Without a Trace

by Mari Hannah

  It didn’t surprise her. They had known each other forever. Her voice sounded wobbly, even in her own head. The man on the other end had been her mentor since she was nineteen years old. He was the detective who’d moulded her; the man to whom she owed everything. In one way or another, every commendation and successful resolution of a case she could trace back to him.

  She found her voice. ‘You’ve seen the news?’

  ‘Yeah, dreadful.’

  ‘Guv, Jo was booked on that flight.’ It was hard to say her name.

  It wasn’t often that Bright was speechless. It took a while for him to respond. ‘I don’t understand … I thought you two were off to Crail.’ He was referring to the tiny fishing village Jo loved so much in the East Neuk of Fife in Scotland, their cancelled holiday destination. He may as well have pointed an accusing finger.

  ‘We broke up. Her decision, not mine.’

  ‘Because of Atkins? Oh, the irony …’ Kate had recently been outed to her team by her nemesis and former boss, DCI James Atkins. Bright had jumped to the wrong conclusion. ‘That snake will get what’s coming to him—’

  Kate cleared her throat. ‘He had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘What can I say? I was a rubbish partner.’

  ‘You weren’t.’

  ‘Jo wasn’t prepared to play second fiddle to the job, Phil. She couldn’t hack it and I don’t blame her. She ended it, cancelled our plans and booked a trip to New York.’ Kate felt compelled to explain that their relationship boiled down to moments like these, that her decision to keep the union a secret for fear that she wouldn’t reach her full potential if it became common knowledge; because of someone else’s homophobia; a callout from Control taking precedence over their plans. ‘If only I’d listened—’

  ‘That’s the nature of the job, Kate. This is no time for recriminations. Neither is it your fault—’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Her tone was bitter. ‘Jo was sick of lame excuses that didn’t stack up. She deserved more. She thought, hoped, that I’d put her at the top of my agenda just the once. Our work asks too much sometimes. I may never have failed you, but I certainly failed her.’

  Kate locked eyes with Hank.

  He thought so too.

  He looked away through a curtain of rain. When he’d found out about the split, he was gutted. He’d played peacemaker for a while, hoping that the situation would resolve itself, as it had done many times before. Aware of Jo’s decision to take off without her, Kate knew different. Hank was angry, believing that she should have made more of an effort to rescue her failing partnership. That was her time. That was her moment. And now that moment had passed.

  4

  It took a split second for the terrible truth to dawn, a moment more for Bright to offer condolences Kate didn’t want to hear. Even before Atkins’s spiteful intervention, motivated by jealousy, an attempt to disgrace her, Bright had known that Kate and Jo were an item, still very much in love. Discretion personified, he’d kept it to himself, believing that who Kate slept with was her business and no one else’s. His feelings for his favourite DCI were deep and unconditional.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘I’ll come over.’

  ‘No, guv, I’m in London … at the Casualty Bureau.’ Kate held her breath, bracing herself for a verbal backlash. ‘I want an in and you’re how I get it.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’ There was no hesitation. ‘Get your arse home now. That’s an order—’

  ‘I’m on leave—’

  ‘And off duty,’ he reminded her. ‘Step away, Kate. There’s nothing you can do. You know that as well as I do. Stand down and let them do their jobs—’

  ‘I’ve offered my assistance.’

  ‘On whose authority?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I’m begging you, Phil.’

  ‘Seriously? Incidents like this run and run—’

  ‘I’m aware, but I’m not the only SIO on the force. The North-East won’t descend into anarchy if I’m not around. I was once arrogant enough to think that it would and look where it got me. I need your support.’

  ‘And you’ll have it as soon as you get here.’

  ‘No! I do this or I resign.’

  ‘Start typing.’ The dialling tone hit her ear.

  ‘Damn him!’

  Hank was on the verge of saying something. A call to her mobile cut him off. Taking the device from her pocket, she prayed that her guv’nor had reconsidered. She should’ve known better. Bright didn’t respond to threats. It wasn’t Jo either – much as Kate hoped it might be. She’d called her several times and received no response.

