by Hannah, Mari
Chantelle had plans and couldn’t wait to execute them. She’d stumbled upon an opportunity and was hell-bent on making the most of it. Catching her reflection in the glass cabinet to her left, a tingle of excitement ran down her spine as she imagined herself transformed. In a few weeks’ time she’d have new clothes, new hairdo, totally new image. New identity? Nah. Well, maybe. Nah. She liked the name Chantelle. It had a certain amount of je-ne-sais-quoi, as her French teacher used to say. She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded posh.
God is good, Chantelle thought, and the Devil’s not bad either.
29
Their new guv’nor, Detective Superintendent Ron Naylor, ordered them to sit. He was angry. Not quite as much as Gormley, but angry nevertheless. And who could blame him? It wasn’t even coffee time and Daniels had briefed him on yet another suspicious death, the circumstances of which were unimaginable. And that was only the half of it. There were numerous suspects but no bloody crime scene. If there was one thing they didn’t need right now it was another public relations nightmare.
‘Let me get this straight.’ He was almost yelling. ‘There was little evidence recovered at the scene of the crash and – because it wasn’t a murder from the outset – we’re left scratching around in the dark for any tangible leads as to the identification of the person or persons responsible for Ivy Kerr’s death.’
Daniels nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Was she DOA at the hospital or declared dead at the scene?’ he asked.
‘A paramedic pronounced her dead at the scene at four-fifty a.m. I’m seeing him later this morning.’ Daniels looked down at sketchy notes she’d cobbled together thus far, so little intelligence she’d managed to scribble it all on half of an A4 sheet. ‘It might be an idea to have someone from the accident investigation team attached to the squad during the enquiry, don’t you think, guv?’
Naylor answered with a nod. ‘I’ll sort that for you.’
‘I’ve instigated enquiries with all of the emergency services. There’s quite a bit of friction because of the implied suggestion that one of them is a vicious murderer. And lots of speculation I’d like to nip in the bud. The cause of the accident was a lorry losing control. At this stage there doesn’t appear to be a link between the RTA and the murder of Ivy Kerr. It was entirely opportunistic, I’m sure of it. A case of wrong time, wrong place.’
Naylor placed his elbows on his desk and cradled his hands. ‘What day is pension day?’
‘Wasn’t that obvious, guv,’ Daniels said. ‘Ivy’s bag was recovered at the scene: pension book, credit cards and over three hundred pounds in cash that it would appear she’d recently withdrawn from a hole in the wall near her home. I understand that the receipt was still in her bag.’
‘That doesn’t make sense! If theft wasn’t the motive, what the hell was? She wasn’t alone, you say—’
‘No, guv. But her husband didn’t make it—’
‘You sure his injuries were caused by the crash?’
Daniels nodded. ‘He had massive internal damage, according to Tim.’
‘What were they doing out at that time of night?’ Gormley said to no one in particular. ‘I mean, they were a bit old to be tripping the light fantastic until dawn weren’t they?’
‘I was wondering the same thing.’ Daniels wafted a fly away from her face and watched it drift out of the window. ‘I assume they were either headed somewhere special or returning from holiday. My guess would be the former.’
Naylor looked at her. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Their house is north of the accident and they were travelling on the southbound carriageway. But, hey, we both saw the road, guv. It was impossible to tell which way was up, wasn’t it, Hank?’
Gormley nodded soberly. He rose to his feet, itching to get going. ‘Mind if I start the ball rolling, guv? I’d like to speak to Ivy’s neighbours, her family, see if I can get a starter for ten. Unless either of you want me for anything else?’
Naylor and Daniels both shook their heads.
Gormley made for the door, stopping short when Daniels called him back.
‘You don’t have to do this, Hank,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I send—’
‘No, I need to do this. Someone must know where they were heading, what they were doing out at that time of night.’ He hesitated, his hand on the door, his focus on Naylor. ‘Guv, you need to reassure the public that we’re working round the clock to sort this one. When it gets out that Kate and I were actually there, we’re going to be in for a lot of stick.’
