The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series)

by Ross Greenwood

  It’s not even a surprise. Scarlett’s never been my friend, not really. I’ve just filled a hole to make her feel better. She’ll probably murder Tim whether I help her or not. I wouldn’t put it past her to blame it on me after she’d done it, either. A strange acceptance comes over me. Why don’t I care that much? Is it because Tim’s a bad person, or because I’m a bad person?

  She walks behind the sofa and squeezes my shoulders, slightly too hard.

  ‘You know, lately, you’ve reminded me of how you were back at school. You were a crazy fucker then, and I loved it. In fact, I wanted to be you. We’re going to have some fun. Now, how are we going to do it?’

  I stare at the bright, dancing flames in the log-burning stove while the world darkens around me.

  ‘We need to make it look like an accident.’

  53

  Acting DCI Barton

  Barton checked himself out in the bedroom mirror. Holly walked in and picked up his towel.

  ‘If you’re looking for your bum, it now lives over your belt at the front.’

  He frowned. ‘I was just thinking my bottom used to look great in suit trousers.’

  She came behind him and put her arms around his waist, deliberately leaning back so they couldn’t quite touch.

  ‘You’d have thought that gym work would have paid off by now,’ she mocked.

  He turned her around and whisked her off her feet, cradling her like a toddler.

  ‘Has anyone told you how funny you are?’ he asked. ‘I’ve struggled to find the motivation to get going again since I left hospital. The horrors I see at work make me want to spend my spare time with you guys. Despite the fact you’re all mad, you keep me sane and happy.’

  ‘That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

  ‘At least I haven’t lost my patter.’

  ‘John, we’ve discussed this and you know we’re in the damage-limitation stage of life, where we try not to get too fat and flabby until our responsibilities lessen. Just think, Luke finishes school in twelve years. Then I can push you around the top deck of a cruise ship to your weakening heart’s content.’

  Barton dropped her on the bed. ‘That’s motivational.’

  ‘The only way to stay fit is to get into an exercise routine. Our priority is the children’s routine, then we have work commitments, homework, and we need to spend time with each other. If you can find six hours a week to pump iron, it means I’m on my own for six hours pumping an iron over your work shirts. And that’s before we fetch your mother today.’

  Barton couldn’t help grimacing.

  ‘You think this is the right decision?’ he asked. ‘I quite like her an hour away.’

  ‘How many times did she ring us last week?’

  They’d stopped counting when it hit a hundred. It had been a swift descent. Her companion – Barton preferred calling him that as opposed to her boyfriend –had rung a few days ago and said that she wasn’t safe to be left on her own. Barton and Holly had spoken again and were picking her up this morning to stay with them until, well, who knew?

  Barton stomped down the stairs. He could sense a gloom descending. Cancelling the direct debit to the gym would help. He’d be unfit but at least he’d be richer.

  When he arrived at his office downstairs, his face fell. Holly and he had moved his desk out a week ago, but the new single bed they’d ordered must have turned up while he was at work. Holly had put that and the little wardrobe together without mentioning it. She had placed a small night table next to them and left a box of Black Magic chocolates on it – his mother’s favourite.

  He hoped his mum didn’t consider it a prison cell, more a cosy hotel room. He heard Holly arrive and stand behind him. This time her arms easily reached around him.

  ‘We know this might be hard,’ she said, ‘and there’s no saying how it ends, but we are doing the right thing. Without considering the costs of care homes, she’d hate to be in one anyway. We’ll look after her here.’

  ‘I’d prefer not to think about what that entails. Are you sure you’re happy with it?’

  ‘We’ll be fine. Those four nappies you changed when Layla was young should stand you in good stead.’ She grinned at his narrowed eyes. He had helped as much as he could back then, but he’d also been out of the house twelve hours a day.

  ‘I did loads of Luke’s.’

  ‘Lighten up. Laughter will get us through this, but it won’t all be bad. In fact, it’ll be fine. Anything involving pads and nappies will hopefully be miles off. She might want a carer to come in for certain things later on, but there are options. And she’s mostly still there. She just needs a safe place. Don’t focus on the negative, and keep laughing along the way. My friend, Amanda, said when her mum developed dementia, she thought she was a professional singer. Next door told me that her abrupt, distant father lost his inhibitions as the disease progressed. He became like a cheeky, rude, hilarious child.’

  She laughed. As she stepped away, he saw her realising something.

  ‘The kids want her here, and it will teach them valuable life lessons, but you’ll also want her here. My parents went out like lights. I’d give anything to have had the chance to look after them and tell them what they meant to me.’

  Barton gave out a small snort and thanked his lucky stars once again for meeting Holly. He went in search of his laptop and mobile. By the time he got outside, she was waiting in the driver’s seat of his Land Rover with the engine running. He clambered in the passenger side with a smile. They drove in companionable silence. It was a superb feeling to have solid support. His phone rang thirty minutes into the journey. It was from Strange, who had driven to Harrow to call on Lucy, the older daughter of Theodore Deacon.

  ‘Morning, boss. Leicester and I have just finished interviewing the older sister.’

  ‘Excellent. How did it go?’

