Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘I hope she’s there too,’ said Halloran. ‘If she’s not . . .’

  ‘What?’

  Halloran remained silent.

  ‘If she’s not there, what?’ Kitt pushed.

  ‘It’s not a good sign.’

  Kitt’s lips trembled. ‘You mean . . . it’s more likely that she’s . . . dead?’

  ‘That’s a worst-case scenario.’

  ‘What’s the best-case scenario?’

  Kitt looked at the inspector. She couldn’t tell if he needed to pay as much attention to the road or whether he, for the first time since they’d met, was avoiding her eye. Like Kitt he had had either very little or no sleep last night. The circles around his eyes looked even darker than they had a couple of days before. But something else that Kitt couldn’t quite put her finger on made him look older than he had even ten minutes ago.

  ‘Mal . . .’

  ‘Under those circumstances, the best-case scenario is that she was working with Heather.’

  Kitt’s mouth hung half open. ‘You don’t still suspect . . .’

  ‘It’s my job to suspect,’ came the returning growl.

  ‘You know . . .’ Kitt glared at him and her breath huffed out through her nose. ‘Some things in this world are more important than your job.’

  ‘Oh, really? Like what?’

  ‘Like friendship, and love and faith in people.’

  ‘When I’m on the job I don’t have the luxury of having faith in people.’

  Kitt looked out of the windscreen at a homeless man drifting up the street, asking passers-by for change. ‘Not even me?’

  ‘This isn’t about my faith in you.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Kitt couldn’t tell if her voice had raised in volume or if it just sounded louder than she’d like in the enclosed space of Halloran’s car. ‘Evie has been my friend for eight years. I know her. I’ve told you that over and over again, but you won’t believe it, you won’t believe me.’

  ‘We’re not always the best judge of character,’ said ­Halloran, his hands clenched around the steering wheel.

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  ‘I am . . .’ he said. He tried hard to mask it, but there was a waver in his voice.

  Kitt stared at him. ‘What is this about?’

  The car stopped at a traffic light. Halloran hit the steering wheel with his right hand in what looked like defeat and glanced over at Kitt.

  ‘My wife, she was killed by a friend. A police officer.’

  Now it was Kitt who felt she couldn’t look directly at him. She stared into the red of the traffic light ahead. ‘So, that was what you meant. When you said you’d been in my shoes . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘You didn’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, except that nobody should have to go through that,’ said Kitt.

  ‘Nothing to say. I failed her, and I can never let anything like that happen again.’

  ‘You didn’t “let” it happen,’ Kitt said, but Halloran wasn’t listening.

  ‘I can never . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Trust.’

  ‘You did not fail her,’ said Kitt. ‘Your friend failed you.’

  The traffic light turned green and Halloran’s attentions were on the road again as the car shunted forward.

  ‘I know what you’re saying is true,’ he said. ‘I would say the same thing to someone in my position. But . . .’

  ‘I know,’ said Kitt. ‘I know how damaging it is to have your trust broken.’

  ‘I wish you didn’t.’

  ‘And I wish I could be of more help, but any advice I offer on this score would be pretty hypocritical.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t miss the fact I haven’t had a relationship since Theo.’

  ‘Maybe not a romantic one, but you did let Evie in.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kitt. ‘That’s true. She, almost right away, made me feel safe around her, you know?’

  ‘Feeling safe is more important than almost anyone realizes. Something you learn day one of police training.’

  ‘I imagine police officers also need people they can feel safe with,’ said Kitt.

  Halloran smiled at her. ‘We do.’

  Halloran slowed the car and turned into White Rose Street, which, according to the police computer system, was where Heather Young lived.

  The inspector pulled the car in to the side of the road.

  Suddenly, Kitt pointed ahead. ‘Halloran. That’s her! That’s Heather.’

  ‘Getting into that car? Who is that with her?’ asked ­Halloran.

  ‘He looks familiar,’ said Kitt. She stared at the stout young man with a shaven head bundling somebody into the back of the car. A woman, bound at the wrists . . .

