by Mari Hannah
Or ever.
He’d been against their relationship from the get-go, his condemnation overt and unwarranted. He refused to listen or even talk about it. Prior to his operation, Ed had shifted his view of Jo slightly, for his own ends. While Kate was tying up her murder investigation, Jo had covered for her, visiting her old man daily, going that extra mile to make her life easier. A captive audience on a hospital ward, her father had no choice but to suck it up and get on with it. His hand relaxed as he slipped away to the comfort of sleep. Kate had taken one last look at him, wondering if this would be their final conversation.
7
‘Now turn left,’ the satnav advised.
Sensitive to her plummeting mood, a mixture of anger, regret and deep sadness, Hank swivelled in his seat to face her. ‘Stop the car and let me drive.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not. You must be exhausted.’
‘I said I’m fine.’ She wasn’t.
He took a bottle of water from the door’s side pocket, unscrewed the top and handed it to her. She took a sip and passed it back, balking as the unthinkable manifested itself firmly in her head, a mortuary the size of an aircraft hangar, full of bodies, or bits of them. On one side of the structure, a red door stood slightly ajar. In her mind’s eye, Kate pushed it open, peered inside and came face-to-face with a mountain of personal belongings: passports, wallets, clothing and toys being sifted and labelled by forensic teams. This was her very own disaster movie.
As they arrived inside Heathrow Terminal 5, Hank received a call. He slowed, lifted the phone to his ear and took a few strides out of Kate’s hearing. She imagined he was explaining to his wife why he might not be home for several days or even weeks. He’d not spoken to Julie when he’d gone home briefly in the small hours to pack. She was asleep and he didn’t wake her. He’d left a message. Julie was used to playing second fiddle to Kate.
Hank hung up, bad news by the looks of it.
Kate’s stomach somersaulted.
‘What now?’ The question was a toss-up between a beg and a bark.
‘That was Lisa.’ He was referring to DC Lisa Carmichael, a young detective in Northumbria’s Murder Investigation Team. His uncharacteristic hesitation didn’t bode well.
‘Today would be good,’ Kate said, impatiently.
‘I had her check Jo’s phone with her service provider.’
Kate could see from his expression that the outcome was not what she was hoping for. She braced herself, imagination in overdrive. A million thoughts rushed through her head: those agonising calls received by friends and relatives during the atrocity of 9/11; people on the ground hearing details of an emerging drama in real time through terrified voices; stabbings, mace attacks, all eyes on the cockpit. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jo dead; the thought of her alive and suffering, trying to call her kids, was even harder to take.
‘And?’ It came out like a whisper.
‘It was switched off here and hasn’t been turned on since.’
Kate steadied herself. ‘That’s perfectly understandable—’
‘Only if she boarded that plane.’
‘Not necessarily.’
Hank looked at her, searching for an explanation he couldn’t find. In his opinion, there was no other way to call it.
Kate disagreed.
On the face of it, Jo was dead, but without hard evidence Kate refused to accept it. Her name might appear on the passenger manifest, but it would take the recovery of her personal belongings, sight of that tiny tattoo on her left thigh or the penny-sized mole beneath her right breast to convince her.
‘Kate?’
‘Shut up. I’m thinking.’
He backed off, hands in the air like he was facing a pistol, frustrated by her failure to see sense. There was a valid explanation for Jo’s lack of communication that didn’t involve her being on that plane.
A slim chance was still a chance.
Hank might think that Kate was mad but he was wrong. She glared at him defiantly, feeling the need to explain her thinking. ‘Jo wasn’t talking to me, was she? And it’s not unusual for her to switch off totally. Remember when she went to Thailand? There was a reason I didn’t go with her. She’d booked into a Buddhist retreat, seeking solitude—’
‘She never said.’
