by Mari Hannah
‘DI Stone?’
A knife pierced David’s back. For a split second, he didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to hear news from the consultant that might affect the rest of Frankie’s life or lessen her chances of survival. As her direct supervision, he had to accept the outcome of those tests at some point and face her family. He turned to the voice and waited . . .
‘She’s conscious and asking to see you.’
68
Despite a family link to Frankie, Andrea insisted that Stone go in first; Frankie had asked for him and the Traffic officer was keen to give them the opportunity to share vital information about the attempted murder of a police officer. More than anything, she wanted the bastard who’d done this caught.
Stone took a deep breath and opened the door.
Frankie’s eyes were shut. Now she’d been cleaned up, the wounds to her hands and face were angrier than they’d appeared in the darkness of the woods. He could still see that burning vehicle. He could taste and smell petrol fumes – and not only in his imagination – the odour was in the room, probably from her hair, a large patch of which had been shaved off where staples had been applied to a head wound.
He pulled up a chair and sat down.
Frankie opened her eyes. It took a while for her to focus, a second longer for her to realise she was not alone. She was extremely pale, a bluish tinge, her eyes red, irritation caused by smoke. The consultant had warned him that she had a severe headache, both from her injury and from carbon monoxide poisoning, the effects of which should be gone in a day or two. She’d been given medication that would make her drowsy.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Welcome back.’
She didn’t speak.
Unusual.
Her eyes travelled blankly round the room and came to rest on his blood-soaked shirt, a moment of frightening clarity. She knew then that she’d been lucky to survive. She looked tiny in the bed. Like a kid, disoriented, afraid and wanting to go home at the earliest opportunity. Stone was about to ask how she was feeling when the door behind him opened.
He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a member of the medical team coming to check on her. Instead, he found an anxious male he’d never seen before, a combination of fury and fear in his eyes. David was immediately on alert.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he said.
‘I could ask you the same question, son.’
Stone was on his feet. He had a strong suspicion that this could be Frank Oliver II whose eyes had homed in on the state of his daughter, a fact that he confirmed as he stuck out a hand.
It was a firm handshake.
‘Pleased to meet you, sir. I only wish it had been in different circumstances.’
‘Likewise.’
An unsaid thank you passed from Frankie’s father to Stone, as if he was singlehandedly responsible for rescuing Frankie from the jaws of death. On closer inspection, there was no disputing the man’s identity – it was like seeing double. Before David had a chance to introduce himself properly and tell him that it was Andrea he should be thanking, the door opened again and the Traffic officer pushed past the two of them, followed by four others: one elderly male, three females – Frankie’s grandfather, grandmother, mum, and sister, Rae. Behind them, a redundant sign on the wall read: STRICTLY TWO VISITORS PER PATIENT.
Stone was overwhelmed. He’d never received so many hugs and thanks from perfect strangers or seen so many rule-breakers huddled around one hospital bed. There was not a dry eye in the room. Tears of joy lifted his spirits and left him wondering if this was what a real family was like. Apart from his beloved nan and brother, he’d not had one since he was six years old – how would he know?
Frankie had eyes only for Stone.
She blushed, sending a silent message: Get me the hell out of here.
He shot her a smiley wink and withdrew. This was a private gathering and he had no place being there. He’d step out to allow her nearest and dearest some time to catch up with her, with the intention of hanging around outside. There were questions he needed to put to her. If he was to catch the bastard who’d left her to die in that car, they couldn’t wait.
If he didn’t ask, her father sure as hell would.
David’s phone rang as he reached for the door handle, the last in what seemed like a never-ending stream of calls he’d fielded in the past two hours from the Chief Constable, the force medical officer and members of the Murder Investigation Team, all wanting the low-down on her condition; even Windy offered to supply anything she needed.
As he slipped from the room, closing the door quietly behind him, David answered his mobile without checking to see who it was.
‘DI Stone.’
‘David, it’s Ben.’
Stone hesitated, his eyes on a busy hospital corridor, overstretched NHS staff going about their business, paying him no heed, every one of them involved with crisis intervention, delivering care in a range of cases from minor mishaps to people at death’s door. Some emergency admissions would never leave. He blew out a breath. Fortunately, Frankie wasn’t one of them.
‘David? Are you there?’
‘Not now, son. I really am busy.’
‘Yes, now! Don’t hang up. Frankie said she’d be home around eight. She didn’t show. I called her mobile. She’s not answering. Should I be concerned?’
‘Home?’ Confusion reigned.
‘She’s letting me kip in her spare room until I get my shit together,’ Ben said. ‘And before you start mouthing off at me, I didn’t ask, she offered. Don’t be angry with her, please. She made me promise not to tell you, but I’m worried about her.’
Stone glanced back through the door. The figure in the bed met his gaze momentarily, each member of her family leaning over her in turn, kind words and kisses all round, her granddad, Frank Oliver I holding her hand. Stone swallowed the despair he’d experienced since Mitchell lost her on the phone. Frankie was going to be fine. ‘I’m not angry with you, Ben.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘Yes, but she’s OK. I’ll swing by her place later.’