  Kitt gasped. ‘I can’t place him. But I won’t even give you three guesses as to who he’s pushing into the back of that car.’

  ‘Evie,’ said Halloran.

  Kitt unbuckled her seat belt.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To get my Evie back.’

  ‘You’re not going to manage that on foot, look.’

  Heather was already in the driver’s seat as her accomplice slammed the back door before taking his place next to Heather in the front. The engine revved. Kitt caught a fleeting image of a familiar face staring out of the back window before the car sped off to the end of the street.

  ‘Evie!’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re going to get her back. Hold tight,’ said Halloran, as he too revved the engine before flicking a switch on the dashboard and the sound of sirens filled Kitt’s ears.

  Thirty-nine

  Halloran pressed a button on the gear stick. ‘This is officer number 9969 calling for back-up, driving south on Crichton Avenue, over.’

  ‘Officer 9969, DI Halloran, receiving, over,’ a woman’s voice crackled over the radio.

  ‘We are in pursuit of suspect driving a red Ford. Licence plate Alpha, Juliet, five, three, Lima, Victor, Sierra. Suspect has a missing person in their vehicle and may be armed, over.’ As he spoke, Halloran swerved around a slow-moving Volvo and, as per the inspector’s earlier instructions, Kitt held onto the sides of the seat to steady herself.

  ‘Received, dispatching all available units in that area,’ the woman said. Halloran pressed the same button on the gear stick as he had before and looked hard at the road in front of him. Even in the most serious moments of their investigation, Kitt had never seen him look so stern. His blue eyes narrowed as they focused on the target up front. The red Ford, now a few cars ahead, veered in and out of this lane and that in an attempt to put as many obstacles as possible between it and the police car in pursuit.

  Beyond the inspector’s chiselled profile, the neat, red-brick houses of suburbia flashed by. A moment later, Kitt sensed a yellow light blazing in her peripheral vision. Tearing her eyes away from the inspector, a smile formed on her lips as she saw two more police cars waiting at the end of Crichton Avenue. Kitt’s smile soon faded, however, when the Ford made a sharp right. It was so quick, Halloran had to slam on the brakes and pull the handbrake hard just to make the turn. The rear end of the car skidded with a force that made Kitt’s stomach turn over, but Halloran stepped on the accelerator and the vehicle soon righted itself. Digging her fingernails deep into the edges of her seat, Kitt glanced out of the back window to see the other police cars tailing them, sirens wailing.

  Turning to face forwards again, Kitt squealed as pedestrians leaped out of the way of Heather’s car, and then, deciding that her squeals were probably somewhat distracting to the inspector, covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, having recovered herself. ‘Rather new to this car chase business.’

  ‘Not to alarm you, but it’s been a few
years since I’ve been in one myself.’

  ‘Very comforting,’ said Kitt, wishing she could shut her eyes, but desperate to keep them open to see what would happen next.

  Heather’s car made another hard right down Grosvenor Road. It was a narrower street than the others. Kitt watched as Heather’s car scraped a line of vehicles parked on the left, leaving some with scratches, others with dents, and taking the wing mirror off a small van.

  ‘What is she thinking?’ asked Kitt. ‘Does she really expect to outrun you on these narrow residential streets? Hardly likely to result in a clean getaway.’

  ‘She wasn’t expecting us to get to her on time,’ said ­Halloran, following the car down yet another right turn. ‘She’s panicking, which means sooner or later she’s going to make a mistake.’

  ‘The other cars aren’t following us any more,’ said Kitt, glancing out of the back window again.

  ‘No, protocol is to split and try to cut the vehicle off so we can surround it.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Kitt. ‘Unlike Heather’s driving,’ she added as she saw the red Ford make a left onto Bootham.

  ‘Oh God, she’s heading towards town,’ said Halloran, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

  ‘During the lunchtime rush in York?’ said Kitt. ‘She really must be mad. Why would she do that?’

