Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(40)

Carmichael shook his head. ‘I never touch the merchandise.’

Digger nodded and flicked his head towards the man with Anna. ‘Neither do I. I leave that to Sonny over there.’





Chapter 22


Carmichael went back to the Velvet Lagoon that evening. He sat at the bar in the darkness staring at his laptop; his face lit by the flickering screen. He heard the rustle of the rat getting braver now as he threw it another piece of bread. It was not alone. He watched them run at the edge of his vision. Micky wanted to talk to him.

Carmichael phoned him.

‘Digger has money hidden all over the place. I’ve found out that he owns several properties in Central London. He has been seen with celebrities. He was quite a catch in his youth; had a former Miss World as a girlfriend. Nowadays he tends to hold court in Cain’s rather than venture far. He lost a lot of money on the stock markets. Digger hasn’t got the money he used to have but he has plenty tied up in property. If Digger had something to do with your wife and child’s murders it must have been for a profit. Digger has become nastier and more hermit-like as he’s got older. Even his clubs seem to have declined and they are no longer the favoured haunts of the celebrity circuit.’

‘Yeah. He’s gone down the seedy route; ripping tourists off in clip joints.’

‘There’s no doubt Digger could do it. I’ve been looking into Martingale. Whatever Martingale does he does for a price and for fame. He sponsors so many good causes. He has funds going for research into just about every known disease. But Martingale doesn’t do anything if no one’s watching. He’s devoted his life to writing papers.’

‘But his personal life?’

‘You guessed it . . . something had to give and that was it. He’s had two failed marriages; both times lasted months rather than years. He still has no shortage of women . . . he’s been linked to quite a few, but he never takes it to the next level with them. He’s in love with his work and maybe himself. Most of his decisions in life have been driven by financial gain. He was offered permanent teaching positions in most of the leading hospitals; he turned them down. He keeps his hand in with the NHS, maybe doing one or two high-profile operations a year, but most of the time he’s delegating and not doing.’

‘What about his whereabouts? What’s his address for most of the year?’

‘He is seasonal. He likes his springs here. He likes to show orchids and there are shows all over the country. The biggest, most prestigious happen in March. He has to come here from Christmas to get them ready. When he’s here he lives in his mother’s old home in Hampstead. It wasn’t where he grew up. He spent most of his life living abroad when his father was in the army.’

‘You asked if Digger knew Martingale? The answer is yes, they were seen around in the Sixties although they didn’t really move in the same circles for long. Martingale would have probably gone into Cain’s. It wasn’t quite as seedy then.’

Carmichael thanked Micky and hung up. He went into the office and dragged out the old abandoned mattress and pulled it down to the far wall of the club. He propped it up and pinned five pieces of paper on it: one in each corner and one in the centre. He drew a circle on each then went behind the bar, pulled out his rifle and switched on the night vision. He took a shot at each target in turn, working his way round the four corners, and finally he took a shot at the centre circle. Then he walked over to see how he’d scored. He was dead centre on four out of five. The bottom left was a millimetre off. For the four he’d hit he drew smaller circles an inch away from the first ones. For the fifth he’d have to wait till he got it right. Carmichael walked back to the bar and looked back at the laptop.

He went back to see what Ebony had been writing:

The more I listen to people talk about Carmichael, the more confused I am. I have to stay with my own impressions. I believe he is someone who served his country, served his family to the best of his ability. If he failed in either it would have eaten him up. If he failed he wouldn’t want to live with himself. But mental illness turns some people into monsters . . . could my mum have killed if she hadn’t been really sick? Not herself? She says she can’t remember doing it . . . can she? I saw her that day. I saw the monster she became. She says she doesn’t remember. A moment of madness is one thing. But watching someone bleed to death on the kitchen floor while you calmly make tea? And Mum lies. I have heard her make up stories all my life. She’s an expert liar. Carmichael lied to me . . . has he lied to himself? Is he like my mother? Is he a monster?





By the end of the night the mattress was peppered with holes.





Chapter 23


The next morning Carter walked into the Intel office. ‘Is the surveillance on Cain’s in place, Robbo?’

‘No . . . not yet . . . I’m waiting to hear. The problem is the property was put up for sale and is under offer and the buyers aren’t going to let us in there.’

‘Fuck . . . is there anywhere else we can use? We can’t afford to wait any longer. If Sonny gets wind of things he’ll be gone. Soon Blackdown Barn will be all over the news and Chichester will know that his treasure didn’t stay buried. Realistically, Robbo . . . how long . . . any hope?’

‘Realistically? Too long.’