The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series)

by Ross Greenwood

  Barton and Strange strode to the Tactical van while his mind continued to process recent events. There was still no obvious evidence that Ellen had murdered anyone, but her fleeing had been enough for him. He’d stake his reputation on her being involved. They would catch Ellen Vickerman, then arrest and charge her for murder. His main hope was that the killing was now over.

  83

  The Ice Killer

  I need to see Trent, but I want to speak to my sister first. The police will guess that, so I don’t have long. As I screech along the country roads, I wind my window down and throw out the two shotgun cartridges that I removed from the gun when I arrived at Scarlett’s house. That must have been a nasty surprise to her, although only for about a second.

  I’ll miss Scarlett. She was a ruined creature with a warped heart, but she was all I had. It was a quick end for her, and a fortunate one for me. I hammer up the slip road and veer into the traffic on the A1. If they’re on the ball, they’ll pick me up on the number plate cameras that they used to track my sister. I tear along at nearly 100 mph. Madly, some young lad in a BMW overtakes me.

  At Alconbury I ease off and follow the country lanes into Huntingdon. I park in an all-day car park near the railway station. I take my sunglasses from my coat pocket and put them on, while pulling off my wig. A train to King’s Cross leaves in five minutes. Soon, I’m on it and start to work out my next move.

  There’s a Tube map in the carriage. Metropolitan line and then the Bakerloo line will get me to Harrow. They’ll think I’m going to my sister’s house, not knowing she’s at the hospital with her husband, Greg.

  84

  DI Barton

  Barton shook the hand of Inspector Brown, who was in charge of the Tactical Support Team. He spent five minutes giving the man an update and sent him on his way. Strange took Brown’s phone number and agreed to give him as much information as they had en route. Barton rang Control to ask for the Firearms Commander to be updated about the deaths.

  They would send a Post Incident Manager to take over the scene and to open a Post Incident Suite where they’d run through the facts over and over again. It was tough on the riflemen who were just doing their job, but the records had to be made while events were still fresh in the mind.

  Control informed him that Ellen’s car had been picked up by a camera approaching Alconbury. At least Ellen was headed in the right direction. When the scene at the house was secured and taped up, Zander came over to Barton’s car.

  ‘What next, boss?’

  ‘For my sanity’s sake, let’s go through everything from the beginning.’

  It took nearly a quarter of an hour for Barton to lay out what they knew.

  ‘That’s one unlucky girl, or a murderous one,’ said Zander.

  ‘Surely nobody’s that unlucky,’ replied Barton.

  ‘And we still have no forensic evidence, CCTV, witnesses, or anything like that which is concrete?’

  ‘No. Well, we do, but at the moment it backs up Ellen’s side of the story more than any alternative,’ said Barton.

  Zander blew out a long breath. ‘That doesn’t help.’

  ‘There’s reasonable doubt on all the deaths. Each one would be looked at in isolation and we have to prove it was definitely her. We don’t seem to be able to do that. Look at the people she might have killed. What jury is going to judge her harshly when she’s been raped at least once and taken a sex offender down who was trying to kill her?’

  ‘What about Ewing?’

  ‘I’m not sure what link, if any, there is from her to him. I’ve heard stories concerning Ewing and women. Even if we could somehow prove she was involved in his death, a good defence wouldn’t struggle to make him look terrible. Besides, it sounds like we’ve just shot and killed the star witness.’

  Barton spent the next five minutes talking to Cureton and Smith. They’d put their guns back in the safe and were making notes on how events had played out. He stepped away when his mobile rang. It was Strange.

  ‘Hi, John. She’s not tripped the next two cameras on the A1, so she must have gone onto the smaller roads. She might have headed into Huntingdon. What do you want us to do?’

  Barton rubbed his face while he considered the options.

  ‘You’re only an hour from Harrow. I still think that’s where she’s heading. Let’s see if we can at least speak to the sister and maybe catch Ellen at the same time. I have a feeling neither sister is as innocent as they pretend.’

  ‘And the Huntingdon angle?’

  ‘Her father lives there, although they haven’t spoken for years. I’ll send Zander there and I’ll get Traffic in Huntingdon to look out for the car. She’s a bright woman. It’s possible she went to the railway station.’

  ‘Bugger,’ said Barton as he disconnected the call.

  ‘More problems?’ asked Zander.

  ‘Yep. It’s as though I’m battling the whole family.’

  85

  The Ice Killer

  After I arrive at King’s Cross, I soon skirt around the underground system and get out at Northwick Park, the stop before Harrow on the Hill. It’s rush hour now, and I’m swept along with the tide of humanity. It’s only a few minutes’ stroll to the hospital, where I ask for directions at Reception. I ring the doorbell to the High Dependency Unit. A nurse smiles when I ask for Greg Breslinski. She tells me to wash my hands, and I walk quietly to room four.

  My sister is sitting next to the bed with her head resting on the covers. She holds Greg’s hand. There are no beeping machines and he looks gaunt, but I can see his lips moving as he breathes.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘Hey,’ she replies, with a tired but relieved grin.