  ‘Good and bad. She confirmed the background story we had of the father. He was a paranoid schizophrenic, but when he reached his thirties, he developed psychosis. It was literally a deadly combo.’

  ‘And he was her biological father.’

  ‘Yep, although she has no dealings with him any more.’

  ‘You think she was telling the truth?’

  ‘Yes, she was convincing. She heavily participates in a whole range of school governor groups, church committees and charities. We’ll check her alibis, but my gut says she’s definitely not involved in any of the recent deaths; directly or indirectly.’

  ‘That’s what we thought. What about her sister? Is she in touch with her?’

  ‘Here’s where it gets interesting. She clammed up for a moment and became more cautious. She said there was a sizeable age gap between them and they were never close. Lucy got married pretty young and moved to London, and they lost touch. Their mother used to see Sue Ellen, but the mum died fairly recently. Both were at the funeral but only spoke briefly.’

  Barton pondered the information. ‘Sisters who only spoke briefly at their mum’s funeral, eh?’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘My experience of doing this job is that much older sisters are almost maternal in their affection for their younger siblings.’

  ‘My thoughts precisely. I probed around the topic, but she was convincing. We only talked for an hour, but I got the impression I was dealing with a highly intelligent person. That said, because we surprised her by turning up unannounced, cracks appeared in her story. I asked her why she wasn’t friends with her sister.’

  ‘Let me guess – because her sister had problems. They fell out over something.’

  ‘Exactly what I thought, but no. Lucy wouldn’t bad-mouth her. She put it down to a bohemian lifestyle. I asked her where Sue Ellen lived, and she was flaky. I finally got out of her that the last she heard she was living in Peterborough still.’

  ‘Did she have a current photo of her?’

  ‘She said not. No phone number either. I asked how they arranged the funeral.
She said she organised it, and her sister just arrived.’

  ‘Where did their mother live?’

  ‘Eastfield as well.’

  Barton summed up the information in his head. ‘It sounds ragged at best. Do you believe her?’

  ‘Hell, no. She’s lying through her teeth.’

  54

  Acting DCI Barton

  Barton hadn’t even been at the interview with Lucy and he didn’t believe her either. He was about to list his demands to Strange when he remembered his new role and his promise to give the sergeants some experience.

  ‘What are you thinking, and what’s your plan?’

  He detected a large inhale and realised Strange knew he was testing her.

  ‘We’ve parked down her street. She seemed a pleasant woman. I can’t imagine her deserting her sister. Therefore, she’s protecting her.’

  They both kept quiet for a few seconds. Dealing with families was tricky. To many, their loyalty to each other came above the law, even if they were normally law-abiding. Barton was a policeman and suspected under certain conditions even he might ignore the rules to protect his family.

  If they threatened Lucy, she could clam up. They had nothing much at this point, but Barton felt something was off balance. This Sue Ellen might not be guilty of anything, but she was involved, of that he was sure. They could seize Lucy’s phone. He suspected she was lying about not having her sister’s telephone number. Although, if she was as smart as Strange was saying, she’d have deleted the information by now, and possibly got rid of the phone.

  If she hadn’t, even stupid people knew not to answer the door. Despite what crime dramas often portrayed, doors were rarely kicked in nowadays without a warrant. The law protected the innocent, but it also protected the guilty. It wasn’t their patch, either, so even requesting the necessary from a magistrate would be problematic. And what would Lucy be guilty of?

  Holly pulled into the road that Barton’s mother lived on and drove past an unusual sight. It was a cool day, yet there was a woman stumbling towards them in a semi-jog wearing an ill-fitting men’s T-shirt and shorts, and without shoes or socks. Her unkempt grey hair blew around in the breeze. He recognised her as they cruised by. Holly squeezed the brakes.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said.

  Barton spoke into his phone. ‘I’ll call you back.’

  He stepped from the vehicle, incredulous at what he was about to shout.

  ‘Mum, stop running.’

  It took an hour for Barton and Holly to get his mother calm and settled. He stayed with her while Holly packed enough belongings for a long break. He carried the suitcase to the car and returned to the bungalow. His eyes were drawn to the photos in the hallway. They were mostly of Barton and his two sisters. He felt a twinge of annoyance at his siblings’ vague offers of involvement. Both had offered to take her for a weekend to give him a rest, but they were still getting off lightly. Barton supposed that he was closest to their prickly mother, seemingly bulletproof to her indiscriminate insults, and his sisters did live a long way away.

  He had a sneaky thought of telling them their mum had a proviso in her will that only helpful children would receive any inheritance. Perhaps they’d take her for a fortnight then, which would give Holly and him a proper break. Barton’s kids didn’t yet know about the temporary suspension of the skiing holiday. Looked as if they’d be getting another weekend in a north Norfolk caravan.

  Holly brought his mother through to the door by the arm. She’d diminished even since he’d seen her less than two weeks ago. Most of her bluster and sharpness had vanished in that time, too.

  ‘We better get going, beat the traffic,’ he said.

  His mother stared at him with wide eyes. ‘Are you leaving me here on my own?’

  ‘No, you’re coming, too. Don’t you want to come?’

