Dead of Winter

by Sam Millar

  ‘I’m not going to say I told you so, even if I told you so,’ Karl said. ‘Paddy O’Neill, eh? Another so-called hard man who can do the crime but not the time. At least poor Charley’s out to go back to what he does best: shooting people in the back. Very noisy, but not as interesting as chopping hands off.’

  ‘Well, I just wanted to call and let you know,’ Chambers said. ‘Good day, Mister Kane.’

  ‘Look, before you go… listen… thanks for informing me on the happenings. You didn;t have to do that. I appreciate it. You… you’re not a bad cop, which is a good thing.’

  ‘Coming from you, I think that’s what constitutes praise. Thank you, Mister Kane. Have a good day.’

  As soon as the call ended, Karl felt the echo of Chambers’ smile in his ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  DEADLY IS THE FEMALE

  ‘Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return.’

  W.H. Auden, September 1, 1939

  ‘Karl? There’s someone here to see you. A woman,’ said Naomi, standing at the office door. It was two days after the visit from Desiree Wilson.

  ‘Has she an appointment?’ Karl didn’t even bother looking up from the newspaper. ‘If not, tell her to make one and I’ll–’

  ‘Karl?’ said Naomi, almost in a hush.

  Slowly Karl’s eyes panned away from the newspaper, and onto Naomi’s troubled face.

  ‘What? What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.’‘

  ‘Says her name is Judith Levy, and that it’s important she sees you.’

  ‘More important than tomorrow’s race?’

  Naomi didn’t answer; simply left the room and a puzzled Karl.

  A few seconds later, a woman entered.

  ‘Mister Kane?’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘My name’s Judith Levy.’

  Karl was shocked by what he saw. The woman was almost a duplicate of Sarah Cohen, but with the most startling combination of eyes he had ever seen. One green. One blue. Eyes that the late, unlamented Harold Taylor would have recognised as belonging to a woman called Kerry Morgan.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ said Karl. ‘I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just…you remind me of someone.’

  A faint smile appeared on Judith’s face. ‘My sister. Sarah Cohen. You knew her as Jemma Doyle, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, Jemma Doyle…’ Karl nodded slowly. ‘You were twins?’

  ‘Sarah’s…’ Judith hesitated. ‘Sarah was older than me by a couple of years. People often mistook us for twins.’

  ‘Please, won’t you sit down, Judith? Can I get you an early morning cup of something?’

  ‘No thank you,’ said Judith, sitting down.

  ‘First, allow me to offer my condolences to you and all your family, Judith. I was saddened to hear the terrible news about Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah had great faith in you, Mister Kane. Said you were a good man and a very trustworthy person.’

  ‘I like the sound of that, but there are plenty of people in Belfast who’d disagree with that statement.’

  ‘My brother, Malachi, would probably be one of those people.’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘You met him at the funeral. You shook hands, apparently.’

  ‘Oh, yes. He threatened to kill me – a couple of times,’ said Karl, almost blasé.

  Judith’s face reddened deeply. ‘Malachi’s always been a hothead. His bark has always been worse than his bite.’

  ‘Thank god he’s not a dog.’

  ‘He left for Europe, two days ago. He has no intention of ever coming back.’

  ‘Hopefully, my talk with him had something to do with it. In all honesty, can’t say I blame him, under the circumstances.’ Karl straightened his large frame in the chair. ‘Now, what exactly can I do for you, Judith?’

  ‘I’ve come here to apologise.’

  ‘Apologise?’ A bemused look appeared on Karl’s face. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘For what my family did to you…at the abattoir.’

  ‘The abattoir?’

  ‘I can understand you being suspicious, and not wishing to talk about–’

  ‘I’m not suspicious,’ said Karl, immediately becoming suspicious.

  ‘I was sitting with Sarah, watching TV, the night your picture was sent to her via Malachi’s mobile phone, asking to confirm if the picture was you. Sarah was horrified at what the family had done to you – we both were.’