  The display screen showed the name Fiona Fielding.

  Kate didn’t take the call.

  Hank eyed her phone. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Fiona.’ She didn’t add, the woman who shared my bed two days ago, believing that my relationship with Jo had finally run its course. How ridiculous that now sounded. Nor did she need to explain who Fiona was. The three had met during a previous investigation. An artist of international standing, Fiona had been a witness in the case of a missing girl whose portrait she’d painted years before. The two women had remained friends.

  ‘If you’re about to launch headlong into a fishing expedition, as I suspect you are, maybe you should talk to her,’ Hank said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She was one of the last people to see Jo before she left Newcastle, Heathrow-bound, the very person who told you she was flying to JFK and delivered the news to me that the plane had fallen off the radar.’

  Hank was right – Fiona might have insight to share.

  The sequence of events that led up to Jo’s departure was highly significant. It was vital to gauge her mood, any conversations she may have had, any lingering doubts over her travel plans. Casualty Bureau personnel wouldn’t be investigating that. Their sole focus would be the passenger manifest, collating information of persons missing presumed dead, recording the details of loved ones. The aircraft went down on the other side of the Atlantic. Homeland Security – a cabinet department of the US federal government – would deal with everything else, aided by air accident investigators, British and American, all desperate to establish cause: pilot error, devastating mechanical failure or technical fault, explosion on board or another mindless act of terrorism. Kate would help in whatever way she could, though how she would go about it when US agents were in the driving seat was less clear.

  ‘Maybe I should call Fiona,’ Kate said. ‘Wait in the car.’

  She watched him walk away, head down. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Fiona. He believed, wrongly, that she was complicating Kate’s fucked-up relationship with Jo. Before Kate made the call, she took a moment, remembering a conversation she’d had with the artist. The day before yesterday, Fiona had turned up at Kate’s house uninvited. She wasn’t in, but Jo was standing outside when Fiona arrived. Jo had told her that she’d come to return her door key, asking her to pass it on to Kate. Revealing her travel plans to Fiona was proof, if it were needed, that her relationship with Kate was over. The coast was clear. Over and out.

  Fiona wasn’t buying it.

  Her voice arrived in Kate’s head. ‘There’s time to catch her if you hurry.’

  Kate hadn’t hurried. Reeling from their last meeting, she’d done nothing to dissuade Jo from running away to America. She’d let her go, convinced that in a few days she’d reconsider, that they would kiss and make up, an arrogant assumption she bitterly regretted now. She’d seen the end coming and taken no action whatsoever. She’d simply buried herself in work as a diversion from their split. Then, with her investigation almost wrapped up, an admission of guilt in the bag, she’d had the audacity to send Jo a text to try to put things right …

  The case won’t be long. We’re not far away. There’s time. We still have the booking and you’re off for ages. I’ll be able to disappear for a week before I sign off on the murder fi
le.

  Jo’s answer was short and to the point:

  Enjoy Crail – I’ve made alternative arrangements.

  Please reconsider.

  I’ve made my decision.

  I love you.

  Jo didn’t respond and Kate knew why. Her text had fallen short of an apology for letting her down. It was grossly unfair and condescending. The great detective was free now. Fall in step while you have the chance. Was it any wonder she got no reply? Kate had known then that she’d blown it.

  5

  Aware of Hank’s interest, Kate tapped in a number on her mobile phone and turned her back on him. Fiona answered on the first ring, as if she’d been sitting by the phone waiting patiently for the call.

  The artist was rattled. ‘Oh, thank God! Kate, are you OK? I’m so sorry. The minute I saw the news, I knew. I don’t know what to say. I’ve been calling you. If there is anything I can do, ask.’

  Kate had no words.

