Winterman Read online

  Winterman

  Alex Walters

  Contents

  Also By Alex Walters

  February, 1947

  Summer, 1940

  Untitled

  I. February 1947

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  II. March, 1947

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  III. March, 1947

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  A Note From Bloodhound Books

  Copyright © 2019 Alex Walters

  The right of Alex Walters to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Also By Alex Walters

  DI Alec Mckay Series

  Candle & Roses ( Book 1)

  Death Parts Us ( Book 2)

  Their Final Act – ( Book 3)

  Praise for Alex Walters

  “As soon as I finished the book I went and downloaded the first book in the series now as clearly I've been missing out on some excellent writing!! Definitely an author I'm going to be looking for in the future - a superb book!!!”

  Donna’s Book Blog

  “Death Parts Us is a highly entertaining and gripping read. Scotland’s Black Isle is very much brought to life by the author and I felt like I was stood next to the characters absorbing everything that was around them. Great book and highly recommended.”

  Sarah Hardy - Goodreads

  “Another truly fascinating episode in the DI Alec McKay series of detective stories. Set amongst the glorious scenery of the Scottish Highlands, this crime thriller will keep the reader gripped from start to finish.”

  Amazon Reviewer

  “Alex Walters creates a very atmospheric feeling when youre reading,the descriptive writing makes you feel that you are 'right there' in the story.”

  Hammers – Amazon Reviewer

  February, 1947

  The sound of the rain woke him again.

  He lay for a long time, his eyes open, staring into the darkness, listening to the sounds. The rhythmic beating on the roof, the clattering of spray against the window, the roar of water along the gutters, spewing into the downspouts.

  Endless noise, and his body held as if in chains.

  He struggled towards full consciousness, a deep-water swimmer struggling towards the light.

  Then he twisted in the large double bed, his mind suddenly free of constraint, his limbs tangled in the blankets and eiderdown. He felt the chill of the bedroom on his exposed face and hands.

  There was silence. No sound of rain. No sound at all.

  He pulled himself to a sitting position, conscious of the emptiness of the bed. The room was cold, and he shivered even in his thick flannel pyjamas. He put his bare feet to the hard wooden floor and reached for the dressing gown which, as always, he had left draped across one of the bedposts.

  He could hear nothing but his own breathing and, as he rose, the soft pat of his footsteps on the polished floorboards. The room was pitch black, and he realised how well he knew it. He could find his way blindly through the maze of heavy wooden furniture – the bed itself, the wardrobe, the dressing table, the chest by the window. His old room.

  He considered switching on the light but felt more comfortable in the darkness. Walking blind, he could pretend everything was the same, that nothing had changed.

  He made his way to the window, his bare feet feeling the textures of the wood, the thick bedside rug, the thinner matting by the bedroom wall. Everything as he remembered.

  For a moment, he was confused by the position of the wooden chest. He stumbled over its solid bulk, scraping his shin. Someone must have moved it, he thought. Then he recalled he had moved it himself, to prop open the door while airing the house.

  He pulled back the heavy floor-length curtain, feeling a blast of icy air on his face. The window was clouded, and as he reached out to wipe the pane he saw it was coated inside with a thin film of ice.

  He rubbed at the glass and peered into the night. Long past midnight.

  Outside, the darkness was not quite complete. There was a sliver of moon riding above billowing dark clouds, a scattering of stars.

  Below him, the landscape stretched away, flat fields and fenland as far as he could see. The bleak empty landscape of his boyhood.

  But no rain. No sign of any rain.

  Summer, 1940

  When Mary opened her eyes, for a moment she was dazzled. Then she was lost in the air, as if poised to dive into the deepest, bluest sea she could imagine.

  All she had was imagination. Tropical seas in far off corners of the globe. A dazzling blue, literally a world away from the grey-green of the flat North Sea on their day trips to Skegness and Mablethorpe.

