Dark Winter by Andy McNab Read Free Book Online Page B

Marsha’s ‘de luxe colonial’. The Century 21 for-sale sign had been up for five years now, and had become faded and weatherbeaten. As co-executor with Josh of their will, I knew not to get too hopeful when anyone came to view it. They never stuck around long once they discovered its history.

8
    ‘Mrs Billman’s back.’ Josh nodded at the blue Explorer in a driveway fifty metres ahead. The houses round here were quite a distance apart. He stopped, blocking in the other wagon, and arched his back to reach into his cargoes. ‘I’ll go check with them, you go look around the house. Here.’ He threw a bunch of keys at me on a Homer Simpson ring. ‘I won’t come looking, OK? I’ll stay in the truck to give you kids some time. Know what I’m saying?’
    We both climbed out of the Dodge, and as he went up the Billmans’ drive I stood looking up the road at the light-brown brick and white weatherboarded house. I hadn’t seen it for a year or two, but not much had changed: it just looked older and a bit more tired. At least the ‘community’ cut the lawns and trimmed the hedges so it didn’t make their world look untidy.
    I began to walk up the driveway. I was kidding myself – everything had changed. In the old days, I’d have been ambushed by now. The kids would have jumped out at me, with Marsha and Kev close behind.
    I’d known the Browns a long time by that spring of 1997. I was there when Kev first met Marsha, I was best man at their wedding, and was even godfather to Aida, their second child. I took the job seriously, even though I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do.
    I knew I’d never have any kids of my own; I’d always be too busy running around doing shit jobs for people like George. Kev and Marsha knew that too, and really tried to make me feel part of their set-up. As a kid on a run-down estate in south London I’d grown up with this fantasy of the perfect family, and as far as I was concerned Kev was living the dream.
    I went straight to the up-and-over garage door, but it was locked, and none of Homer’s keys fitted. I skirted round the left side of the house and headed for the backyard. No sign of her. Just the big, wood-framed swing, a little the worse for wear, but still there after all this time.
    I slotted a Yale in the front door and gave it a turn. Six years ago, as I remembered only too well, I’d found it ajar.
    Kev’s job with the DEA [Drug Enforcement Administration] had been mostly deskbound in Washington for the previous few months. He’d made enemies in the drug-dealing community when he was an undercover operator, and after five attempts on his life, Marsha had decided enough was enough.
    He loved his new, safer life. ‘More time with the kids,’ he’d say.
    ‘Yeah, so you can carry on being one!’ was my standard reply.
    Luckily Marsha was the mature and sensible partner; when it came to the family, they complemented each other well. Their house was a healthy, loving environment, but by the end of three or four days I’d have to move on. I’d joke about it and complain about the house smelling of scented candles, but they knew the real reason: I just couldn’t handle people showing this much affection.
    The stale, musty, unlived-in smell hit me the moment Homer did his stuff and I stepped inside. The corridor opened up into a large rectangular hallway with doors leading off to the downstairs rooms. Kitchen to my right. Lounge to the left. All the doors were closed. I stood just the other side of the threshold, spinning the key-ring slowly on my finger, wanting badly to smell those candles again.
    All the carpets and furniture had been taken away a long time ago. It was the first thing the realtor had got us to do when we put it up for sale. Prospective buyers didn’t go a bundle on bloodstained shag pile and three-piece suites. Kelly hadn’t minded anything going, but insisted we hung on to the swing. Next, we’d got every trace of blood steamed away.