  Halloran shook his head. ‘If she’d gone the other way she’d have wound up on the A19, which is a single carriageway road with nowhere to turn or hide. She’s not exactly driving a Ferrari so she can’t outrun us. Maybe she’s planning to lose us in the backstreets and ditch the car.’

  ‘Here’s hoping there aren’t too many people hanging out of the pub doorways having a liquid lunch today,’ said Kitt. ‘From what we’ve seen, Heather’s not the type to let anyone get in her way.’

  Completely ignoring the red traffic light at Bootham Bar, Heather’s car turned in the direction of the Theatre Royal to a chorus of hooting horns. Halloran followed close behind, but even disgruntled rush-hour drivers knew better than to give a police officer with his sirens blaring that kind of fanfare.

  A second later, Heather pulled the same trick at the lights on Museum Street and a deep green Mercedes knocked into her. It was hard enough to make her pause, but not enough to stop her completely. She reversed an inch or two and then swerved around the Mercedes. Too quick for Halloran to cut her off. Too quick for the driver to get out of the car and confront her. But that didn’t stop him from rolling his window down and shouting after her. The windows in the police car were up so Kitt couldn’t hear what the man was shouting, but they weren’t complicated words to lip-read.

  Halloran swerved around the Mercedes and chased after Heather’s car. Heading over Lendal Bridge, Kitt watched the red Ford weave in and out of the queueing traffic, missing a second collision with a black Citroën by fractions of an inch. It was so close, this time she really couldn’t bear to watch. She took a deep breath instead, pressed the button to open her window, and tried to focus on the view of the river below.

  ‘You all right?’ Halloran asked.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, just focus on the road,’ said Kitt, really regretting that egg mayo sandwich she had shared with Grace just before she’d left to face Heather. She hadn’t felt this queasy since one of her school friends dared her to brave the Terrorizor ride on a school trip to Flamingo Land. That must have been twenty years ago now, but she still felt the churn in her stomach when she thought about it.

  Kitt’s insides turned over again as the car veered to the left. She closed her eyes, just for a moment.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got her,’ said Halloran.

  Kitt’s eyes sprang open again and she realized they were on Skeldergate, a road that ran parallel to the river. Up ahead, some distance beyond Heather’s red Ford but approaching fast were the police cars that had been trailing them earlier. Heather’s car lurched to a stop, but only for a second before veering left down a side street.

  ‘That street leads to the wharf,’ said Kitt. ‘They’ll be cut off by the river.’

  Halloran smiled. He had already made this calculation. The chase was over. Heather had nowhere to go.

  The inspector made the same hard left Heather’s car had made a few seconds before, just in time to see Heather Young drive full throttle off the edge of the cobbled wharf, splashing into the murky waters of the Ouse.

  Halloran slammed on the brakes. The wheels screeched as the car jerked to a halt. The librarian and the inspector watched, wide-eyed, as the red Ford began to sink nose-first into the river.

  ‘Oh my God, Evie!’ said Kitt, grabbing Halloran’s arm. ‘She was tied up.’

  Without a word, Halloran whipped off his seat belt and swung open his door, leaving an open-mouthed Kitt behind.

  Forty

  Swinging open her car door, Kitt chased after Halloran. By the time she had bustled around to the front of the vehicle, he had yanked off his shoes and thrown off his jacket.

  Kitt watched him, her jaw still hanging loose in disbelief. ‘You’re not . . . Halloran, you can’t go in there, the current is too strong,’ she said, glancing at the dark grey waters. The undertow was inching the sinking car downstream. All Kitt could think about was the number of drownings she’d read about in the newspaper. Every year more souls were lost to that river. She was merciless, and everyone who lived near her knew it.

  ‘I have to,’ Halloran replied, ‘I don’t have time to argue about it.’

  Kitt could hear the sirens of the other police cars approaching. ‘Mal, please, don’t go in there alone. Wait for back-up.’

