Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(20)

She heard her housemate Tina’s heavy metal music as soon as she put the key in the door.

Tina’s voice came from the kitchen. ‘Ebb?’

‘Yeah, it’s me . . .’ Ebony put her coat over the banister, took off her shoes and put them by the front door.

Tina emerged stuffing toast into her mouth and wearing the maroon dressing gown that her nan had given her for last Christmas. Everyone in the house walked around in duvets and dressing gowns. It was impossible to keep warm. The house was old and draughty and the radiators were too small and decrepit to cope. But the rent was cheap so no one dared complain to the landlord.

‘Any news?’

Ebony shook her head. ‘It’s not going to happen, Tina. I told you he has Cabrina. He’s practically married. Cabrina’s pregnant.’

‘Bollocks . . .’ Tina screwed up her face. ‘Oh well.’ She turned up the stairs and went up to her room. ‘Back to the dating sites.’

Ebony walked through to the kitchen, made herself some tea and poured out a bowl of cereal then she went upstairs. Her room was on the top floor. It had everything she needed: a bed and a desk. If she wanted to watch telly she made herself be sociable and sit in the lounge. It didn’t come easily for her; she wasn’t used to it. That was why she’d chosen to live in a house with three others. She wanted to get used to it.

It was a lovely room that made her smile when she went into it. It overlooked the street below and had a London plane tree right outside her window. In the spring the birds came to sit in it and sing in the morning. It had been like a Christmas card when the snow covered its branches. But the downside of the room was that it was furthest from the bathroom, two floors up and last to get the heat into the ancient radiators.

She set the tea and cereal bowl on the desk and took out the file. Ever since Carter had told her about the handprint match she had been talking to people who remembered the case. She phoned Carter.

‘Sarge? I found out as much about Carmichael as I can. I talked to several people this afternoon: people who knew Callum Carmichael at that time. But I can’t find anyone who counted him as a mate.’

‘He wasn’t that type . . . loner . . . but great boss. So frigging good at his job. He was an inspector in the Tactical Firearms Unit. Not the kind of job you make mates in.’

‘But as a person?’

‘Can’t answer that one . . . I didn’t know him that well. I’d just joined when it happened . . .’

‘I did get a bit of back history from Sandford,’ said Ebony ‘and I talked to the local police in Kirkcaldy where he grew up and got hold of his dad. Carmichael joined the Marines at eighteen and went to Devon to train. He was in trouble for minor offences when he was a teenager. Lucky not to get a sentence.’

‘So he might have had a little help with signing up?’

‘Yes, could have. His dad is a local publican. Well respected. Carmichael did well in the Marines. He served in the Falklands straight away. Then he was recruited into the SBS at twenty-two. He served in the Iraq War and in January 1991 he was sent to try and rescue a previous mission that had gone wrong. He was captured and subjected to violent torture which included burning and electric shock.’

‘Tough bloke, Ebb.’

‘Yes, but this is what I can’t find out, Sarge. I can’t find out where he was after he left the SBS and before he joined the Police Force for almost a year, October 1992. I can’t find any mention of it. It’s one of the things I’d like to ask him tomorrow. Harding seems to think he was definitely suffering with PTSD. But none of his workmates made any observations about strange behaviour or a change in his attitude around the time of the murders. He did have an affair, though.’

‘Is that our motive then, Ebb? Kill the wife and kid and start again with wife’s money and the new woman?’

‘Except the new woman left for Australia soon after and according to her statement at the time, the affair had been over for a few months. Carmichael has never remarried. So I don’t know really. I have the full autopsy reports now. I’ll read them through and be ready to clarify things with Carmichael tomorrow. It will take me a few hours to go through it and then I’ll bring my bag into the office, ready to leave early tomorrow morning, Sarge.’

‘Stay there, get a few hours’ kip.’

‘Okay, Sarge . . . and Sarge, I talked to Mr Simpson, the letting agent: Chichester bought the bed in the cellar himself. That means the Arsenal shirt is down to him and nothing to do with the previous tenant. We were right about the room with linoleum – he had the carpet removed before he got there and had the linoleum put down, and more shelves put up in the bathroom.’

‘What about the curtains in that room, Ebb? He left them in every other room, why not there?’

‘I asked Simpson about those – he said Chichester told him he’d be bringing his own.’

‘Sandford’s found what looks like the remnants of a plastic curtain up at that bedroom window. We need to find out what that room was intended for: don’t think it’s a bedroom. Maybe it was a place to store something that needed to be kept germ-free.’

‘I’ll talk to Simpson again. He needs leaning on; he made money out of Chichester that he doesn’t want to talk about. He also deleted emails that went between him and Chichester.’