Dead of Winter

by Sam Millar

  ‘If you don’t tell, then I won’t,’ said Karl, winking while slipping the tip into the young man’s waistcoat.

  Karl allowed the Hennessy to stain his mouth, careful of not going overboard with the free booze. It was imperative he kept his head clear – at least for a wee while. It was then he saw Wilson, standing with a group of four, all brass and sharp uniforms. They were all drinking alcohol, with the exception of Wilson and his white lemonade.

  Karl made his way over and stood beside them, listening, smiling and nodding along with each smiling and nodding head. They seemed totally oblivious of Karl’s gate-crashing, while continuing their one-upmanship spiel of dangerous criminals being brought to the courts of justice.

  A large Chicago cop was telling a story about being cornered by two armed men after a botched hold-up.

  ‘Top of the evening, Mark,’ said Karl, smiling, tipping the brandy towards his ex brother-in-law. ‘Thanks for the invite.’

  Mark Wilson’s face went from red to white, and then back to red. His skin tightened. He looked on the verge of saying something, but no words came out. His hand seemed to be coiling on the glass it was holding.

  Chicago Cop finished the pie of a tale with a slice of humour. All the company laughed, except for Wilson.

  ‘That’s a cracker,’ said Karl, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes.

  ‘A cracker?’ said Chicago Cop, looking slightly perturbed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean it like that,’ smiled Karl, his words sounding slightly slurred. ‘A cracker here means a great joke, not junkie. Sorry for the misunderstanding.’

  Chicago Cop frowned, and then grinned. ‘You guys over here sure have a way with words.’

  ‘Don’t we just?’ said Karl.

  ‘Daniel Brühl, captain in the police to the good people of Chicago,’ said Chicago Cop, holding out his hand towards Karl.

  ‘Karl Kane,’ said Karl, shaking the enormous meaty hand. ‘Pain-in-the-arse to the good people of Belfast. Isn’t that right, Mark, me bucko?’

  Captain Daniel Brühl laughed out loud, as did the other three policemen. Wilson continued glaring.

  ‘If you would excuse us for a few minutes?’ said Wilson, finally breaking his silence while reaching for Karl’s right arm. ‘I need to talk to Mister Kane, privately.’

  ‘How else could one talk to a private investigator, but in private?’ Karl’s words were becoming more slurred. He staggered slightly, allowing Wilson to guide him from the group towards the emergency doors at the back.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ said an agitated Wilson, finally stopping beside the doors.

  ‘Me? I just love a man in uniform. Wanted to see what a policeman’s balls looked like.’ Karl brought the brandy to his mouth, but not before spilling some of it on Wilson’s jacket.

  ‘You clumsy fool!’ hissed Wilson, taking the glass from Karl, before setting it down on a table. ‘You’re intoxicated – as usual. Thank your lucky stars I don’t have you arrested for being drunk and disorderly.’

  Wilson pushed through the exit doors, manhandling Karl down the steps and out into the cold night air of Belfast.

  ‘Look at the state of you,’ continued Wilson, outside in the street. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. Except you have no shame, do you? Just pathetic self-pity. Don’t let me see your face about here –’

  The speed of what happened next caught Wilson totally by surprise. Before Wilson could react, Karl’s hands gripped his ex brother-in-law’s neck.

  ‘If you struggle, I’ll be tempted to squeeze the life out of you, Mister Law and fucking Order. I’m as sober as you with your lemonade,’ said Karl, through almost clenched teeth.

  ‘I’ll have you for this, Kane. See if I don’t.’ Wilson’s face tightened with pain. ‘Security cameras are everywhere. You’ll be lucky if you only get two years for assaulting a police officer.’

  ‘You should get longer for imitating one.’

  ‘Take your filthy hands off me – now!’

  Karl released Wilson, shoving a large envelope into his chest. ‘Stop sounding so bloody ungrateful. I’ve come all this way to give you a little gift.’

  Wilson stared at the pale envelope, holding it as if it were diseased skin.

  ‘What little game are you playing now, Kane?’

  ‘Open it and find out, Sherlock.’

  Snow began falling heavily, covering Wilson and Karl in its pureness.