‘I can stay?’
‘You can stay.’
69
Stone let himself into the incident room at dawn on Tuesday morning. DS Dick Abbott had beaten him in. The rest of the team drifted into the office in dribs and drabs, hungry for news of Frankie and keen to start work. They were all in by seven thirty and Stone scheduled a briefing for eight o’clock, requiring every member of the Murder Investigation Team to be there. No excuses. They had been working flat out for days and, despite yesterday’s drama in the woods near Scots Gap, there were no signs of fatigue. The case had suddenly turned personal. No rest days were allowed until detectives found their target.
Who exactly was their target?
As SIO, David was feeling under pressure to get a result. With Frankie gone, this would be doubly difficult. There was no point stressing over it. The rest of his team were primed and ready to work round the clock to apprehend the bastard responsible for the attempt on her life. Taking out one of their own in the lawful course of her duty was as serious as it could get for them. He was about to call for order when Windy entered the incident room unexpectedly.
The DI stood up. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘Not this morning.’ The Superintendent’s expression was smug. ‘I thought you’d like to know that while you and DS Oliver have been on holiday, working for the murder squad elite, the general CID have collared a team of organised criminals responsible for aggravated burglaries across three counties. Your replacement got a commendation from the Chief.’
Stone had to work hard to keep his face straight.
What Windy meant was the home of one of the Chief Constable’s mates got screwed and he could now dine out on the exceptional job he’d done in ridding the border region of suc
h vermin. David was about to congratulate the self-righteous prick and remind him that Frankie was languishing in hospital for her trouble when his mobile stopped him: Kyra Thakur.
‘Sir. It’s Met Police, I need to take this.’
Windy made a quick retreat, taking his ego with him. Stone watched him go. Kyra had done him a massive favour. If he’d had the chance to respond to Windy’s showboating, he’d never have kept it civil.
He pressed to receive the call. ‘Morning, Kyra.’
‘Mitch told me what happened. How’s Frankie?
‘Concussed, but doing well.’
‘I’ve been calling her.’
‘Her mobile perished in the fire.’
‘Is everything else OK?’ Nothing got past Kyra.
‘Barring disrespectful conduct, yes.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you.’
‘It wasn’t . . . this one had a crown on his shoulder.’
‘And we thought Connor was a dickhead!’
‘Every office has one.’
She giggled.
‘Actually, Kyra, can you call me on Facetime? We’re about to start a briefing. It would be good to get your input.’ Kyra hung up and redialled. Once the call had reconnected, Stone used AirPlay to wirelessly mirror the display on to an Apple TV so she’d be seen by every detective in the incident room and not just those at the front.
David glanced at the screen. ‘All set?’
Kyra nodded.
‘Everybody, this Kyra Thakur, the best DS south of Gateshead. She’s an ex-colleague of mine, so play nice.’
Kyra smiled.
‘How was your trip to the Cotswolds?’ Stone asked.
‘Enlightening,’ Kyra said. ‘That job offer Curtis gave as his alibi was genuine. There was a meeting lasting over three hours. The position he applied for is a big deal, requiring him to conduct a presentation in front of a board of directors. Each one verified his attendance independently and CCTV corroborates what he told you.’
‘Does that rule him out for the time of Kat’s death?’
‘On its own, no. The meeting didn’t start until two fifteen, enough time for him to commit murder at noon and still get there. Fortunately for him, we’ve placed him on a train en route to Burford where the meeting took place. It’s your call, but I’d say that eliminates him from the enquiry this end, unless the pathologist has his timings wrong.’
‘Which leaves Parker,’ Mitch mumbled under his breath.
‘Or Hamilton or Alex,’ Dick Abbott warned him. ‘Or any member of the e-voke dating agency. Detecting is a bit like riding a motorcycle, Mitch. Keep looking at the kerb and you’re bound to hit it.’ Dick’s was the voice of reason. As far as Stone was concerned, he was preaching to the converted. Potentially, there were thousands of possible perpetrators out there, though perhaps not all had associations with both victims. There was more work to do.
70
Frankie had still been groggy when David questioned her the previous evening to ascertain whether she could ID her attacker. She couldn’t. Over and above that, he’d refused to discuss work or the ongoing investigation, frustrating the hell out of her. What did he expect her to do, lie in bed and mope?
Frankie wasn’t having that.
He’d sat there for ages, holding her hand, figuratively speaking. When he refused to leave, she feigned sleep, a plan forming in her mind. He was hardly out the door when she pressed her call button, asking one of the nurses to call Ben. Frankie had helped him . . .
The least he could do was reciprocate.
Ben knocked gently on the door and pushed it open. Frankie beckoned him in. He looked shaken to see the extent of her injuries. Cleaned up, he was a handsome lad, around six two with a good physique, considering his recent lifestyle. He’d made a huge effort to look presentable. She wondered if it was all for her benefit or because there was a chance he might bump into David. Either way, he was heading in the right direction.
The lad winced when he saw the staples on her scalp. ‘Do they hurt?’