  Halloran pointed at a life preserver hanging in a metal stand, painted orange, by the water’s edge. ‘Throw that life ring to me when I signal. Under no circumstances are you to follow me into the river. I mean it. If I die, it’s an acceptable loss, but if you die, the department has a lawsuit on its hands.’

  ‘There is nothing acceptable about you dying.’ Kitt raised her voice in the hope it would get through to him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what happens to me, it’s Evie who matters now.’

  ‘It does matter what happens to you,’ said Kitt, and then, realizing the truth, spoke it out loud. ‘It matters to me.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t have time to argue,’ Halloran said, his voice soft. A second later he turned and ran towards the sinking car. Kitt watched as he got as close as he could on land. When he was level with the car, he pulled his baton from his belt, held his breath, and jumped in with an almighty splash.

  ‘Mal!’ Kitt shrieked after him as the approaching sirens got louder and louder. The other police cars pulled up on the wharf. Banks got out of one and Wilkinson got out of another.

  As instructed, Kitt scurried over to the life preserver and unhooked it from the stand. She saw Halloran swimming towards the rear of the sinking car, his dark hair slicked to the back of his head, his white shirt clinging to his body. He must have been freezing. The waters of North Yorkshire weren’t that clement in the summer months. In October they were deathly cold. Still, the one consolation was that Halloran seemed to be a strong swimmer. His strokes were long and broad enough to overcome the current. But his strength couldn’t last for ever. He would tire. Kitt could only pray he would be back safely on dry land before that happened.

  Even from ten feet away, Kitt could make out Evie’s muffled screams, frantic and shrill. It was the worst sound she had ever heard in her life. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched Halloran pulling with all his might on the car door handle, trying to open the rear door. It was locked. He shouted at Evie to move back, away from the window and, using his baton, he dashed the safety glass in the rear passenger side with three swift blows. Using his baton to clear what remained of the window, Halloran reached with both hands into the sinking car. A moment later, Banks’s voice was in Kitt’s ear. ‘Oh my God, you let him go in
there?’

  ‘“Let” is a bit strong,’ said Kitt, glancing at Banks. ‘Heather and her accomplice are still in the car.’

  The pair watched as Halloran heaved a limp, saturated body out through the window.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Banks again, her voice full of fear. ‘Is that Evie?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Kitt, glancing up and down the river to see if any of the tourist boats were about to help. No such luck. And as the summer season was over, there weren’t any tourists milling about in self-drive boats either.

  Evie couldn’t have weighed that much, but due to the fact that he was immersed in cold water, the strain of pulling her out of the car made Halloran growl loud enough to be heard from land.

  ‘Now, throw it now,’ Halloran shouted at Kitt, as he started a one-armed paddle back in their direction. Not wasting another second, she threw the life preserver with every ounce of strength she had in the direction of Halloran and Evie. It didn’t quite reach them and Halloran had to swim a few more strokes to catch hold of it. He then lifted the ring over Evie’s arms and head and made sure she was secure.

  ‘Pull her into land,’ Halloran called. Kitt did as she was asked, and, with help from Banks, reeled in the shivering Evie. Her hair was twisted into unruly clumps and her eyes wide with the chilling shock of the water. More alarming than any of that however, was the amount of blood pouring from her face. She seemed to have two gashes. One on her right temple and another on the left-hand side of her jaw. The cuts looked deep, but Kitt could only hope they seemed worse than they really were.

  In less than a minute, Evie was in reach and between them Banks and Kitt hoisted her out of the water. Wilkinson lent a hand, and Kitt was surprised by how difficult it was to pull her upwards onto the wharf. Kneeling at the edge of the river, hands still bound, Evie coughed and spluttered and began to cry.

  Kitt squatted so she could put her arms around her friend.

  ‘You’ll be all right now,’ Banks said, untying the ropes around Evie’s hands.

  Turning back to the river, Kitt picked up the life preserver again, ready to throw it to the inspector. But when she looked back at the water all she could see was the roof of the almost completely submerged Ford, and no sign of Halloran.