  Wilson tore open the lip of the envelope, before slowly removing the contents. A single colour photo emerged.

  ‘A blown-up photo of a gun? Am I suppose to be impressed?’

  ‘Not just any old gun. Take a look at it. A good long look.’

  Wilson looked at the photo for some considerable time, before speaking.

  ‘And? What on earth am I looking for?’

  ‘That’s the gun you gave to Harry Cunningham on the night he was murdered. Note the firing pin? See how it’s been filed down so that it’s unable to strike?’

  ‘Just what the hell are you rambling about? Is there no end to your madness and paranoia?’

  ‘Sometimes people get their ends before their starts.’ Karl reached inside his coat and removed another envelope, this time containing a photocopy of Phillips’ letter. ‘Here. Have a good look at this.’

  Wilson seemed reluctant to take anything else from Karl.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Read it and find out. It’s a letter from a ghost, and I’m not talking about the Ghost of Christmas Past – though I advise reading it after the banquet. It might upset your delicate stomach. We wouldn’t want you vomiting over all that brass in there, would we? Bad for that manufactured image of your good self.’

  ‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Kane. More ramblings from a fool.’

  ‘Really? I’m starting to have some clarity about things; things that until now I found unclear. When the evidence is eventually looked at, your involvement will become very clear indeed.’

  ‘Your imagination as a failed writer is messing with your head, Kane. Everyone knows you’re crazy.’

  ‘Really? Well, just in case you get any crazy ideas yourself, I have the real McCoy, tucked away, nice and safe. I’m sure you wouldn’t like it to fall into the wrong hands, would you?’

  ‘Threatening me, Kane? Perhaps even thinking of murder?’

  ‘At the moment, the last thing I want to do is kill you, but it’s still on my list of things to do before dying,’ said Karl, slowly walking away from Wilson. ‘Go back in there with your police friends, Mark, have a good time. Perhaps you’ll even try and enjoy your sleep… tonight.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SHADOW OF A DOUBT

  She’s not your friend. She’s just someone you use to feel better about yourself.’

  Ricky Fitts in American Beauty

  In his office two days later, Karl was reading an inside page of a newspaper, a wry smile on his face, when Naomi entered the room.

  ‘What’s so amusing, Karl?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, just reading about three men shot dead in an apparent mob killing in America.’

  Naomi shook her head, clearly disgusted. Making fun of the dead always made her uncomfortable. Even after all this time with Karl, she still found his gallows sense of humour grating at times. ‘And that’s funny?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Karl, flipping the page to show Naomi. ‘But the headline is.’

  Belfast-type shooting in Chicago.

  ‘Belfast-type…?’ Naomi frowned.

  ‘The irony of it. You’d be too young to remember all the headlines here, when someone was shot dead. It was always “Chicago-type shooting in Belfast”. Good to see the Americans getting a well-deserved dig at our sanctimonious editorial writers.’

  ‘Karl, do you think it was bad of me, the way I treated and spoke about Jemma – I mean Sarah?’

  ‘So that’s what’s been bothering you the last couple of days? Look, Naomi, you’ve no reason
to feel guilty. I can assure you Sarah wasn’t offended, and if–’

  On cue, Karl’s mobile phone began ringing on the table. Scooping the phone up, he checked the number displayed. He didn’t recognise it. He didn’t like getting phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognise. They were either a scam wishing to take his money, or scum wishing to take his life.

  He sat the phone back down, and went back to studying the newspaper.

  The phone continued ringing. Karl continued reading.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that, Karl?’

  ‘Let them waste their time. They’ll give up before I do.’

  The phone stopped ringing.

  Karl smiled. ‘See, Naomi? Vindicated. Patience is a virtue when you don’t–’

  It started ringing again.

  ‘Answer or turn it off,’ said Naomi. ‘If you think I’m going to listen to that all day, you’ve another think coming.’

  Karl picked up the annoying piece of plastic. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Karl?’ said a female voice at the other end. The voice sounded hesitant.

  ‘Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘Desiree…Desiree Wilson.’

  Karl’s face tightened into a knot. His heart gave a quick jerk.

