The Flat

by Adam J. Wright

  I grab it with trembling hands and get up, turning back to the freezer. My heart hammers in my chest and my blood pumps so forcefully, I can feel it in my ears and head. I can’t have seen what I thought I saw. I just can’t.

  Peering into the freezer again, I see the face in the ice. Although I never met her in life, I know it’s Caroline Shields. She’s wearing a Snow White outfit and there’s a red ribbon in her hair.

  Somewhere within me, a well of emotion overflows and I start to cry. I feel like I knew Caroline. We lived in the same space, looked out of the same window at the same view. Like me, she spent time having cups of tea with Ivy and Winston.

  I was certain she was dead all along but having it confirmed like this, finding her inside a freezer above our kitchen, is too terrible for words. With hot tears stinging my eyes, I close the lid and make my way back across the attic to the ladder.

  I have to tell the police. I can’t ring them because there’s no signal in the house. I have to drive to town. They need to know about Caroline’s body.

  At least they already have Rob in custody.

  I descend the ladder as fast as I dare in the dark and push out through the back door into the garden, blinking as daylight hits my eyes. I lock the door. The attic is a crime scene now. As well as that, I feel a need to keep Caroline secure. I know that doesn’t make sense since she’s probably been up there for two years already but now that I know she’s there, I won’t leave the door unlocked.

  My car keys are in my jacket pocket. I fish them out and walk through the falling snow to the Mini. I quickly brush the snow off the windscreen and get in. The car starts immediately and I put the wipers on to clear the rear window but they’re frozen solid and don’t work.

  Anxious to get moving, I dial the heating up to full blast and get out. I quickly wipe the snow off the rear window and climb back in behind the wheel. There’s still a layer of ice on both windscreens and on the windows but I can’t wait around. I press the accelerator and the car lurches forward. As I drive onto the road, something doesn’t feel right; the steering feels loose, as if I have a flat tyre. I can’t have a flat, though; the onboard computer would tell me if one of the tyres were flat or even had reduced air pressure.

  Putting the car’s handling problems down to the snow and ice under the tyres, I pull onto the road that leads to town and maintain a steady speed. The first part of the journey involves driving along the road that cuts through part of the moors. It doesn’t look like any other cars have been this way for a while—the road ahead is white and smooth with virgin snow—but the roads closer to town should be well-travelled and clearer.

  The moors on the left side of the road are lost behind a curtain of thick snow. To the right, the cliffs and the sea are barely visible. The ice on the windscreen is finally beginning to melt but the falling snow is obscuring my vision, streaking down the glass in wet rivulets. Without the use of the windscreen wipers, I can’t go much farther before I’m going to have to stop and wipe it away.

  A sudden bang from the back of the car surprises me. The Mini feels like its tipping to the left and now there’s a horrendous scraping sound. I jam on the brakes and the car slews towards the edge of the road. Releasing the brake and trying to regain control, I turn the wheel to the left—into the skid as I’ve read or heard somewhere—but it’s too late. The Mini slides into the ditch with a jolt that slams me forwards against my seatbelt.

  I take the belt off and get out, stumbling up the side of the snowy ditch and onto the road. I don’t understand what happened. Did I get a puncture?

  An inspection of the car reveals something that shocks me; the rear left wheel is missing. It isn’t just punctured; it isn’t there at all. I turn and look back along the road and see the wheel lying there, a black circle against the white snow.

  How the hell did the wheel fall off? It isn’t possible.

  Unless someone loosened or removed the wheel bolts.

  Did Rob do this? After he saw the story about him, did he go out to the parking area and loosen my tyre?

  I check my phone. Still no service.

  I’m stuck. The Mini is stuck in the ditch and I can’t put the tyre back on without the bolts.

  I also can’t stay here forever because I’ll freeze to death.

  So I either go back to the car and sit inside with the heating on, hoping someone will drive past, or I walk back to Northmoor House.

