Murder on Ice: A Kate Sanders Investigation, #1

By Saffron Bryant

When a drunk no-hoper turns up dead in a bath full of ice and covered with occult symbols, the police chief is quick to blame the out-of-town travelers. But this case is far from open and shut.

 

Detective Kate Sanders was banished from the city to a small country town in order to 'improve her attitude'. Since then her biggest case has been a carton of missing milk. Now a murder has landed on her desk and she finally has a chance to prove that she belongs in the city. Unfortunately the clues aren't stacking up and the case is about to get out of hand when someone breaks into her apartment.

 

Who murdered the victim?
What does the mob have to do with it?
And why was the body buried in ice?

 

Kate's powers of deduction will be pushed to the limit to solve this case before more bodies pile up—including her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saffron Bryant
• Release date: Apr 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224300044

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Pain radiated from Kate’s temples. First, a terrible night’s sleep—like usual—then the bus was late, and now someone has put her mug right at the back of the cupboard. She stretched past dozens of cups stamped with lazy quotes: Better Late Than Ugly, I Love You A Latte, Nothing Makes Sense Before Coffee, to grab her solid, black mug. She scowled. This would make her late. Well, not late for her job, but late enough that she was running a real risk of being trapped into small-talk with colleagues on their way in. She poured steaming coffee from the pot into her mug. There was enough for one more cup, freeing her from any obligation to refill it. She wrenched the fridge open and snatched the milk jug from the over-crowded fridge, noting that Paul from accounting still hadn’t thrown out his two-week old piece of pizza and Mary’s diet was off to a bad start if she thought chocolate cake was low-calorie. Kate poured two centimeters of milk into her mug before returning the jug to the fridge. The smell of over-cooked coffee couldn’t quite cover the stink of Paul’s decaying pepperoni.

Kate sat at the cheap plastic table in the middle of the kitchen. Her badge clinked at her waist, reflecting the orange overhead light which gave off a constant, irritating, buzz. A newspaper lay sprawled across the table. She snapped it closed, but not before noting that whoever had started the crossword had misunderstood the meaning of ‘conniption’ for three down. Another nail in the coffin of the nation’s education system. God she hated this two-bit town and the aging police station that went with it. At least in the city the lunchroom had had real couches.

Morning Kate, Mary said, going to the cupboard and pulling down a pink mug. Kate didn’t have to see it to know the fat white letters read ‘Don’t talk to me until I’ve finished my coffee’.

She nodded to Mary’s back. Morning. Mary’s attempt to quit smoking must be going as well as her diet if the wreak of cigarette smoke was anything to go by. Even the mouthful of mints she must have chewed on her way to work couldn’t cover it.

Muffled conversations snaked through the open door from the rest of the office, combining with the buzzing overhead light and the beeping printer to create a cacophony that grated at Kate’s worn nerves. She took a long mouthful of coffee, relishing the slight burn it left on the top of her mouth. It was a shame whoever had arrived first—Paul probably—hadn’t bothered to clean out the coffee pot and instead had left the dregs sedimented in the bottom, but still, it was better than nothing.

Kate’s shoulders eased. Today would be fine; she might even get that big case she’d been waiting for. Then she could solve it, get back in HQs good books and be transferred back to the city.

A sudden bubble of conversation spilled out of the hallway. Kate’s jaw clenched. Helen and Yarik and their gaggle of chatterboxes trailed into the lunchroom, bringing with them a high-pitched squawk of noise.

See them nutcases are still camped at the edge of town.

What do they call themselves again? The Wakers?

The Watchers.

That’s it. The Watchers. I’ve sent two patrols out there to move them on and they refuse.

Probably because they know there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s public camping ground.

Well the chief doesn’t like them. I can tell you that. He’ll find a way to move them on. One way or another.

Kate stood and carried her coffee out of the cramped space as fast as she could without running. If she got trapped listening to another morning of praising Chief Blake she might actually kill herself.

She turned left into the partial privacy of the office she shared with her partner, Alice, and slumped into her uncomfortable chair. The broken wheel squealed as she tried to roll forward under the desk. She stood, dragged the chair in, and had to squeeze between the armrests and the edge of the desk to sit down again. She’d been meaning to replace the damn thing since the day she arrived, but apparently office chairs were a rare item in the backwater town of Mithrope. She also hadn’t expected to be stuck in the place so long. It might be time to bite the bullet and order a chair online.

The dying air-conditioner choked out a thin stream of stale-smelling air across the top of her head. It wasn’t even enough to flutter the neat pile of papers stacked in her in-tray.

Kate took another long drink of coffee before setting down her mug beside the metal cup that held her pens, one each of blue, black, and red, and staring at her computer screen. An email from Mary about the upcoming Station Social—straight to the trash folder. An advertisement for life-changing vitamins which had unsurprisingly got past the useless spam filter—also to the trash, with a sharp click on the ‘report spam’ button. A half-hearted attempt from a former co-worker in the city asking how she was, and a quarterly update of crime statistics across the country. That was it. No urgent emails. No new cases. In the two months since she’d been transferred from the city the biggest case she’d had to crack was who stole the milk from Mister Whitiker. It ended up being Mister Whitiker’s wife during an episode of dementia that had her convinced the milkman was out to get her.