  Something wary kicked Karl in the stomach. ‘To be honest with you, Judith, I can’t really go into that. It was part of a case I was…investigating. I can’t divulge any information, because it comes under client confidentiality. Don’t be insulted. If the cops asked, they would get the same reply.’

  ‘Do you know what it’s like to kill a person, Mister Kane, or at the very least to be responsible for their death, no matter how evil that person may have been?’

  The question almost knocked Karl off his seat.

  ‘That’s a strange question to ask someone, Judith.’

  ‘You know of the murder of Sarah’s three children, in Ballymena?’

  ‘Bits and pieces, eventually, but only because it came up when Sarah’s death had been reported and the media gave some history into the terrible fire.’

  ‘The children – Benjamin, Nora and Judith – died horribly, despite brave attempts by Sarah and neighbours to rescue them. Sarah was scarred for life, mentally as well as physically. Her husband committed suicide shortly after that, blaming himself for being on a business trip, rather than at home to help…’

  Karl could see sadness, an ache that appeared as a dull light in Judith’s eyes. It was the same sadness he had witnessed in her sister.

  ‘Why was Sarah’s house and family targeted?’

  ‘Simply because she was a Jew. Four men – all part of a neo-Nazi gang – were involved, and eventually rounded up by the police. At the so-called trial, all four were acquitted, even though the dogs in the street knew they had committed the murders.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Judith, that wasn’t the first miscarriage of justice.’ Karl shook his head with disgust. Thought of his mother’s murder and subsequent farce of a trial with its indefensible outcome. ‘In all probability, it won’t be the last.’

  ‘All that was left from the charred remains was an old wall clock, still working perfectly. My father kept it in the abattoir as a witness on those involved in the murders. He wanted them to hear its accusing tick tock…’

  Karl scratched at a nicotine patch on his arm, wishing for a cig between his fingers. In his head, he thought he heard the clock ticking.

  ‘My father changed the day the murderers were acquitted, Mister Kane, saying he was no longer willing to be an invisible Jew. When…when we started out, seeking justice for the children, I was all for it – we all were. Little did we know what a disaster it would turn out to be.’ Judith looked intently at Karl. ‘You’re probably sitting there, thinking how disgustingly evil I am?’

  ‘No…not at all…’

  ‘You’re an intelligent man, Mister Kane. I don’t suppose it took you too long to realise that Thomas Blake wasn’t Sarah’s uncle.’

  ‘I wouldn’t oversell the intelligence product, Judith. Intelligence for me is more of a consequence than an option. What was Blake’s role in all this?’

  ‘He struck the first match. Harold Taylor was the lookout. Billy Brown supplied the petrol. Brown was the first to pay for his deeds.’

  ‘Why was Brown’s hand dumped at my door?’ said Karl, suspecting he already had the answer.

  Judith’s pale face reddened slightly. ‘It wasn’t planned that way. Things happened.’

  ‘Like a squad car at the top of the street?’

  Judith looked taken aback at Karl’s knowledge. ‘Yes…’

  ‘Why the hand thing? Why not the entire body?’

  ‘An eye for an eye. If your right hand cause you to sin, cut it off and throw it away,’ Mister Kane. That’s what my father’s dictu
m became.’

  ‘Yes, well, if we applied that to everyone in Belfast, there’d be an awful lot of hands floating on the Lagan.’

  ‘That’s the statement our father lived by. It was also a message; a psychological message to the gang members, hoping to flush them out.’

  ‘What was the significance of the number eighty-eight on the hands?’

  Judith seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before replying. ‘The 8 stands for the eighth letter of the alphabet, H. Coupled together, 88 or HH stands for Heil Hitler.’ She said the last two words as if she had just tasted poison.

  ‘Sick bastards.’

  ‘Not sick,’ corrected Judith. ‘Evil.’

  ‘You said four men were involved in the children’s murders. So far you’ve only mentioned three.’

  ‘Nigel Potts. Unfortunately, we know nothing of his whereabouts. We suspect he was the leader. There was talk of a fifth man, but he was never named.’

