Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(12)

‘I’ve been asked to look into the Carmichael case by Davidson.’ Robbo stopped pouring out the coffee and looked at Carter with an inquisitive expression. ‘Discreetly,’ clarified Carter. ‘So I need you to dig it all up for me; all the stuff they didn’t want to talk about at the time; all the things they really don’t want dug up now.’

‘That discreet, huh?’

‘Yeah . . . If they didn’t want me to they shouldn’t have given me the job. The first thing I want to do is look into who else was in the frame for it.’

‘There was Chrissie Newton’s mother Maria, who died in a fire.’

‘I need the report into that.’

Robbo wheeled his chair across to his PC. ‘Okay, I’ll get it for you now. I remember it at the time. She died two weeks after her daughter was murdered. I remember people trying to interview her about it. She was barking. She had collected ten years’ worth of newspapers in her house, piled up in the rooms. The place went up like a matchbox. Okay . . . here it is . . .’ He printed off the report. ‘Inconclusive, basically.’

Carter took the sheet from him and skim-read it. ‘Not obviously arson as in petrol through the letterbox. It was blamed on faulty electrics. She had antiquated wiring in her house. It wouldn’t have taken much. The whole house was gutted and most of it fell down. It made for an impossible job forensically.’

‘Chrissie Newton’s father, James Martingale, was he in the frame?’

‘No. He wasn’t here; he was working in one of his hospitals abroad.’

‘Is he still working as a surgeon?’

‘Very much so. He operates on the rich and famous. He’s become a big name in these last thirteen years. He’s the brains behind that chain of private hospitals – the Mansfield Clinics. They’re big money, with hospitals all over Europe and South Africa. They specialize mainly in cosmetic procedures.’

‘There must be stuff to dig up on him.’

‘I’ll give it a go but I know he’s Mr Charity. He gives away a massive chunk of the hospitals’ profit mainly to children’s charities. He set up a charity in his daughter’s name after she was killed: the Chrissie Newton Foundation. At the time he put up a million-pound reward for information leading to the arrest of the murderers. Still didn’t get us anything – in fact it slowed things down as we had half of our officers out on wild goose chases as so many of the calls that came in were false.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I remember the whole thing was a mess; nothing went right. Forensic exhibits were not stored properly. We didn’t have a drying cupboard for the blood-stained clothing then. Louise Carmichael’s was hung up next to her husband’s and Christine Newton’s clothes to dry – bound to be cross-contamination. There were no leads that didn’t keep doubling back to Carmichael. In the end it was damage limitation rather than justice. Maria Newton was killed in the fire and the press pointed the finger at her and we just let it stay pointed. Carmichael went to live like a hermit – he doesn’t keep in contact with anyone so far as I know – and the case just gradually faded away and slipped down the list of things to deal with. Tell you what, Carter. It feels good to see it back at the top of the agenda.’

‘It’s not there yet. Davidson won’t reopen the case until he has a reason to. He says if we solve Blackdown Barn, we’ll go a long way to solving the Carmichael case.’

Carter went to find Ebony.

‘We need to talk. Let’s grab a coffee.’

The canteen was busy. Ebony’s housemate, Tina, worked behind the counter. She was on the cooked food section today. Her eyes lit up when she saw Carter, and Ebony groaned inwardly when she spotted Tina had fresh lippy on. Christ, she thought, she’s been waiting for him . . .

Carter winked at Tina and she giggled.

Ebony put her tray forward. ‘All-day breakfast please, Teen.’ Tina loaded up Ebony’s plate. She hovered with a spoon dripping beans over Ebony’s tray.

‘More beans, Ebb?’ she said in a sickly sweet voice, her eyes on Carter.

‘No, thanks . . . me and the tray have got enough.’

Carter counted out his change for his coffee and cake and Tina placed it neatly on his tray.

They went to sit on the far side of the canteen. Carter shook his head in disbelief as he watched Ebony tuck into the plate of food.

‘Christ, where do you put it all? You must have hollow legs.’

Ebony reached over for more ketchup while Carter took out the Carmichael file he’d got from Robbo.

‘We have a lead on this case but it’s not the easiest. Have you heard of Callum Carmichael?’

She froze, mid-mouthful. ‘The policeman whose wife and child were murdered in a holiday cottage?’

‘That’s the one. Trevor Bishop found a print in the master bedroom at Blackdown Barn that matches one at Rose Cottage where the Carmichael murders happened.’

‘I only vaguely remember the case; I was a teenager at the time. I was surprised to see it still on the board when I started here.’

‘It will stay on the board until it’s solved.’

‘I looked it up after I saw it there. The press coverage was mixed. There was talk of there being a cover-up. There was very little to go on.’

‘The handprint was it. That was the sum total of evidence. I’ve been talking to Robbo. He was serving at the time. He says it was a mess-up. Just now, in his office, Davidson glossed over certain facts but it’s well known that there was cross-contamination of forensic samples: some DNA samples were lost, others corrupted. They didn’t have the dedicated equipment we have now. Things weren’t as slick.’