Cold as Ice

by Lee Weeks

  She was just about to step out when lights blinded her and she heard the squeal of tyres as a vehicle accelerated towards them. She heard the scream of grating metal as a van came from nowhere. It crashed into the sides of the two parked cars to the left of Jeanie and Jackson then it mounted the pavement to Jeanie’s left and came straight for them. Jeanie screamed as it dragged the buggy from her grasp.

  Chapter 40

  ‘You okay, Jeanie?’ Jeanie?’ She had closed her eyes and was clutching the front door frame of Tracy’s house without realizing it.

  Carter got to Jeanie as fast as he could. He arrived and gave her a hug. She was still shaking.

  ‘I saw the SOCO team in place. You were very lucky to survive that.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock! Is it me, or have I got kill me written on my back?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He held on to her for an extra hug and then drew a little way back. ‘But to be on the safe side I’d rather we didn’t stand so close.’

  ‘Did you get a look at him?’

  ‘No. But it was no accident. We came this close.’ She pinched her thumb and forefinger in the air. She was shaking from the shock and the cold.

  ‘You need to get in the warm.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet. I need fresh air. Is Jackson all right?’

  ‘He’s fine. The doctor’s checked him out.’

  She shook her head. ‘It happened so fast. We were just walking home. We were about to cross the road. There wasn’t a car in sight. The van came screeching across the road and up on the pavement. He must have been waiting for the right moment. The buggy’s totalled. Did you see it?’ Jeanie was shaking.

  ‘Yeah. I stopped to take a look at the scene on my way. You did well to save him, Jeanie. You did a good job.’

  She nodded, leaned back against the door. She turned to look back inside the house; Tracy was giving Jackson his tea. She lowered her voice: ‘It’s possible they thought I was Tracy.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Or Jackson was the target and Hawk didn’t mind who died with him or who he killed to get to him.’

  Carter nodded. ‘Yeah. Maybe he regrets leaving him alive.’

  ‘Perhaps Hawk thinks I’m getting somewhere with him,’ said Jeanie.

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Every day he seems to edge closer to being able to tell us who it was.’

  ‘I’m going round to Gerald Foster’s now to see if his van is there and if he’s got any new damage.’

  Jeanie left Carter and went to find Tracy, who was running a bath for Jackson. Jeanie stood and watched her. She was battling back the tears.

  ‘It’s all right, Tracy, Jackson is okay. We are all okay.’ Tracy nodded but didn’t speak. ‘All we have to worry about is getting a new buggy.’ Tracy nodded – short, sharp nods – she looked like she didn’t dare speak in case she started crying. She undressed Jackson and got him into the bath. Jeanie came over and knelt by the bath and blew bubbles at Jackson. He was playing with the toys that Jeanie had brought over from Christa’s collection. She knew Christa wouldn’t miss them. She was spoilt for choice. It hit Jeanie then that she’d missed another bathtime with Christa. Pete would have his disappointed face on. She wouldn’t tell him that she’d nearly been killed again – not a good move. He’d want her to give up working there altogether. But even if she wanted that too, she couldn’t. She was the higher earner. She was nowhere near ready to go home yet. Carter would be waiting for her at Fletcher House after visiting Foster and they would be working late for as long as it took. She was in it till the end now; they all were. Carter was right – her job came first for now. After today Jeanie realized that she had to be here for Tracy and she had to get the information out of Jackson as fast as she could. Whoever Hawk was, he had changed his mind about killing a child. Nobody was safe from him.

  Tracy put Jackson to bed and then she joined Jeanie in the lounge. Tracy poured herself a large glass of wine.

  ‘You okay, Tracy?’

  Tracy breathed in deeply through her nose and shook her head. She looked at Jeanie, her face beginning to crumple again. She fought back the tears. The glass of wine in her hand was shaking.

  ‘He phoned again – the man who has Danielle: Hawk.’

  ‘Did he?’ Jeanie was shocked that Tracy hadn’t said earlier but then maybe there hadn’t been chance. ‘When you were out?’ Tracy nodded. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said I had a lesson to learn. So did Danielle.’ Jeanie waited for her to continue. Tracy walked across with her glass of wine and sat on the sofa next to Jeanie. ‘I got angry. I called him a sick bastard. I heard Danielle screaming in the background. She paid for what I said. Maybe the attack – Jackson and you – you could have both been killed and it would have been all my fault.’

  Jeanie watched Tracy as she tried not to cry but her shoulders shook. She put her glass down. Jeanie reached out and hugged her.

  ‘No, Tracy. He’s a madman. You didn’t cause him to hurt Danielle. You did what comes un-naturally to you. You blew your top. Who knows whether it will have had a good or bad effect but it won’t have altered his path. I’ll listen to the conversation in a minute on my way home. For now try and forget about it, please. We’re okay. Jackson and I are here and safe. Did you see Steve?’

  Tracy looked embarrassed. She shook her head, reached across and picked up her wine.

  ‘He was too busy. I’ll talk to him later when he phones.’

  Jeanie smiled but she kept her eyes on Tracy.

