by Cari Hunter
Meg answered on the first ring, sounding far more buoyant than she had of late. “Hey, you. Did you make it home safe?”
“I did, and I’m just thawing out. What are you up to?”
“Oh, I’m sat in front of the fire, so I’m toasty warm.” Meg chuckled and then hiccupped. “Also I’ve treated myself to an Irish coffee or two, which has made me a bit tiddly.”
Sanne’s hat slipped over her eyes as she shook her head. “And you call me a lightweight.”
“Balls to it, I’m celebrating,” Meg said, unrepentant. “I’m a free woman, I have my house back, I’m going to work tomorrow, and Luke’s application for bail was rejected.”
“Hey, that’s fabulous!” Sanne shoved her hat up, instantly regretting her enthusiasm. “I mean about the house and Luke, not about Emily. That’s still shit.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, isn’t it?”
“Not especially,” Meg said. “It’s nice to be me again.”
Sanne smiled. “Did I tell you how much I’d missed you?”
“In not so many words, yes.”
They were silent for a minute, the background crackle of Meg’s fire soothing and peaceful. There was so much that Sanne wanted to confide: the three-month warning that might yet cost her her job, everything that had happened with Zoe, the possibility of being made a scapegoat for the failings of the case, her confusion over what Meg might want from her and what she wanted from Meg. Instead, she yawned and kneaded the hot water bottle with her toes.
“You should be in bed if you’re up early tomorrow,” she said.
Meg yawned as well. “I know. I was just waiting for you.”
Sanne stared at the ceiling, her lips forming words in a soundless rehearsal. After counting to ten, she bit the bullet. “Do you want to go out for dinner one night?”
“What, like grabbing a chippy or something?”
“No, not like grabbing a chippy. Like a proper restaurant, with cutlery and cloth napkins and a menu that doesn’t wipe clean.”
“Sanne Jensen, are you asking me out on a date?” The amusement in Meg’s voice was unmistakeable.
“No, no, not really a date.” Sanne’s tongue seemed to be twisted around her teeth as she tried to backtrack. It was too soon, and Meg had only just come out of a relationship, and Sanne should’ve waited for her to make the first move. She struggled to sit up, tangling her legs in her sheets and accidentally launching the hot water bottle halfway across the floor. Then she froze, and she thought: fuck it, time to grow a pair. “Actually, yes, a date. I am asking you out on a date.”
“Well, then, I accept,” Meg answered, without a hint of indecision. “Let me know when you’ve chosen a suitable establishment.”
“Oh. Okay. Okay then, I will.” Sanne rolled her eyes at herself. “For fuck’s sake, Meg, I feel like a geeky teenager.”
Meg cackled. “Aw, you’re doing beautifully. How red is your face?”
“I don’t know, but it’s hot, and my back’s all sweaty.”
“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Sanne kicked her legs free and straightened her quilt. “Sod off. I’m going to sleep now.”
“Will you call me tomorrow and whisper sweet nothings into my ear?”
“No, I won’t. I’m hanging up. Go to bed.”
“Night, love,” Meg said, her voice more serious. “Be careful out there.”
Sanne switched off her lamp. “I always am, and I’ll see you soon. Sleep tight.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The selection of pastries sat largely untouched in the middle of the table. Eleanor had also provided fresh milk and brew supplies, but her generosity had failed to lift the mood among her detectives. Even Fred, whose appetite usually knew no bounds, had merely nibbled at the edge of a croissant before dropping it onto his plate and wiping his fingers. Tabloid and broadsheet newspapers were piled beside the pastries, their headlines ranging from crude to cerebral, but their editorials consistent in questioning the police’s ability to apprehend Acre.
The six a.m. briefing was for EDSOP only, and Sanne looked around at the haggard faces of her colleagues as they cradled mugs of strong coffee. Most of them would depend on caffeine to fuel them through another eighteen-hour day, and none of them would be home early enough to spend any time with their families.