  As I’m debating on which course of action to take, I hear an engine rumbling in the distance. I can’t see the vehicle because of the falling snow but it definitely sounds like it’s getting closer.

  When I finally see the dark shape coming through the snow, I step out into the middle of the road to flag it down.

  As it gets closer, I realise that I know this vehicle; it’s Rob’s dark green Land Rover.

  For a crazy moment, I wonder if the police have released him for some reason, if he saw me leave the house and followed me.

  No, that’s not possible. It can’t be Rob. He’s at the police station. This can’t be him.

  The Land Rover slows down and comes to a dead stop. The windscreen is covered by a thin layer of ice and that, combined with the snow falling into my eyes, obscures the driver.

  My mind races. What if it is Rob? What will I do?

  I’ll run onto the moors. I can outrun Rob. I might even be able to double back here and take the Land Rover.

  The driver climbs out of the car. My muscles tense as I prepare to flee.

  “You need some help?” he asks.

  I let out a long sigh of relief.

  It isn’t Rob.

  It’s Mike.

  Chapter 31

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Dani says, pacing in front of the whiteboard to expend the nervous energy that’s been building up inside her since she saw the picture of the girl under the ice. “The Snow Killer has been recreating that scene over and over here on the moors. Are we absolutely certain Robert North was in Spain when he says he was?”

  Matt, who is still sitting in front of the computer, nods. “Henson’s team checked and double-checked that he was there. Apparently, they even found photos on social media of him at a Christmas event in Benidorm with his parents.”

  “But if they carried out all the other tasks so sloppily, why would they put so much work into checking North’s whereabouts?”

  “Because the old lady in the downstairs flat said he was dodgy. So the detectives made sure he was abroad and had nothing to do with Caroline Shields’ disappearance.”

  Dani throws up her hands helplessly. It’s no coincidence that Astrid Andersen’s death in Norway has been painstakingly recreated here in Yorkshire almost twenty years later. “Our killer saw Astrid under the ice at the lake,” she tells Matt. “He saw the scene exactly as it is in that photo. But if it isn’t Robert North, I don’t know who else to look at.”

  Matt’s phone rings. He checks the screen before answering. “Sandra, what have you got?”

  He listens and nods while Dani continues to pace back and forth along the width of the room.

  When he finally ends the call, Matt says, “Sandra has spoken to the Norwegian police, Guv. Apparently, the oldest North boy didn’t die in the accident after all. It was reported that he did because he didn’t emerge from the lake with the rest of his family but the police found him the next day. He was sitting on the beach at the edge of the lake, right next to Astrid Andersen’s body. He’d been there all night.”

  “It’s him,” Dani says. “What’s his name? Where does he live?”

  “This is the part you’re not going to believe, Guv. His name is Michael North and he lives in the first floor flat at Northmoor House.”

  “What?” She grabs the case file and flips to the inquiry forms the constables filled out when they questioned the residents of the house. On the form for the first floor flat, the name written at the top of the page is Mike Frost.

  “The sneaky bastard,” Dani whispe
rs.

  “Guv?” Matt leans closer to look at the form.

  She shows it to him. “He gave a false name. He probably knew they wouldn’t check his ID. He’s been under our noses the whole time. He sat next to Astrid Andersen’s body all night and formed some sort of—” she closes her eyes, searching for the word Maya Cho used to describe an inappropriate sexual attachment. “Paraphilia. Then he sees Caroline dressed as Snow White, with a ribbon in her hair, and the paraphilia is triggered to a level he can’t control. Come on, we need to go out there and pick him up.”

  They leave the room and as they make their way along the corridor, she adds, “We’re going to need a search warrant for the entirety of Northmoor House. And a SOCO team. I want every inch of that house searched. Get on the phone to HQ while I call Kate Lumley.”

  “Kate Lumley, Guv?”

  “I have to tell her to get out of the house. She’s just the type he goes for and look outside.” She points at the snowstorm beyond the window. “This is exactly the type of weather that makes him strike.”

