White corridor by Christopher Fowler

Author:Christopher Fowler
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Spiritualists, Detectives, Detective and mystery stories, England, Mystery & Detective, Traditional British, John (Fictitious character), Winter storms, Fiction, May, Detectives - England - London, Serial murderers, London, Arthur (Fictitious character), Crime, Mystery fiction, General, Bryant
ISBN: 9780553804508
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2007-05-29T05:40:54.131000+00:00

26

ERADICATION

‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S.’ Bryant looked out through the frosted windscreen with cheery wide eyes. His white fringe was standing on end, an effect of the lowering temperature. He looked like Jack Frost’s grandfather.

‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.’ May sighed.

‘Can’t we call them again?’

‘You said yourself that they need to stand on their own feet. We won’t always be around, you know.’

‘I certainly won’t be around for much longer if you continue to ration the heater.’ He tapped ineffectually at the radio. ‘The bulldozers should have been here by now. All they keep saying is that the driving winds are keeping rescuers at bay.’

‘This isn’t the only road blocked. Presumably it’s affecting every major route for miles around, and there’s more snow on the way. We’re going to be here overnight, so we should try to get some sleep.’

The props in the back of the van were wrapped in old blankets, bubble wrap and plastic bags to protect their edges. Keeping warm would be easy enough, but Bryant worried how the passengers in other vehicles were faring. He knew they should really go and check, but stepping outside now would place them both in danger. Neither man was equipped to face subzero temperatures.

They put the heater back on, and were dozing in its desiccating warmth when the fist at their window made them both start. All John May could see was a pair of alarmed brown eyes peering through the furry tunnel of a green snow hood. He rolled down the glass.

‘Thank God,’ said the man, ‘nobody else will open their windows—there’s been a terrible—’

‘Wait,’ May shouted, ‘I can’t hear you. Go around the back.’ He climbed out of the van and plodded around it, cracking ice from the frozen rear door handle. The man in the green parka clambered up and shook down his hood. He was young, Chinese, frightened. If he noticed that he had been seated next to a gigantic gold-painted statue of Ganesh the Elephant God, he chose not to comment. ‘I’m in the Honda Civic back there. My engine stalled and the heater died,’ he explained. ‘I needed to keep warm but didn’t have any other clothes in the car with me. There was a truck behind me—I could vaguely see the driver in my rearview mirror—so I thought I’d ask him if I could sit in his cabin. The truck’s side windows were covered in snow and I couldn’t see in, so I tried the driver’s door. I’m sorry—’ The man fought down a wave of panic. ‘I need to call the police—my mobile has no battery left, I just needed to tell someone—’

‘It’s all right, you’ve found yourself a pair of police officers,’ said May.

‘He’s dead, lying across the seat; someone’s cut a hole in his throat. It must have only just happened, because blood is still pouring out. I tried to stop it, but didn’t know what to do.’ He held up a crimson left hand.

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