Rhodri frowned. “So it got on him when the bomb went off. Doesn’t that mean he was just a victim?”
Zoe shook her head. “No, Rhod. I wish it was that simple. The condition of the residue means that it was unexploded when it got onto him.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Connie. “If it hadn’t gone off when he got it on him, it must have got there before he boarded the plane.”
“That’s what you’d expect, if it was him who made the bomb.”
“Unless…” Connie’s eyes widened.
“I suggest you leave that thought where it is for now,” Zoe said. “There were some pretty serious allegations raised in that briefing. And everyone who had access to the scene will be under suspicion.” She looked at Ian, who was holding himself very still. “Including me and Ian.”
“What about the Super?” Connie said. “He was Gold Command, wasn’t he? Was he on the tarmac?”
“He didn’t go anywhere near it.” Zoe frowned at the thought of Connie’s suspicions immediately jumping to Randle. She gritted her teeth as both of the constables turned their gaze onto Ian.
“I imagine Professional Standards will be talking to us very soon,” she said. “In the meantime, we get on with our jobs. This team isn’t involved in the airport investigation, so we can continue as we are.”
Connie dragged her eyes away from Ian. “You sure, boss? We don’t need to…?”
“Carry on, Connie. We have to identify the woman, and find the man she was looking at. Forget about the airport shitstorm, it won’t impact on you.”
“We’ve got news on that, boss,” said Rhodri.
“Go on,” Zoe said. “Make it quick.” Professional Standards could be here any minute.
“A photo of the woman in the headscarf,” said Connie. “A decent one.”
Zoe moved round to look at Connie’s screen. She had a photo of the woman’s face enlarged.
“That’s excellent,” Zoe said. “Where d’you get it?”
“Private Facebook account.”
Zoe wasn’t going to ask how Connie had accessed a private Facebook account. “It’s a selfie.”
“Yeah. Looks like the bomber sent it to the account holder.”
“How on earth did you find this?” Zoe asked.
“Facial recognition search,” Connie said. She shrugged.
“She stopped to take a selfie before setting off a bomb and killing herself?” Ian said.
“It’s not from the station,” Connie said. She pointed at the screen. “That’s the ICC behind her.”
“Did we see her stop to take this on her way to the station?”
“I’ll see if I can track her route back further,” Connie said.
“I’ll help,” added Rhodri.
Zoe wanted to punch the air. “Good. Follow this up. Find the person whose account this is. Talk to them, if you can. If they know her, they’ll be able to tell us who she is.”
“Will do.” Connie leaned in towards her screen.
“What about me?” asked Ian.
“When Connie gets the details of this account, you contact the account holder.”
“OK.”
“What happens to us if you’re taken off the case, boss?” Rhodri asked.
“There’s no reason to think I’ll be taken off the case. Or DS Osman.”
Ian swallowed and nodded.
“Go on then. Get on with it,” she said.
Connie turned and opened the door to the office. Rhodri followed her, his hand on her shoulder. Ian stayed where he was.
Rhodri closed the door. Zoe stood up and opened it. She couldn’t have anyone thinking she and Ian were conferring.
“Just carry on with your job, Ian,” she said. “You and I should not be talking about this situation. Not alone. Not with the constables, from this point on. Understood?”
“Yes, boss.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Titi had stayed with Sofia and Andreea all evening. Holding Sofia’s hand, smiling into her face, playing the devoted partner.
He’d been making sure she wasn’t left alone with her sister.
At ten pm Kyle had arrived and taken Andreea away. To the hotel, they’d said. Andreea’s face had been pinched as she’d left, but she’d said nothing about the hotel.
Titi had let Sofia back into the master bedroom afterwards. She’d told him she wanted to watch some TV before going to bed, and he’d been asleep when she’d slipped under the thick duvet beside him.
She’d woken after barely four hours sleep and lain awake next to him, listening for signs of him waking. When he’d done so she’d closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing.
Now she was in the boot of his car. She’d crept downstairs while he was eating breakfast – no sign of Mrs Brooking, thank God – and gone to the car on the driveway, hiding in its vast boot.
She lay in the darkness, her body jolting as he drove. She could hear him on the phone, shouting at people, complaining. Someone wasn’t dead, and apparently he wasn’t happy about it. He’d done everything he was supposed to do, right down to the distraction and the work on the body. She didn’t understand her boyfriend’s business. Maybe she’d misheard.
She held herself stiffly, careful not to hit the sides. It was cold and musty, two pools of red light showing from the rear lights. She had to hope he wouldn’t open the boot when he got to work.
The car became still. She heard him slam the driver’s door, then silence. No hum of traffic, no distinct voices. She had no idea whether this was because she was somewhere quiet, or because the car was soundproofed.
But she couldn’t stay here. He might come back and open the boot, or he might just drive her home. And she was freezing.
Titi had said he was going to give Andreea a job. Maybe she would be here, at his workplace. He’d told her he ran an importing business, which was why he’d been in Bucharest.
