Snow Fallen Read online

  She tramped through the snow after Dougie, unfastening the lead so he could run free. Normally, she kept an eye on him at least till they were off the road, although few vehicles passed up here even in normal weather. Today, there seemed little likelihood that anyone but their immediate neighbours would venture on to these hilltop roads.

  The snow had fallen to a depth of perhaps three or four inches, although much had drifted against the stone walls and hedgerows. She closed the garden gate behind her and followed Dougie along the road. It was growing fully light now, but the sky was leaden.

  This was always a quiet spot, her walks generally accompanied only by birdsong and the brush of the wind in the surrounding trees. Today, the silence felt eerie. The houses were all still in darkness, and, other than Dougie skittering playfully through the snow, there was no sign of life.

  Dougie had already passed the entrance to the churchyard. She hurried to the gate and called out to him, summoning him back. He was an obedient animal and immediately came running, scattering snow in his wake. She entered the churchyard knowing the dog would follow.

  Her plan had been to walk around the perimeter of the church grounds, detouring through the rear gate into the woodlands behind where the paths were relatively flat and more sheltered from the worst of the snow. Dougie had different ideas. Instead of running towards her as she'd expected, he scurried off in the opposite direction towards the far end of the churchyard. She peered after him, wondering what had caught his interest. Some bird or animal, she assumed, though she wouldn't have expected much to be about in this weather.

  She called to the dog again, but he paid her no attention, continuing to run in a tight circle near the perimeter hedgerow. It took her a moment to register where Dougie's interest lay. Then, puzzled, she strode through the snow towards him.

  At that end of the churchyard, the ground was largely sheltered by the thicket of trees that ultimately merged with the woodland behind the church, and the snow was relatively thin on the hard earth. Dougie's curiosity, though, had been piqued by something in the far corner where the snow lay more thickly.

  She knew that corner of the churchyard only too well, although it was many years since she'd last visited it.

  At first, on her father's instructions, they'd made a point of visiting at least once a month, carefully removing the old bunch of cheap supermarket flowers and replacing it with the new, tidying the grave when it was needed. Within a year or two, their visits had become less frequent and eventually, even before their father had been taken away, they had ceased entirely. She couldn't recall the last time she'd even looked at the grave.

  Dougie was still turning and turning in a tight circle, disturbed by something. He'd begun to bark too, something she really didn't want at this time in the morning. One of the neighbours had complained once about being woken by Dougie's barking. It had been a light-hearted complaint, at least on the surface, but she hadn't known how to take it. It was something she'd never really come to grips with, even after all these years. Making something into a joke because you meant it seriously.

  She finally caught up with Dougie and slipped the lead back on him, telling him to be quiet. He obeyed as he always did, but the nervous energy of his movements didn't lessen. Something was troubling him.

  It took her a moment, in the morning's half-light, to work out exactly what it was. Certainly, all the graves were different from usual, smoothed by the drifted snow angling into the hedgerow. The line of gravestones was half-concealed. Even so, she could already see something lying on the grave.

  She moved closer. It was difficult to be sure at first because the drifted snow had smoothed the shape into an abstract form. It reminded her of a tomb you might find in a cathedral, a burial place for the local nobility topped by a full-sized likeness of the deceased, rendered here as if by an elemental Henry Moore. Then the full significance of that thought hit her. It was a human form, laid out on the grave as if in parody of the body buried beneath.

  At first, she thought she must be mistaken. This must be some kind of joke. A left-over Bonfire Night guy, covered by the snow to fool the credulous. But no-one made guys these days. That was just another memory lingering from her childhood.

  She took another step forward, Dougie barking anxiously beside her. She had no doubt now. It was a human body. Her first instinct was to flee back to the house, call the police or an ambulance. But the person lying in front of her might well still be living, despite the night's cold temperatures. Perhaps it was some down-and-out, or someone who had been taken ill. Perhaps even one of their neighbours. How would it look if she failed to check?

  She stepped through the snow to the graveside, ordering Dougie to stay behind her. The dog seemed to need no encouragement to do so. His previous nervous skittering had ceased and he was standing motionless, staring after her, as if he too appreciated the significance of what they had found.

  She pulled off her gloves and crouched down beside the body. Fumbling for a moment in the snow, she managed to raise the figure's arm. As soon as she touched the ice cold skin, any doubts about the state of the body evaporated. She made an attempt to find a pulse but she knew she was wasting her time.

  There was no question now that she should return home and call the emergency services, though she had no idea whether the roads below would be passable. But for a moment she found herself unable to move, the chilled flesh still held between her fingers. Who was this person? Why were they here on this frozen hillside? She was already suspecting she knew the answer.

  She released the wrist and moved her hand up to the figure's face. The body was lying face up, but the features were invisible, buried beneath the layer of snow. She brushed the snow away.

  It was a man. An elderly man, with grey hair and wrinkled skin, though the face looked oddly youthful in death. She leaned forward for a closer look.

  It was not possible, she thought. Not now. Not after all these years. Surely, she would not have recognised him. Surely his face would not feel so familiar to her.