‘It wasn’t our fault, Hank,’ said Daniels. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’
‘Yeah, well, you never looked into her eyes, did you?’
As the door closed behind him, Naylor sighed. ‘Anything I should know about?’
‘No, guv. He’s fine. You want me to update you on Ralph Street?’
‘If you must. But stick to Ron when it’s me and you, OK?’
Daniels nodded, an idea popping into her head. Since Naylor’s transfer from Durham Constabulary he’d been complaining about being chained to his desk. Same job. Different force. But infinitely bigger area geographically, which meant more time spent in the office, a situation he wasn’t entirely happy with.
‘You want to get out of here for an hour, guv?’
‘Depends.’
‘On?’
‘Whatever it is you’re cooking up in that head of yours.’
‘Your management style is similar to mine, guv.’ She grinned. ‘I thought it was time you got your hands dirty for a change.’
His face lit up. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘If you could drag yourself away from that desk, I’d appreciate your input at the crime scene – I can update you on the way.’
30
They left the station and headed out to Daniels’ Toyota. Naylor was very quiet as they drove off. She wondered if the press conference scheduled for later was bothering him, an appeal for witnesses to the A1 crash. Or maybe the possible amalgamation of the Durham and Northumbria forces, a report on which had landed in her in-tray that morning.
What bright spark thought that one up?
If implemented, it would affect them both, scuppering his plans to return to the Durham force as Chief Constable one day, the reason he’d made the sideways move to Northumbria in the first place. It would diminish her own chances of promotion too. Right now, though, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to indulge that thought.
‘You’re not going to like this, Kate.’ He turned in his seat to face her. ‘I’m having second thoughts about you running the A1 incident. I think you should step away from it, you and Hank both. I vote we split the squad up. You two stay on the arson with Robson. I’ll act as SIO on the A1 incident with Carmichael, Maxwell and Brown.’
‘Hank won’t like that.’
Daniels meant she wouldn’t. She’d like to run both incidents herself. Already she was beginning to regret involving him. If he got a feel for the hands-on approach, knowing Naylor, he’d get used to it. Friends or not, she didn’t want him to cramp her style.
As she glanced sideways, he turned his head away.
He knew she was rattled.
‘I’m afraid Hank will have to lump it, Kate.’ He stared out of the side window, avoiding her eyes. ‘We need to be above reproach on this one and you were both present at the scene. Potentially, you could end up as suspects, as ridiculous as that sounds. At the very least, you’re material witnesses. Hank is, anyway. He actually saw the woman alive, you said so yourself.’
Something outside of the car caught Daniels’ attention. She jabbed the heel of her hand on the horn.
In front of Ken’s Motorcycles on Westgate Road a couple of petrol-heads they both knew were chewing the fat over a fag and a take-away snack. One was an off-duty motorcyclist from Traffic, someone they often rode with in the Cumbrian countryside at weekends. He waved at Daniels, delighted he wasn’t on duty
. But all she managed was a slight nod in return.
Naylor waved as they drove by and then swivelled in his seat to face her. ‘Come on, Kate. You know it makes sense. We can run both incidents from the same MIR. I have no problem with that. All the other rooms are busy anyway and the one downstairs is still in the throes of redecoration. We need some demarcation, obviously, but we can handle that.’
‘You’re the boss.’ Her tone was chilly.
She drove past the bowling alley and the West End nick. Naylor was about to say something more but his voice was drowned out as an ambulance passed them travelling in the opposite direction, its lights and siren engaged. She watched it disappear through her rear-view mirror, noticing that it was the very same vehicle that had taken poor Bridget away from the scene of the RTA. The siren faded to nothing as the ambulance cleared the traffic lights and turned left into the General Hospital heading for Accident and Emergency.
‘Kate?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I asked you about the arson?’ he said pointedly. ‘We any further forward?’