  Holly tutted next to her and took over. ‘Don’t you remember? You wanted a week’s break at ours. You were looking forward to spending time with the grandchildren.’

  A few minutes later, Holly reversed the car off the drive. Barton stole a final glance at the bungalow. A weak sun lit it up as though for a final moment. Next time he came here, it would be a completely different experience.

  He rang Strange’s phone when they reached the main road. It was DC Leicester who answered.

  ‘Afternoon, where’s DS Strange?’

  ‘She’s driving. We’re on our way back.’

  ‘Did you have any ideas? It’s a tricky one.’

  ‘We thought the same, sir. We stayed outside for a while to see if she did something drastic. She came out and got in a Range Rover. We don’t have authorisation to follow her, so we waited ten minutes. We were about to ask Control to track her via number plate recognition, when she returned. DS Strange said that we’re meeting her father at his probation office in a few days. We can probably get the information out of him, so we’ve left it for the moment. Failing that, we attempt a warrant for Lucy’s house, or perhaps Lucy will be honest after she’s had time to absorb the news. After all, we both want what’s best for her sister.’

  Barton smiled at that. If only Joe Public were so obliging. Nevertheless, it was what he would have done if he’d had a few moments of peace to think.

  ‘That’s great work. Have you notified Control?’

  ‘About what, sir?’

  ‘You’re 90 per cent there. This is a clever woman. She might know about tracking phones and not making calls. She’ll probably be able to tell if we follow her. If we back off, I’m betting she will get in her car and visit Sue Ellen. Peterborough’s two hours away via one of the busiest roads in the country.’

  ‘Got you, sir. I’ll ring Control and have Lucy and her husband’s cars put into the automatic number plate recognition system. If their vehicles come within fifty miles of Peterborough, we’ll know about it.’

  Barton rang Zander.

  ‘Afternoon, John. Is your mum okay?’

  Barton looked behind him. She was fast asleep.

  ‘Yes, she’s good. Have you spoken to Strange?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m up to speed.’

  ‘Is the Millfield operation planned out?’

  ‘Everyone’s ready to flood the area over the next few days, knock on doors and see if we can get a hit. Just waiting for your say-so.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  Barton closed his eyes for the rest of the journey. He wasn’t tired; it was a way of immersing himself in the different cases. There were too many quirks for it to be just a series of coincidences. Someone was up to no good. He’d suspected the girl was the key from the beginning. The fact they hadn’t found her was frustrating.

  The temperature had plummeted by the time they arrived home. It was lovely to get back to a warm house with the kids. His mum was responding better to Holly, so he left her to deal with getting her moved in. He put the oven on. Holly had removed three packs of sausages from the freezer earlier, so he placed them on two trays. He peeled the potatoes at the rate of about one an hour. Layla came in and smiled at him for a minute while he battled with the small implement. Chuckling, she took the peeler and potato out of his hands and whispered to him.

  ‘Go and see Granny.’

  She’d be a teenager next year, but she was already a mini Holly. He smiled, wiped his hands on a tea towel and strolled to his office. His mother was perched on the edge of the bed with the box of chocolates open on her lap. She gave him a little wave.

  ‘You’re spoiling me.’

  ‘You’re worth it. Dinner in half an hour?’

  ‘Perfect. John, how long am I staying for?’

  He displayed his widest grin, despite his heart breaking.

  ‘You can stay for as long as you like.’

  55

  The Ice Killer

  It was a struggle to get out of bed before midday. Even ringing in sick again was a massive effort, and I collapsed on the sofa afterwards. My boss is still being reasonable about everything, despite this
being the fourth day I’ve rung in sick, which is a big surprise. I’ve always thought the management uncaring and cruel. How could I have been so wrong?

  Brad rings, and we chat for a while. He’s keen and enthusiastic. I empty the washing machine, cursing as the clothes are still soaking wet, while he blathers on. I mouth some obscenities and put it on a quick cycle. He asks if I’m free over the next few days because he misses me at work. Yuck. What is wrong with men? If you’re eager, they’re as catchable as smoke. Be indifferent, and they turn into Labradors.

  I ask Brad why he hasn’t invited me to meet his parents yet, in the hope of giving him a coronary. He stumbles over his words and becomes true to form: evasive. It’s easy to get rid of him after that. I stare at the TV without watching it, with a thought nagging away. It’s not until the light is dwindling outside that my mind clicks into place.

  All these years, in the back of my head, there has been the presumption that I pushed that girl out of the school window. I remember the aftermath. Not the shrieks and the weeping, or the accusatory stares and suspicion, but the way my body stopped working. They thought I was in shock. But was it shock at what I saw, or what I did?

  Scarlett always said we were miles from that window. She said it was an accident and I’ve always been so grateful for that. As a friend, she protected me. But have I been naive? Perhaps the reality of our situation is that she is not a friend, and instead she was protecting herself.

  How will I ever find out? My past is like a mist-strewn forest. Everything is murky and half concealed. It’s difficult to tell which memories are real.

  I force myself to relax by slowing my breathing. I send a buzz of energy into every single part of my body, each finger, hand, arm, shoulder and so on, until all I am is my physical form. That’s what they taught me in therapy.