  Chapter 32

  December 12th, 2002

  He saunters out of the hotel as slowly as he can, just to annoy his parents who are waiting at the car with Rob. He didn’t want to come to Norway and look at stupid fjords. It’s just boring. He wanted to stay at home and play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City on his PS2 but his dad insisted that they come and look at water and snow, like that’s anything special. And since Mike is only twelve, he’s not allowed to stay home alone, no matter how much he wants to.

  “Come on, Mike,” his dad says, “We’re going to have our photo taken.” He ushers Mike over to the red rental Volvo and makes him stand next to his brother. He’s roped some local guy into taking their picture in front of the car.

  Just to be awkward, Mike pulls up his scarf to cover his face.

  Rob sees him and follows suit.

  Mike rolls his eyes. His little brother is ridiculous.

  “Say cheese,” the man with Dad’s camera says.

  Mike doesn’t say cheese. Instead, he whispers, “Piss off,” his voice muffled by the scarf.

  The guy hands the camera back to Dad and says, “Have a nice evening. Lake Femund is lovely at this time of year. But don’t be out too long; the weather is closing in.”

  “Great,” Mike mutters. “That’s all we need, more stupid snow.”

  His mum gives him a light swat on the head. “Mike, don’t be so ungrateful. We took you out of school early so you could see Norway. Would you rather be in class right now?”

  He doesn’t bother telling her that it’s after six o’ clock in the evening so he’d be home from school by now anyway. Besides, he thinks that maybe he would rather be at school. At least he’d be able to see Alice Clark.

  He’s been in the same classes as Alice for two years but until this term started, he never really noticed her. In fact, he never would have paid her any attention because she’s a girl but now his feeling towards girls are starting to change. He notices them much more now and thinks that maybe there’s something about them that he really, really likes.

  “Oh blast,” Dad says. “That was the last of the film. Might as well leave the camera here.” He starts walking to their hotel room.

  Mike rolls his eyes again. If his Dad had a digital camera, instead of an old film one, this would never happen. Still, maybe he can use it to his advantage. “Hey, Dad, why don’t we wait until tomorrow to go to the lake when you’ve got some more film? Not much point going there if you can’t take pictures.”

  “There’s plenty of point,” his dad says. “We’re not just here to take pictures, Mike. We’re making memories.”

  Mike rolls his eyes yet again. He’s afraid if he’s forced to roll them much more, they’ll fall out.

  Dad drops the camera off in the hotel room and returns to the Volvo, swinging the keys in his hand. “Okay, let’s go.”

  The weather closes in two hours later. Mike is sitting in the back of the car next to Rob while his dad looks at the road map. They’re parked next to the lake. Dad got lost on the way here and now he’s trying to bluff his way out of the fact that he doesn’t know the way back to the hotel.

  Mike is sure his dad hasn’t actually got a clue and is only trying to make Mum feel better by pretending that he knows what the hell he’s doing.

  Bored with his dad’s charade, he turns to look out of the window. The snow is falling so fast that he can’t see anything out there.

  “What are you looking at?” Rob asks.

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “Well you should be you baby, it’s past your bedtime.”

  “I’m not a baby, I’m eight.” Rob leans forward. “Mum, tell Mike I’m not a baby.”

  Mum turns around in her seat. “You two stop arguing.” She seems flustered and Mike realises that Dad’s act isn’t fooling her. She looks worried.

  “Mike is calling me a baby,” Rob whines.

  Her expression grows angry. “Rob, be quiet. Your father and I are trying to work out a way to get back to the hotel.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s all in hand,” Dad says. “We just follow this road along the lake for awhile and then check the map again when we see a road sign or something.”

  Mum turns back to face forwards and gestures to the snow falling on the windscreen. “How are we going to see a road sign in this?”

  “We’ll be fine,” he says. He starts the car and pulls onto the snow-covered road.

