by Hannah, Mari
‘I’m sorry . . .’ Hedley said, regaining her attention. ‘I’m absolutely useless with blood. Always was. I saw this bloke with an arm missing, staggering along the road, a stream of blood gushing, squirting from . . .’ He shuddered and closed his eyes – a genuine reaction, she thought. ‘I’m sorry, after that I hardly remember a thing.’
Carmichael nodded. It must’ve been a hell of a thing to see in the middle of the night. She imagined Hedley in his pyjamas, looking down on the scene from the window, maybe not hearing their screams but seeing their pain, sharing their shock.
‘The man you saw did survive,’ she reassured him. ‘And that’s probably down to you.’
Carmichael knew that the badly injured man’s car was one of the first vehicles Hedley would’ve come across if he joined the road at the point he described. And Ivy’s car was metres away. Was he telling her the truth? Daniels had alluded to a conviction for deception. But did Hedley have the capacity for violence? Did he have it in him to whack an old lady over the head for a lottery ticket?
In all honesty, she couldn’t say.
She decided to leave it there for now.
47
Daniels was really pissed off. Her day had begun so well having breakfast with Jo but had since turned into a ’mare. They’d not spent quality time together for ages. Hadn’t been able to catch up before Gormley’s call dragged her away, let alone finish talking about something they’d both been dancing round for weeks. When they last spoke privately, Jo had dropped a bombshell: she’d been offered a secondment in a local prison to work alongside a friend she’d gone to university with. The psychiatrist, Martin Stamp, had asked her to join him on a research programme studying the characteristics of serious sex offenders and the effects of custody upon them – a subject close to her heart.
In Daniels’ considered opinion there was an easy answer to that: sex offenders were a waste of space. They hardly ever admitted culpability and didn’t like being locked up. What was to research? And who the fuck wanted to work in a prison anyway?
Staring blankly out of her window, she wondered whether Jo would accept the job and hoped to God she wouldn’t. The programme was due to start at the end of the year and would last for twelve months. The psychologist originally chosen for the project had baled. Emily McCann – a lovely woman Daniels and Jo both knew personally – had recently lost her husband and didn’t feel able to take it on in addition to a demanding caseload. And who could blame her? She’d not only lost the love of her life, but she had a teenage daughter at home grieving the loss of her father and giving her mother a seriously hard time.
Daniels sighed.
If Jo took Emily’s place it would mean suspending her work with Northumbria Police. For personal reasons, Daniels had tried to talk her out of it. But she knew that if Jo’s mind was made up, there wasn’t a hope in hell of changing it. She could be as stubborn as two-year-old when she wanted to be. The only saving grace was that she wouldn’t be moving away.
Grateful for small mercies, Daniels scooped up her phone to call her. Her finger hovered over the call button for a second. Then she hit the return key and chucked the phone on her desk, deciding that what she had to say was best said in person.
Or was it?
In her back yard earlier, she’d wimped out. With the warmth of the sun on their faces and the faint smell of suntan lotion in the air, they were having such a good time, it felt like they were still together. It was magical while it lasted. Not wanting to spoil the moment, Daniels had avoided the thorny subject of Jo’s leaving, hoping it would sort itself out – which, of course, it was never going to. Finally Jo had broached the matter herself, but then duty called and Daniels had to leave in a hurry.
Same old, same old.
Daniels felt guilty now, an emotion that turned to depression as a horrible thought dawned on her. If Jo was getting itchy feet, maybe the research project would lead to other positions that would take her away from Newcastle for good. When she’d come into Daniels’ life, never in her wildest dreams did she imagine her leaving again. But now . . . Picking up the phone once more, she dialled that all-important number and waited.
Jo picked up on the third ring.
Dispensing with a cheery Hello, it’s me, or even Hiya, Daniels decided that this was no time for small talk. She went straight for the jugular. ‘Will you at least think about what I said this morning?’