‘On my advice. Can you imagine the reaction from a group of hairy-arsed coppers if she had? They’d have laughed her out of the station. She’d never have lived it down. My point is, no one understands the psychological impact of stress more than she does, nor how to treat it. I’ve known her to go for days without consulting her phone on holiday. She calls it “disengaging”, the only way to have a proper break. She’s always banging on about it, asking me to do the same. When she was with me, she wouldn’t even take her mobile. Tom told me that she’d be away a while and that he didn’t expect to hear from her.’
‘Kate, you can’t read too much into—’
‘I’m not! Maybe she was relieved of her phone. It happens.’
‘I know you want to believe that, but—’
‘But what?’ Her eyes were dark. ‘I’m overreacting? Off my rocker? Is that what you think?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You didn’t have to. It’s all over your clock. I’m on top of this, so back off.’
He stared: let’s not do this.
Unable to let it go, Kate swept her hand out. ‘Use your bloody eyes. A flight takes off here every forty-five seconds. Seventy million passengers pass through the airport every year. Six thousand-plus CCTV cameras and still this place is pickpocket heaven. Do you know how many people lose their mobiles here every day?’
‘No.’
‘Neither do I, but the ones they find are auctioned off. That should give you the scale of the problem. Those that are stolen must run to thousands. Do the maths.’
His objections brushed aside, Hank wound his neck in, knowing there was no point arguing when she was like this – and that suited her. Kate took out her phone, swiped right and tapped on an image of Lisa.
Moments later the phone was answered. ‘DC Carmichael.’
‘Hank tells me Jo’s phone was switched off at Heathrow and hasn’t been used since.’
‘That’s right. Guv, I’m so—’
‘Get on to EE,’ Kate said. ‘Quick as you can. Tell them to keep checking. I want an update every hour.’ That way, she knew Carmichael would stay in touch. ‘And while you’re at it, get in touch with Santander. I want to know if her bank account has been, is being used.’
‘Consider it done. Is there anything else I can do for you, guv?’
‘No … Actually, yes. Swing by Jo’s house for me. If she was heading for the airport, she probably jumped on the Metro, but I’d like to know if her car is still parked outside. Failing that, have someone check the airport car park. If you find her vehicle there, have a word with the booking office to see if she prepaid and, if so, for how long.’
‘I’m on it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Guv?’
‘I know, Lisa.’ Kate hung up, cutting off her sympathy.
Pulling at the collar of her shirt, feeling nauseous and dehydrated in the dry atmosphere of the terminal building, Kate turned on her heels, striding off in the direction of airport security, keen to talk to anyone who’d listen. She wanted irrefutable documented evidence that Jo had boarded that plane. She wouldn’t stop until she got it.
Security staff were naturally cautious when she showed ID from a police service that was not the Met, insisting that she was a representative of the Casualty Bureau even though she wasn’t.
One phone call to verify her ID and she was sunk.
The young security officer stared at her for what seemed like an age. He had longer hair than was appropriate for a man in uniform. His goofy teeth and gold-rimmed specs gave him the appearance of a geeky student, not someone whose job it was to deal with safety issues, or cope in an emergency within
the boundary of Terminal 5.
‘Do you guys never talk to each other?’ he said. ‘The information you’re asking for has already been sent electronically to you and the US Federal Aviation Authority.’
‘I know,’ Kate bluffed. She was ready to punch his lights out. ‘What I’m after is physical evidence to back it up, so stop buggering about and get it for me. This is a major incident involving foreign nationals. We have the FBI, Homeland Security and Uncle Tom Cobley breathing down our necks, so boarding cards will do for starters.’ She held a hand in the air, cutting off his objections. ‘And before you tell me that they’re mostly digital, we want the audit trail of those, too.’
8
Crushed by the news that Jo had passed through airport security, Kate felt her world tilt, a door of hope slamming shut. Jo was through the last checkpoint, on her way to the hydraulic airbridge connecting the terminal to the plane. Kate imagined her waiting patiently as a queue built up, chatting to fellow passengers, unaware of the drama ahead.
Fighting hard to keep her composure, Kate stared at the woman who’d delivered the confirmation. ‘Was her boarding pass scanned?’
