Cold Justice by Lee Weeks

feet crunched on the stairs as he went up to the bedrooms. He stood in Archie’s room and wanted to cry. Somehow, the defacing of his son’s room meant so much. His rational side said to take it on the chin; his heart told him he wanted to kill whoever had done it. He went into his own bedroom and the mattress had been turned up and slashed from end to end. The wardrobe doors were open and his and Cabrina’s clothes were out, all over the floor.
    He picked up a bag and packed what he could see hadn’t been trodden on. He still had to go to Cornwall tomorrow. He had to leave Cabrina to deal with all this. She’d do it, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any less like shit.

Chapter 12
     
    Wednesday 5 February
    The next morning Carter picked Willis up from outside her house at five forty-five and they drove in silence through London, where the refuse lorries were making their overnight collections and the market traders were getting set up for the day. A few bleary-eyed people were trying to get home after a heavy night out. Willis rested her head on the window and dozed while Carter enjoyed the peace and quiet to think. He didn’t often get to drive through the sunrise. The few hours’ sleep he’d spent with Cabrina had been enough to make him feel refreshed and looking forward to getting down the motorway. Somehow it felt right to him. He felt renewed with the hope and belief that, against all the odds, this one little boy was still alive.
    After just over two hours they pulled into the car park at the Gordano services. Willis opened her eyes as they came to a stop. She wiped her mouth and stretched.
    ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you were snoring like a pig,’ Carter said as he switched off the engine.
    ‘I wasn’t, was I?’ she replied, horrified.
    ‘No, of course not – you did dribble, though, I looked over and you had it all down your chin.’
    ‘Shit.’ Willis wiped her face with her sleeve.
    Carter laughed and she thumped him on the arm.
    ‘Ow, watch it,’ Carter muttered under his breath. They could see a member of the local CID waiting for them on the steps by the entrance. He recognized their car and gave a small lift of his hand rather than a wave.
    ‘DC Trevor Burns: sir, ma’am.’ He introduced himself as they reached him.
    He led them inside the services, into the manager’s office.
    ‘Are the search teams still out?’ asked Carter.
    ‘Yes, we’ve got them going up alongside the roads in and out now. So far, they’ve found nothing else. We’ve reopened the lorry park.’
    ‘Can we meet the man who found the mittens?’ Carter asked.
    ‘Yes, sir, he’s waiting in the café area. Can I get you a coffee?’ Burns asked.
    ‘We’ll get one to go in a minute, thanks.’
    Willis followed Carter across the café area. The cleaner was sitting at a table, fiddling with a coffee mug.
    ‘Viktor?’ Carter asked as he read the name badge on his uniform.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ He stood.
    ‘Can you show us exactly where you found the mittens?’
    Viktor led them outside to the car park and then round to the cash machine.
    ‘How often do you check this area?’ asked Willis.
    ‘I check it every two hours. I start my shift here at eight o’clock in the morning.’
    ‘What time did you find the mittens?’
    ‘At six in the evening. It was the first time I’d seen the mittens.’
    ‘Do you think you would have noticed the mittens if they’d been there earlier?’ asked Carter as Willis walked around the back of the cashpoint. The litter had gathered there and was stacking up in the cracks and crevices. A round plastic lid to a takeaway coffee spun and scuttled along the car park.
    He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. But it’s possible – the wind was blowing so strong.’
    ‘How long have you worked here?’ asked Willis.
    ‘Three months, ma’am.’ Willis wrote it down.
    ‘Okay, thanks. Detective Burns?’ Carter walked away from the cleaner. ‘We intend to carry on now towards