  ‘If you’ve come to ask me to find this Potts, then you’ve wasted your journey, Judith. Had I known what Sarah was seeking Blake for, I would never have searched for him, even though I don’t have sleepless night over what happened. He was a scumbag, and got everything that was coming in his direction.’

  ‘No, we don’t want you to search for Potts. It’s all over. The ghastly vengeance is all over. I came here to apologise, and I’ve done that. Just like my brother, my husband and I are planning to make a new start elsewhere.’ Judith stood to leave.

  ‘And your father? He agrees with your decision?’

  ‘My father? Oh…you mustn’t have heard. He’s dead. Killed.’

  ‘What…?’ The news shocked Karl, but not as much as the fatigued calmness of Judith’s voice. ‘When? How?’

  ‘A hit-and-run, as he walked home, almost a week ago. Thankfully, he didn’t suffer, dying almost instantly.’

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry to hear that, Judith. I truly am. I can’t understand why I didn’t hear anything about it in the news.’

  ‘It was reported in the local paper, but the bigger papers didn’t bother with it. Why would they? After all, he had become invisible again in their eyes.’ Judith put out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mister Kane, and thank you.’

  ‘Can I call you a taxi or anything?’ said Karl, shaking the hand.

  ‘No, it’s okay. My husband’s parked illegally outside your office, watching for the ticket wardens.’

  ‘Goodbye, Judith. Take care of yourself…always.’

  He watched her from the office window, approaching a car. A solemn-faced driver got out, opening the door. He kissed her gently on the face, and she smiled that sad smile. The man was tall and muscularly built, dressed fashionably. Seconds later, he closed the car door behind her, but not before looking directly at

  Karl, nodding an acknowledgement or appreciation. Karl watched the car disappear down the narrow stretch of Hill Street’s cobbled stones, hoping that was the last time he would ever see Starman again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  HILL STREET BLUES

  ‘I’m going to go home and go to bed where I can’t get into trouble.’

  Robert Mitchum, His Kind of Woman

  Karl startled awake in bed, gasping for air. A tightness in his stomach felt as if he’d been performing crunches all night. Another nightmare had mugged him.

  The nightmares were becoming more frequent, more intense – more visionary than fantasy. His dead mother covered in blood, banging on the window to be let in from her pursuer and eventual murderer. Standing beside her, Detectives McKenzie and Cairns, both smiling, holding her back. Their gun-blasted faces were barely recognisable in the torrential grey rain, and the empty eye-sockets made the two dead detectives look even more angry and cruel than Karl had remembered.

  You want your mother, Kane? Come out and get her, mocked a leering Bulldog, while Cairns pulled at her clothing, stripping her. She was a skeleton. Nothing more.

  In the background’s foggy madness, he could hear his father screaming to be freed, hoping to help his tortured wife, make it up to her for not being there when she needed him so badly.

  Please, his father kept pleading, over and over again. Please…

  There were other faces, too, appearing intermittingly. Sarah Cohen, and Laura Fleming, sad and filled with blood.

  He glanced at Naomi. Something about her stillness scared him. He reached and gently touched her, and was instantly relieved when she stirred slightly.

  Reaching for a tumbler of water on the table, Karl downed the liquid in one gulp. It tasted nasty and slightly dusty. The small clock on the bedside table told him it was almost two in the morning.

  How long had it been since he had had a good night’s sleep? He couldn’t remember exactly.

  ‘Karl?’ said Naomi, voice groggy.

  ‘It’s okay, love. Go back to sleep. It’s still early.’ Easing his tired body out of bed, Karl stood.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ In reality, the nightmare had terrified him. ‘Too much booze last night.’

  Naomi began yawning.

  ‘You sure that’s all?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. Go back to sleep. I’m going downstairs, look at a file on one of our clients.’ He leaned in and kissed her gently on the forehead.

  ‘Make sure you wear something decent, just in case you bump into Lipstick walking about. She’s still not sleeping the best at night.’