  On a day like this you could pretend. You could pretend you were somewhere other than here. With some life other than this one. Some future other than this.

  She closed her eyes again, enjoying the soft radiance of the sun on her face, the mellow tapestry of birdsong, the brush of the breeze through the leaves. Somewhere further awa
y, she could hear the boys' shouts, the splashing water. She had slept for a while earlier and could feel drowsiness creeping over her again.

  'We should be thinking about getting back soon.'

  A shadow blocked the sun, and for a moment she thought it was starting to rain. She opened her eyes. Paul was looming over her. Beyond him, the sky was as clear as ever.

  'Get away,' she said. 'You're dripping all over me.'

  'Sorry.' He obligingly took a step backwards, still towelling his hair. 'Glorious day, isn't it?'

  'Beautiful. How's the water?'

  'Freezing. But that's good. You should have come in.'

  She touched her hair. 'Do you know how much this cost? Need to look my best for tomorrow.'

  'Not setting your cap at the boss, I hope?'

  She laughed. 'Hardly. I just want to make a good impression. It's a big opportunity.'

  He finished drying his torso and threw himself onto the grass beside her. He lay on his back, still in his swimming trunks, and stared up at the cloudless sky. 'Just so long as you remember us lesser mortals when you've made it to the top.'

  She closed her eyes again, taking a last chance to relax. 'I don't think that helping out the MD's secretary counts as making it to the top.'

  'You wait. It'll be the first step to greatness.' He paused for a beat. 'Unless the MD's married already, of course.'

  Without looking, she grasped the damp towel he'd dropped between them and flung it on to his bare chest. Still lying back, he caught it deftly, rolled it into a ball and tucked it beneath his head. 'Very comfortable. I could grow to like this.'

  So could we all, she thought. It was the fantasy she occasionally allowed herself. That this glorious summer really could go on forever. Sunshine. Youth. Innocent pleasure. No threats, nothing to disturb it. Peace.

  As if in mocking response to her thoughts, she could hear, away in the far distance, the monotonous hum of an aircraft. Paul had heard it too and he sat up, his hand held above his eyes, squinting at the sky. 'One of ours. Sounds out of formation. Wonder if he's in trouble.'

  She followed his gaze, but there was nothing to be seen. Already, the drone of the aeroplane was fading. Little more than a half-heard echo, lost in the gentle sounds of summer. But that was the reality. This was just a respite, a brief pause before the real business of life resumed again. Tomorrow, and the days after that, everything would be different.

  Mary looked about her. She could see the sparkling water of the clay pits through the trees, hear the splash of the swimming boys, the rhythmic shouts of some game they were playing. Their bicycles lay scattered randomly across the grass. A few feet away there was a tartan blanket with the remains of the picnic they'd brought for lunch.

  She wondered what the next year – the next few months – would bring. Some of the boys were old enough to be called up before too long. If the war lasted that long. Since the retreat from France, nobody seemed to know what would happen next. They heard about the German bombers on the wireless, though they'd seen only limited evidence locally, apart from the occasional dumping of bombs by returning aircraft. The boys loved to watch for the dogfights, the Hurricanes and Spitfires dancing in the pale air, but this far north those were still few and far between.

  Everyone spoke as if invasion was inevitable. They talked about what they would do when Jerry came, how they would resist, fight back. But that felt like a fantasy too. They prepared for the worst, but no one really believed it. Even though they knew what had happened across Europe, and for all Mr Churchill's rhetoric, it was difficult to imagine these green fields overrun by Nazi soldiers. It felt like some game they were playing.

  One way or another, though, they were growing up. She still thought of them as children, a bunch from the village who had gone through school together. But most had left school. The older ones, like her, had been working for a year or two. Some of the younger ones had just finished school this summer. With the war effort, there was no shortage of vacancies. One or two, like Paul, were hoping to stay on at school and had applied for scholarships. But the shadow of the war loomed over all this. If the war continued, it would not be long till at least some of them were liable for call-up.