  Naomi whispered. ‘What’s wrong? Who is it?’

  Karl shook his head, indicating quietness. ‘Hello…Desiree. This is an unexpected call. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Yes…a long time, Karl…’

  Karl could hear the hesitancy in her voice. even clearer now.

  ‘What can I do for you, Desiree?’

  ‘I…I’d like to talk with you, if that’s possible? I know…I know how busy you must be, but…’

  ‘Not so busy that I can’t make time. When would suit?’

  There was another lull. Karl imagined her being prompted by someone. Probably Wilson, sitting there beside her.

  ‘As soon as possible,’ she finally said.

  ‘How about today? Three in the afternoon, or thereabouts, here at my office?’

  ‘Three, at your office…?’ The lull again. ‘Yes, that would be great, Karl. Thank you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘See you then, Desiree.’ Karl clicked off the phone.

  ‘Desiree?’ said Naomi.

  ‘Why do you always make that strange face when it’s a woman’s name? Had it been a Desmond, you wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.’

  ‘Because it’s always your female clients that spell trouble for the business. The men always pay upfront, but a sob story from a woman and payment is on the never-never.’

  ‘Ten seconds ago, you were filled with guilt about Sarah Cohen. Didn’t take you too long to hit your stride again.’

  ‘Who is this Desiree, anyway, and what does she want?’ Naomi folded her arms in battle-ready mode.

  ‘I can tell you who she is, but what she wants may be a bit trickier. A whole lot trickier, in fact…’

  It was touching three o’clock when Desiree Wilson was guided into Karl’s office by Naomi. Over Desiree’s shoulders, Karl could see the look on Naomi’s face, and it wasn’t the one of warm welcome she normally held for most clients. Seconds later, Naomi closed the door behind her, leaving Karl and Desiree alone.

  Karl debated on offering Desiree one of those ridiculous womanly air-kisses or a manly handshake. He opted for neither, offering a chair instead.

  ‘It’s been a long time, Karl,’ said Desiree, sitting down. To Karl, she clearly appeared on edge.

  ‘I think the last time I saw you, Desiree, was at your wedding reception, all those years ago.’

  Desiree nodded. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

  Desiree Cunningham – as she was known back then – was a natural beauty, and always reminded Karl of a young Grace Kelly. She had flowing blonde hair and steel-blue eyes, capturing the attention of any healthy male within a ten-mile radius. Karl always regarded himself as extremely healthy in those days, plus he only lived five miles away.

  As she looked nervously at him from across the desk, he had to admit that the years had been kind to Desiree Wilson and that she still had a face to die for. But the million dollar question on Karl’s mind was: was it a face to kill for?

  ‘Would you like some coffee, Desiree, or something a wee bit stronger?’

  ‘No…no, thank you. I stopped drinking alcohol a long time ago, when I met…’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

  It was easy for Karl to fill in the blanks.

  ‘This is a nice place you have here, Karl,’ small-talked Desiree, glancing about the tiny office.

  ‘Good job I don’t have a damn cat. Wouldn’t be much room to swing one.’

  Desiree’s face broke into a tiny grin.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t be smiling, but remember the time Lynne threw Agatha at you?’

  ‘Sixteen stitches to my gob makes it hard to forget. I still carry some of the scars.’ Karl returned the smile. ‘I always hated that cat. It was as creepy as Lynne – and that’s saying something. I suppose she told you all about it?’

  ‘No, it was Mark, in fact. Know what she told him?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Quote: “That bastard Karl Kane said that’s the last time I’ll ever throw my pussy at him.” Mark almost fainted, poor thing.’ Desiree laughed out loud. ‘Did you actually say that?’

  Karl nodded. ‘One of my better quips, I have to admit. It sort of eased the pain on my face, at the time.’

  ‘I know what went on with you and Lynne, Karl, why you broke up, but I’m just glad to see you found someone nice. Naomi’s a very pretty girl. Doesn’t look anything like Lynne described.’

  ‘I can imagine Lynne’s description of Naomi,’ said Karl. ‘Well, enough about my exciting life. What exactly can I do for you, Desiree?’

