Dead of Winter Tr

by Lee Weeks

  ‘What about her mother? Were Chrissie and her mother close?’ asked Ebony.

  His eyes lingered on her.

  ‘No. Anything but.’ He half laughed. His teeth perfectly veneered.

  ‘Even though she had no other children? Maria didn’t marry again, did she?’

  ‘No she didn’t and yes . . . even though she only had one child Maria was an unloving mother.’

  ‘I come from a massive family,’ Carter chipped in. ‘Always wanted to be an only child . . . get some attention . . . we had to fight for it. So many of us we were given numbers not names . . . you know how it is?’

  Martingale smiled. ‘As I told you last time . . . I have many regrets. Chrissie went from boarding school to university. She was a scholarship kid, very bright, not brilliant, but I was immensely proud of her achievements.’

  ‘So what happened to her mother?’

  ‘She died in a fire. Very sad. Mental illness is a great shame. It’s a hard thing for any of us to understand. It’s an awful thing to be afflicted with it; it’s even worse to have to live with someone who has it.’ He held Ebony’s gaze. She looked away. ‘She was dead before Chrissie’s body was released. I had to bury them both. I always thought it could have been Maria who killed Chrissie. Maria got harder and harder to control and she turned psychotic.’

  ‘Yesterday we discovered another body buried in the garden of the property in Totteridge Village. It’s an eleven-year-old girl. Her name is Shannon Mannings. Does it mean anything to you?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘She was one of the children that the Chrissie Newton Foundation helps. She’s from the Lea Vale children’s home in mid-Wales.’

  ‘Sorry. Her name doesn’t mean anything to me. What a terrible shame. How did she die?’

  ‘We don’t know. Whoever did it tried to dispose of her body by burning it.’ Ebony watched Carter; he had lost interest in the flowers and now was much more intrigued by the complicated timing devices for climate control. ‘We identified her by the operation she’d had to put a pin in her broken arm. Don’t suppose you did that for her, did you?’ Carter turned back from examining the humidifying system.

  Martingale shook his head again. ‘No.’ He turned reluctantly from Carter and smiled at Ebony.

  ‘Okay . . . well . . . worth asking.’ Carter stood up. He turned one of the pots around to get a better look and took a photo.

  ‘Please . . .’ Martingale turned it back, a flash of anger flitting across his face. Carter smiled.

  ‘Beg your pardon.’ He put his phone away.

  ‘It’s just that I have them all perfectly placed for maximum growth and light, according to their type.’

  ‘Wow . . . that’s what you call a perfectionist. Isn’t it, Ebb?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I try.’

  ‘Do you have a garden in South Africa?’

  ‘I don’t tend to it. It’s more structural. It’s not ornamental.’

  Martingale began walking them back towards the front of the house. He was getting bored by the conversation. He was getting irritable. At the front door Carter paused.

  ‘Sorry . . . I forgot to ask. Can I have the number of your daughter, Nikki?’

  ‘Yes. Of course . . . wait . . . I’ll get it for you.’

  Martingale came back with a number written on a piece of paper. ‘Can I ask you why you want it?

  ‘It’s just that she and her husband run the Chrissie Newton Foundation, don’t they? I wonder if they would know the name Shannon Mannings? Apparently they’ve accompanied the children, including Shannon Mannings, on trips from the home paid for, very generously, by the foundation.’

  ‘Yes, of course . . . Nikki will be very sad and shocked by this news, I’m sure. She and Justin are very active in their role as directors of the charity.’

  ‘Well . . . thanks for your time, Mr Martingale. Thanks for your understanding. Hopefully we won’t have to bother you many more times. Now I can picture you tending to your orchids . . . so beautiful. Amazing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Martingale opened the front door for them.

  ‘Sorry . . . Can I just ask . . . one more thing?’ Carter stopped in the doorway. ‘How do you manage the orchids when you go away?’

  ‘That’s what the expensive machinery’s for.’

  ‘You can check things remotely?’ Martingale nodded. ‘What, you just sit at your PC in Africa and check the humidity levels, set the timer, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Exactly. Plus orchids don’t flower in summer and I’m usually away then. I tend to come back in the winter. That’s when they come to life.’ He stepped back into the house.