  But, really, she had no doubt. She stumbled back, losing her balance, toppling into the snow. Then, with Dougie whimpering anxiously beside her, she sat, oblivious to the cold, wondering quite what she should do now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'You really think we can do this?'

  'I'm sure we can.' DC Will Sparrow's tone sounded breezy but his expression suggested less confidence. 'It's what this thing's built for.'

  She supposed that was right, and she also supposed the sturdy four-by-four had encountered worse conditions than this. The question was whether it had encountered them with someone like Will Sparrow at the wheel.

  It wasn't that Sparrow was a bad driver, exactly. She'd been driven by him before and he'd seemed able enough, albeit with a police officer's tendency to disregard the speed limit when it suited him. But this was the first time she'd ever been out with him in snow, and she had the impression it might be his first time as well. They'd already skidded a couple of times as they reached the initial incline. Sparrow had regained control easily enough, but the road was steepening all the time and the snow was falling once more.

  'Christ knows how they'll get the ambulance up here,' she said. 'They're supposed to be sending the snow plough over to clear the road, but I'm guessing it's not a priority.'

  'They were caught out last night,' Sparrow said. 'I heard some council spokesman on the local radio making excuses. Reckoned the Met Office had predicted snow flurries but nothing like this. They hadn't gritted half the roads, apparently.'

  DS Marie Donovan stretched out her legs in the passenger seat, trying to relax. Trying, mainly, not to think too hard about the steep drop on Sparrow's side of the single track road. Further back, there'd been a metal crash barrier to prevent drivers from careering over the edge, but now there was nothing except a narrow stretch of rough snow covered ground.

  'Why are we even needed up here?' Sparrow said. 'Doesn't sound like foul play.'

  'Let's keep an open mind, shall we, Will? At least until we've had a look.' She'd had a similar conversation with their boss, DCI Kenny Murrain, before they'd set off. The report had come in early that morning, dealt with initially by a couple of uniformed officers out dealing with stranded vehicles on the hilltop roads. A body had been found by a dog-walker in a churchyard up in the tiny hamlet of Merestone. The initial assumption had been that it had been someone who, for whatever reason, had become stranded in the snow and had died from exposure in the freezing small hours.

  'There's something odd about it, apparently. The original call was garbled and the uniforms haven't made much progress.'

  'No change there, then.' Sparrow had been a uniformed officer himself until a couple of years previously but had quickly adopted the CID's familiar disdain for their operational colleagues. 'Probably just means they haven't tried.'

  'I couldn't quite make sense of it,' Donovan went on, ignoring him. 'There was some story about the deceased being the elderly father of the woman who called it in. But she was shocked by the fact that he'd turned up. Not just that he was dead, I mean, but that he was there at all. Uniforms reckoned she wasn't very coherent.'

  Sparrow was silent for a moment, negotiating a particularly tight bend in the road. Donovan caught a glimpse of the drop to their right and looked away rapidly. In fairness, Sparrow seemed to be doing okay now he was getting the hang of it. 'What is it, then?' he said, finally, once the road had straightened. 'Some sort of dementia case?'

  'I dare say we'll find out. Kenny seemed to think it was worth checking it out, anyway.'

  'One of his feelings, was it?'

  She glanced across at him. 'I'm not keen on people taking the piss on that front, you know? Kenny saved my life.'

&nbs
p; Sparrow made no response, clearly recognising he'd stepped over a line. That was the thing about Kenny Murrain, she thought. Everyone knew about the way he worked, and everyone had an opinion about it. But they all knew that, once or twice, when it had really mattered, he'd made the difference. In her own case, the difference between life and death.

  In fact, though Murrain had said nothing explicitly, she suspected Sparrow was right. Murrain had some sense this case was worth following up, that it was more than simply an accidental death from hypothermia. He had offered no reason why he might think that, but he'd left her in no doubt he wanted her to follow up the incident as a matter of priority. Fair enough, she thought. Any unexplained death had to be treated as potentially suspicious, at least until they knew the circumstances, so their presence was required. Even if that meant tolerating Will Sparrow's driving.

  They finally reached the top of the incline and the road levelled. They had seen only one set of tyre tracks ahead of them in the otherwise pristine snow – presumably the patrol vehicle that had preceded them. It was clear no other traffic had ascended or descended the road that morning. At the top of the hill, the road angled left into the village, the first houses visible ahead of them.

  It was scarcely more than a hamlet—a scattering of period houses, a couple of newer-builds and, incongruously at the far end, a church that looked too large for its setting. Ahead of them, parked at the roadside, was a marked four-by-four, its blue light silently pulsing.

  Sparrow pulled up behind it and the two of them climbed out. After the heated interior of the car, the chill of the morning was startling. The snow was falling gently, but the sky was heavy with the threat of much more.

  'This the place?' Sparrow pulled his heavy waterproof more tightly around his shoulders.

  'Looks like it.' Donovan regarded the house with interest. It looked as if it had once been two small cottages, long since knocked into a single sizeable dwelling. She couldn't immediately guess its age, but she thought it must be eighteenth century or earlier. It looked older than most of the surrounding houses which she thought to be Victorian, perhaps built to serve the Mill further down the valley.