‘You said something this morning?’ Jo was teasing her. ‘I was under the impression you were checking me out when you thought I wasn’t looking. Could be wrong, but I was half expecting you to rip my clothes off right there in the yard. I seem to recall you have previous for it.’
Daniels laughed. She had this thing about getting up close and personal in the open air and remembered the experience vividly. Thankfully her neighbours both sides were away on holiday at the time. Other memories crowded in on her: making love in the middle of an oilseed rape field at dusk; on an empty beach in Crete, unaware that an ocean liner had sailed into the bay and dropped anchor. The expression on Jo’s face when she sat up and saw several pairs of binoculars trained on them was priceless.
‘I’m serious, Jo. I don’t want to lose you.’
That sounded so lame.
‘There are other profilers,’ Jo said.
‘Not like you, there aren’t.’
‘Are we still speaking professionally?’
There was a short pause. Jo was angry and had a damn good right to be. Had they been in the same room, Daniels would have reached out, taken her in her arms and begged her not to go, or at least tried to say something that would make her stay.
‘Remember what I said to you, first time I took you to Hartside Pass?’ she said.
The line went dead.
Daniels sighed. Hartside Pass was her fuck-off destination, her favourite place in the whole wide world, a place where she went to mull stuff over and get things into perspective. A wilderness in the middle of nowhere, long since abandoned to the elements. A summit from where it was possible to see right across the Solway Firth to Scotland, as well as Great Gable and Skiddaw in the Lakes. A place she only ever visited alone.
With one exception.
Redialling, she willed Jo to answer.
She picked up, but didn’t speak.
Daniels took a deep breath and tried again.
‘Please don’t hang up. Just tell me you remember . . .’ An icy silence followed. ‘OK, then don’t. Just believe me when I say that I meant what I said, Jo – every word of it.’
‘You ready to share that with anyone else?’
Daniels looked at the ceiling. This was so difficult for her. She had vowed to win Jo back, whatever it took. But she was asking such a lot. Asking her to give up the chance of making it to the very top of a career she’d poured her life and soul into. No matter how many people told her otherwise, she couldn’t – wouldn’t – risk jeopardizing that. In a blinding flash she realized she wasn’t ready to make their relationship public and probably never would be.
‘That’s what I thought.’ Jo’s words were clipped. ‘You’re full of shit, you know that?’
‘What do you want me to say? That our break-up is down to me? That I’m willing to accept responsibility for it? I do. It’s all my fault. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I wake up alone every morning wishing things were back the way they were?’ Daniels paused. ‘I’m crazy about you.’
‘That’s never been the issue.’
‘Exactly! So what does it matter who knows, who doesn’t?’
‘It matters, OK? I’m not living my life as your secret!’ A phone rang in the background. Jo’s get-out-of-jail card. ‘Look, Kate, I’ve got to go.’
‘Don’t hang up! Listen, you’d hate being locked up in a prison. You’ve always said so. Imagine having to be there every single day. It’ll drive you insane. Besides, who else would I argue with?’
‘I haven’t yet accepted the post – not that it’s an
y of your business.’
Jo excused herself and hung up. Daniels sat for a long moment, realizing she’d made matters ten times worse. She pocketed her phone and stood up. It was time for the evening briefing.
48
Detectives from several departments were milling around the MIR, anxious to get the briefing underway. Even civilian indexers whose hours matched those of the Murder Investigation Team were in attendance, despite grafting since the crack of dawn. They all looked jaded, keen to get the meeting over and done with so they could go home. Daniels knew how they felt. For the second time that day, a telephone call had prevented her from explaining herself to Jo. She’d been a fool not to tackle the subject of her leaving earlier. She should’ve told her the truth, begged her to stay and persuaded her not take the damn job. Instead she’d reverted to type and let the matter fester, until Jo forced a confrontation. Inevitably, what Daniels had said had come out wrong.