  ‘I noticed that . . . all the prizes you won in shows; they’re all in the springtime.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carter turned to wave at Martingale at the end of his garden.

  ‘Charming bloke.’ Carter winked at Ebony. ‘But remember, Ebb . . . not parasites, survivors.’

  ‘He seemed to have a touch of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Sarge. He definitely didn’t like you messing with his plants.’

  ‘Think we saw a little flash of temper then, don’t you, Ebb? He’s not a man used to compromise. He doesn’t like being challenged.’

  ‘Control freak, Sarge.’

  ‘Yes. We know he lives in a bubble. His work and his flowers seem to be all that matters to him. Let’s keep pushing, Ebb. I want to know the real Martingale.’

  Ebony wasn’t sure whether Carter was being mischievous or whether he was excited by the thought of peeling off Martingale’s armour.

  Carter took out his phone and the piece of paper Martingale had given him and dialled the number for Nikki de Lange: ‘Straight to answerphone, Ebb. It’s either engaged or switched off . . . what a surprise.’

  Chapter 53

  Back at Fletcher House Ebony went to find Robbo. He was at his desk. She gave him her phone, the battery and the SIM card.

  ‘What’s the score, Robbo?’ Carter joined them. ‘What kind of damage and who would do it?’

  ‘Okay, the news isn’t that good. Because it’s a smartphone it stores all your emails and passwords and has access right across all your private stuff. It can download your music, your photos. It knows the location you took your photos. It can access all the other PCs you use because it knows your passwords. Have you changed all your passwords?’ She nodded. ‘You’re going to have to get a new phone as well as a SIM card. He can just order a replacement SIM card for that phone otherwise.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Also . . . and this is very interesting . . . if you saw it switch on by itself that’s because he was listening to everything you said. All your private conversations, all the meetings we’ve had in here.’ Ebony groaned. Robbo continued: ‘The only small scrap of good news is that it stops here with the change of passwords. The even more bad news is that, to be honest, he’s already downloaded everything personal of yours anyway. He must have known he’d only get one window of opportunity and he took it. This was never meant to stay on your phone long. He knew you’d find it and by that time he had what he wanted. Carmichael can do this kind of thing in his sleep. He trained me in a lot of stuff I’m not allowed to do.’

  ‘Oh God . . .’ Ebony could see her career whistling past her ears. Now she wasn’t just hurt that Carmichael had done it to her, she was angry. ‘Has he been able to get into HOLMES?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The only way to hack into the machines here is if you load a dodgy attachment. HOLMES wouldn’t really interest him anyway. I think he’d be more interested in the emails that fly around the office and all the stuff that you’re looking at.’

  ‘He knew about Sonny then?’ Ebony was feeling sick.

  Robbo nodded. ‘I expect so but, Ebb . . . just get on with your job. Carmichael is one of those that you couldn’t keep out if he was determined. You saved him a bit of time maybe, but you couldn’t have stopped him.’

  ‘I take full responsibi
lity, Ebb,’ said Carter. ‘I sent you up there on your own. It was always risky.’

  Robbo shook his head. ‘Just because he hacked into your phone doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you, Ebb; the opposite. He chose to see the investigation through your eyes. He trusts your interpretation of it.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Carter. ‘Try phoning him again on the way to the de Langes’ apartment. He must know we know about him now. He’s on his own now.’

  Ebony hadn’t got through by the time they parked up and Carter rang the bell for the janitor at the block of flats in the grounds of the Mansfield, opposite the hospital entrance. They didn’t get any reply. Carter pressed all of the buttons and someone buzzed and let them in.

  ‘Second floor, Sarge.’

  They walked up the stairs. On the second floor a woman came out of her flat to see who it was that she’d let in.

  ‘Hello . . . police.’ Carter showed his warrant card. ‘Thanks for helping us. We’re rubbish at breaking and entering aren’t we, Ebb?’

  The woman smiled. ‘I thought you might be the postman. I’ve been waiting for days for a parcel.’

