In Cold Blood

1 Sean Taylor thrust his hands into his coat pockets, willing them to warm up again. He’d only taken them out for a matter of seconds to help Millie put her scarf back on, but it was baltic. The fields and meadows, usually green, were a whiteish-grey, the morning frost still heavy, crunching underfoot. He pulled his own scarf back over his chin and mouth, feeling his beard slowly defrosting as he did so. Still, he’d promised Ciara and the girls an early morning walk, and that’s exactly what they were getting. He didn’t mind too much, but he doubted he’d have suggested it without Ciara’s nudging. She tried a different health kick every new year, and 2021 wasn’t going to be any different. He was just astounded she’d made it to February this time, and had to admit that frosty walks were preferable to the cabbage soup diet she’d inflicted on them last year. She was convinced the cold weather meant her body had to work harder to keep her warm, and that more blood would be drawn to the muscles, making her heart pump harder and faster, thus helping her lose more weight. Sean wasn’t entirely convinced as to the scientific basis behind that, but it was easier to smile and nod. After all, at least it wasn’t cabbage soup. He watched as Millie and Mia sprinted across the cold, hard ground of Seaton Meadow, wondering where they got their energy from. It took him at least three hours and twice as many cups of coffee to feel even vaguely alert. Still, he and Ciara had both been able to get the half-term week off work, so he supposed he should be thankful for small mercies. ‘I don’t know where they get their energy from,’ Ciara said, as if reading his mind. ‘I know. Certainly isn’t from me.’ The girls looked up at the sound of a train soaring across the enormous Harringworth Viaduct, which intersected the meadow. It was a relatively rare sight, with only three trains passing over the viaduct on a busy day — and sometimes none at all. But it was always worth dragging the family out of bed to catch the sight of the 9.26 from Corby to Oakham soaring over Britain’s longest masonry viaduct, splitting the meadow in half in glorious style. Officially, the area was called Seaton Meadows — two s’s — because of it. Sean had always considered it to be one field, especially as the train line was twenty-odd metres above them and there was absolutely nothing stopping people walking easily between the two meadows through any of the dozen arches. And what was the difference between a field and a meadow, anyway? Still, he was sure there were locals that would argue until they were blue in the face that it was, in fact, two meadows and not one field. He’d even heard some people calling the northern section the Seaton Viaduct, arguing that they couldn’t call that bit the Harringworth Viaduct like everyone called the rest of it, seeing as Harringworth was over the border in Northants and this bit was in Rutland. He could see their point, but took great pleasure in annoying both camps by only ever referring to it under its official, neutral name: the Welland Viaduct. With the River Welland forming the border between the two counties, it seemed to Sean to be the only logical moniker. ‘They’ll be knackered by the time we get home,’ Ciara said. ‘Should make for a quieter day than the last couple.’ ‘Fingers crossed. I was half thinking about washing the car, but I think I might give that a miss if it’s going to stay like this. I might just sit with my hands and feet in the warm water instead. Girls, not too far please!’ Millie and Mia slowed down and waited for their parents to catch up, the morning mist thick, making it difficult to see more than a hundred yards at best. The last thing they needed was for one of them to disappear out of sight or, worse, tread in dog s**t. It would be just their luck to find the one fresh steaming turd that hadn’t yet frozen solid. Sean glanced at his watch. They’d been walking around for almost half an hour. ‘Shall we get back?’ he asked, fully expecting Ciara to give him a look and tell him something about her VO2 max or heart rate variability. ‘Good idea,’ she replied, her lips almost the colour of a Smurf. ‘Girls, come on. We’re going to head back to the car. Your mum’s about to turn into a block of ice.’ ‘How? I’m boiling!’ Mia, the eldest, called. ‘Yeah, well, you’re practically mummified and you haven’t stopped running about all morning. Spare a thought for us crusty old dudes over here.’ ‘Ugh, Dad. Don’t use words like that, pur-lease.’ ‘Don’t tell me “dude” has gone out of fashion now.’ ‘Only in, like, nineteen forty-six. No, I mean “crusty”. It’s revolting.’ Sean looked at Ciara as they shared a sympathetic look. ‘She’s nine, right? I mean, I didn’t just blink and lose ten years?’ ‘Nope. She’s nine. Scariest thing is, Millie’ll be next. And sooner, probably, as she’ll copy her sister.’ Sean sighed. ‘Great. Can’t wait.’ To their credit, the girls both waited by the gate at the edge of the meadow, leading onto the B672. They’d parked just on the other side of the road, in a makeshift parking area under the arches of the viaduct. There were usually a few dog walkers or families parked up, but the weather and ridiculously early hour meant the Taylors had been, and still were, the first car there. Sean felt pretty sure it’d be a good hour or two before anyone else bothered, either. The four of them crossed the road — the girls choosing to run — and made their way onto the parking area. The girls carried on running, weaving in and out of the arches, chasing each other like a pair of wailing banshees. ‘Come on, girls. In the car,’ Sean called, unlocking the family’s Vauxhall Meriva. ‘Whack the heater on, love. Bloody windscreen’s started to freeze again already.’ Before he could call over to Millie and Mia again, he was stopped dead in his tracks by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards it. A few seconds later, he saw both his daughters and realised they were safe. They hadn’t screamed because they were hurt. They’d screamed because of what they’d seen. Both girls were rooted to the spot, staring with horror at the wall of one of the arches. As Sean followed their eyes, his own blood turned cold. Propped against the wall, as blue-grey as the paintwork on their car, eyes cloudy and frozen with a layer of frost, was the dead body of a man.