It was standing room only. And still detectives piled into the room, their conversations ranging from the long hours they were keeping to England’s chances of progression in the World Cup. The next game was scheduled for tomorrow, a game they now knew they’d miss ‘live’ on TV.
Acknowledging them as they passed her by, Daniels’ mind was on promises she’d made to Jo. Empty promises, as it turned out. As people, they were poles apart. They wanted different things of a relationship. A free spirit, Jo deserved a partner she could introduce to friends and family. Daniels, on the other hand, didn’t see the need. As long as they were happy together, all the rest was unimportant. She feared being alone and craved the special kind of relationship her parents had enjoyed. But she was her own worst enemy in achieving this. Even before Jo came into her life, she’d failed to balance home and work successfully. And it wasn’t only the job that was holding her back. Her father’s disapproval was also eating away at her. She hadn’t even told Jo about that yet.
Another secret.
God, will you ever learn?
Daniels hated that she needed her father’s approval. It had taken such courage to bare her soul to him and he’d reacted as if she’d fallen in love with a woman just to piss him off. Maybe she had: payback for not being there for her when her mother died. He’d been at pains to point out the obvious: that all of her former relationships had been normal. That really went down well. He’d since tried apologizing, vehemently denying any homophobia on his part, citing several gay acquaintances.
She noted he didn’t say friends.
As far as Daniels was concerned, the hurtful comments that came out of his mouth could never be unsaid. They were out there for ever and she had no intention of forgiving him. She glanced at her watch. It was already nine-thirty and the troops were getting restless. Hardly a time for psychoanalysis. Besides, she didn’t want to think about Jo any more. It would sap what little energy she had left. No matter how much she wanted to go home and sort her life out, the job she prized so highly kept getting in the way. And that meant leading by example with her mind focused on the job.
Later . . . I’ll call her later. One more stab at explaining how she felt wouldn’t go amiss.
The door to the MIR opened. Maxwell walked in, last to arrive as usual. Apologizing for keeping them all waiting, he slid into the crowd out of sight. Conversations immediately died down and all eyes were turned in Daniels’ direction.
‘Right, if everyone is ready, we’ll begin with the fire and then move on to the A1 incident.’
A hand went up. Officers parted so she could see who it belonged to. DC Andy Brown wasn’t the tallest detective in her team. He edged his way forward to stand near the front, his eagerness to contribute raising her expectations. She knew exactly what this was about before he opened his mouth, but asked the question anyway.
‘You got something for me, Andy?’
Brown nodded, turning to address his colleagues. ‘I was checking the force-wide incident log earlier and noticed a domestic disturbance at the home of Nadia Turner, Maggie Reid’s sister-in-law. Officers from West Area Command attended the scene, reporting a row between two females. A fight ensued, but no further action was taken in view of the recent family bereavement. I just spent the last hour following it up.’ He paused for breath. The room was heavy with anticipation as he took out his notebook, flipped it open and found the appropriate page. ‘Maggie and Nadia were still rowing when I got there. I spent some time calming them down and then questioned Maggie about the rubber glove we recovered. The boss thought it might scare her into telling the truth. But she didn’t bat an eyelash, said she buys them in Tesco – a new pair every week.’
‘She’s got a point,’ Robson commented. ‘The wife’s got some like it at home.’
Brown glanced at Daniels. ‘She’s still off her face on medication, boss. Had absolutely no idea what I was alluding to. I then tackled her unsafe alibi. Told her Stella Drew had coughed that they weren’t together when she said they were. At this point Nadia got really agitated. I’m guessing that’s what they were arguing about in the first place. She then blurted out the name of the mystery boyfriend.’ He glanced at the scribbled note he’d made. ‘A man by the name of Charles Milburn, known locally as Charlie.’
Milburn? Mention of the name set alarms bells ringing in Daniels’ head. Gormley had homed in on it too. They glanced at one another, hoping that Brown had stumbled on a break in the case.
‘Is he local?’ Daniels asked.
