If Snow Hadn't Fallen (a Lacey Flint short story)

snow-stung eyes it looked as if she’d materialized from nowhere. I judged her to be taller than me, maybe about five foot eight or nine, and very slim. Her veil was fastened tight to her head by a band around her forehead. Below the band, it flowed out gracefully to her waist. The burka spread out beneath it. I could see fingertips and large brown eyes; my imagination had to fill in the gaps, paint the picture of an oval face, perfect in its proportions, gleaming black hair falling in coils past her waist, soft, slender limbs and coffee-coloured skin. I raised my hand in greeting, and for a second or two we just stared at each other. Then she vanished.
    I followed of course – I’m a detective – but I went slowly. There was something about her that – not intimidated me exactly, but certainly demanded respect. She wasn’t someone to be chased and jumped upon.
    She’d gone behind the slide again. I reached it and stopped, full of misgivings. There was no way out of this park, which made running a bit pointless. So why had she disappeared, if not to lure me here?
    ‘I’m a police officer,’ I said to the painted-metal framework around the steps. ‘A detective,’ I added to the snow-covered steel of the slide.
    Nothing. A rustling that could have been snow falling from leaves. I looked down. There were footprints, but too many to be sure which she’d left last. And it was too dark in this corner of the park to have any reasonable idea where she’d gone.
    ‘I’d really like to talk to you,’ I told the toddler swings. Unsurprisingly, they showed little enthusiasm for the suggestion.
    I started walking again, skirting the edge of the playground. When I peered around the other side of a small climbing wall, there was nothing there. No one in the tree house.
    Snow was falling again and I was getting very cold. The woman clearly didn’t want to be found and, if I were being honest now, something about her had unnerved me. I was going home.

7
    ‘I KNOW HOW she got out.’
    I must have jumped a foot in the air. The street had been empty. I’d climbed down the steps to my front door – very gingerly, they were steep and narrow even without a covering of snow – and had been about to slip the key into the lock. Instead, I stepped back and looked up. Above me, peering over the railings a little like Juliet on her balcony, was the pale, pretty face of a young boy.
    ‘Barney? What are you doing? You’ll freeze to death.’
    ‘I saw you in the park,’ he told me. ‘I watched you climb in. I saw her, too. I know how she gets in and out.’
    I walked back up the steps. Barney was wearing shoes but no coat. I didn’t know him well – I make a point of not knowing anyone well – but I knew he lived with his father in the house next door. I had the impression that they owned the whole house, rather than a part of it, and just let out the basement flat. Just the two of them. No mother that I knew of.
    ‘You saw me just now?’ I asked.
    He nodded. ‘My room is at the top of the house,’ he said. ‘At the back. I saw you climb in and look for her.’
    I wondered whether the officers carrying out door-to-door enquiries had thought to talk to children.
    ‘Barney, can I have a quick word with you and your dad?’
    ‘Dad’s not in,’ he told me. ‘He had to work late. You can talk to me.’
    Not as easy as Barney might think. I couldn’t talk to him alone, either in his house or my flat.
    ‘Look, just stand inside the doorway so you don’t get wet,’ I said. He did so, and I stood on the step outside. ‘You said you know how she gets in and out,’ I added. ‘Does that mean you’ve seen her before?’
    He nodded. ‘I think so,’ he admitted. ‘I can’t be sure, because until the snow came it was too dark in there, but I’m pretty certain I’ve seen someone moving around. It’s always the eyes you notice, in the dark. And cigarettes, sometimes, although she never has a cigarette.’
    There was something about the thought of this young boy watching eyes move in the dark that I found rather creepy.
    ‘So how does she get in?’ I asked him.
    ‘There’s a missing railing,’ he told me, without hesitation. ‘It’s the twenty-first along, counting from the north-eastern corner. I can only see the missing spike from my room, but I’ve been down to look and the whole of the railing is missing. No one big could get through, but a kid or a lady could.’
    ‘So why didn’t I see