  ‘Good news?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, I hope so. They’ve said he’s over the worst. After a day’s rest, they’ll let me take him home.’

  ‘I’m pleased.’

  She reads the distance in my speech correctly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I want to tell you about the dreadful things I’ve done.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘No, that wasn’t all of them, and there’s been more.’

  She nods, but then steels herself.

  ‘Sit down and tell me everything.’

  There’s a strange look on her face. One of weary acceptance, but also a hint of guilt. I force myself to begin.

  ‘I’m a killer, but that’s not the shocking bit. The evil part is that I don’t care about the lives I’ve taken. I know murder is wrong, but it’s like I don’t particularly feel that way.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I have no restraint. I’m vengeful and violent.’

  ‘Get it all out,’ she urges.

  And so I do.

  I start with the girl from school, and I finish with killing Robert. I even fill the hazy bits in with my imagination. Afterwards, I wait for the recriminations to begin, but she’s quiet. She rises and pulls me into what feels like the strangest hug I’ve ever had, where the other person’s need is more than my own. When we break, she has tears streaming down her face.

  ‘What’s up?’ I try to make light of it. ‘No morality lessons?’

  ‘I’d be a hypocrite. It’s time I told the truth, too.’

  ‘Should I sit?’

  She nods again, and we both take a seat. After blowing her nose and taking a deep breath, she talks as though she’s releasing something from deep within.

  ‘I’ll start from the beginning too. Mum and Dad met when they were young and fell madly in love. They were very much peas in a pod, but not in a good way. Our mum described their match as hell-sent. It was tempestuous and violent, on both their parts. They exhausted their friends with their bitter splits and inevitable reunions, and then I came along.’

  I rise and pour myself a glass of water to prepare myself for what’s coming.

  ‘Go on, keep going,’ I say.

  ‘They hoped a baby would calm them down, then they could get married and live peacefull
y, but nothing changed, and they continued to have huge rows. When you arrived, it deteriorated further, and Dad lost control. Eventually, he left while he was still sane enough to make rational choices. Mum retreated from the world, but you, Mum and me got on fine until you started puberty. Sadly, whatever sickness lies in our family, you had it worst of all. It was as if you’d inherited the ruin and fury of both of them.’

  ‘Was that why you left?’

  ‘You and I fought like animals because I wanted to control you. I’m surprised you don’t remember. But Mum saw you as someone who needed to be treated like porcelain. That’s how she managed her illness, by avoiding tension and conflict. After our dad moved out, she lived her entire life in second gear. No shocks, no drama, no rage. We brought out the worst in each other, so I left for both our benefit.’

  ‘You married an older man and lived a quiet life as well. At least you didn’t murder anyone like Dad and I ended up doing.’

  Her sad frown tells me that isn’t true.

  ‘No, I took a life too, Ellen.’

  The glass of water nearly slips from my grasp, but I also seize the truth at that moment.

  ‘Wee Jock?’

  She grimaces. ‘Yes, we’d hired a detective to look for you. He rang and told me where you were. When I arrived, Wee Jock was there and you’d been fighting. I told you to come with me, but he grabbed your arm and shouted at me to fuck off. He slapped my face, and an irresistible anger came over me, and everything I’d been holding back was released in an instant. Such total, devastating, wrath.’

  I should focus on the gruesome crime, but I recognise her words.

  ‘And I bet you know this,’ she continues, ‘but it’s quite liberating to be that angry.’

  I can’t stop a chuckle sneaking out. ‘We are a mad family.’

  ‘Yes, Mum told me at mad Aunt Dora’s funeral that Aunt Dora had been sectioned four times in her life.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, our genes seem to be off kilter. I felt so powerful and ruthless when I attacked Wee Jock, but, afterwards, I was scared of what I was capable of. I left him on the patio and never looked back.’

  ‘No wonder they didn’t find anyone for it.’

  ‘No, but a few years later it happened again when I had an argument with a woman in the park. She was drunk and rode her bike into one of my children. I wanted to kill her. Carson got me off in court, but I swore that I’d never behave like that again. I tried medication, but it thinned my hair and made me drowsy. Luckily, we were wealthy, and I tested different things. Eventually I learned that if I kept myself away from dangerous situations and looked after myself, I could control myself.’

  ‘You trained yourself to be better?’

  She smiles. ‘Not like in Kung Fu, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just healthy eating, yoga, running, mindfulness. It’s a bit hippy, yet it works for me. But I let you down. I left you under Mum’s guidance, and that was never going to work for you. The only way the hospital could get you under control was to over-medicate you. I suspect your GP did the same thing.’

  ‘But then I felt like a zombie. A lonely one at that.’

  ‘Perhaps that is our lot in life. The price of everyone else’s safety is our isolation, but we should still have each other. I knew you’d stopped taking your medication and I should have done more. Instead I left you again.’

  I squeeze her hand, then stand and stretch, strangely relieved and exhausted.

  ‘I feel lighter,’ I say. ‘As though I understand who I am, and it helps to appreciate that I’m not the only one. You know what, even though we’ve committed terrible crimes, I don’t think there’s a worse feeling than thinking you’re different from everyone else.’

