Dead of Winter

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.