by Mari Hannah
‘Not interested.’
‘Fine.’ Hank gave a disparaging look. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I am. I have a wife and a kid and I want to keep my job.’ He walked away, pressing the phone to his ear, expecting a lecture.
9
‘Guv?’
‘How is she?’ Bright sounded more concerned than angry.
Hank looked across the busy terminal building. Kate was standing where he’d left her, stock-still, looking daggers at him. Though above average height, she struck a diminutive figure today, shoulders down, eyes pleading with him to end his call and get on with the job of finding Jo. Gone was the dogged determination she was known for, that air of authority she carried off with such composure. ‘Use your imagination, guv. She’s in chunks. Don’t worry, I have her back.’
‘A hospital case then?’
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Hank would’ve laughed. He didn’t. Kate was risking everything. Why now? was the question he was asking himself. Why not when Jo was still breathing.
Bright swore loudly. ‘She won’t budge?’
‘I’m not seeing any evidence of it.’ Another check on Kate. She’d turned her back on him. Hank detected a slight movement of her shoulders. She was either weeping or taking a deep breath, steeling herself for more misery to come. If Jo were dead …
He didn’t want to go there.
‘Then you have a problem,’ Bright barked. ‘I thought she had more sense than to throw everything away on a long shot—’
‘You taught her everything she knows, guv.’
Bright ignored the dig.
He knew that whenever Kate was in trouble, Hank stepped up to watch over her. In the last few years she’d broken all the rules: failing to disclose a possible motive for murder; she’d slept with a witness; crossed force borders to interview a suspect who’d died running away from her; and now she’d lied to DS Blue that she had authority from the head of CID to be in London. If there was a job to do, she had no shame.
Bright might moan about her methods, even bollock her from time to time, but faced with similar circumstances, he’d have done exactly the same. He couldn’t help himself any more than she could. He was the one who’d encouraged her to go the extra mile. Her success reflected favourably upon him.
Had he forgotten that?
Hank took his job as protector seriously and had no intention of withholding his feelings on something this important. Bright or no Bright, it was time to talk man to man, with no regard to rank. ‘Cut her some slack, Phil. She’s hurting. Imagine if it was Ellen on that plane.’
‘It’s not.’
‘No, it’s Jo. You know what she means to Kate.’ Hank paused before delivering a blow he knew would find its target. ‘You’ve been there yourself, guv. It’s time you remembered who was there for you.’
Bright didn’t react to the low-baller. His first wife had been injured badly in a horrific car crash and never fully recovered. Stella had since died and Kate had been their guv’nor’s rock throughout a difficult period of his life.
There was a beat of time when neither man spoke.
Hank was first to end the deadlock. ‘I can’t leave her, Phil.’
‘You mean you won’t?’
Hank lied. ‘If you order me, I’m on the next train—’
‘Book your ticket.’
Hank bridled. It was unwise to argue with Bright. Those who had were now pounding the streets of Sunderland, on ten-hour shifts, wearing itchy blue uniforms. Nevertheless, he pushed on, hoping to dissuade Northumbria’s finest from ordering his departure from the capital.
‘Will you at least hear me out?’
‘No, you hear me. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m responsible for the whole of the CID. As of now, you’re acting up in Kate’s absence. I wouldn’t blow your first opportunity to do that if I were you. It’s make-your-mind-up time—’
‘Can’t you use Robbo?’
‘Oh, believe me, if you dick me around any longer, that’s exactly what will happen. He’s itching for the opportunity to show what he’s made of, and he’ll do a fine job, but you’ve earned the right. You want to give it away without a fight?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then don’t let Kate sideline your career as well as her own. She has no business poking her nose in where it’s not wanted. Tagging along on this particular goose chase is foolhardy. Take my advice and concentrate your efforts on bringing her home.’
‘Short of knocking her out, that’s unlikely to happen. I agree that her actions were unorthodox—’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Guv, give me a break. Think about it. With me here you have half an eye on her. If you order me home, you don’t. She’s flying solo. I pity anyone who gets in her way.’
10
Hank didn’t mention what had been said on the phone. It didn’t take a genius to work out that it involved a reprimand. Kate thanked him for taking the flak, then turned her attention to the length of Jo’s trip and how she might have booked it, online from her home computer or with the travel agent she regularly used in Newcastle. She’d taken two weeks’ leave. A long weekend to get away was one thing. A fortnight’s trip to the Big Apple was something else entirely, requiring more of everything: planning, money, clothes.
The thought hit her like a brick.
‘Hold luggage,’ she said.
Hank looked at her, nonplussed.
‘Come with me.’ Grabbing his arm, she charged off in the direction of the BA information desk, giving him an explanation as they moved through the terminal. ‘If any hold luggage belonging to Jo was loaded onto that plane, it means she boarded too. If it wasn’t, she might have bailed at the last minute and been escorted landside—’
‘Kate, slow down! You’re not thinking straight.’
