The Dead Of Winter Read online

  THE DEAD OF WINTER

  Billy McLaughlin

  Copyright © 2017 by Billy McLaughlin

  All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems – without permission of the publisher.

  E: [email protected]

  F: www.facebook.com/billymclaughlinbooks

  T: www.twitter.com/bilbob20

  Edited by Emma Mitchell

  https://emmathelittlebookworm.wordpress.com/

  Thank you to everybody involved with this book. To Emma for another superb job. To Sharon for all your support and input. To Will, my partner, who helps me get the medical stuff at least close to right. To my family and friends who keep on with endless encouragement and words of support. And most importantly to the people who read these little slices of fiction. I love hearing about the people who have read them and enjoyed.

  xBilly

  Also available:

  Invisible

  Lost Girl

  In the Wake of Death

  Coming Soon

  The Daughter

  PROLOGUE

  Run! Don’t stop!

  My mind is screaming at my legs to move. Yet I’m frozen in place; gripped by terror as I stare into his dark empty eyes. I am reticent to move because he towers over me and I know he could snap my neck with one twist of the hand.

  Finally, my legs catch up with my brain and I’m running. It doesn’t feel like me though. I race into the kitchen knowing he won’t be far behind me. Thankfully, the back door is still unlocked. I stumble forward and find myself leaving the garden through the side gate. I dare not look back because I fear I’ll lose speed and he’ll be upon me. Not knowing if he is five or fifty yards behind only compounds my rising fear.

  The dark grey skies cast shadows across the light granite stones as they rise from the dirt. They blur at the corner of my eyes as my boots crunch against a thick layer of snow. I’m grateful the ground has not turned to ice. I don’t have time to fall.

  Just when I hope I’ve put enough time and space between us, I turn and see that he is pounding through the snow. Even though he is so far behind, his eyes still drill into me. He has locked me in his sight. I find I’m heading towards rows of trees and I wonder why I came this way. Maybe it’s because I know I have no place else to go. They’ve made sure of that.

  The Bluebell leg of the river runs through the heart of the forest, burrowed into walls of steel that are joined by the iron blue bridge. I can hear the water as it batters in the wind. The snow begins to fall again, and a mist has formed at the far end of the forest. He still stalks me. I fear the only place I can hide is on a ledge that lies beneath the bridge. It will be cold there, but it will also be dry. More importantly, it is too small for him to climb onto should he discover me there. I’m grateful I know about it. The steel slope into the river is steep so I know it will be dangerous to climb down. I fear it’s my only chance.

  As I twist around the iron fence, I catch the back of my coat on a sharp, loose spear. I can see his silhouette appear between the trees. If I don’t move quickly, he’ll see me. I push forward and hear the coat rip straight down the centre. I’m becoming desperate. I dislodge from the spear and find myself scrambling down the slope. I’m heading for the water. I manage to grab onto a steel handle and then trap my foot in a groove. I look up and feel the fear tingle at my skin. He has arrived on the bridge but he hasn’t spotted me yet. I manoeuvre towards the ledge, trying not to catch his eye.

  I lose my grip and scramble down towards the water. The next thing he will see with his dark empty eyes is the sight of my canary yellow raincoat as it falls into the water and disappears into the mist.

  ONE

  Mary Bradley ran her brush down the canvas and smiled. The place had finally come together and she could return to doing what she loved most. The girls were settled upstairs and she could have a moment free of their constant bickering and needling. Nobody warned mothers about that part. In the early days, Mary thought her job would be done when she’d got them safely off to primary school. It could only get easier after that.

  The canvas went the way of most of Mary’s work; bleak and dismal. It was how she felt. Even with this new start, distancing herself from her ex-husband, it hadn’t been the pick-me-up she had hoped for. She reserved her feelings for her paintwork though. For the rest of the world, she painted on her lipstick and a beguiling smile. It kept the gossips and the wolves from the door. Even the girls couldn’t have known just how lonely and abandoned she felt.

  Mary thought of the upcoming interview. It would be the first day of the rest of her life. She would no longer be a freelance artist. Her ex-husband’s generous salary had allowed her that one luxury. His pittance of a divorce settlement had not. She would start her career all over again, working at a gallery and hoping somebody would notice how talented she was. She had played it out in her head. She would invite some of her colleagues to the house for coffee or a glass of wine. It would be a gesture for her to get to know them. They would comment on the fabulous pieces that hung in the hallway. ‘Oh, those old things,’ she would say with mock modesty, ‘I did them myself.’

  She put the brush on the rim of the easel and walked towards the kitchen. The thought of wine had whetted her appetite. That had been five minutes ago, and by the time she walked to the kitchen, she preferred the idea of a hot chocolate. As she did, she eyed herself in the mirror. Her divorce had not been kind. Her auburn hair hung lankly, forming a frame around her oval face. Crow’s feet had appeared around her startling green eyes which made her feel self-conscious when she smiled. So, she tried not to smile anywhere else but with her lips. She had lost so much weight the veins throbbed from her neck to her wrists. She had even had to buy a new suit for her interview because nothing in her wardrobe fitted any more.

