White Corridor

“Thirteen by my count, including a couple of kids. I treated an elderly couple for early symptoms of hypothermic shock, but surprisingly there’s been nothing too serious. People in these parts are pretty tough. They know they’re taking a chance if they go against a blizzard warning. How many in your direction?”

“We counted eleven,” said May. And one no longer alive, he thought uncomfortably. They left Morris with a promise to check in on him within the hour. Behind the nurse’s car, a snow-weighted beech tree had collapsed across the road, and a narrow pantechnicon had been thrown on its side. The cabin was empty, but as May called out, the lower rear door was pushed up and a young black man in a store uniform looked out.

“Hey, no sign of the rescue workers yet?” he asked. His accent placed him from South London. “Are you stuck here, too?”

May explained. “What happened here?” he asked.

“I came around the bend and saw the cars across the road. Braked too hard to avoid the tree and my load shifted. Over she went.” The driver introduced himself as Louis. “I’m supposed to deliver to Derry and Co in Plymouth by nightfall. Won’t make much difference when I get there now; the stock’s pretty messed up.”

“Are you warm enough in there?” May asked.

“I’m carrying bed linen as well as crockery, so that’s not a problem,” said Louis. “But some of the geezers behind me aren’t doing so well. I opened a few of the boxes and gave blankets out to the cars. My manager will go crazy, but I’ll tell him it’s good publicity for the store. I don’t want to lose my job, but I couldn’t just leave people freezing while I’ve got all this stuff, you know? Do you know what’s happening? My battery’s flat, so I’ve got no radio.”

May was about to answer when the bulky chop of helicopter blades displaced the air above them. Everyone looked up.

“Is he attempting to land?” asked Bryant.

The red air ambulance was trying to set itself down on the narrow ridge above the road, but great gusts of wind caught at its blades and threatened to flip it. After searching for other spots to land, it hovered beside the road and a crew member threw out supplies sealed in Day-Glo orange plastic packs that tumbled down the hillside trailing plumes of snow. The helicopter swung away in the direction of Plymouth.

“Some good people out here,” said May, watching the chopper depart. “They can keep an eye on the other drivers, but we can’t tell them who to watch out for. We haven’t seen this fellow clearly ourselves. What we need to do-‘

His mobile rang. He checked the number and saw that Longbright was calling.

One of the orange supply packs lay in deep snow on the other side of the sallows and sycamores that lined the road, no more than a hundred metres from the Vauxhall in which Madeline and Ryan were sheltering.

Madeline scraped at the window and tried to locate it through the trees. Their padded jackets afforded protection against the subzero temperature, but neither of them had eaten more than a few squares of chocolate since the previous day. Ryan’s teeth were chattering; he needed something to restore his body’s energy. “It must be easy to open,” she said, searching for a gap in the branches. “People can’t be expected to carry penknives on them.”

“We’ve got a Swiss Army knife,” Ryan remembered.

“I left it in France, in your Spider-Man bag.”

An hour had passed without her catching sight of Johann. Heavy snow clouds were reappearing above the trees. It would take longer to bring supplies back in another blizzard, and harder to spot him if he decided to attack. “I’m going outside for a few minutes,” she told Ryan. “I want you to lock the door as soon as I’ve gone, and don’t unlock it for anyone except me.”

She picked up the envelope containing the evidence and slipped it inside her jacket, then climbed out of the van. Their rented Toyota was five cars ahead. Keeping low, she moved quickly between the vehicles until she reached it, then dropped to her knees behind the car. The picture packet wedged easily under the wheel arch, and could not be seen from any angle. Satisfied that no-one else would know it was there, she set off towards the supply carton.

It proved trickier than she’d expected getting through the icy thicket above the roadway. The branches sprang up as stalactites broke from them, scratching her face, but she pushed ahead until she found herself standing in a field of flawless white with graceful bargellos of wind-sculpted snow crossing its edges.

The case had come to rest in the ditch that ran beside the trees. She tried to right it, but it was too heavy to shift. A nylon cord ran the length of the pack, beneath a perforated section of the plastic, and tore the wrapper open when she pulled it. Inside were meals that heated themselves in aluminium cans, blankets, a flexible-frame tent, light sticks and an array of tools. She wrapped the ready meals and hot drink packets in a blanket, and retraced her steps back to the thicket. Snow had started to fall once more.

A dark figure was standing in the shadows on the other side.

She stopped, her breath growing shallow. Pushing back through the branches would instantly reveal her whereabouts. She could see Ryan inside the van on the other side of the trees. The only answer was to go around to the first space between the low hawthorn bushes that surrounded the tree trunks. She moved as quickly and quietly as she was able, but the crust of the snow kept breaking, sinking her into the ditches and furrows of the field.

She reached the gap and ventured a backward glance. He had not moved. He had no need to; she would have to come back up the road and pass near him to reach the van. She stayed on the far side of the vehicles, taking care not to slip in the frozen tyre tracks. When she looked back up, he had disappeared.

He came for her when she was not expecting it, seizing her left hand, pleading in a low voice, causing her to drop the blanket, which opened, spilling its contents across the road. Johann’s face betrayed no emotion. He seemed hardly aware of his actions, as if he had decided it wasn’t worth bargaining with her any more.

Her hand slipped free of its glove, and she used the moment of surprise to run, back to the driver’s side of the van. She threw herself inside and punched down the door lock as Ryan screamed. “It’s all right,” she told the frightened boy, “he can’t get in.”

Johann’s fist slammed a tattoo of frustration on the side window, but the glass held. He lowered himself to look inside, and gestured with an open palm. Give it back to me. She shook her head, shrinking from the window. He ran at the van, and seemed about to try and kick his way in when he suddenly froze and turned away.

“What’s going on?” asked Ryan.

“Stay over here.” She pulled the boy closer.

“You dropped the food.”

“I know, baby, I know.” They looked out at the red blanket, which had splayed across the snow like a bloodstain, the cans and packets lying there beyond reach, and Johann, crouched beneath the overhanging branches, vulpine, waiting for them to emerge.

33

RENFIELD

“We’ve rather got our hands full here, Janice,” said John May impatiently. “What can we do for you now?”

“I’m sorry, John, it’s just that I’ve never had a problem like this, and I couldn’t phone Arthur again. I know you wanted us to sort out the investigation without your help, but if we don’t find a solution to Oswald’s death before the Home Office descends on us with their royal patron, we’re finished. I thought it would help if I could talk to you.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Deportment,” said Longbright. “Lilith Starr was taking a course in it. She put the appointments in her diary.”

“Deportment? I presume you don’t mean getting thrown out of the country?”

“No, I mean walking around with a book on your head, carrying yourself well, learning how to sit. It’s a very