  She liked Fiona. She was an amazing woman, a strong woman and great conversationalist, a free spirit in every sense of the word. She believed that marriage was an unnecessary institution, that monogamy was too lofty an ambition for most people. Consequently, she had neither the need nor inclination to tie herself to one person. Maybe that was the attraction. A relationship with her was never going to get heavy … but she wasn’t Jo.

  She’d never be Jo.

  Kate missed the first half of her apology …

  ‘I couldn’t bear to be the one to tell you, so I rang Hank.’ Fiona’s anxiety was almost palpable. ‘I had to be sure you had company when you heard the news. I called on you in the early hours but the house was in darkness. Are you there? I won’t come over if you need to be alone. I would too in your position, but I want you to know that you don’t have to cope with this alone. I’m here if you need to talk.’

  Kate tried to speak but no sound came out.

  Fiona filled the silence. ‘Kate? Are you still there?’

  Kate cleared her throat. ‘Yes, and I need you to be honest with me—’

  ‘When have I ever been anything else?’ Fiona back-pedalled, begging Kate to forget what she’d said. Solidarity was called for, not taking a pop at one another or picking up on insults that weren’t really there. She apologised again. ‘I have no idea why I said that. I’m such an insensitive cow sometimes.’

  Fiona was a lot of things: relentless flirt, laugh-a-minute escort, but never insensitive. Telling her that, Kate moved on. ‘Listen, no matter how brutal it might sound, how hurt you think I’ll be by it, you need to be straight with me now. Did Jo give you any indication whatsoever that she might change her mind about her trip to New York?’

  ‘No, quite the opposite – but then that’s not surprising, is it?’

  Kate knew what she meant. The minute Jo caught sight of Fiona getting out of a taxi, she’d have jumped to the conclusion that the artist was there by invitation. The thought that a misconception like that may have sealed her fate was sickening. Panic squeezed the breath from Kate’s lungs. What did Fiona know? In the face of competition, Jo wouldn’t want to convey the impression that she was in two minds.

  ‘When you got out of that taxi, you said that Jo was about to push her key through my door.’

  ‘She was. Well, I assumed she was.’

  ‘Assumed?’ Suppositions were not what Kate was after. ‘Jo had a key to my place for a reason, Fiona. Is it possible she was about to let herself in? She often did if we’d fallen out. I’d come home and find her cooking dinner—’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I chased her away?’

  ‘No …’ Kate stepped aside to allow more staff to enter the Casualty Bureau. ‘Just hoping that she had an ulterior motive for being there, that perhaps she wanted to talk things through.’

  ‘Kate, don’t do this to yourself—’

  ‘Is that a euphemism for clutching at straws?’

  ‘You said that, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, well right now, straws are all I have and mine are of the short variety. What else do I have to cling onto? Never, ever think that I’m blaming you. There’s only one person at fault here and we both know who that is. Did Jo say how long she’d be away?’

  ‘No. Why is that important?’

  Kate was asking herself the same question. Except, deep down, she knew the answer … A fortnight, a week, a day, an hour, was too long a time to be away from someone you loved. If Jo was in two minds about ending their relationship, she’d have planned a short trip, a few days to calm down and reconsider. A longer journey meant that she’d finally made the break, and Kate couldn’t accept that.

  The enclosed yard was filling up, detectives abandoning cars in every available space, keen to get inside and start work. From the car, Hank used his hands as winders, urging her to get a move on before they were blocked in.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said finally. ‘It’s probably academic. Thanks for the help. I’m hanging up now. I’ve stuff to do—’

  ‘Kate, call me. Day or night. I mean it. I’m here if you need to talk.’

  Kate’s voice was small, like a desperate child who’d lost her favourite toy. ‘I have to find her.’

  ‘I know … I know.’

  Kate hung up, tears pricking her eyes. She blinked them away, for fear that she would crumble if she allowed herself to feel, unable to cope with sympathy – Fiona’s, Hank’s or anyone else’s. She would rise above her emotions, find her detective persona and then find Jo, dead or alive.