  'When do you think we should be setting off back?'

  Paul was fumbling in his rucksack. 'Soon really. We want to get back well before dark.'

  Paul was the sensible one, she thought. Although not the eldest of the group, he was the one who organised outings like this, and he was the one who, more or less, kept them in order. She could see him going places. He had a natural authority – not bossy, just calm and in control.

  She gazed at him unselfconsciously as he dressed, pulling on his trousers over his still-damp trunks, slipping his arms into his white cotton shirt. He was not yet fifteen, but his body was already growing into adulthood, a sheen of dark hair on his chest. He would be an attractive man, it occurred to her. She had never thought of him in those terms. To her, he was like a younger brother, he and Gary the siblings she'd never had.

  Climbing to her feet, she pulled together her own clothes. She momentarily contemplated whether to change out of her swimsuit behind the awkward shelter of her towel, but decided it would be easier to pull on her slacks and shirt over the top. The sun was lower, and the return trip would be in the relative cool of the evening.

  As she finished dressing, Paul went to gather the others. It took some time. Some of the younger ones – including, inevitably, Gary – were reluctant to leave the water, responding only to the threat of being left behind.

  By the time they'd finished drying, dressing and collecting their various belongings, another half an hour had passed.

  Paul was glancing, with mild anxiety, at his watch. 'Come on,' he said, for the third or fourth time. 'We don't want to end up cycling in the blackout. Let's get going.'

  Eventually, he had them all mustered and, with a final look around to check nothing had been left, they set out, two or three abreast, along the track leading back to the main road.

  It was a pleasant enough cycle ride. The lowering sun dappled them with golden light through dancing patterns of green leaves. The terrain in the woods was uneven, but the cycling would become easier once they reached the road. Paul and Mary were cycling at the head of the group, keeping a steady pace, chatting amiably. Mary was beginning to feel a touch of anxiety about the next day.

  'Do you think I'll be all right? Tomorrow, I mean.'

  Paul glanced across at her. 'Why wouldn't you be? It's not so different, is it?'

  'I suppose not. But in the typing pool, you're just one of a group. You don't really have any contact with the bosses.'

  'It won't be so different in the MD's office, I imagine,' Paul said, with the airy confidence of inexperience. 'You'll still be the junior.'

  'I know, but I'll feel exposed. I won't be able to hide in the background.' Mary worked for a regional omnibus company. She had been offered a trial promotion to cover for one of the MD's assistants who had recently left to get married. 'I think some of the other girls aren't best pleased that I was chosen. I've only been there a year.'

  'It's because you're so good. Why would they have considered anyone else?'

  Mary laughed. 'Some of them reckon he might be interested in more than my typing skills.' Although she'd heard one or two catty whispers to that effect, the concern was really her own. She knew she was an attractive girl, well developed for her age. She just hoped this hadn't coloured the MD's decision to offer her the trial.

  'Wouldn't surprise me.' Paul grinned. 'We'll see you marrying money one day.'

  She had nothing to throw at him, so she contented herself with cycling harder, leaving him momentarily in her wake. She heard him ringing his bell defiantly behind her. Then she heard something else – a shouting from the back of the group.

  She slowed and glanced over her shoulder. Paul was doing likewise, and it was clear that there was some consternation among the group. 'What is it?'

 
'We've lost Gary,' someone said.

  She pulled to a halt and turned her bike around. Paul was making his way back into the knot of cycles. 'Who was with him?'

  There was a murmur of confusion among the other cyclists. Finally one of Gary's classmates pushed himself forward. 'I was with him when we left. He was riding next to me.'

  'Did you see where he went?'

  Everyone had come to a stop. Mary looked around the group standing over their cycles. There was no sign of Gary.

  The boy shook his head, looking as if he might burst into tears. 'No, he dropped back a bit. Messing about. You know. I assumed he was behind us.'