Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(28)

‘I told you I wouldn’t be able to come for a couple of weeks, Mum. I’m sorry. We have a lot going on at work. Did you get the parcel? Did you have a good birthday?’

‘No . . . they wouldn’t give it to me. They accused me of stuff again. I didn’t do it.’ Her voice rose an octave or two as she went into child mode. ‘How can I have a good birthday? My life isn’t worth living. I’d rather be dead. No one loves me. No one cares.’

Ebony squeezed her eyes shut and her fingers dug into the side of her face without her realizing.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll find out what happened to it. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll sort it and I’ll come and see you as soon as I get another visiting order. I love you, Mum.’ The phone went dead.





Chapter 14


Carmichael climbed over the five-bar gate that led into the top field. He jumped silently down the other side, crouched and waited, watching for movement. The last shower of snow lay untouched on the ground. It gave off a light all of its own. Like walking on the surface of a full moon. He was glad to leave the house. He could only think alone. Ebony’s presence in the house disturbed him. Working together to patch up Rusty had felt too close, too intimate for Carmichael. Out of nowhere Ebony had entered his world, bringing with her the past. She smelt of the police station. She had the look that he remembered. She had the hunger to make a difference that he’d felt once.

He kept to the shelter of the hedge as he made his way up the side of the field. The tracks were clear in the snow; two foxes had come this way. He crouched low and looked towards where they had stopped to assess the situation. And there Carmichael turned and looked back down to his farm. Ebony’s red hire car was a new addition to the familiar scene. He saw the outline of the pheasant hanging there. He knew the foxes would have seen the same. They would have waited and considered their strategy there but not stopped for long – fresh tracks were leading away from the hedge and across the field; here they separated. They had left the pheasant hanging in pursuit of richer pickings. Carmichael kept on his route around the edge of the field, keeping his profile low. He moved cautiously, with a measured pace. He came to the top corner of the field and looked across. Now, beneath him, he saw the dog fox’s silhouette; its moon shadow in the snow.

He stood still and watched as the fox began to move and loop around and down the opposite side of the field, making its way back down to its lair. Carmichael stayed very still. He would position himself and wait until it came back into his line of fire. He knew the fox wouldn’t be able to smell him. He was camouflaged with its own scent, excrement from an old den. But the fox would hear him. He had to be ready for one perfect shot. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder. He looked through his night scope and saw the animal’s sinewy shoulders moving athletically, stealthily as it walked sure-footed across the snow and down. Then it stopped. It turned his way. Its eyes flashed in the dark at the same time as the bullet flashed through the air.





Chapter 15


Harding took the foetus from its drawer in the mortuary, held it in her hands and placed it in the scales. Three pounds two ounces. Fi was a good weight at thirty-six weeks; the last couple of weeks would have seen her put on a few more pounds. Things didn’t usually affect Harding; she hadn’t a maternal bone in her body, but the waste of life before it had ever had a chance was symbolically terrible somehow. No one ever intended this baby to take its first breath. Jo Harding turned from studying the X-rays and watched Mathew the diener as he delicately laid out the tools for the next autopsy. She loved his hands: they were expert, long-fingered, big but subtle in their touch.

He looked across at her. ‘I had a call to say that some of the forensic results for Fi are back, Doctor Harding. They’ve been emailed to you.’ Mathew didn’t mind working late. He was softly spoken, soft-mannered. Mathew had had many women in his life. They trusted him. He was their friend and he was quietly confident and knew when to wait and when to listen. Someone like Harding made a welcome change for him. He knew if they continued working late into the night they would have many more nights together. Harding had more energy and enthusiasm than any woman Mathew had ever slept with. She was physical with him. She was angry inside. He would learn a lot from her. He knew he had to enjoy it while it lasted. When she tired of him there would be a new posting for him and a new diener for her.

She walked back to her desk and checked her emails. She printed the results and snatched them up in one hand, car keys in the other. She turned to Mathew:

‘You don’t have to stay.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll hang around.’

‘Please yourself.’

Harding went out to the consultants’ car park and pressed the key fob on her red Audi TT. She drove the short distance over to Fletcher House to take the news to Davidson.

As Carter passed Harding on her way out of Davidson’s office she had a smile on her face that was a mixture of smug and satisfied. He wondered whether he’d find Davidson with his pants round his ankles or hanging from the ceiling . . . he wondered which scenario would do it for Harding. Carter definitely did nothing for her. She either liked boys wet behind the ears and half her age like Mathew her diener or she liked men with power and position: men with a lot to lose, like Davidson. Carter was grateful he was neither. He had enough troubles in his private life. He’d been faithful to Cabrina . . . not an easy thing for him. The thought of moving on, starting again, wasn’t easy either.