‘I believe so, at departure gate B34 at 16.04.’ The woman glanced at the iPad in her hand. ‘According to the passenger list, she was one of the last to board.’ She looked at Kate as if she were a toddler who’d lost her mummy and needed careful handling.
She did.
Breathe.
Concentrate.
Kate loosened the neck of her shirt, feeling as she always did in airports, frustrated, overheated, anxious, keen to get her journey over and done with. In the aftermath of the plane crash, with no explanation on cause – whether terrorist-related or due to engine malfunction – travellers were agitated, suspicious of anyone they didn’t like the look of. Understandable when the place, inside and out, was crawling with armed police toting semi-automatics and extra security patrols. Officers deployed to reassure the public sometimes had the opposite effect, particularly for those for whom flying was a necessity and not a pleasure. Security staff were carrying out more checks than usual, using dogs to sniff out explosives. The press were badgering people about how confident they felt flying in the light of what had happened yesterday, making matters worse.
Kate wondered how many travellers had abandoned their plans today.
The voice of the woman she’d been talking to interrupted her thoughts.
‘I can check to see if she actually embarked if you’d like me to, Inspector.’
Kate turned to face her. ‘That would be helpful.’ A thought occurred. ‘You said Ms Soulsby’s boarding pass was scanned at 16.04.’
A nod.
‘Wasn’t the flight due to take off at four?’
‘There was a bit of a hold-up.’
Kate’s heart leapt. ‘Hold-up?’
‘Around twenty, twenty-five minutes, I think.’ A slight shrug of the shoulders. ‘We were rushed off our feet. You might think flight crew work hard. Well it’s not all beer and skittles for ground crew either. That could explain why the lady you’re asking about didn’t go through until later than expected. We don’t call passengers until we’re given the go-ahead to board. I’m not sure what was going on—’
‘Then hazard a guess,’ Kate said abruptly.
The woman’s eyes flitted between the detectives, finally landing on Kate. ‘It could have been any number of things. There were two no-shows. If they had checked luggage, it would have been removed.’
‘Tell us something we don’t know.’
Hank intervened before war broke out. ‘We’ll need specifics, Miss …?’
‘Reynolds … Daisy.’ She smiled. ‘It’s possible that someone presented as too drunk to board, became ill, or there was an administrative error on the passenger manifest. It doesn’t happen often but no system is perfect.’
‘Look, Daisy, we’re not here to play guessing games,’ Kate said. ‘We need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.’
‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to talk to Adriana Esposito.’
‘Who is?’
‘The person in charge of ground crew. I’ve not seen her today. Our rosters cross over, so it may be that she’s not in. You want me to call someone?’
‘No, but thanks for the offer. DS Gormley will track her down.’
Hank made a note of the name.
‘Pick-up central,’ Kate said under her breath.
‘Excuse me?’ Reynolds looked oddly at Hank.
He shrugged: no idea.
Kate was someplace else, too busy to explain, wrapped up in a memory she was desperately trying to unravel. Something surfaced but didn’t click immediately into place. It continued to slosh around inside her head, refusing to be still, like a revolving roulette ball keeping a hopeful casino punter waiting.
She glanced at Hank. ‘Jo’s words, not mine.’
And still he was clueless.
Her eyes sent him an unspoken message: get rid of Reynolds.
Hank threw Reynolds an awkward smile ‘Thanks, Daisy. You’ve been very helpful. Could you give me your contact number so we can get back to you if we have any further questions?’
She gave him what he wanted, took the hint and walked away.
Before he had time to ask what was going on, Kate’s mobile rang.
‘It’s Bright.’ She tapped the red ‘Decline’ button. There were more important things on her mind than round two with her guv’nor. Hank’s disapproval was instantly on show and she reacted to it. ‘If he’s not with me, he’s against me. His choice.’
‘There’ll be consequences.’
‘Yeah, my days are numbered. I’m not sure I care. If he’s looking for my resignation, he can have it.’