“If there’s a bright side,” Eleanor said, “we’re overdue another body, which may suggest that Acre has decided to quit while she’s ahead.”
“Or that we just haven’t found it yet,” Mike Hallet countered. “Given her choice of vics, she’s probably diced up some poor bugger that no one will miss, just to put a roof over her head.”
Eleanor stirred another sugar into her coffee. “Damn, Mike, always my little ray of sunshine.” She tapped the rim of her mug with her spoon. “Can we have a quick summary of where we’re up to, please?”
When no one else took the initiative, George cleared his throat. “We were in Bradford most of yesterday, and we’re back there again today. We’ve had a few unconfirmed sightings of Acre around the East Royd area, so we’re interviewing the people who phoned them through and going door to door. It’ll probably turn out to be nothing.” He shrugged in apology. “Most of the sightings reported to the hotline came hand-in-hand with a request for a reward. These latest calls could be an organised group of chancers trying their luck.”
“Follow it up anyway,” Eleanor said. “But don’t hang around if they are mucking about. Sanne? Nelson?”
“We have three names from our Dog and Duck interview to chase down,” Sanne said. “They’re ex-friends of Acre, and she does seem like the vindictive type, so it’s worth a shot.”
“Good.” Eleanor moved straight on, continuing around the table until the team had covered what little progress there had been. With the exception of Fred and George, everyone would be staying local, canvassing with uniforms or working on the contacts list from the previous day. There were no new leads beyond the unreliable sightings and a handful of interview possibilities.
Eleanor gathered her paperwork and held it close to her chest. “I’m sure you’ve all met DI Southam. He and DS Rashid are carrying out a full case review, and we are expected to cooperate without question. If they want your files, hand them over. If they want to speak to you, try to sound coherent. And if they want a brew, point them in the direction of the kitchen.”
“Will they be assuming the lead, boss?” Fred asked, his arms folded in defiance.
“Yes, I have no doubt that they will.” Eleanor was obviously trying not to focus on anyone in particular, but her gaze kept returning to Sanne. “DCI Litton has called a press conference for seven a.m. tomorrow. I expect he will hand over the case publicly and take the opportunity to detail the myriad ways in which EDSOP have fucked up.” She raised a hand at the inevitable outcry. “I know, I know, but when is this shit ever fair? Until we are officially told otherwise, we work the case as usual. Any more questions? Okay then, let’s get back out there. Sanne, a word please.”
Sanne nodded, remaining in her seat as the team filed from the room. When Carlyle had pulled the door closed behind him, she walked across to Eleanor. It seemed to take an age to cover the short distance.
“Have you been in touch with your Federation rep?” Eleanor asked.
“No, ma’am.” Speaking to a rep would have meant acknowledging what was about to happen, but Eleanor’s simple question opened up a brutal truth: in less than twenty-four hours Sanne would probably be suspended, pending an investigation. She would lose Nelson, along with her position on EDSOP and any chance of building herself a career.
“Make it a priority, Sanne. Contact him before you do anything else.”
“I will, ma’am.” She tried to match Eleanor’s urgency, but the mere thought of involving a Fed rep was anathema. How could she defend herself when she hadn’t done anything wrong?
Eleanor paused with her hand on the doorframe. “Litton’s clever
with this sort of thing.” She spoke in an undertone, forcing Sanne to step closer. “Chances are he’ll start laying the groundwork today, which might bring you some media attention. If anyone approaches you, give them the number for our press office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t need to tell you to keep your head down and do your job, do I?”
“No, ma’am.” Sanne managed a wan smile and held the door open. “Once more unto the breach, eh?”
*
Sheffield Royal’s A&E was almost exactly as Meg had left it. The cubicles on Majors were all occupied by elderly patients with genuine ailments or by thirty-somethings with bellyache; a variety of early morning slips, trips, and back pains were languishing in Minors; and two of the three patients in Resus would probably die there. On the plus side, Donovan was skiing in Klosters, and the breach manager had yet to put in an appearance.