  ‘Been a long stay for you here, has it?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ She sighed. ‘My husband is in the hospital. I’m desperate to get home but he wants me here so . . . what can I do?’ She rolled her eyes and smiled. Ebony checked the address she had for Justin and Nikki de Lange. She knocked on the flat door opposite.

  ‘There’s no one in there.’

  ‘You sure?’ asked Carter.

  ‘Very sure. I wish there was. There’s no one but me in this whole place . . . ’

  They left the apartment block and crossed over the car park to the hospital. Ebony caught a glimpse of Justin de Lange at his office window.

  ‘What exactly is it you need from me, detectives?’ Justin asked as Ivy escorted Carter and Ebony into his office.

  ‘A little girl, Shannon Mannings? Her body was found in the garden at Totteridge.’

  ‘I am really sad to hear about it.’

  ‘We thought the name might ring a bell? She was from a children’s home in Wales. It’s one that the Chrissie Newton Foundation help,’ said Ebony.

  ‘Well I didn’t know her personally. I’ve never met any of the children that we help.’

  ‘Of course, just thought I’d ask.’ Carter smiled and continued: ‘One of the things we have to consider is whether someone is conducting a personal vendetta against Mr Martingale or whether he is somehow linked to the killer without knowing.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Chrissie Newton, Mr Martingale’s daughter, was murdered, and now one of the children that her foundation helps is also murdered. Do you see what I’m getting at?’ Carter asked.

  ‘The Chrissie Newton Foundation has helped many thousands of children over the years. It would be impossible to link one little girl’s death to it.’

  ‘Mrs Warrell, who runs the home in Wales, seemed to think you accompanied them on outings sometimes,’ said Ebony.

  ‘Me? No . . . I’m afraid not. I wish I had the time. I’m sure she has seen me in my official capacity as one of the directors of the Chrissie Newton Foundation. I remember visiting the home on a few occasions over the years. But I don’t get time for much else.’

  ‘We need help really, sir.’ Carter took the lead.

  ‘Of course . . .’ He smiled sweetly. ‘If you think I can.’

  ‘We now think that this group of Bloodrunners in the news at the moment were responsible for killing Chrissie Newton all those years ago. This is a team of people – we know there are more than one. We believe they kill to order. We presume Chrissie Newton was a match for someone and Louise Carmichael must have been the same.’

  Justin de Lange shook his head. ‘It’s just incredible.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I know it seems far-fetched,’ Carter carried on. ‘Seems like it couldn’t happen. We were the same . . . weren’t we, Ebb?’ He turned to her; she nodded. ‘We thought it sounded like one of those science fiction films. Then, like so many things . . . the more we looked into it the more we found it wasn’t so uncommon. We also found out that you once unwittingly bought a product for use in one of the Mansfield Group’s cosmetic procedures that was traced back to someone’s dead husband?’

  ‘It was a long time ago. Now I’m more careful about where I source our products.’ Justin’s face had taken on a grey hue.

  ‘Where do you get them now?’

  ‘They come from large medical research companies who specialize in it.’

  ‘We believe you’re involved with a company who specialize in cadaver products?’

  ‘It’s not looked on like that. People donate their organs for use after death. They donate their bodies for medical research in certain fields. Or if they are healthy, their bodies go to help cure many horrible conditions: diabetes, heart conditions, burns . . . inevitably some ends up in the beauty business but it’s still a very worthwhile medical procedure. What is sometimes considered left over can be used for other procedures. One dead body can provide many living ones with a range of products. It’s perfectly legal.’

  ‘Give me an example. It’s fascinating.’

  ‘A lot can be achieved without using invasive surgery. Wrinkles, for instance. A filler for the upper lip, to smooth it out. It’s a gel made from human skin.’

  ‘Dead people’s skin? Where do they get their bodies that they harvest?’ asked Carter.

  ‘As I said . . . we wouldn’t use the term “harvest” and that’s not my side of the work but I know they come from donated bodies or bodies left for research.’

  ‘Research? So helping someone’s lips to look plump is research?’

  ‘Correct. Sold legitimately by non-profit-making companies.’