‘They pinch a bit, but it’s not as bad as it looks. Did you bring my iPad?’
Nodding, he took the device from his man bag and handed it over. Frankie was desperate to discover what was happening at base. She had as much chance of finding out from her boss as winning the lottery. Stone had forbidden the Murder Investigation Team to worry her with work. Her granddad would call him a prat, although maybe not today. After yesterday’s theatricals, he’d more likely hang a medal round David’s neck and invite him for supper: she hoped he liked pie and peas.
Frankie tapped her iPad, eyes on Ben. ‘This is strictly between us, OK? No blabbing to Uncle Dave. He’ll kill me if he finds out I’m within a hundred miles of his case while I’m in here. He can be a pain in the butt sometimes.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘So can you!’ It was her way of telling him to back off. She could criticise Stone. He could not. Her boss had earned her loyalty and he’d get it. She changed the subject. ‘You’re looking after my place?’
Ben was nodding.
‘No parties while I’m gone, you hear me?’
‘One wrong move and you’re out, you said.’
‘Nice of you to remember.’
He searched her face for a moment, a question on his lips. It took him a while to get it out. ‘Why are you doing this for me, Frank? It’s not as if we’re family or even friends. My old man said the police trust no one – it’s in their DNA – and yet you took me in when you know nothing about me—’
‘I know enough.’ Frankie couldn’t tell him what was behind her benevolence. She had her reasons, of course. None she was willing to share. Where kids were concerned, a united front was what was required. Anything less and they tended to fall through the cracks, sometimes for good. She was determined that wouldn’t happen to Ben. ‘Besides, I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for him. And, for the record, your dad was right, but only where prigs are concerned. Trust is essential between friends. Did you talk to your tutor?’
The lad looked sheepish. Clearly, he hadn’t.
She was bitterly disappointed. ‘We had a deal, mister. Three conditions, remember: you stay clean; you study and you don’t give David a hard time. No matter how he comes across, he loves you.’
‘Yeah, well he has a funny way of showing it.’
‘Communication is a two-way street, Ben. You get back what you put in.’ She gave him a pointed look, then a forgiving smile. ‘There endeth the lesson.’
‘I made an appointment,’ he said.
‘Good. Make sure you keep it. If you show willing, so will David. He’s not an ogre.’ She pulled a funny face. ‘Not all the time anyway.’ She wanted to tell him why it was so important to get his life in order, stick in at university and find his feet, but she had no words that wouldn’t leave her blubbing like a toddler who’d lost her teddy.
Frankie was bored, feeling perfectly well rested after a good night’s sleep: redundant, surplus to requirements, left out of the loop. She had to do something to push the enquiry along. With Ben gone, she got out of bed. Discarding her hospital gown, she dressed in the clothes her mother had brought in: skinny jeans, a pale grey shirt, a pair of black-and-white snake print pumps. Making herself comfortable in the chair beside her bed, she woke up her iPad and Facetimed Kyra, hoping Stone’s directive hadn’t travelled south.
‘Hello!’ Kyra looked pleased to speak to her, a busy office going about its business behind her, the sun streaming in through the window on to her shiny black hair. ‘It’s great to see you. I just got off a conference call with your office. How are you?’
‘I’ll be a damned sight better when I get out of here.’
‘How long are they keeping you in?’
‘I’m waiting for someone to tell me to bugger off home. I’m perfectly fin
e, so I thought I’d make myself useful in the meantime.’
‘I’m intrigued. You have something in mind?’
‘A hunch, nothing more.’
‘I like!’ Kyra smiled. ‘Anything you can share?’
‘Not yet, but I hope you can. I’d like to look through the photographs found on Kat Irwin’s phone. Can you whizz them across to my personal email?’ Ignoring Kyra’s suspicious expression, she reeled off the address: ‘[email protected].’
Kyra agreed to AirDrop them.
Seconds later, they arrived.
71
Kyra had checked to see how many e-voke members were linked to both victims and come up with only two, the same two that Stone had been chasing all along. Of that pairing, Curtis had been ruled out. Stone looked out of the window, contemplating. Only two people had direct access to Justine’s car: both had the surname Parker. Every detective in the Murder Investigation Team agreed that Justine and Kat were killed by the same person. The two women were linked by the e-voke website and had suffered a blunt force trauma to the head, though in Justine’s case the killer had incapacitated her and then deliberately moved her into the road to finish the job, an act of unspeakable cruelty. The problem for David was that the Parkers alibied each other for the time of Justine’s death.
Although he’d set his team to gather evidence on Alex, on the balance of probability he had to concede that Tim was the most likely suspect, for several reasons: his relationship with both victims; his current financial difficulties; his wish to keep his affairs from his wife and, the most damning of all, his proximity to both crime scenes. It was time to bring him in to Northern Command HQ. This time, Parker insisted on legal representation, a top London criminal lawyer who’d fly north on the first available British Airways flight from Heathrow. In the meantime, the DI had nothing to do except await his arrival while the entrepreneur languished in a cell.