Hank stopped walking and waited for her to do the same. She pulled up sharply, ready to deflect another row. Hank was a practical copper not given to hare-brained theories. As her professional partner, he’d played a big part in her life, giving her the benefit of advice on complex cases. As in any partnership, they had argued their points of view, sometimes agreeing to disagree, but they had learned to compromise and, for the most part, come to an accommodation they could both live with. She hoped they could do that now.
‘Mind if I inject some realism into the discussion?’ he asked.
Kate rolled her eyes, a sigh.
‘If is a very big word, Kate. If Jo changed her mind, why haven’t we heard from her? She’d know you’d be tearing your hair out. Whatever was going on between you two, there’s no way she’d let that happen. I’m with you all the way, you know that, but don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement. Jo’s flight from Newcastle International was the first leg of a longer journey. Her luggage would go directly to her ongoing flight.’
Kate couldn’t argue. Jo wouldn’t have handled her luggage at Heathrow; it would’ve been booked through for her. She’d not have seen it again until she reached JFK, a fact Kate would never have missed had she been firing on all cylinders. Her silence was an acknowledgement that Hank was right.
Wiping her face with her hand, she forced a nod, letting him know that she understood.
‘I need to get my shit together, don’t I?’
‘You’re in shock …’ He dropped his head on one side. ‘You’re not a machine. You’re human. At least I think you are. What you need is to eat and rest—’
‘How can I rest?’ She looked away, thoughts all over the place.
This was precisely why she needed him. She had a tendency to push herself to the limit. Without him she’d have burned out years ago.
She checked her watch: one o’clock.
Staring at the dial transported her to that dim hospital atrium, twelve hours ago, to the point where Hank had turned away from a vending machine with an expression that broke her heart, mobile in hand, tragic news on the tip of his tongue. Kate couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that moment
.
‘You’re right, of course. If Jo decided not to travel at the last minute and checked hold luggage at Newcastle airport, they would have taken it off at Heathrow. No passenger, no bag.’
‘Agreed, but—’
‘Perhaps that was the reason the flight was delayed.’
‘You can’t assume that.’ Hank shook his head. ‘From where I’m standing, you’re twisting the evidence to suit your point of view. Can’t you see that?’
‘So humour me. We never got to the bottom of it, did we? The answer to this lies at home.’ Ignoring his scepticism, Kate called the incident room.
Carmichael picked up.
‘Lisa, it’s me again. I know how busy you are, but I need you to do something for me. I can’t order you to do it, but before you decide, I should tell you that Bright is on the warpath, so feel free to turn me down.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Confirmation of Jo’s travel plans.’
‘No problem. There’s nowt going on here. I’ll take a rest day.’
Kate felt her heart swell. Lisa was an exceptional detective: intuitive, quick-witted, naturally bright, with the ability and potential to follow in her footsteps. For her, nothing was too much bother. She was at the very core of the Northumbria team. Apart from Maxwell, who’d been forced on Kate by Bright’s deputy while he was on leave – suffice to say he no longer held that post – squad members had been hand-picked by her and vetted by the most senior detective on the Northumbria force. Carmichael was as much Bright’s protégé as Kate was.
Shame he wasn’t supporting her now.
‘I need every last detail,’ Kate said. ‘Including exactly how long Jo planned to be in New York and, crucially, whether or not she booked hold luggage – anything and everything you feel is relevant. Send me her booking form as soon as you have sight of it and I’ll take it from there.’
‘I’m on it, boss.’
The line went dead.
‘Now will you take a break?’ Hank pleaded.
‘I have another “if” for you,’ Kate said. ‘If Jo was counted in, I want the names of everyone on duty airside that day.’
‘Kate—’
‘Do it! We can hardly ask the captain, can we?’ Kate closed her eyes, then opened them again. She cradled her hands in front of her face, forefinger resting on her chin, like she was praying. ‘Please, Hank. I need to know.’
He gave a fatalistic nod.
From that moment on, she knew that Bright luring him to their Northumbria base was unachievable. If Kate had been injured on duty, her 2ic would’ve been the first to pull on the Kevlar and head out to find the bastards responsible. She was injured now – maybe not in a life-threatening way – but injured all the same. Hank was her backup, faithful sidekick and loyal sergeant. He was in for the long haul.
11
Kate sent Hank off to find the ground staff whose job it was to count passengers from the air tunnel and onto the flight. While he was gone, she arranged for an escort to take her airside, making the journey to Gate B34 without him. The boarding lounge was empty when she arrived, a flight having just taken off, another not scheduled for a while yet. As her escort departed, Kate sat down in quiet contemplation, hands folded loosely in her lap, eyes scanning rows and rows of empty seats, an unmanned desk, a view through the window of an aircraft being readied for take-off, the slight whiff of aviation fuel. She had no sense of Jo having passed in transit through the featureless, functional space a matter of hours ago.
Moments later, two ground crew emerged from the corridor, strangely at odds with one another. There was none of the joie de vivre from the more senior of the two females, of the type Kate had come to expect of personnel skilled in the art of interaction with tourists and businessmen and -women taking off to who knows where. No swagger. No carefree exchange of pleasantries – even when the younger clocked Kate sitting there and whispered conspiratorially to her mate from behind a cupped hand.