  ‘I’ll give you the keys to our house. You can come back to ours and rest. We’ll talk more when Greg’s better.’

  ‘I do have a final question. What about your kids? Are they okay?’

  ‘They’re both fine. Normal, whatever the hell that is. I had concerns with the terrible twos and threes and the teenage years had me worried too, but they’re quiet, studious youngsters. Greg is so incredibly dull that any volatile behaviour from my genes has been doused by his entrenched boringness.’

  I can’t help a louder laugh. ‘Sounds sexy.’

  ‘It’s what I need. He’s the water to my fire, and the calm to my storm. Although I must admit, he’s vague when he talks about his youth.’

  It makes sense. Claude and Carrie were always quiet children. Carrie had a bit more bite about her. She once slapped her brother around the face for cheating at cards, but they spent most Christmases with their heads buried in books. I wonder if Brad could be my Greg. We sit quietly in thought for a moment until a question comes to my mind.

  ‘What possessed you to have kids after how we turned out?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Why does anyone start a family?’

  I smile at her, but I’m beginning to think she’s madder than me.

  ‘Can I stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on the chair. But I should go back and talk to Trent. I have to know if he’ll keep quiet. I need to be free.’

  ‘Make sure you come home to us afterwards. I don’t want to lose you again. What are you going to do if he doesn’t toe the line?’

  ‘It’ll be his choice. Funnily enough, I used to read psychology books to try to self-diagnose my problems. Most advise you to fight or face your fears, but a man recommended doing something different with your demons.’

  She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘He said to use them to your advantage.’

  86

  Acting DCI Barton

  Barton’s alarm woke him at five, but he’d barely slept. They’d had no luck in locating Ellen or Lucy. Strange had waited outside Lucy’s unlit house for two hours, but there’d been no movement. She’d knocked around the nearest homes, but, typically for people in huge houses, no one had much idea about their neighbours’ movements. An older woman who lived in an isolated cottage on the opposite side of the road had said that the Breslinskis were a private couple. They were polite, but never chatted. It was as if the pair of them chose to stay out of others’ lives.

  Sirena had rung Barton last night when she’d finished at Ellen’s flat. She’d said there was nothing immediately incriminating in the bedroom and they’d have to wait for the lab results to come back. The only unusual thing they’d discovered was when they took the sink drain apart, they’d found a lot of tablets at the bottom of the pipe. They had gone for testing.

  It was that that had kept Barton up. Could it be that Ellen was a criminal psychopath? Or perhaps she’d stopped taking her meds? Cambridgeshire Police and the Met were on the lookout for the sisters and they were checking CCTV, but it wouldn’t be easy if she had a different wig on or had taken it off. Zander had waited at Ellen’s father’s house in Huntingdon until the young mother they’d helped before had left her flat and told him that she’d seen Ted leaving shortly before Zander arrived.

  Barton climbed out of bed, crept downstairs and made a cup of coffee. No one else had stirred, so he let himself out and drove to work to crack on with the massive amounts of paperwork he had to do. He had a meeting with the super later that day, which he wasn’t looking forward to.

  He waged war with his inbox until Strange arrived at eight with bleary eyes and a huge Costa coffee carton.

  ‘Come on. Let’s visit Ellen’s father,’ said Barton. ‘It might be time to kick a door down.’

  ‘You think Ellen’s hiding there?’

  ‘No, the police found her car at Huntingdon railway station. She’ll be with her sister.’

  ‘But you reckon her father is implicated somehow?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s directly involved, although it’s possible he knows where Ellen is, but he’ll know her state of mind. There’s murderous psychosis running in that family. I’m sure of it. He’s going to answer my questions today.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t want to help
?’

  ‘I can be persuasive when I’m filling a doorway.’

  They arrived at the estate in good time despite it being rush hour. The curtains in Deacon’s flat were drawn, but Strange could hear the TV when she pressed her ear against the window. They slipped into the building when someone else was leaving and Barton pummelled the door. No one came.

  Barton leaned down to the letter box, opened it, and shouted through.

  ‘I’m coming through the door in ten seconds whether you open it or not.’

  Barton counted out loud. When he got to four, Strange bent down and yelled through.

  ‘We’re about to arrest your daughter for murder. If you have anything to say, now’s the time to say it.’

  Four seconds later, they heard bolts sliding across. Deacon peered out at them like an irritable vulture.

  ‘What’s happened to Ellen?’

  Barton walked through the doorway, giving Deacon little choice other than to back up. Strange followed and closed the door behind them. They both stared at the multitude of locks. The word ‘tablets’ was on a yellow Post-it note next to the handle in big black felt tip. Barton slid past Deacon and found himself in a small lounge diner. It was strikingly similar to the layout of Ellen’s flat. There were differences, though. Deacon had written ‘medicine’ on pieces of paper and stuck them to the cabinets and walls in large red letters.

  Barton knew they had hit the mark when Deacon only stared at them instead of complaining about their uninvited entrance. Barton pointed at the writing.

  ‘I assume this is so you don’t forget?’