  ‘Well…’ Desiree seemed to be gathering her thoughts. ‘It’s about Mark, and you. This…this never-ending conflict.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.’

  Suddenly, a little zing of tension entered the room, slipping between them.

  ‘Mark showed me the letter from the detective, the one found dead in the docks.’

  ‘Edward Phillips was his name.’

  ‘Edward Phillips. Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I know what you’re accusing Mark of doing, Karl.’ Her face cringed with distaste.

  ‘I didn’t accuse Mark of anything – yet.’

  ‘Okay, you hinted he had something to do with Harry’s death. That’s preposterous. You think I wouldn’t know if Mark was somehow involved?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that, Desiree. What I do know from bitter experience is that length of time spent with someone doesn’t necessarily make us experts on that person – especially if they have secrets they want hidden.’

  ‘You’re talking about Lynne’s unfaithfulness, aren’t you? You think Mark and I were having an affair, and that somehow led to Harry’s death?’ Desiree’s face stiffened defensively.

  ‘I didn’t say that, but if the hat fits…’

  ‘That’s not fair, Karl. Just because Lynne was unfaithful, doesn’t mean every woman is.’

  ‘I know that, Desiree. It wasn’t just the affair Lynne was having, but the fact she was having it with a woman, was the kicker.’

  Desiree’s face flushed crimson. She looked gobsmacked. Her mouth opened to say words, but none came.

  A wry smile appeared on Karl’s face. ‘I’m sorry if I shocked you.’

  ‘I…I didn’t know. Lynne or Mark never said it was a woman…’

  ‘No, not something one shouts from the rooftop in Victoria Square, is it? But your lovely hubby Mark knew. That’s what I mean about secrets, Desiree. They’re a bit like matryoshka dolls. There’s always another one hidden inside. Somewhere. But someone always discovers the secret, sooner or later.’

  ‘The way you said that. You think I had something to do with Harry’s death?’ She looked shocked.

  �
��I never said that, either.’

  ‘By inference, you did.’ Desiree’s calm voice was slowly gaining a high pitch. ‘You think that I could be somehow involved in what happened to Harry? Or that Mark had him killed so that he could marry me? That’s sick.’

  Desiree stood abruptly, knocking over the chair she had been sitting on. Her face went from red to pale in seconds. ‘Mark warned me not to try and convince you. He said you wouldn’t listen to reason and that you’re very sick and bitter. Want to know something, Karl? He’s right. You are a very sick individual, but I’m warning you that if you continue to–’

  The office door flew open. Naomi stood in the doorway, her face filled with thunder. ‘You don’t warn anyone under this roof, Mrs Wilson. Your time is up. Leave – now.’

  Desiree stared at Naomi, and then at back to Karl’s expressionless face.

  ‘Both of you are well suited,’ said Desiree, walking quickly past Naomi and out the front door.

  It was ten seconds before Karl spoke. ‘What kind of way is that to speak to a potential client? Thought you had changed?’

  ‘She’s lucky I only used words to chase her out. I was always told to respect my elders.’

  ‘Oh, Naomi Kirkpatrick, you little minx!’ Karl stood and walked over to her. ‘Put those claws away before you do some damage.’

  Naomi smiled. ‘I did okay, didn’t I?’

  ‘You sure did, kiddo.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘You sure as hell did.’

  ‘What do you think? Is she guilty?’

  ‘I don’t really know. One thing I do know, though, is that terminology is a great thing for revealing what exactly is inside a person’s head.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She never once described the killing of Harry as murder. At the very least, she’s guilty of diminishing what happened to him. A word misplaced can speak volumes. It can also come back to haunt us.’

  Just as he finished the sentence, his phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mister Kane? This is Detective Chambers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I just wanted to call and let you know that Charley Montgomery has been released from custody, unconditionally, and cleared of all involvement in the killing of Kevin Johnson. Johnson’s main rival, Frankie Murphy, is to be charged with the killing. One of Murphy’s thugs, Paddy O’Neill, who was arrested last week for an unrelated murder, has decided to cut a deal and give evidence against his former boss. According to O’Neill, Murphy got fed up with Johnson infringing on his territory once too often.’