“I’ll kill every one of you bastards! I know where you fucking live! Just let me out! I want my mum!”
Sitting at the nurses’ station, Meg mouthed along to the tirade, which had been repeated like clockwork every three minutes since the start of her shift. The police officers outside the cubicle had given up trying to placate their fifteen-year-old ward and seemed content to let her tire herself out.
“I bet it feels like you’ve never been away.” Liz set a mug of tea in front of Meg and cupped Meg’s chin to bring her face into the light. “You did a real number on yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Meg braced herself for an inquisition, but Liz seemed disinclined to pry.
“I hope Emily’s been spoiling you rotten.”
“Well, uh—” Meg winced as the tea scalded her tongue.
Liz slapped a hand over her mouth, looking stricken. “Oh fuck,” she mumbled between her fingers. “Oh, fucking fuck.”
Meg laughed and pulled Liz’s hand down. “We split up on Wednesday, and I am shocked, nay, appalled that the grapevine hasn’t got wind of it. What is this hospital coming to?”
Liz grinned in relief. “Well, we’ve all been busy picking up the slack for doctors who decide to go on the sick.”
“One bloody shift! I was rotaed off for the other two.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Liz nudged her. “So, how’s your lovely police officer friend?”
“Sanne is very well, thank you.”
“I always liked her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that.” Meg leafed through a heap of notes until she found the right set. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to help Asif fish a pea from a small child’s nose.”
She departed with as much dignity as she could muster, the sound of Liz’s giggles following her into Minors. Once out of sight, she allowed herself a smile, relishing the buzz of the busy department, something she’d missed after only three days away. Guided by the frantic shrieking, she drew back the curtain on Minors 5 to find a terrified child being held in a headlock by his mum, as Asif—possibly even more terrified—approached the bed with a pair of forceps.
“Dr. Fielding, welcome back.” He beamed and shoved the forceps into her hand. “Left nostril,” he added in a whisper.
“Wonderful.” She smiled at her struggling patient and searched her pocket for the ever-present bag of Haribo. The child stilled as she rustled the sweets, his brand recognition apparent despite his age. “Which do you like best? I think the cola bottles are the nicest.”
“Eggs,” he mumbled. “And bears.”
“Eggs and bears it is.” She offered him the bag, letting him select his own. “Now,” she said as he stuffed a handful into his mouth, “about this pea…”
*
Sanne finished the last of her water, wondering whether it would be impolite to drop an ice cube down her neck. Darcy Wilkes’s living room was best described as “subtropical,” its steamy atmosphere enhanced by the racks of wet washing leaning against the radiators and by the pan on permanent boil in the kitchen. Nelson, usually so disparaging about the cold, had soaked one handkerchief through with sweat and was mopping his brow with a second. Oblivious to their discomfort, Darcy—wearing Capri pants and a top marginally larger than her bra—smacked the leg of her youngest child as he tried to steal the last biscuit, and sent him away screeching in outrage.
“Where was I?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I swear down, it’s like a psychic link between me and our Marcy. I knew the minute she went into labour with her first—that’s Leo—because I had the most terrible belly pain. Our Sid reckoned it was trapped wind, but I said ‘no, call our Marcy,’ and sure enough her waters had just gone.”
“Wow,” Nelson said. “That’s uncanny.”
Sanne murmured in accord. Engrossed by the seconds ticking away on the mantelpiece clock, she had phased out much of Darcy’s monologue. “When did you last hear from Marcy?” she asked.
“She texted me this morning. Leo’s had a bad chest so he’s been off school, and the baby’s wheezy too. I’ll give her a ring later and see how they are.”
“Okay then.” Sanne clapped both hands on her knees and stood up. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to us.”
“My pleasure.” Darcy got hold of Nelson’s coat sleeve. “Do you think I’m in danger, Detective?”
“No, it’s very unlikely,” Nelson said, easing from her grip. “Just keep your doors locked and phone nine nine nine if you have any concerns.”
