Dead of Winter

Chapter 8

Sandford looked down from the window in the master bedroom at Blackdown Barn and watched the young policeman on duty at the gate. It was starting to snow again. The officer outside had been there since seven. It was mid-morning now. Inside the house it had fallen quiet. His SOCO team of four were spread out throughout the house, conducting grid searches in each room. He tapped on the window and the young officer turned around. Sandford made a T-sign with his fingers and the officer grinned and nodded. Just as Sandford turned back from the window his eye was drawn up to the corner of the room and something sparkling there. He stood on the stepladder to reach into the corner of the ceiling cornice. A staple was punctured into the plaster. He picked out the mini pliers from his tool belt and gently wiggled it free. With the staple came a tiny fragment of plastic sheeting. He looked at it on the edge of the pliers. He held it in his hand and phoned Robbo.

‘What’s the thickness?’ Robbo asked.

‘I would say one mil. PVC.’ Sandford looked along the ceiling. ‘Puncture marks every metre.’

‘Okay,’ answered Robbo. ‘Rolls of plastic sheeting, one mil by a metre. I’ll find the manufacturers and get samples. How’s it looking out there? You dismantled the whole house yet?’

‘Yeah, funny. . nearly. We’re going to start digging up the basement today. Needed to get some results back from the gym equipment enquiry first.’

‘Yeah, I followed it up. There was a runner, a multi-gym, and an exercise bike down there. What’s the flooring?’

‘It’s felt. I’ll get it bagged up and sent your way before we start digging. Did the gym company say they’d cleaned it yet?’

‘Yes. It’s been sent out again so no chance of DNA from it. Do you think there’s a chance there’s a body under the basement?’

‘Could be. We’re still looking for the kid in the Arsenal shirt. We’ve put cameras down the drains, no extra vermin activity. No lumpy stuff that could be flesh. Pitch pipes too; they’re old — at least fifty years — and they’re blistered so if there were any chunks of flesh larger than a couple of inches square they would have got snagged.’

‘Is it freezing out there?’ Robbo reached over for the cafetière as he smiled to himself. The cafetière was wrapped in a leopard-print body warmer: a present from his wife: tongue in cheek, homage to his feminine side. He found it really useful; it kept his coffee hot for an hour.

‘We’ve got heaters in the mobile unit out the front. We can make tea. But yes. . it’s bloody freezing. I’m sure I’ll be used to it by the time I finish here — either that or it’ll be spring. It’s a massive house.’

‘You can ask for a bigger team if you need to pace it up.’

‘No. I need to keep control of who’s dismantling what. There are four of us — that’s enough. If you’re interested you could come and take a look and lend a hand, though?’

‘Wouldn’t want to get in your way.’

‘Very considerate.’

Robbo never left Fletcher House except to get in his car and drive home. In all the years Sandford had known Robbo he’d watched his agoraphobia grow. Without his realizing it Robbo was no longer able to work away from his desk.

Sandford hung up and looked at the piece of plastic again; a fine blond hair was caught between it and the staple. He went across to the collection of samples he had on the floor and picked out one of the small brown bags with a see-though square section in its front; on it he wrote: piece of plastic from ceiling cornice, bedroom 1.

He opened the crime scene log and drew a diagram of the master bedroom and where he’d found the scrap of plastic. He rang his wife.

‘No, definitely won’t be home tonight, love. I’ll try and make it tomorrow for a few hours. Sorry. . happy birthday, love. . yes. . I’ll be thinking of you. Kiss the kids for me and you too of course. Love you.’