  Mum grabs the edge of her seat as if she’s riding a rollercoaster. “Slow down, Fred.”

  Dad doesn’t slow down. There’s a palpable atmosphere in the car that makes Mike sink into his seat. He’s seen his Dad in this mood before and it isn’t a good idea to cross him when he’s like this. Instead of slowing down, Mike is sure his Dad has increased his speed.

  “Fred, I said slow down.”

  Dad is silent. Illuminated by the dashboard lights, he seems hunched over the wheel, his face close to the windscreen as he tries to see the road ahead. In the beam from the headlights, snowflakes whirl and scatter like fireflies.

  Suddenly, there’s another light. This one illuminates the interior of the car and Mike sees that his dad is indeed hunched over the wheel and his face is set into a grimace. The light is coming from the road ahead of them. A pair of headlights pointing straight at them.

  Mum screams and Dad spins the steering wheel, the grimace now a look of panic. A terrible crunching sound fills the air and for a moment, Mike feels as if the world is spinning out of control. But it isn’t the world that’s spinning; it’s the car.

  Rob screams even louder than Mum and that’s the last sound Mike hears before his head is slammed into the back of the passenger seat. A sudden blackness explodes into his vision and into his mind, blotting out everything else except for a feeling of cold so intense that it numbs his body.

  When he regains consciousness, he’s floating in dark water. Below him, in the murky depths, he can see car headlights. He wonders if Mum and Dad and Rob are down there, still buckled into their seats.

  His lungs ache. He tries to swim up to the surface but his arms are so cold he can’t make them work properly. Or maybe it isn’t just the cold; his jacket is torn and there’s dark blood blossoming from his arms into the water around him.

  The thought that he might be about to die doesn’t really worry him. He’s so numb—in his head as well as in his body—that his thoughts and emotions feel as if they’re frozen. There’s no sadness, no pain, and no fear.

  He kicks his legs and gradually rises to the surface. There’s ice here, thin sheets of it floating on the lake. Mike swims to shore, navigating a path around the ice until he’s in water shallow enough that his feet touch the bottom. Then he walks out of the lake and stumbles along a snowy beach, unable to see much in the darkness.

  He remembers seeing on a survival programme on telly that if you’re cold, you have to ke
ep moving. So he walks along the beach, trudging through the snow, and moves his shoulders back and forth until the feeling comes back into his arms.

  As the night wears on, Mike keeps moving. He has no idea how far he’s travelled and he’s not sure if he’s been walking for hours or minutes. He realises that if anyone is going to come and rescue him, they’ll be at the site where the cars crashed into the lake so he turns around and begins to walk back that way.

  But the snow obscures his vision and he’s not sure he can find the crash site anymore. Not only that, he feels light-headed and weak. He needs to sit down or he might fall over. And he’s sure that if he falls over, he’ll never get back up.

  Something in the water catches his eye. Something near the shore. He staggers over in that direction and his breath catches when he sees what lies under the ice.

  He’s never seen a dead body before but it isn’t the fact that the woman under the ice is dead that shocks him; it’s her beauty.

  She’s perfect. Locked under the ice and frozen in time. Mike falls to his knees, transfixed by the sight before him. Her eyes stare up at the snow-filled sky. He leans over her so that she’s staring at him and he at her. He looks deep into blue eyes that will see no more. But it’s her hair that enthralls him. Spreading around her head like a halo of golden fire, undulating with the movement of the water. And floating among that halo is a crimson ribbon as red and bright as fresh blood.

  Mike sits with the sleeping angel all night. He drifts in and out of a dangerously deep slumber, sure that the woman under the ice is speaking to him in his dreams. He has no idea what she’s saying but her voice is melodious and bewitching.

  When morning arrives, the snow has stopped falling. A cold sun rises over the lake and Mike is sure that this is the last sunrise he will ever see. He’s sitting in a pool of his own blood. It’s been seeping out of him all night and now it stains the snow around him as bright crimson as the ribbon in the woman’s hair.