‘Very . . .’ Brown scanned his notes. ‘Unemployed welder, forty-five, married with one son, lives less than two streets from the crime scene. Bit of a hard man, by all accounts. He’s been pulled in a time or two.’
‘How old is the son?’ Gormley queried.
Brown’s enthusiasm wavered. ‘Didn’t ask. Sorry.’
‘You got a name though?’ Daniels pushed. ‘For the son, I mean.’
The tension and urgency in her voice made Brown and the rest of the Murder Investigation Team sit up and take notice. No one in the room – bar Gormley – had a clue why the son might be of interest to her. Brown shook his head, tripping over himself to apologize again. He glanced frantically at Carmichael and gave her an address. Her fingers were already on the keyboard. The room fell silent as she accessed the council’s electoral role. Milburn was a common name up north. Daniels had relatives so called. But she had a feeling that this particular Milburn might be highly significant. From the start, an old man’s sudden death in the same street as her crime scene had played on her mind. If her instincts were right, then Maggie Reid was seeing the old man’s son – Elliot Milburn’s father, Charlie.
A few seconds later, Carmichael confirmed it.
Daniels was silent for a moment, considering this new information. Then she swung into action, outlining what she knew about the Milburn family so far. She left nothing out, including the bad feeling between George and Charlie and, of course, the money Elliot had reported missing.
‘If George Milburn had knowledge of the affair with Maggie, it gives him motive, maybe not for murder but for arson, certainly. It also explains his estrangement from his son. He lived next door. Plenty of time to nip out in the dead of night and set fire to the property. Maybe he knew Maggie was going out for the evening with Charlie and thought he’d cause them some aggro. I’m speculating here, but he might even have known the child was due to stay with his father.’ Daniels glanced again at Gormley. ‘Hank had a theory that the old man might somehow have been involved. Initially, I thought it a bit far-fetched, but it looks like he may very well be right.’
‘No one likes a smart arse,’ someone said.
A ripple of laughter went round the room.
‘If the old man stopped speaking to his son because of the alleged affair, maybe he did something about it and threw a wobbler when he realized his mistake had caused the death of a child,’ Carmichael offered.
‘That’s a real possibility,’ Daniels said. ‘Unfortunately, dead or alive, we still need to prove the case.’ She pa
used, before reminding them how difficult it was to do this without a live suspect to bring in for questioning. ‘What I’d like to know is, why has Charles Milburn not come forward? I want him in here first thing tomorrow morning.’
49
Excusing those not involved in the second incident up for discussion, Daniels thanked everyone and broke off the meeting to allow the rest a ten-minute break in which to stretch their legs, grab a coffee, or have a quick fag. The fire escape was the last remaining hiding place for the nicotine addicts among them since the smoking ban was imposed a few years back. Naylor and a couple of civilian indexers nipped out for a hit, the smell of cigarettes following them in as they returned to the MIR.
With the arson filed away, for the time being, their thoughts were entirely on the A1 case as they got back down to business. With fewer bodies in the room, the temperature had dropped to an acceptable level and there was enough space for everyone to sit comfortably. Robson, who had interviewed Ivy Kerr’s only daughter, was first up. He looked positively upbeat as he began précising what he now knew and the rest of the team didn’t.
‘Annaliese Ridley is a sixty-eight-year-old retired head teacher. Really nice woman. Totally shattered by her parents’ deaths and still in shock, as anyone would be. She lives with her husband in Whickham . . .’
Robson’s voice became lost, drowned out by thoughts running through Daniels’ head. Her heart went out to the poor woman he was describing. Losing one parent was bad. Losing two at the same time must be devastating. Although she’d never met Annaliese Ridley, she felt empathy with the woman. Daniels had lost two parents also, even though her father was still alive. They had had very little contact with each other in the past few years. She was a mug to think she could involve him in her life, and knew that he’d consider it a weakness to reach out to her now. Result? Their relationship was deadlocked: both waiting for the other to make the next move.
