Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(45)

‘If he did come looking . . . how would he do it?’

‘If I was him? Either I would get to someone in this department – call in an old favour, ask me for instance – or I would dig up any contacts in the underworld I could beg, steal or borrow from and go undercover.’

‘Has he?’

‘What – asked me? No. I checked with Sandford and Bishop – none of us have had a call or any contact with him. He doesn’t need us then. He must have another way in.’

‘Would you have helped him?’

‘Probably. We all feel like we let him down. We let his wife and child down. Nobody came out of it with justice. It was in the days before we had a designated murder squad. A team would have been assembled when it happened. Davidson was in charge. It was up to him to choose his team – doesn’t mean they were the best for the job. Davidson would also have been responsible for all the clever stuff, working out logistics, analysing; all the things he doesn’t have to do now . . . we have crime analysts to do it.’ Ebony took a cup of coffee from Robbo and looked around for the sugar. He gestured over to the shelf with the coffee beans. ‘What was he like when you went to see him? What is his life like out there? I haven’t seen him since it happened.’

‘He lives in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales. The nearest town is twenty miles away. He lives like a hermit really. He works really hard. I don’t know what else to tell you. I felt he was just working; it wasn’t a home. Maybe that’s the kind of man he always was. What was he like thirteen years ago?’

‘He was dedicated to his job, to his family. That was his world. He hardly ever came out with the lads. It wasn’t surprising he lost it after the murders. Someone pulled his world from under his feet. He had nothing left worth living or staying together for.’

‘Really? He fell apart?’

‘Oh yes. He had what would have been called a nervous breakdown, except no one wanted to call it that.’

‘Could he have had mental problems before the murders? He had an affair. Did that surprise you?’

‘Yes. It did. I’ll be honest – I find that completely out of character.’

‘Do you think he could have killed his wife and child, Robbo?’

‘I think he could have done it if he had already gone stark raving.’

‘Certain parts of Rose Cottage look like that’s what happened. There’s a madness out there but also a containment. You know what I mean? Yes, the women were horrifically mutilated, parts of their bodies removed, but at the same time, where is the blood? If someone ran through rampaging and killing, how come they anaesthetised them first?’

‘You cut someone open they usually die. You cut them open under anaesthetic you have a while to play.’

‘It must have been planned. The way Blackdown Barn was planned. If it’s the same man: Chichester?’

‘Has to be the same killer. The monster’s still out there.’





Chapter 26


Carmichael slipped Sonny’s key into the main door of the old apartment block on Shaftesbury Avenue. It was four in the morning and Soho was quiet. It was nearing kicking-out time for clubs like Cain’s.

Keeping his head down he walked up the stone stairwell. The echo of a homeward-bound drunk filtered up the stairs. Somewhere on the upper floors a cat meowed to be allowed inside one of the other flats. Carmichael walked to the end of the first landing. He unclipped his hunting knife from its sheath on the inside of his calf and concealed it in his left hand as he slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Silently he opened the door a few inches and listened. There was just the hum of a fridge, the dripping of a tap. He felt to his left on the wall: no alarm box. He opened the door wider and slipped inside. The flat was in darkness; just the orange glow of a streetlamp filtered in through a gap in the curtains. The door clicked shut behind him. It was then he heard a voice.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting ages. I’m in here . . .’

Carmichael walked along the corridor and nudged the bedroom door with his foot. A woman was in bed. She froze when she saw Carmichael standing in the doorway. Carmichael looked around the room.

‘You alone?’

She nodded.

‘Get dressed.’

Carmichael went to check in the other rooms. When he got back into the bedroom she was fastening her bra.

‘You expecting anyone besides Sonny?’

She shook her head. ‘Is that his name?’ She glanced up from pulling down her T-shirt. ‘Is he coming back?’

‘No.’

She stared at Carmichael for a few seconds, not sure whether she was relieved or whether she’d found herself a worse problem.

‘How do you know Sonny?’

‘I don’t really. I came here last night. He went out and left me to wait for him.’ She was pulling on her jeans and turned to Carmichael as she searched for her shoes. ‘I fell asleep.’

He looked around the bedroom. It was a man’s décor: black, red and grey. ‘You a prostitute?’

‘Escort,’ she snapped back as she searched around for her bag. ‘Haven’t been doing it long. My ex-husband fucked off and left me with debts. My first client robbed me and now this one has run off.’ As she talked she kept one eye on Carmichael and one on her escape route.