  The kettle whistled, startling her from her daydream. Her eyelids had begun to feel heavy, but she knew the minute her head hit the pillow her mind would spring to life. Her doctor had prescribed a mild sleeping pill, which she had refused to take. She would not become one of those tragic figures addicted to pills and only getting through the day and night because they were doped to high hell. She suffered the insomnia and grabbed cat-naps wherever she could. A new job would also put a stop to that. The clattering sound of the teaspoon against the glass mug was jarring when set against the silence of the rest of the house. It was amusing to her that she longed for silence when the girls were around and when they’d gone to bed, she longed for their noise. She took a sip from the hot chocolate and felt the sweetness at the back of her throat.

  She was about to switch on the radio when the silence was broken by the arrival of sirens. She looked up at the clock. It was just after nine p.m. She slammed the mug down and moved towards the lounge. Where the room had been dark for most of the evening, it was now illuminated by the flashing of blue lights. Mary reached for her chest and saw two cars, one unmarked and the other with the police logo, skid to a halt at the foot of her gate. Within seconds of them stopping, a tall man in a grey overcoat stepped out of the unmarked car. He stared at her for a mere second before turning towards a smaller uniformed man. They spoke animatedly to each other and then looked back at Mary. She was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. What could have happened that required such an arrival? She pressed her hand against her chest and felt her heart beat a little harder than it should. When they turned, and walked towards the house next door, Mary felt the relief wash through her like a heatwave. Her panic subsided just in time for her to watch them disappear into the
house next door.

  TWO

  Dan had gone through every scenario before he’d called the police. He wasn’t a man who panicked. Not on the outside anyway. Inside, his guts were raging up a storm. His blood had run cold when he’d gone into the nursery and found the crib empty. He’d had to swallow back the bile as it threatened to retch all over the wall. His son was gone.

  At six foot two, Detective Kevin Wallace towered over Dan Wilson’s five foot eight frame. He walked into the house and asked Dan to show him where the baby should have been sleeping. He noticed the rugby match remained on pause but didn’t comment because right now, the score was the least important thing going on. He had a missing baby to find. He glanced at Dan’s grey face and invited the man to sit down before his legs gave up and collapsed.

  Joanne Wilson came screaming through the door a few moments later. “Why didn’t you call me,” she screeched? Clearly inebriated, she instantly set about giving Dan short shrift. What the hell was he doing whilst their son was being stolen from his cot? Why hadn’t he been watching him closer?

  Wallace watched as she poured rage on to her husband; he wanted to ask her what she had been doing whilst their son was being stolen from his bed? It seemed unfair to blame Dan when she had been out on the lash herself. Neither of them really measured up in his estimations so far, but he would reserve judgement until he had a fuller picture.

  He found himself distracted as he noticed the baby picture on a dark oak unit at the back of the lounge. Wallace didn’t get gushy over babies. He had his own if he wanted to feel a warm glow. Even he had to admit that Archie was particularly cute. He walked over and picked the chrome framed picture up. “Is this your baby here?”

  Joanne nodded swiftly.

  “Cute kid. You mind if I take this? We’ll get it back to you as quick as we can.” Wallace smiled but refrained from commenting that the baby looked more like Joanne than Dan. She was a looker. No doubt about it. Wallace couldn’t quite put the two of them together. Even though he could see she was stressed and drunk, he still struggled not to stare at her. He imagined Dan, a weedy nerd with skinny arms and strawberry blonde hair, must have thought all his Christmas’ had arrived at once.

  PC Allan Irving sat with Joanne and asked all the obvious questions and a few that didn’t seem that obvious at all. Was there anybody in the house that shouldn’t have been there? Did anybody have a key that didn’t live in the house? Any unlocked windows or doors? They even poured over the mundane events of their day asking questions about what they’d done in the morning and what they’d had for dinner?

  Joanne answered her questions through broken sobs. Dan, for his part, had become more frustrated and defensive as his anger grew. He looked like he might blow a fuse if they continued to ask questions that weren’t obvious or relevant.

  “Is Archie short for something,” asked Irving, trying his best to hide a glint of amusement.

  Wallace had already mused to himself that nobody called their children Archie anymore. It was a strange choice, but then they seemed a strange couple.

  “Mrs Wilson. I know how distressing this will be for you. My main aim is to get your son back with you as soon as possible. To do that, I do need to establish a timeline for everybody in the home. Can you help me do that?” Wallace wasn’t known for his soft approach and he usually found the more aggressive he was, the more results he got. However, there was no getting past the heart-breaking sight of a mother who was distraught over her missing child. He couldn’t decide if he had softened to her because she was a stressed mother or simply because, every time he looked at her, she took his breath away. It wasn’t an appropriate thought but he was only human.

  Joanne nodded and looked as if she were trying to digest everything that was going on around her.

  “Okay, so you went out about half past seven with your friend from across the street. What’s her name?”

  “Laura Gilfeather.” Joanne just managed to pull herself together. Finding Archie was more important than her own feelings.

