A Deadly Thaw by Sarah Ward Page A

credits for the earlier film were coming to an end, and the feature of the night would be starting soon. The Devil Rides Out. A particular gore fest that they had watched years earlier to squeals of horrified delight. However, when Kat had invited Lena up earlier that evening, she’d received a look of scorn. Since then, silence.
    She turned the volume back up to mask the sound of her footsteps and stepped out onto the landing. It was chilly, and her bare feet stuck to the wooden steps as she made her way down. She crept towards Lena’s room and put her ear to the door. At first she could hear nothing. She wondered if her sister had gone out without telling anyone. Without telling her. Then came a scraping sound. Muffled movements. Kat lifted her hand to the door and tapped softly.
    ‘Go away.’
    ‘The film’s about to start. It’s The Devil Rides Out . One of your favourites.’
    ‘You told me at tea. I’m not interested. I’m painting. Leave me alone.’
    Kat stood outside the door for a moment. Willing her sister to open it just a fraction. But it remained in place. All Kat could hear was silence.
    She padded down the remainder of the steps and into the kitchen where her mother was reading the Guardian while perched on a stool. Her reading glasses, on a chain around her neck, were smudged with ink from the print. She looked up. ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Lena. She’s locked herself away. Again.’
    Her mother looked back at the paper. ‘Best leave her be. It’s a difficult time for her at the moment. She’s got her A Levels coming up soon.’
    ‘I’ve exams too. There’s no way I’m as moody as she is.’
    ‘Count yourself lucky then.’ Kat felt the sting of the words, but her mum looked up and smiled. ‘Fancy cheese on toast?’
    ‘Wouldn’t mind.’
    ‘Well, put these on first. You’ll freeze without them.’
    Ten minutes later, Kat walked back up the stairs with freshly laundered socks that had dried on the Aga warming her feet and the smell of melted cheese wafting from the plate she was carrying. As she passed Lena’s door, she comforted herself that it was only in her imagination that she could hear the sound of sobbing.

28
    Christ. It looked like Lena Gray was dead. Connie was having difficulty digesting the information. From what Kat had said, she would have sworn that Lena’s absence had been voluntary. The bed had been made, and plans were evident for an unnoticed exit from the house.
    But the body in Fearnley Mill matched Lena’s description. She’d probably given away too much to Kat about the discovery. She clearly knew something was up.
    The drive to the mill took about half an hour. The misery of the Derbyshire winter was beginning to thaw into a fragile spring and small flashes of colour brightened the grass verges.
    Sadler and Palmer were waiting for her in the car park, their two suited figures incongruous in the rural idyll. Connie was struck once more by how different the two men were. Sadler was tall with blond hair. He had a rangy remoteness that Connie had seen was attractive to women. There had been girlfriends, most recently a glamorous Greek, Christina, but by all accounts he was now single. She had allowed herself to go a short way down that road and had then stopped. He was her boss and, as such, had control over her career. She found him attractive but was prepared to leave it at that.
    Palmer was her competitor. He may have had a more senior rank, but they were both, hopefully, on the way up. And because they were both ambitious, and perhaps because he was newly married and therefore unavailable, Connie was prepared to admit her attraction to him. He was much more her type. Taller than her, obviously. Everyone was. Around five nine and stocky. His prematurely grey hair, clipped into a crew cut, added to his attractiveness. And he knew it. Palmer fancied himself. This was what amused Connie the most. His vanity was attractive in itself. It added a human