‘Maybe . . . fire investigators found a small fragment of yellow rubber glove caught on a nail in the kitchen cupboard at Maggie Reid’s house, the area least affected by the blaze. It’s identical to the one the search team recovered from a bin a few streets away. I’m waiting for a match report from Forensics. It’s too early to tell if it was an inside job or not. Can’t see it myself. Maggie Reid is too badly traumatized and I don’t think she’s faking it. Hank would have you believe otherwise. He’s convinced she lied about where she was and who she was with at the time the fire started.’
‘You talk to her alibi yet? The woman she claims she was with.’
Daniels shook her head. ‘Stella Drew is keeping a low profile. I have people out looking for her.’ She glanced at Naylor. ‘It bothers me that Maggie was the one who called the Fire Brigade, of course it does, especially in light of the party going on across the road. She claims she had better things to do, but that in itself was unusual.’
‘How so?’
‘A neighbour three doors down told the house-to-house team it was unheard of for Maggie to miss out on a big do, let alone a full-blown street party. She’s the life and soul apparently, into karaoke, footie too, I believe, both of which were on offer that night.’
At a zebra crossing, two Asian women in traditional dress hurried across in front of the car. Their saris looked colourful and cool on such a baking hot day. Daniels watched them safely to the other side and then set off again. She took a sharp left, narrowly missing a scrawny kid who’d rushed out into the road after a ball. When she tooted her horn to let him know she was there, he pulled up sharply, dropping his head as they drove by.
‘You watching the footie tonight?’ she asked.
‘Why don’t you join me? I could rustle up a few beers at my place.’
‘Think I’ll pass. I’m going to work late.’
He didn’t take offence, just suggested they must do something together soon. Daniels suddenly felt guilty. She’d not seen much of him socially since he’d moved to Newcastle. He’d bought a house near Heddon-on-the-Wall, a dilapidated farm cottage he planned to upgrade, and had recently invited the whole squad to christen it in the adjoining barn, a celebration she’d missed.
‘I’m sorry, Ron.’
‘For what?’
‘Want a list? And don’t tell me you didn’t notice me getting arsy about your involvement either. You’re right, obviously . . .’ She grinned, covering her embarrassment. ‘I’ve not been much help to you since you moved here, even turned down your invitation to your house-warming party. I’m sorry.’
‘You should’ve come. It was a good do.’
‘Never known you to throw a bad one.’
They had reached the crime scene. She parked the car a little way up Ralph Street and they sat for a while discussing the case. Daniels didn’t know why she felt compelled to take him there. Just a case of two heads most probably. She was finding it hard to imagine anyone starting a fire with so many people partying nearby. Why risk being seen? Unless the risk was greatly reduced because the perpetrator was local – no one would bat an eyelid then, would they?
They got out of the car. Locking it, she led Naylor to the terrace opposite in order to view the blackened building from across the road. They stood in silence for a while. For her part, she was trying to imagine the place in darkness with a noisy party going on in the lane behind her. Offences she’d dealt with as part of the Murder Investigation Team and before that in the Serious Incident Squad floated in and out of her head. Motive. Opportunity. Means. She couldn’t decide if the arson was a prank gone tragically wrong or an offence that had been carefully planned, executed in cold blood with calculated intent to cause death.
‘First impressions?’ she said.
Naylor was thoughtful a moment. ‘What would Jo make of it, I wonder?’
It was a good question, one Daniels didn’t immediately answer.
‘More importantly,’ he added. ‘What advice would she give?’
‘She’d tell me to think like an offender, get inside their head, be their shrink. She’d point out that arsonists can be habitual, remind me there’s often an element of voyeurism associated with such offences, a thrill-seeking element too, no doubt. Hard to imagine, I know, with a baby in the house.’