  ‘Companies that pay their execs huge money and offset the rest? Like Remed Ltd?’ Carter shook his head as if he could hardly believe what he was saying.

  Justin smiled at Carter. ‘Very cynical. Not us. We pay huge taxes in several different countries, as you will know if you have my finances under scrutiny.’

  ‘Are these procedures you carry out here?’ asked Ebony.

  ‘Some of them, yes . . . all legitimate, widespread, well-tested procedures.’ Justin looked momentarily riled but was met with Ebony’s deadpan face.

  ‘My understanding is that these people – Bloodrunners – offer a black market in living donor products: organs, stem cells, foetuses. Is it the same thing?’

  ‘Of course not. These are cadaver products, legitimate.’

  ‘You used to perform transplants?’

  ‘I used to assist, when there was a need.’

  ‘In the Mansfield?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I have done but not for a long time.’

  Carter turned back from looking at the picture on the wall . . . a blow-up photo of an orchid on canvas. ‘You’re a very clever bloke. You must have studied very hard for two careers. Must have been hard to choose which one to go for.’

  ‘As I told you before . . . I preferred business to medicine.’

  ‘Back in the days when you did transplants all the time. Did you know where those organs came from?’

  ‘Sometimes we might meet the donor – if, say, a relative was donating their kidney.’

  ‘What about a liver? Can more than one person share a liver?’

  ‘A liver can be split and used for more than one patient. Yes. It is grafted onto the unhealthy liver.’ Justin stared at Carter. The room had become very still.

  ‘So that has to come from a dead person?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Clinically dead, braindead? Heart still beating sometimes?’

  ‘Sometimes . . . correct.’

  ‘Would you see that dead person?’

  He shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t be my department. When a match is found a team goes into action and the organ is delivered to the waiting team.’

  ‘So you have no idea where it came
from?’

  ‘You know where it came from because there is a nationally recognized transplant team in operation who match donor with recipient and they organize delivery.’

  ‘Is it always them?’

  ‘Yes . . . unless it is being done illegally, which doesn’t happen in the UK.’

  ‘And you would know that? You would trust the people on your team to know that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Because you work in countries where it does happen?’

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  ‘Well, thanks for your time.’ They went to leave. Carter stopped at the door. Justin had turned his attention back to the laptop on his desk.

  ‘Just one more thing, Mr de Lange. Do you know Digger Cain – he’s a nightclub owner who owns shares in your publicly listed company.’

  ‘No, sorry. I don’t.’

  ‘It was a girl who worked at Digger’s club who was found by the M25 the other day. She had also been harvested. Actually she was a lucky break for us because we have got the killer’s DNA from her. It’s just a matter of time now before we get the person responsible.’

  ‘That’s good news. I have a busy day . . . excuse me.’ De Lange stood and gestured towards the door.

  ‘Of course . . . but . . . is your wife here?’ Carter said. ‘We went to say hello over at the flat where you live. Doesn’t seem to be anyone living there?’

  ‘Ah . . . my wife and I are going through some personal and very private problems at the moment; we had intended to live there together but at present I am bedding down here and my wife stays with her father, I believe.’

  Chapter 54

  Tina sat in the departures lounge at Stanstead airport eating a panini with everything in it. She had no need to worry about the diet any more. A machine was going to suck out all her fat. She’d walk in a size sixteen and walk out a six. As she glanced at the newsstand outside the nearby WHSmith she saw the headline:

  ORGAN HARVESTERS

  Body snatchers continue to stalk London streets

  For a few seconds she thought about phoning Ebony and asking her if she was alright. Asking her if she wanted any fat bringing back. Might actually give her some breasts . . . ha-ha . . . hard to know what was rib and what was breast with Ebony. Tina took out her phone and was about to press speed-dial when she thought twice: she knew that Ebony would be quietly stressed to hell; really feeling it. She knew it was her first murder investigation and it was a whopper. What if Ebony was in the middle of something? The last thing Tina wanted was to cause her more stress. Tina would tell her all about it when she was coming round from the operation. She’d ring from Poland.