She put her ear to the roof of the boot. There was no sound, nothing at all. She listened for a few minutes until her neck became sore.
Move, she told herself.
The car had back seats that flattened down. Maybe she could push one of them out of the way and get out through the gap. She couldn’t find a way to open the boot from inside, so that was her only hope.
She leaned her shoulder into the seat and shoved, revealing a crack of light. She pushed her fingers up into the gap at the top of the seat, feeling for a catch that would release it. When she finally found it and squeezed, the seat sprang away from her and she crashed forwards, letting out a muffled cry.
She flattened herself on the seat, not daring to look up.
Slowly, she turned towards the front seats. They were empty. She let herself breathe again.
She felt dizzy. She lay still for a moment, willing the spinning in her head to stop. She sat up, peering over the windowsill.
She was in a driveway, in front of a red brick building. Hotel Belvista, the sign said. The building was large but shabby. Two windows were boarded up and weeds grew through cracks in the tarmac.
She looked up at the building. Did her boyfriend work here? Was Andreea inside?
She’d pictured him in a smart office, surrounded by lush indoor plants and hardworking staff. She hadn’t imagined anything like this.
She had to get away from the car, before anyone spotted her.
She put a hand on the door handle. It pulled and the door sprang open. She drew it back, anxious to avoid any sudden movements.
Slowly, she eased her legs out of the car boot and into the back seat. She wriggled through the open door and onto the ground outside. There was a lump of dog shit lying on the ground six inches from her face. She swallowed, trying not to retch.
She reached up into the car and pushed the seat back. It clicked into place. She pushed the door closed, biting her lip as it clunked shut. She crouched on the ground, facing away from the dog shit, breathing heavily.
The car was twenty metres from the building. Sh
e couldn’t go in the front door.
She shuffled along the side of the car and looked round it. There was no movement behind the dirty windows, no one outside. Where was Titi?
She had to hope there would be an entrance at the side or the back of the building.
She crouched low and said a prayer to herself in Romanian. She clenched her fists, pushed herself up and started to run.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Zoe left the police station, avoiding the eyes of people she passed. She had no idea how widely news of the new evidence had travelled, and how many people knew she’d been at the airport.
She walked towards her car, keeping her footsteps light and her pace steady. She wanted to turn her head, to see if she was being watched.
At last she reached her car. She dived inside and started the engine.
She hadn’t told the team she was going anywhere. She didn’t have anywhere to go. Leaving here would look suspicious.
She turned the engine off and grabbed her phone. She had no idea if he would pick up.
“Zoe.”
She felt her body relax. “Carl. I thought you wouldn’t take my call.”
“We can’t talk like this, Zoe. You know that.”
“So you’ve been told about the allegations of evidence being planted.”
“I have, yes. And someone from Professional Standards will be interviewing you. Not me.”
“No.” There was no way they’d let a detective inspector from PS interview his own girlfriend. “Are we OK?” she asked. “Surely you don’t think I have anything to do with this?”
“You should know better than to call me like this.”
“I’ll come to yours tonight. I can tell you my suspicions.”
“No. Christ, Zoe. This has to be done properly. We can’t see each other until this is out of the way.”
She sank into the seat. “I thought you’d say that.”
“Sorry. I’ll miss you.”
“Me too.”
“My colleague DS Layla Kaur will interview you. You met her when we interviewed DS Osman, when his children were missing.”
There was a pause. Zoe heard muffled conversation.
“I’m with her now,” Carl said. “She’s a good detective, professional, fair. She’ll do her job.”
“OK. Take care, Carl.”
“I will.” He drew in a breath.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, Zoe. Hang up and go back inside the building.”
She turned in her seat to see a car pull into the car park. Two people were inside: a woman at the wheel and Carl in the passenger seat. His eyes snagged on Zoe as the car passed but he didn’t acknowledge her.
She stared after the car as it parked, her heart thumping.
She watched them leave the car and walk to the main door. She ducked down in her seat. She shouldn’t be doing this, watching them from her car, hiding.
She opened the car door. She waited until they were out of sight then walked after them to the door, her thumbnail firmly digging into her palm.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Rhodri leaned across the desks. “What d’you think?”
Connie looked up at him, her face hot. “Shush.”
“D’you think it was him?” Rhodri glanced at Ian, who sat at his own desk, clicking his mouse but his eyes not focused on his screen.
“I don’t think anything, Rhodri,” she said. “I wasn’t there, remember?”
“Yeah, but…”
She glared at him. “He’s your sarge, Rhod.”
Rhodri looked at Ian, his face expressionless. Connie thought back to the kidnapping case, the way she’d found Randle’s number in Ian’s phone. An unregistered burner phone.
And the Super had been involved in ACC Jackson’s murder. The DI had suspected him at the time. She’d said nothing since.
Could the sarge and Randle have been working together, to fake the evidence at the airport? If so, why?
Connie shook her head. She was imagining things. It would be a mistake. A forensics error. The idea of someone in Force CID being involved in a terror attack was ridiculous.