She fell silent, trying to stem images of Jamie Reid’s body on a cold slab in the examination room of the morgue. Closing her eyes, she brought to mind the picture of the child on the murder wall: a happy snap of a little boy with dimpled cheeks and a mass of dark, curly hair. That made her more depressed but all the more determined to catch his killer. She looked past Naylor, her eyes locking on to something on the wall over his right shoulder. He turned to see what had caught her interest, homing in on a blackened mark where a cigarette had been stubbed out. Its residue was still embedded in the brickwork. Beneath it, a single cigarette butt lay on a concrete flagstone.
It hit them simultaneously.
Had someone been watching the place burn?
31
Identifying his grandfather’s body at the city morgue hit Elliot Milburn hard. It was a task no grandson should ever be asked to perform, one he’d been dreading all day. His mother was too upset and his father was working away, too busy and too selfish to do this one last thing for his own flesh and blood. It was common knowledge that the two men hadn’t got along and Elliot wasn’t entirely sure why.
Neither one would talk about it.
The morgue assistant was a compassionate woman, softly spoken, with caring eyes. She’d insisted on keeping Elliot company while he waited to view the body, supporting him and yet still managing, somehow, to allow him the silence he craved. He was staring at the green door opposite, willing it not to open. Inevitably, after a while, it had. Elliot froze. Without saying a word, the assistant gently touched his elbow, eased him to his feet and into the viewing room to go through the motions of identification.
It was sad moment; the worst of Elliot’s life so far. He found it incredibly hard to be there in that room. His grandfather meant everything to him. He idolized the man. Who would give Elliot guidance now this wise old man was gone? Even though he’d had a good long life, they had so much more to do together. This was to be their very last meeting and yet Elliot couldn’t bring himself to look at him.
But then he realized he had to.
It was the sole reason he was there.
Raising his eyes from the floor, they came to rest on the old man’s weather-beaten face. He looked so peaceful, like he did on a sunny Sunday afternoon in his garden at the allotment where they’d go after lunch, where he’d fall asleep in his deckchair, his belly full of roast beef, Yorkshire pud and veggies he’d grown himself.
Giving George a final kiss goodbye, he turned away in tears.
Outside, in the anteroom, the old man’s belongings were handed to him in a transparent plastic bag: the clothes he’d b
een wearing the last time they saw each other; his ancient watch rendered useless as a timepiece, its numerals blurred by deep scratches on the face from handling brambles in the allotment; his rose gold wedding band, soft and smooth with wear; a few quid and some loose change.
Not much to show for nearly eighty years of exemplary life.
It’s not much. They were his grandfather’s very words when he held up the brown paper parcel at the garage with his money inside. It’s not much but it’s all I’ve got, lad, and I want you to have it.
Elliot suddenly got to his feet, panic rising in his chest. The morgue assistant looked genuinely shocked when he asked her where the rest of the money was. Taken aback by the question, she asked him to sit down while she rechecked the property log, specifically the entry made when his grandfather’s body was transferred to the morgue from the hospital emergency room.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Milburn. I’m afraid that’s all there was.’
‘No! That’s not right!’ Elliot tried not to display his anger after the kindness she’d shown to him earlier. ‘My granddad had over a thousand pounds in his pocket, his life savings. I want it back.’
Taking the only avenue open to her, the assistant referred him to the police to make a formal complaint of theft. He’d been stewing over it ever since. It wasn’t the money that worried him but the thought that his grandfather may have been murdered for it. Had he been mugged in the street? There were no obvious signs of injury on his person, no bump where he’d fallen – or so they said. Cause of death had been determined as sudden cardiac arrest according to the medical examiner. Not suspicious in nature, just plain old natural causes.
But that didn’t quite cut it for Elliot. Cardiac arrest could’ve been brought on by shock, couldn’t it? If his grandfather had been attacked, or even threatened, it might well have contributed to his death. In his mind, that was tantamount to murder. No different to that of a thief plunging a knife into the old man’s chest. And if foul play was even suspected, then, much as it pained him to do it, he would insist on a second post-mortem.