‘You don’t mean that. Why don’t we sit down?’
‘I’m fine standing.’ The imaginary roulette ball stopped dead in a pocket. ‘After Jo left Newcastle, I called her several times for work-related advice. She was angry with me and didn’t pick up, so I rang the airport, asking them to put a call out over the public address system for her to contact the nearest information desk. Thinking that my old man had kicked the bucket, she rang me, offering to fly home immediately. She was right here in the departure lounge and she wasn’t alone. Someone spoke to her while we were talking. A man.’
‘Pick-up central—’
‘Precisely. Jo told him, in no uncertain terms, to sling his hook. I want him found.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t question my judgement, Hank. I know what I’m doing.’ Kate regretted her harsh tone immediately. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bitch at you. Maybe Jo thought twice about being so abrupt and apologised to him. You know what she’s like. She hates conflict. She’s too polite for her own good sometimes. If she had any interaction with that man, good or bad, I want to know the details.’
‘It’s a hard ask. And who will we get to do it?’
‘Work it out.’
‘You can hardly ask Maxwell—’
‘Why not?’
‘Want a list?’
Hank had a point. DC Neil Maxwell was the office Lothario, the least productive member of their Newcastle-based Murder Investigation Team. He got all the shit jobs, the ones no one else wanted. ‘Needs must,’ Kate said. ‘He’s shown signs of improvement lately and deserves credit for that. Besides, do you have a better plan?’
‘Bright will go nuts if you tie up Northumbria resources—’
‘Not if he doesn’t find out.’
‘You trust Maxwell to keep his mouth shut? You are losing it.’
‘It’s a risk I’m prepared to take. Clear it with Robbo.’
Back at base, Detective Sergeant Paul Robson was in the driving seat, holding the MIT together in their absence. Had Hank been available, he’d now be acting up as DI – his big moment – but he was prepared to forgo that opportunity in order to support her.
Kate was fond of both men, but Hank deserved it more.
He
raised an eyebrow. ‘You think he can hack it?’
‘Temporarily, yes.’
There was a reason Hank had asked the question. Like everyone else, policemen and -women were fallible. Robbo had been through some very dark times in recent years. He’d fallen from grace, had been marginalised by his colleagues and disciplined for cocking up a major investigation. It acted as a wake-up call, forcing him to explain himself.
It had been painful to watch him disclose an addiction that no one in the office was aware of, one that almost ruined his life. It took courage to face the team head-on with his deepest, darkest secret, that for months he’d been gambling away money he didn’t have, the worry over it affecting his concentration. Despite the bad choices he’d made, with help he had managed to overcome his addiction, repairing damaged relationships at home and at work, renewing his commitment to the MIT. Witnessing his comeback from the brink of disaster was like meeting an old friend after a prolonged separation.
Kate was very proud of him.
She reassured Hank. ‘You’d have been my first choice.’ He knew that, but still he wasn’t happy. His concern prompted her to push him on the subject. ‘You know something about Robbo that I don’t?’
‘No, Kate. He’s doing fine.’
‘Your words don’t match the expression on your face.’
‘OK, I’m not entirely convinced he’s ready to run a major incident but I’m not about to rubbish the guy to make myself look good.’
‘There’s nothing going on at home that he can’t handle. We’d have heard about it if there was. Besides, his acting up hasn’t been formalised.’
Hank dropped the subject in favour of the one they’d been discussing a moment ago. ‘You do realise that it could take weeks for Maxwell to check out the CCTV.’
Kate had to think about that one. ‘Maybe not … as I said, Jo responded to the airport public address system. That narrows our search down to information desks. How many can there be? If we can find out which one, we can track Jo’s movements to the moment she called me and hopefully identify the sleaze who was trying to hit on her.’
‘I still think you need to rein it in. If Bright gets wind of this, he’ll have your badge and mine along with it.’ Hank’s mobile rang. He took it from his pocket and checked the display. ‘Speak of the Devil.’