  ‘You are coping well, you know, Tracy? Much better than most people could. You’re a lot tougher than you think. You will get through all this.’

  ‘But nothing will ever be the same,’ Tracy interrupted.

  ‘No.’ Jeanie shook her head. ‘Nothing will.’

  ‘Is he going to kill us?’

  Jeanie shook her head.

  Chapter 41

  Carter drove through the evening rush hour and spent an hour nose to tail through busy streets. He cut down all the side streets he knew but ended up snagged in bottlenecks. His father had been a cabbie, retired only three years ago. It was when he retired all his health problems came, thought Carter sadly. His father had loved the cabbie lifestyle, meeting up with his mates, starting the day with a cup of strong tea and a bacon sandwich at five in the morning at a cabman shelter.

  At just past nine, Carter arrived at Gerald Foster’s house; the van was parked there; there was a large scratch, down to metal on the driver’s side. There were no lights on in the house. He walked around to the side of the property, jumped up and held onto the top of the side gate as he peered over into the back garden. He saw a light flickering through the bare branches of the trees at the end of the garden. Someone was working in the shed. Carter jumped back down and brushed down his coat. He cursed to himself. If there was one thing he hated it was getting his clothes dirty. He shook his head and steeled himself as he leapt once more up to the top of the gate, gripped, pulled his weight up and swung his legs over. He paused before dropping quietly down to the ground the other side. Apart from the faint light from the shed, the garden was in total darkness, shadowed by large overbearing trees.

  Carter crept down the side of the garden. He kept to the old row of overgrown shrubs for cover. He watched the lights from the shed window as he approached. There was a blackout blind pulled down over the window but a slight breeze inside the shed was lifting it and a bright light burned inside, dimming occasionally as someone passed between the light source and the window. Now as Carter got nearer he realized that it was much more than a shed. It was a substantial-looking outbuilding. It went far back into the trees and must have been sixteen feet long. There was heavy-duty electric wiring up the side of the shed. Whatever Foster did in there, he didn’t like it to be compromised by power cuts.

  Carter walked around to the back of the shed, one careful step at a time. There was music coming from inside. The shed radiated warmth. He listened ha
rd and heard the sound of someone planing wood. Carter tripped over one of the wires leading to the shed and just managed to stop himself from falling but not before he snapped the overhanging branch of the tree as he grabbed for it. Then the planing and the music stopped as someone had also paused to listen. Carter looked upwards and saw a camera watching him from the trunk of the nearest tree. He crouched beneath its range and dodged the trees as he moved towards the back of the stand of trees that encased the shed. He heard the sound of the shed door opening and footsteps coming over the frozen ground towards him. Carter set off towards the edge of the garden beyond the trees and doubled round until he came level with the open shed door and slipped inside.

  Chapter 42

  Jeanie left Tracy and decided to pay Steve Collins a visit and find out for herself what was going on. Tracy said he was too busy to see her that evening. Somehow it wasn’t sitting right with Jeanie. She drove to the hotel in King’s Cross where he was staying. She showed her badge to the receptionist who told her the room number but also said she’d find Mr Collins at the bar.

  The smell of cheap food – stale fat and reformed meat being fried – greeted Jeanie as she walked away from reception and past a lounge area and then turned left into a bar. Football was on a big TV screen at the far end of the long bar. Several men were sitting at that end watching it. A few others were dotted around the bar eating dinner or catching up on a bit of work. She went up to the bar and asked the woman serving, a tired-looking Eastern European, if she knew Mr Collins.

  ‘Steve?”

  ‘Yes, Steve Collins.’

  The barmaid pointed to a man sitting on the far side of one of the tables beneath the TV screen.

  Jeanie recognized him from the photos on Tracy’s lounge walls.

  Steve Collins was halfway through a pint of beer and enjoying the football when Jeanie stood in front of him, blocking his view of the TV.

  ‘Mr Collins?’ He looked her over. ‘Can I have a word please?’ She showed him her warrant card. He studied her for a few seconds as if trying to gauge the severity of her expression. He nodded and picked up his pint. As he picked up his phone from the table Jeanie saw there were three missed calls from Tracy. He slipped from his stool and followed Jeanie to a table away from the noise of the TV.

  Jeanie sat opposite him as she introduced herself.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your evening.’ He didn’t answer. Jeanie was getting the feeling that he liked to stare at women a little too much. ‘I’m Detective Constable Jeanie Vincent. I’m the Family Liaison Officer who’s been staying with your wife and part of the team investigating the kidnapping of Danielle Foster. Just wanted to update you and talk about how we propose to go forward with the investigation. First of all I want to thank you for you cooperation in this.’

  ‘I don’t really have a choice.’

  ‘It must be very distressing for you?’ Jeanie smiled; her eyes stayed boring into his.

  ‘I don’t know her.’

  ‘I see. Even so, what affects your wife affects you?’

  He looked away as he shook his head, sighed.

  ‘I told her – can of worms.’

  Jeanie looked at him curiously.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘That’s what she opened when she let that girl into her life.’

  ‘I know it must be difficult for you but . . .’