Kate’s fingers hovered over her keyboard as she thought about how to reply to the coworker from the city. They hadn’t been especially close, but Charlotte had been one of the best. It was nice of her to reach out. Kate wondered if it would seem too needy if she asked Charlotte to put in a good word for her with HQ. It couldn’t hurt to have a top detective vouch for her, right? But then again, after what happened it was very possible that Charlotte didn’t want to be seen as openly supporting Kate. What a mess.

Kate minimized her emails and opened the crime statistics. She glared at the little white square on the stylized map that represented Mithrope, one of the lowest crime rates in the whole country. She supposed that made it a good place to live, but it made it a hell of a place to work as a cop.

She drew a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. Most people would be thrilled to be in her position. The least she could do was try to enjoy it. She would spend some time enjoying the quiet and appreciating her coffee in peace.

Kate!

Kate jumped, elbow catching her mug and sending it teetering towards her keyboard. She grabbed for it and managed to catch it before it spilled the dregs of her coffee across the keys.

She pushed it back to the center of the desk and reigned in her temper before looking up with the blandest expression she could manage. Yes, Chief?

Detective Chief Blake stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, highlighting his overweight stomach as it hung over his belt. His white shirt was so crumpled it looked like it had been ironed by someone who didn’t know which side of the iron was up.

Better be careful with that cup. I’m not going to pay for a replacement computer if you spill things all over it.

Kate gritted her teeth. Yes, Chief.

What are you doing?

She considered her reply; the truth would probably get her in trouble, but then the chief would find a way to get her in trouble anyway.

Just waiting for a case, sir.

Waiting? Do you expect the criminals to waltz in here and present themselves? No. You’re a detective. Go out and detect.

Kate took a very long drink of coffee, giving herself time to restrain herself from a sharp reply. It would take no time at all to patrol the small town and they both knew she wouldn’t find anything. But talking back was what had got her sent to the middle of nowhere in the first place so she had to at least try to place nice.

Actually, sir, I was thinking about going over some cold case files.

Oh, cold cases is it? Think you’ll notice something everyone else on the force missed? His eyes flashed like a predatory bird as he studied her.

You never know what a fresh pair of eyes will see… sir.

Yes well why don’t you put those so-called skills of yours to work getting rid of those no-good gypsies camped at the edge of town.

It’s a legal camping—

Of course I know it’s a legal camping ground! You think after arriving just two months ago that you know more about the town than I do? Spittle careened from his mouth, gleaming in the fluorescent glow of the overhead light before landing on the edge of her desk.

Kate dropped her gaze to hide the fury burning behind her eyes. What she wouldn’t like to do to the round-faced bastard… She drew a deep breath and pushed down her rage.

Yes sir, she managed to grate out after a pause.

He harrumphed and stomped out of the office without another word, leaving the stink of cheap aftershave. His cheery voice greeting other officers echoed from the hall. For some reason he’d taken a special dislike to Kate since she arrived. She couldn’t blame him, the feeling was mutual.

CHAPTER TWO

Kate sighed and straightened the notepad on her desk.

Couldn’t sleep? Alice said, strolling into the office with her own steaming mug.

Kate shrugged. Do I ever?

Not the way you tell it. Alice sat in her own chair across from Kate and blew over her mug, lifting a trail of steam. Her coffee smelled better than Kate’s; perhaps Alice had gone through the effort of making a fresh batch. That sounded like Alice. She’d probably thrown out Paul’s old pizza too. The woman was too nice for her own good.

You? Kate said, remembering social niceties just in time.

Tired, Alice said.

Kate studied the other woman. Fur of many different colors clung to her black jacket. That wasn’t unusual, but there was a patch of orange fur that Kate hadn’t seen before. Another rescue?

Alice sat. A poor little ginger cat. I got the call at almost midnight, but they would have put him down if I didn’t go and get him that instant.

You must have at least six now, Kate said. She’d noted the different types of fur on Alice’s clothes every day since they started working together.

Seven actually; three tabbies, a ragdoll and two kittens that I still can’t tell apart. And now Gingerbread.

Gingerbread? Two identical kittens. That explained why she hadn’t noticed a different set of fur.

Alice shrugged. He’s a ginger cat. It seemed like a good idea at midnight last night.

Seven. Kate shook her head.

Do you want one? Please say yes.

Oh no. I’m not planning on staying here long enough to warrant getting a pet.

Ah. Still planning to get back to the big city.

That’s the plan. Kate went back to glaring at her empty computer screen.

Did I hear the chief in here before?

Kate rolled her eyes. Yep. Just his usual morning pep talk. Wants me to do something about the gypsies up on the hill.

The Watchers?

Kate nodded.

But they’re in a legal—

Kate looked up from her computer and met