  6

  As Kate walked towards the car, an image of the Lockerbie bombing forced its way into her thoughts. The twenty-first of December 1988. Two hundred and forty-three passengers, sixteen crew and eleven victims on the ground wiped out in the worst terrorist incident on British soil. Kate had talked to officers who’d been in the Northumbria control room at the time. They were inundated with distressing calls from people who’d found pieces of the fuselage, seats, luggage and other wreckage of Pan Am Flight 103 strewn over two thousand square kilometres, some not far from her family home.

  Given that Flight 0113 had pitched into the sea, there would be less recoverable wreckage. From the moment it left the radar, US emergency response teams had swung into action: police, search and rescue teams, crash scene investigators, comms units, press and public relations. In the UK, HOLMES was eating data, constantly being fed by a dedicated team of professionals who’d work round the clock until they were stood down.

  Kate reached the car, unsure where to go next or what her intentions were. The car park was jammed with emergency vehicles. It was debatable if she’d ever get out, a miracle that the gate officer had let them in in the first place. He almost didn’t, until she showed her warrant card and told him to get the hell out of her way. Ignoring his questioning look, Kate climbed in, wondering if they’d be that lucky second time around.

  One thing was certain …

  She’d be back …

  Hank too.

  A moment of deep sorrow passed between them. They had been colleagues for years, dealing with every kind of human misery, but nothing compared to this. Whatever was coming, they would deal with it together, as they always had, following the evidence. First they had to find it.

  ‘What exactly did Bright say?’ Hank asked.

  ‘He said no.’ Kate pushed wet hair out of her eyes, the better to see him. Pulling her seat belt across her chest, fastening herself in, she had only one question on her mind: was Jo on that aircraft? Turning the engine over, she apologised for dragging him into what would develop into a shitstorm. ‘You want out, Hank?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘You don’t have to do this. I’m not asking you to put your job on the line for me.’

  His eyes flew to the gear lever, her left hand clamped around it in a vice-like grip, so tight her knuckles were white. Gently, he placed his hand over hers and gave it a supportive squeeze.

  She turned her head away, unable to look at him.

 
; Selecting first gear, she pulled out into heavy traffic, heading for Heathrow Terminal 5. They didn’t speak again – at least not to each other. Kate managed to stem the silence with a spur-of-the-moment call to the hospital to check on the condition of her father.

  On the coronary care ward, the duty sister came on the line. Her tone was at best unsympathetic, at worst indifferent. She made it perfectly clear that Ed Daniels wasn’t out of the woods and deserved a visit. The fact that Kate had other priorities – an emergency of her own to deal with – went over the nurse’s head. Miss Judgemental would brook no excuses.

  One final shove from her. ‘He’s been asking for you.’

  ‘He knows I’m away,’ Kate said.

  ‘That’s not my impression.’

  Semi-conscious, he hadn’t remembered. ‘Please tell him I called.’

  Kate hung up.

  Her father was recovering in one of the finest heart units in the country surrounded by medics trained to keep him alive. At Hank’s insistence, she’d spoken to him briefly before she left the hospital, fudging an explanation as to why she was going away. An injection of realism was not an option for intensive care patients.

  If he’d looked into her eyes, she’d never have been able to cover her grief. It suited her that he’d been out of it. She’d been hiding from him for years. When she’d finally had the courage to be honest about who she really was, he’d thrown it in her face, her relationship with Jo another stick to beat her with. Kate would never live up to his idea of what a good daughter should be – and then there was her choice of career.

  His disapproval wasn’t new.

  Even in his precarious medical state, the selfish git was hardly able to form a sentence and yet he’d managed to summon up the energy to put her in her place. Unbelievable. When Kate told him about her relationship with Jo, he’d shown no interest, just pushed her away. So that was it. When her mother passed away, so did Kate’s support. She’d been left alone, struggling with her identity.

  Her father had no right to pry into her life.

  Not now.