  “Where did you go? A pub? Dinner?” Wallace had noticed she had barely been able to keep her eyes from crossing when she’d arrived home. There was no doubt she’d had a fair bit to drink. She had certainly appeared to sober up now, but he could still smell the alcohol from her breath.

  “We went to a couple of bars in town. We haven’t been out properly for ages. I was keen to get home though. Laura can get a little OTT when she’s on the booze. I was getting fed up to be honest. It’s the first time I’ve been out since I had Archie.”

  It almost seemed as if she were defending her right to go out, thought Wallace as he stared at the frozen television. The image of a player halfway through a tackle was starting to grate on his nerves.

  “And you were here all night? Watching the rugby?” Wallace threw a testy glance at Dan and waited for him to answer.

  “I’ve already said that Detective. I never went out. My wife left at the time she said she left. I was here the whole time.”

  Wallace wondered if Dan had intended to come across as obnoxious. Perhaps it was stress. Perhaps it was the way he always sounded when he spoke. There were people like that who were just always on edge and who put barriers up without really needing to.

  Joanne glowered at Dan and looked as if the tears were about to come again.

  “Can either of you think of anybody who might hold a grudge against you?” He watched each of their faces in turn.

  Joanne looked at him incredulously whilst Dan merely shrugged.

  “I know it’s hard to think straight. Have you fallen out with any friends, work colleagues,” he paused for a second, “former lovers?”

  Dan’s eyes darted up and he threw Wallace a look of disgust that was too blatant to mistake.

  “We’ve been happily married for five years. There are no former lovers in our lives.” He sounded angry although he quickly did his best to quash it.

  Wallace frowned. Why was Dan so defensive? Was it mere anxiety because his child had been stolen? Maybe he was trying to conceal his guilt after the negligence he’d shown in caring for his own kid. He decided he would cut Dan a little slack. “Everybody’s got a past Mr. Wilson. I wasn’t suggesting anything about your marriage. Perfectly sane people can just snap one day. It can take a week. It can take a decade. I want you to go as far back as you can.”

  Dan tightened his fist and leaned forward. “There’s nobody. We don’t have anybody like that in our lives.”

  Wallace looked back to Joanne who seemed bewildered.

  “As my husband said Detective, there’s nobody. Dan was the first long term relationship I really had. We lead a quiet life. Just the three of us.” Joanne spoke clearly for the first time since she’d arrived home. It was the first time she had seemed measured and rational.

  “Okay, I just had to ask.” Wallace still wasn’t convinced. Dan Wilson had suddenly become quite hostile. Wallace could spend his life and fortune trying to guess the motives of the people he interviewed. That wasn’t what he was here for. His sole concern was returning Archie to his parents. He smiled soothingly at Joanne.

  Something else that Wallace had noticed, but not commented on, was the distance between Joanne and Dan. There had been no offer of comfort from either of them. Even removing the distress of their missing baby, this didn’t seem like a happy marriage. They looked as distant and strange to each other as they did to Wallace and PC Irving. Maybe they had nothing to hide. Maybe they were just as miserable as everybody else. Whatever barrier existed between them, there didn’t seem to be any unity in their wish to have their child returned safely. That was the most lasting impression Wallace could take away with him.

  THREE

  Laura Gilfeather had been too busy wondering why the police were parked across the road from her house to notice her husband sitting in the shadows as she slammed the door. She guessed she had jumped to the wrong conclusion as soon as she saw his face. It had been years since he had given
a damn about her or what time she rolled home. He wasn’t going to start caring now. Her instant anger subsided when she realised he wasn’t waiting on her and she simply felt deflated and hurt.

  “I thought you were home hours ago, the smell of cheap perfume must have lingered from before you went out.”

  Laura rolled her eyes drunkenly and wondered why he was sitting on the stairs looking pathetic. Her desire to fire back at him was stronger than her concern though. “One of these days I’m not going to come home and then everybody will learn what a pig you are.”

  Paul stood, his face partially covered by shadows so she could only see a fraction of his grimace, and snarled, “Laura I’d divorce you tomorrow if you weren’t such a grasping bitch but I suspect you’d leave me without the shirt on my back.” He sighed loudly. “If you’re interested, by the way, I’m waiting up for somebody I actually do give a shit about.”

  Laura’s face changed. “Who? Shannon? She’s not home?” Her mind returned to the police presence on Golf Road.

  “No, apparently not. Apparently, everybody in this house thinks they can come and go as they please and the gravy boat here will just keep on pouring.”

  Laura leaned on the bannister and composed herself. She looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night and her daughter hadn’t come home. The will to get the better of her husband subsided and her mind flew through the possibilities of danger her 15-year-old daughter might have found herself in.

  “Have you checked with her friends? She knows she can’t be out late on a school night.” She would have sweated with fear if she hadn’t drunk too much to feel panic.

  Paul snickered. “Laura, go to bed. I’ll speak to Shannon when she comes home.” He stood and moved down the last two steps so he was face to face with her and hissed in disgust, “You smell like a brewery.”