Kate stayed put, observing them closely as they crossed the room: high heels accentuating legs that walked long distances, iPads, smart uniforms, half-smiles that made her realise that they knew who she was – more importantly, why she was there.
Her ID would remain in her pocket.
Kate continued to observe as they began getting ready for the next planeload of travellers. The younger woman was talking non-stop, in a heightened state of animation Kate took for morbid curiosity. She’d seen more of that than she could stomach in a lifetime. Most of what she overheard was to do with the press, the increased police presence and the agitation of the travelling public.
The older of the two appeared visibly shaken as her eyes homed in on a child’s abandoned teddy on the desk. Dropped, Kate assumed, by a boarding passenger, not yet transferred to the lost property office. The thought that it might have been left behind by one of the children on Flight 0113 almost made her tear up.
Unaware of her colleague’s distress, the junior crew member set down her papers, still gassing at a hundred miles an hour, a flash of whitened teeth visible between red-painted lips as she spoke. Word travelled like wildfire in places where tragedy struck. The longer the girl talked, the louder she became. ‘They’re reporting small amounts of wreckage floating in the sea—’
The older woman gave her a look that shut her up.
‘Is that breaking news?’ Kate’s stomach rolled over. She wanted the girl to say no; that what she’d said was supposition on her part, not something she’d picked up from an indiscreet police officer or security guard. ‘Sorry, I heard a little of what you were saying.’
Nodding, the young woman didn’t stop for breath. ‘We just fought our way through a media scrum in the admin block: TV, radio and newspaper journalists. They’re all there, squashed together like sardines, putting the bite on everyone in uniform.’
Kate’s response was matter-of-fact. ‘That’s their job.’
‘Well, they should do it more sensitively,’ the older one snapped. ‘There are family members here, relatives in distress who have no place else to go. They’re looking for help, not here to answer questions. The press have no bloody respect.’
Despite the validity of her objections, Kate tuned her out. In her job, she’d learned to tolerate the media. In the age of technological advances, submitting copy before the next deadline was more competitive than ever. Information made the world go round. And with social media almost always ahead of the curve, it was everyone’s business nowadays. Quick or dead was the name of the game if you happened to be a journalist.
‘Where are you getting your information?’ Ordinarily, Kate would shy away from uncorroborated accounts, unhappy with anything other than the official version of events. On this occasion, she was as desperate for intelligence – any intelligence – as her hack counterparts. She’d take anything she could lay her hands on. It took all her resolve to focus on the woman now talking.
‘The US Navy reported the coordinates to the British Aviation Authority. There’s little doubt that all aboard 0113 are lost.’ A manicured nail smoothed an arched eyebrow, pencilled in with the precision of an artist, below which were overly made-up eyes, camera-ready should anyone be interested. ‘It’s OK for management. They don’t have to face a worried public. I asked for compassionate leave but it was refused. Bastards. They should try smiling when flight crew are lost.’
‘Serena, stop!’ The senior crew member’s tone was harsh. ‘The detective has work to do and so do we.’
Get on with it or ship out was an attitude Kate understood. Her profession made few allowances for feelings either, even though her colleagues were queuing at the door of the force psychologist at HQ. Put simply, to feel was to fail.
12
Kate took her leave as the first passengers arrived at the boarding gate at around three thirty, picking up her escort as she entered the corridor. As she negotiated the flow of travellers coming the other way, her phone rang, a number she didn’t recognise.
Jo?
Hope wore a cruel face sometimes. Pressing to accept the call, Kate lifted the device to her ear, a breathless ‘Hello?’ the only word she could manage.
‘This is DS Blue, Casualty Bureau. Your guv’nor has been on the blower. My commander can’t imagine why you thought he’d already been in touch. He wants a word.’
Shit! Kate stopped walking.
‘Is now a convenient time?’ Blue asked.
It was a warning shot from the Met detective. Was he giving her the opportunity to reschedule and get her story straight? If so, he was a good egg – one for her Christmas card list – but she knew nothing about him. That was enough to make her wary of anything he said. Still, she could do with an ally. An insider was essential to anyone working off-book.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Put him through.’
‘Keep your hands in your pockets. He bites.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up.’
Seconds later, a man came on the line announcing himself as Detective Superintendent Waverley. He sounded gruff, officious and distinctly unhappy. Wondering how much Bright had told him, Kate held her nerve.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Let’s dispense with the niceties, shall we?’
Not a good start. ‘Sir?’
‘I’ve had a call from your guv’nor. Bright seems to have a lot of time for you. He wants you to assist with this appalling tragedy and to use the experience as a training exercise. There has to be an operational benefit for you being here, over and above the fact that your profiler was aboard.’
He knew.
‘Listen carefully. Whatever your agenda, whatever game you’re playing with Bright, it stays in Northumbria. I’m not interested in your motivation, much less your internal politics. However, I could do with all the help I can get – for as long as I can get it – especially from a detective of your calibre. For now, you and your lapdog are in.’