Nodding, she noted his advice in the margin of her television guide. “Say hello to our Marcy, will you? I’d nip round, but I don’t want to break my neck on the ice.”
“Not a problem.”
Sanne stepped out of the front door into clear, cold sunshine. Clouds were skimming across the blue sky, propelled by a brisk easterly wind. It was a perfect January day, and she would have given almost anything to be up on top of Kinder Scout, knee-deep in snow and nowhere near the slush-covered pavements of Malory Park.
Nelson donned his shades. “Shall we ditch the car and walk round to Marcy’s? It’s not far, and we have plenty of time before your Fed rep’s due in.”
“Sounds good to me.” She pulled out her own sunglasses, turning the world rose-tinted as she put them on. “I suppose one bright side of being suspended would be having more chance to exercise.”
“You won’t get suspended, San,” he said, in a decisive tone belied by his troubled expression. “It won’t come to that.”
“I hope not.”
She didn’t tell him about the missed calls piling up on her mobile, calls from unknown numbers that implied Litton’s groundwork was indeed falling into place. They walked on without speaking, Sanne effortlessly navigating an estate that seemed as familiar to her now as Halshaw. The weather hadn’t tempted many residents from their houses; the only people they passed were a postman and a pair of uniformed officers. Sanne slipped her radio earpiece into place, listening to the chatter on the channel, but the exchanges were dominated by routine address confirmations and background checks, and she pulled the earpiece free again as they turned onto Pellinore Walk.
“Déjà vu,” Nelson said.
“Aye.”
Even if Sanne hadn’t remembered which of the flats was 26B, one of Andrew Culver’s neighbours had given the game away by decorating his wheelie bin with leftover crime scene tape. Marcy’s address was at the bottom of the walk, where tiny terraced houses replaced the flats and where someone was playing R&B at an ear-shattering volume.
“Number three, white door.” Sanne glanced at her phone as it began to ring again, but slipped it back into her pocket unanswered when she saw the “anonymous” tag.
“Everything all right?” Nelson asked.
“Yep.” She knocked hard on the door. “God, I hope our Marcy’s the quieter of the two.”
“Stands to reason, growing up with Darcy.” Nelson checked his watch. “We should try to keep this short and then set off back to HQ.”
Sanne pressed the bell, holding it
down longer than was necessary. “Assuming she opens the door.” When a figure appeared in the hallway, Sanne eased off on the bell and then watched with mounting impatience as a key was fumbled and dropped. “For fuck’s sake, it’s not like this is a surprise visit.”
Nelson touched her arm. “How about I lead this one?”
She nodded, already ashamed by her outburst. If she had tried to speak, she would probably have sobbed. Nelson, displaying composure enough for the two of them, greeted Marcy with a warm smile and held out his ID.
“Do you want to come in?” Marcy asked, although she didn’t move to allow them through. Shielding her eyes from the sunshine, she blinked myopically as if she had forgotten what daylight looked like. Her outfit was far more conservative than that of her identical twin, but her mismatched socks and the shrivelled specks of food on her sweater suggested that her two sick children were proving hard work.
“We can’t really do this on the doorstep,” Nelson said. “We won’t take up much of your time.”
“Okay. Sorry.” She stepped back, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Everything’s a bit of a mess. Leo’s off school with his asthma, and the baby’s caught something as well.”
Nelson wiped his feet on the mat, even though the carpet was grey with dust. “We know, Darcy mentioned that. Like I said on the phone, Miss Wilkes, it’s just some routine questions.”
“Marcy.” She managed a tight smile. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Sanne also shook her head, taking the chair closest to the door to allow Nelson to sit opposite Marcy. He thumbed to an empty page of his notebook.
“Okay, I’ll try to keep this brief,” he said. “Can you tell me when you last heard from, or saw, Natalie Acre?”
Marcy’s gaze flitted to the ceiling as she struggled to remember. She had the bleary detached bewilderment that Sanne recognised from years of nightshifts.