  There was a small overgrown front garden, and the cottage itself looked in need of some renovation. A new coat of paint, Donovan thought, and some of the roof tiles replacing. Not exactly neglected, but in need of more attention. Well, she thought, I know that feeling well enough.

  She turned and looked behind her. On a clear day, the view would be spectacular, out over the valley and woodland towards the breadth of the Cheshire plain. To the north, she could just make out the dark blur of Manchester, its lights still visible in the gloomy morning, the silhouettes of the Beetham and CIS towers.

  'Nice location.'

  'It'd fetch a bob or two,' Sparrow agreed. 'Even up here.'

  She walked past the house towards the churchyard gate. Over the low perimeter hedge, towards the far end of the grounds, one of the uniformed officers was pacing slowly up and down beside a line of graves. A chilly piece of sentry duty, she thought.

  He looked up as she approached, clearly ready to send her away. Behind him, a line of police tape had been stretched across the area, and a small self-erecting tent had been placed over one of the graves. And, presumably, the body. It looked as if everything had been done according to the book.

  'Morning. DS Donovan,' she called. 'Marie. How are you doing?'

  'I'm freezing, mainly.' The man held out a gloved hand for her to shake. 'Relieved to see you. PC Tony Wadham.'

  He looked vaguely familiar, though probably only because she'd seen him around in the canteen or the corridors. 'Good to meet you. Where's your colleague?'

  'In the warm. Lucky bugger. He's with the woman who found the body. She's in a bit of a state.'

  'What's the story exactly?'

  'She was out here walking her dog, first thing. Dog started barking at something over here so she came to look. Found the body, lying on one of the graves, covered in snow. She was brave enough to check the pulse and realised he was dead.'

  'We're sure he really is dead?' She knew it wasn't impossible for someone with severe hypothermia to have no discernible signs of life.

  'We double checked. I'm as sure as I can be. I think he's been dead for some hours.'

  'Not much else we can do. There's supposedly an ambulance on its way but I've no idea how long it'll take. They've a couple of all-terrain vehicles but I imagine there's a lot of pressure on them this morning. We've got to get the CSIs up here as well as soon as we can.' She paused. 'What's this about it being the woman's father?'

  'That's the weird bit. To be honest, she wasn't making a lot of sense. But she says she'd looked at the face and reckoned it was her father.'

  'Did the father live with them?'

  'No, that's the thing. Like I say, she wasn't making much sense, but my impression was she hadn't seen the father for a long time. That she hadn't expected to see him, let alone like this.'

  'Maybe she's mistaken. Shock can make people think strange things.'

  'That's what I thought. She was a bit—well, almost hysterical. She might have just imagined the likeness.'

  'You haven't checked to see if there's any ID on the body?'

  'Thought it better not to touch it any more than we had to.'

  'Quite right.' Uniformed officers weren't always so punctilious about contamination of a potential crime scene. 'Anything else you can tell me about the body?'

  'Male. White. Quite elderly. I'd have guessed at least sixties, maybe older, though difficult to be sure without moving the snow. Looked to be dressed in walking clothes but again I couldn't really see much.'

  'Could be some hiker who got stranded up here, I suppose. The weather wasn't expected to close in like it did.'

  'But why would you just sit there? Or lie there. There are plenty of houses around. He could have found shelter easily enough, you'd have thought.'

  'You'd have thought,' she agreed. 'But hypothermia can do strange things. Or maybe he was taken ill or collapsed for some reason.' She looked round at the dark clusters of houses beside the churchyard. 'Or maybe they're not as hospitable round here as you might think.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sparrow had been waiting for her by the car. She suspected he was mainly keen not to be tasked with nursemaiding the body. They might have no choice but to volunteer for that duty, though, until the CSIs turned up. Operational resources would be under pressure on a morning like this. While it wasn't as if CID had time to spare, their demands tended to be less immediate. But they could deal with that once they'd had a chance to take a witness statement from the woman who'd found the body.

  The door to the cottage was opened almost immediately by a middle-aged PC who was unfortunately all too well known to Donovan. He was a cocky Liverpudlian called Mick Delaney who'd shown himself adept at irritating his colleagues, uniforms and CID alike, in most circumstances and generally in record time. 'About bleedin' time,' he said, by way of greeting. He was chewing ostentatiously on a piece of gum which Donovan expected to fly in her direction at any moment.

  'Morning, Mick. Always good to see your cheery face.'

  'Can we get going now then, like? Seeing as how you lot have finally bothered to turn up.'

  'Not just yet, Mick. We need your reassuring presence. Why don't you go and join your mate outside?' She imagined Delaney had pulled rank, or at least relative age, in forcing Wadham to stand outside in the cold.

  'You don't need me in here, then?' He looked reluctantly past her through the open front door.

  'I think we'll cope, Mick. Which way?'

  He gestured to a door on the left of the hallway. 'She's in there.'

  'She?'

  'Anne Tilston. One of the three bleedin' witches, apparently.'

  Before she could offer any response, he'd already exited and closed the front door behind him. From what she knew of his habits, he'd be lighting a cigarette before he reached the garden gate. She raised an eyebrow at Sparrow and pushed open the door Delaney had indicated.