  ‘She can join the bloody club, then. I’m not sleeping too well at night, either, but you never hear me complain. Anyway, when the hell’s she moving out? I can’t even walk about in the nude any more, showing off my manly figure.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before bringing her here.’

  ‘I thought that was your idea?’

  ‘I love you,’ Naomi mumbled. Seconds later, she was asleep.

  Downstairs, he turned the office light on and looked at his face via the wall mirror directly above the desk. An earlier blush of freshness stimulated by Hennessy had vanished, leaving him looking haggard and defeated. In the darkness beyond his eyes, bloodshot gelled. The eyes held the dazed look of a man not knowing how he got here.

  ‘Fucking zombie eyes,’ he mumbled, turning the light off before easing the window curtain back slightly, peering into the street. Nails of rusted rain were hammering from an iron sky, turning paved snow into filthy tents of slush.

  To Karl, the spreading night was cold and dead. The main streetlight had fused so the only light on the narrow cobble lane of Hill Street came from the neon lights of dingy coffee hideouts and an after-hour club of pathetic old guys, usually wearing youngish clothes, clearly trying to hold onto something long gone.

  He caught a glimpse of the tiny item resting on the desktop just as he turned away from the window: a beautifully crafted piece of origami, fashioned into a rattlesnake.

  ‘Please don’t make any sudden moves, Karl,’ a voice said.

  Karl stood perfectly still. In the semi-lit darkness, the claustrophic nature of the tiny office came together in a rush, like two hands cupping around him.

  ‘Turn – slowly,’ instructed the voice.

  Karl turned very slowly to see a man, standing near the far corner.

  ‘Over there, away from the window. Take a seat.’ The voice was cold, blunt and solid, like the weapon in his hand.

  Ominously, Karl could make out a bulbous silencer attached. Quiet murder. Premeditated. Almost immediately, his stomach began percolating. The dead brandy came to life, swirling about in his stomach like tossed sea. He wanted to vomit. He sat.

  ‘By now, most people would be asking silly questions, Karl. Not you. I expected that. You’ve probably so many enemies, this inevitable day is stamped in your consciousness.’ The intruder flicked on the office light.

  In the glaring exposure, Karl regarded the scarred features of the man. He looked to be suffering from acute rigor mortis. The skin looked powdery, shining pale as eggshell. The protruding lips were fat and
obscene, like skinned garden snails. The eyes, though, were fully in command. Piercing blue. Winter cold.

  A man who could – at the very least – quite easily strangle another human being with piano wire, thought Karl.

  ‘Sorry to destroy the myth, but I am going to ask a silly question.’ Karl tried desperately to make his voice sound calm. ‘What exactly is it you want, Mister…?’

  ‘Peter will suffice. I’m here to tie up all loose ends.’

  ‘That lovely piece of origami wouldn’t be me, by any chance, Peter?’ said Karl, ‘A rattlesnake? I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but have to admit rattlesnake was never mentioned.’

  ‘Take it as a compliment. There is no creature more deadly or masterful than a rattlesnake, once provoked. Your enemies have probably never given you respect, Karl; that’s one of the secrets of your longevity.’

  ‘And there’s me thinking it was Palmolive soap and daily doses of vitamins.’

  Karl could smell the man’s aftershave. It reminded him of the eighties.

  ‘I know quite a bit about you, Karl, your personal demons, the senseless murder of your beloved mother. I also know you can be a demon when it suits. A very dangerous demon, indeed, as the two dead detectives would testify, if the dead could talk. You’re not the sort of person one would want to have tracking them.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of tracking you down, if that’s why you’re here. Honestly.’

  ‘I honestly don’t believe you, Karl. I know your nature. We’re similar in our single-mindedness. You’re like a trusted and relentless bloodhound, working for the Jews. You would try and track me down, and possibly succeed. I can’t afford that possibility.’

  ‘It was you who murdered Sarah at the graveyard, wasn’t it?’