. She knew it was too good to be true. She was Miss Average. Ah well. She shook her head. Live and learn. What was it her friend Rachel in the canteen always said? ‘You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.’ The funny thing was that whenever she said that a mental image of Rachel’s husband came into Tina’s head and the theory wasn’t worth a damn; he was pig ugly. Still . . . whatever . . . none of it mattered because today she’d found out she’d won a holiday. An email had come through about what she’d won: the holiday of her dreams . . . free cosmetic surgery. It seemed she’d been entered in for some prize draw. She had been about to SPAM it until she saw there was a freephone number to ring. The woman had been so lovely on the phone to her. Yes . . . it was true . . . she’d won it . . . what the hell . . . she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t remember entering it but she must have . . . and she’d actually won. Now she was going to celebrate with a bottle of cheap plonk and a fish dinner.

  She couldn’t choose her dates. She’d had to be ready at a moment’s standby. She was going to have the lot – lipo, breast enlargement, tummy tuck – and then stay in a five star hotel to recover. She had been asked a series of really weird questions: next-of-kin shit . . . she’d put Ebony down as she didn’t know who else to put. But she had won!! She who never won anything. If she was honest it was a little odd: the wording, the secrecy, but then she didn’t want everyone and his brother knowing she was going for some work. She had to call in sick. They wouldn’t mind. She often had migraines. They would think it was that. After a few days she’d ask them to give her a week’s holiday as well. That should cover it. She’d be back in time for Christmas. Ebony had promised they’d do nothing all day except sit wrapped in their duvets and watch telly and eat. Tina was going to do the cooking. She’d already tried Ebony’s food. There was no way she was going to let Ebony cook. It would be beans on toast for Christmas dinner otherwise. She was looking forward to it a lot. And now . . . she would just fly back two weeks later a new woman.

  She could smell the fish and chips. Her pace quickened. Feck, the wine was heavy. She would get in the door, take off her makeup, get into her nan’s dressing gown and start making a list of what she should pack.

  She hoped Ebony was at home. She was just longing to tell someone.

  Chapter 47

  Ebony got into the detective’s car next to Carter just as his phone rang.

  ‘Yes, Robbo?’ Carter answered.

  ‘Your visit to the de Langes’ will have to wait. We have a match for the Arsenal shirt. Alex Tapp, a fourteen year old, went missing four weeks ago, early November, at an Arsenal match.’

  ‘Text me the address, Robbo; we’ll go straight there.’

  Carter knocked on the door. Ebony looked up the quiet street; across the road a curtain twitched. It was a long street of semi-detached houses one side, terraced the other.

  A woman answered the door. She was in her mid-forties, wearing a long skirt and baggy jumper.

  ‘Mrs Tapp? Helen?’ Carter showed his warrant card.

  ‘Have you found him?’ Her eyes glued to Carter’s face. She didn’t look at his badge.

  ‘Not yet . . . but can we come in please? My name is Detective Sergeant Dan Carter and this is Detective Constable Ebony Willis. Please call us Dan and Ebony. Is it all right if we call you Helen?’

  She nodded as she looked hard at them for a few seconds, trying to read their expressions. A small child came to stare up at Carter and hold onto his mother’s leg.

  Ebony smiled at the child. He smiled back.

  ‘Of course, sorry . . . out the way, Alfie . . .’ She picked up the child and put him on her hip then stood back to allow them to pass.

  ‘We won’t keep you long; we just need to ask you some more questions and we need to get some DNA swabs from you and your husband if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sorry my husband isn’t here.’

  They followed her into the kitchen. She put Alfie down and sat at the table. She looked exhausted. She rubbed her face with her hands. Her fingers tugged at her face, pulled down her baggy lower eyelids and revealed crimson rims. Alfie was clingy as he pulled at her skirt and tried to climb onto her lap. She picked him up and sat him facing the table. He was desperate to play. His fat dimpled hands grabbed at anything his mother didn’t move away fast enough. ‘DNA?’ She was thinking over what it could mean.

  Ebony took a test out of her bag. She cleaned her hands with an antibacterial wipe and put a pair of gloves on then opened the envelope marked ‘Helen Tapp’ and took out the swab. She peeled it back from the stick end.

  ‘I just need to wipe the cotton bud end of the stick around the inside of your cheek if that’s okay, Helen?’ She nodded and opened her mouth ready. Alfie stared up at her. Ebony rubbed the inside of Helen Tapp’s cheek for a minute.

  ‘We found a piece of his Arsenal shirt, Helen.’

  Helen Tapp fought back the tears as she shook her head, relieved.

  ‘You haven’t found his body?’

  Ebony shook her head. ‘No. We have not. It’s a possibility that he’s being held against his will. There’s still hope, Helen.’

  ‘Where did you find the shirt?’

  Ebony looked at Carter for reassurance. He nodded.

  ‘We found it at a house in Totteridge.’

  ‘The one on the news? Where people had been murdered?’

  Ebony nodded.

  ‘Oh God. How did he end up there? Why him?’

  Carter answered: ‘We are working on several theories and new leads at the moment, Helen.’

  ‘Can we please go through the details with y
ou? I appreciate that you’ve talked to officers before but not to us.’

  She nodded and blew her nose. Alfie had turned right round and was watching his mum anxiously. He had picked up the signs, knew the quivers in her voice, the descent into tears, knew they meant a cuddle was needed. He snuggled into her and she wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘Alex went to see Arsenal play.’

  ‘Does he do that often?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It was his birthday. He wanted to take his friend Aaron. My husband went with them on the Underground and then he had arranged to meet them after the game and bring them home. When he got to the Tube station to wait for the boys, only Aaron showed up. He said Alex went to the toilet at half time and didn’t come back to see the second half. Aaron had phoned his mobile but it was dead.’

  ‘Had he ever gone off before?’

  ‘No . . . never. Why would he do that? It was his birthday treat. He’d been looking forward to it for so long. My husband, Michael, went back up to the stadium with Aaron, they talked to the officials. No one had seen anything. Michael phoned the police from there.’ She swallowed hard and shook her head. ‘Nothing . . . it’s like he’s just gone . . .’ Her eyes searched Carter’s face for some grain of hope.

  ‘Any problems at school, that kind of thing?’

  She shook her head, weary with the same questions but trying hard to grasp at any memory that might add up to an answer for his disappearance.

  ‘Does Alex have access to the internet?’

  ‘Of course . . . every kid his age does.’ Helen sounded defensive. ‘He couldn’t do his homework without it.’

  ‘Please.’ Carter kept his voice soft. ‘It’s not a criticism. You’re right, every kid does. Just need to know if you were worried about any unusual amount of activity on it? Did you monitor it? Was he looking at it in here?’

  ‘In here and in his room.’ She thought for a moment, her eyes drifted. She smiled weakly at Alfie as he stared up at her face and grinned. ‘Alex was reaching that age when he had secrets: girls, I suppose, I don’t know. He’s such a wonderful, caring, thoughtful lad; we’ve never had any trouble with him.’ Helen’s expression was open-ended. She looked like she wanted to say ‘until’ . . .