The door to the office opened and a woman stepped in. She was short, with dark skin and black hair in a pixie cut. Connie sat up straight.
The woman held up her ID. “I’m DS Kaur from Professional Standards. I’m looking for DI Zoe Finch.”
Connie glanced across at Rhodri. He shrugged. Ian stood up from his desk, wiping his hands on his trousers. He held out a hand but the woman didn’t take it.
The door opened again and a man came in. DI Carl Whaley, Zoe’s handsome boyfriend. Connie felt the breath catch in her throat. She looked at Rhodri: where’s the boss? He looked blank.
“Sorry, I was just outside.” Zoe stood behind the two PS officers in the doorway. “You’re looking for me.”
Carl gave Zoe a nod. “DI Finch, we’d like you to come with us.” He turned to Ian. “And you too, DS Osman. We need to speak with you in connection with the incident at Birmingham Airport on Saturday.”
Rhodri’s eyes were wide. Connie frowned at him, wanting to tell him to stop staring.
“Of course,” Zoe said, her eyes on the female DS. “Ian?”
Ian grabbed his jacket and walked to the door. Zoe turned back to Connie and Rhodri.
“Keep working on the ID of the bomber and her suspected accomplice. Leave me a voicemail if you find anything.”
“Yes, boss,” Connie and Rhodri muttered in unison.
Zoe nodded. She gave them a tight smile and followed Carl out of the room.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Mo and Dawson returned to their office in silence. Fran was waiting, her eyebrows raised at Mo. He didn’t know what to tell her.
“Well fuck me sideways with a coal shovel,” Dawson said, breaking the silence. Fran gave him a disdainful look.
Mo nodded. Zoe had been at the scene, she was one of the people who’d had access to that body. She would be questioned. He stared out of the window, his mind racing.
Dawson clapped his hands. “Well wake up, then.”
“What happened?” asked Fran.
“What happened, boss, is what you mean,” said Dawson.
“What happened, boss?” Fran’s voice was thin.
“Our suspect is probably no longer a suspect. Looks like someone planted the residue on him.”
“They did what?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” said Mo.
“Hmmph,” replied Dawson. “It doesn’t look good for your mate.”
Mo took a deep breath and let it out again. Don’t react, he told himself. Don’t give him the pleasure.
Dawson slumped into a chair. “That isn’t our problem for now. So what else do we have?”
“The suspect could still have…” Mo began. They’d dragged that man’s widow in for questioning. They’d humiliated her in front of her solicitor. And all because of evidence that most likely had been planted.
This was going to have repercussions he couldn’t begin to imagine.
“He could have nothing,” Dawson said. “You gave his widow a hard time for no reason. Pleased with your attitude towards Muslim terror suspects now, eh?”
“Her religion had nothing to do with it,” said Mo. “Her husband was a viable suspect.”
“Well, not any more. So what else do we have?”
Mo walked to the board at the end of the room. It was filled with photos from the scene. To be honest, it was a mess, and not much help. But in the middle of it was something that had been nagging at him.
He grabbed a photo. “The gate.”
“The gate?” said Fran.
“The one that someone cut through with wire cutters. Why? If they were trying to get at the plane, that would be a way to do it.”
“OK.” Dawson clicked the top of his pen. “Good. What else?”
Fran joined Mo at the board. She grabbed another photo. “The handbag. It was by the gate. Whoeve
r cut the gate might have dropped it.”
“You think a woman did this?” Dawson said.
“More than one person did this,” said Mo. “You don’t pull off a crime like this alone.”
“And there’s no reason why one of them couldn’t have been the owner of this bag,” added Fran.
“So she’s clever enough to pull off a bombing on an aeroplane, make us all think the thing was put there in Pakistan, but she’s dumb enough to forget her Gucci handbag?” said Dawson.
Mo shrugged. “You never know. Where’s the bag now?”
“Evidence store,” said Fran.
“Let’s get it back. Give it to the FSUs, check it for prints, fibres, DNA.”
“You reckon the idiot woman who dropped this bag’s in the database?” said Dawson.
“It’s worth a shot,” replied Mo.
“It is indeed. Fran, make the call.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Zoe sat across the table from DS Layla Kaur and a male detective she hadn’t met before. They were in Lloyd House; she’d been brought here in a squad car while Ian had gone in Carl’s car.
“DI Finch,” Layla said.
“DS Kaur.”
“You’re not under caution. We’re interviewing you as a witness for now.”
Zoe nodded. She knew how quickly that could change.
“I need you to run through the events of Saturday with me. From the moment you arrived at the airport, to when you left. Who you saw, who you worked with.”
“D’you mind telling me who your colleague is?”
Kaur looked at the man next to her. He was middle-aged, with thinning hair and pale skin.
“Detective Superintendent Rogers,” he said.
Zoe stiffened. Carl’s boss: she’d heard about him, although Carl had been careful not to give much away.
Calm down, she told herself. Cooperate. She’d done nothing wrong. She had nothing to be afraid of.
Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4) Page 17
