A Winter Grave by Peter May

Author:Peter May [May, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quercus Publishing
Published: 2023-01-18T16:00:00+00:00

By the time they were on the road back round to the International, the snow had begun to fall in earnest, flying into Robbie’s headlights like warp speed in an old Star Trek movie. It was wet snow, slapping against the windscreen and gathering in drifts where it was swept aside by the wipers.

Tyre tracks in the hotel drive from earlier in the day had been reduced to mere impressions by the newly falling snow, so Brannan had not yet returned. The only light spilling into the dark came from the hallway beyond the front door. Lights that Brodie had turned on himself just half an hour earlier.

He saw that there were no fresh footprints on the stairs as they climbed them. In the hall, Robbie called out, ‘Dr Roy? Hello, Dr Roy? You back?’ He opened the door to the bar, then looked into the dining room, turning on lights as he went. And Brodie remembered Sita’s words when they first arrived – was it really only twenty-four hours ago? – I feel like I’ve just walked on to the set of The Shining.

Everything about the place felt just very slightly off. Nothing that Brodie could put his finger on. The brightness of the lights. The smell of damp that lingered on warm air. The worn tartan of the carpet. The flock wallpaper on the stairs. The invasive silence. And perhaps, above all, Brannan himself. His very absence lending him an odd presence. Brodie said, ‘She’s not here.’

Robbie was scowling. ‘I’ll check her room.’ And he took the stairs to the first floor two at a time. Brodie stood impotently in the hall, melting snow dripping on the carpet. His earlier foreboding had returned. He looked up when Robbie came down again, but the young constable just shook his head. ‘I see her stuff still on the bed,’ he said. ‘We left the big trunk in the room off the kitchen, next to the chill cabinet. Let’s just make sure it’s still there.’

Brodie followed him into the kitchen. Shadows lurked among the pots and pans dangling above the stainless steel where just that morning they had laid Charles Younger out in a black body bag. Robbie found the light switch, but the disquiet that simmered in the dark was not dispelled by the sudden light reflecting back at them from every shining surface. He pushed open the door into the anteroom and stopped in the door frame, his shadow thrown across the floor and the far wall by the light behind him. ‘Jesus.’ Brodie barely heard his whispered oath. ‘It’s not here.’

He reached for a light switch and they both screwed up their eyes against the glare of it.

‘We left her case right there next to the cold cabinet. She put her samples in a bag next to the body to keep them cool.’ He lifted the misted glass top, and both men found themselves caught in the sightless stare of Sita’s dark, dead eyes gazing up at them from the ice-cold interior of the cake cabinet.

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