  ‘It’s not difficult because I’m not going to let it be. I’ve already told Tracy I’m not coming back till it’s sorted.’

  ‘I’d like you to reconsider that please. I’m here to tell you we’d like you to go back home now. We need you to be aware of a few things.’ Jeanie stopped mid-sentence when he saw Steve shake his head and take a long swig of beer.

  ‘I’m not going back. I’ve decided. Not till it’s all over. I’m better off here, away from it all. I wouldn’t be any help to Tracy.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jeanie pretended to look surprised but in her heart, she’d been half expecting it. ‘We think you would be a lot of help to Tracy, Mr Collins. It would give her both moral and physical support, plus security. She’s often on her own with Jackson.’

  ‘You stay with her then. That’s your job, isn’t it? What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘She doesn’t need me in the evenings after Jackson goes to bed. She needs you. We believe she might be in danger. Jackson, the little boy, might be a target.’

  ‘That’s the point. I have got enough on my plate at the moment without becoming caught up in this. I’m sorry and all that but I don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Collins. I am, of course, disappointed by your decision. If you’ve really made up your mind not to help then I’ll not waste any more of your time and I’ll go.’

  Steve looked her over as she stood and buttoned up her coat.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t help,’ he said. Jeanie didn’t answer him. ‘Can I just ask though? Is there any compensation for loss of earnings?’

  ‘You have a good job though, don’t you, Mr Collins?’

  He looked defensive.

  ‘Yes, but Tracy’s earnings.’ He shrugged. ‘They may not be much – but we need them.’

  ‘I’ll get it looked into. I’ll make sure I talk to Tracy about it. Thank you for your time.’

  Jeanie muttered ‘Takes all sorts’ as she left the hotel.

  Carter looked around the shed as he kept one eye on the door. The place had a slightly stale, muggy smell, as if someone stayed in there most of the time. Here was where Gerald Foster preferred to be. This was where he actually lived. There was a bed in the corner, lying on a raised wooden box. There was a chest of drawers. Above the bed there was a curtain covering the wall behind. Carter walked across and lifted it. He found himself looking at pictures of Danielle. He turned to see Gerald Foster standing in the entrance to the shed with a hammer resting in his hand. Foster stepped inside the shed and closed the door behind him.

  Foster drummed the head of the hammer into his palm.

  ‘How dare you come in here without a search warrant?’

  ‘I just saw the light on.’ Carter stood his ground whilst scanning the shed for something he could use as a weapon.

  ‘This is private property. I would be well within my right to kill you.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that that’s not strictly true,’ answered Carter with an attempt at a smile. ‘I just want to talk, Mr Foster. That’s a pretty bad scratch you have on the driver’s side of your van. Looks like you dragged something.’

  ‘Wasn’t me. One of the lads used it.’

  ‘Lads?’

  ‘I lent it to someone down at the Canal Museum. They borrowed it to move their son. Apparently one of his friends was larking around and drove it into some metal contraption. Bloody typical irresponsible behaviour. Last time I lend anything.’

  ‘Would you be able to provide me with a name and address for the person who was driving your van today?’

  Foster squared up to Carter. He nodded. ‘I’ll get it for you and ring you tomorrow. Goodbye.’

  Carter pointed to the wall of photos. ‘You seem to have quite a shrine to Danielle here.’

  ‘Not to her. To happy times. To Marion and me. They were our best times,’ Foster repeated as he looked at the photos. ‘We were happy then. Just for a brief time.’

  ‘Thought Danielle brought you nothing but trouble?’

  ‘But for a while we were the perfect family. Then all Marion’s time was taken up worrying about Danielle and she grew sick with it. She worried herself into an early grave. But these years . . .’ His face softened as he looked at the photos. ‘These were the best years for all of us: Marion and me – we were happy then.’ Carter looked back at the wall; behind each smiling face of Danielle there was Gerald or his wife. ‘Search the place if you want.’

  Carter pulled out drawers and lifted up the lids on the boxes and trunks around the cabin. He left the bed till last. He was looking at the way it was raised and resting on a wooden box
. He lifted the corner of the mattress, a futon, and knocked the base. There was an echo. Carter knew he was sweating. He knew he was breathing hard as he tried to stay calm and think of all the things he should have thought of before now – too late was what popped into his brain. Too frigging late.

  ‘Can I see what’s beneath?’

  Foster shrugged.

  ‘Sure.’

  Carter stood back.

  ‘Can you lift it for me please?’

  Foster lifted the bedding right back, folded it into a neat pile. He folded the mattress back. Then he prised up the corner of the box enough to get his hand beneath. He paused, turned towards Carter and, at that minute, Carter was deciding his options. He had already taken a step nearer the door and had made a note of anything he might use as a weapon. He knew he was faster than Foster but was he stronger?

  ‘I need a hand.’ Foster nodded towards the foot of the bed. ‘Here.’ He handed him a wrench. Carter slid the end beneath the top of the box and together they lifted it. Carter stood back and looked at Foster. Foster nodded.

  ‘Go ahead, open it.’

  Carter knocked on the lid and then slid it across. Beneath it, lying in the bottom, was a shroud and an urn.