by Mari Hannah
Hank paid the barman and carried the drinks to a vacant table that was semi-clean. He set the beers down, pulling off his scarf. ‘Did you manage to get hold of Maxwell?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Shrugging off her coat, Kate hung it on the empty chair, her cheeks burning from being in the warm. ‘Thanks for reminding me. I’ll try him now.’ She drew out her mobile and dialled Maxwell’s home phone number. The detective constable picked up almost immediately, his demeanour uncertain.
‘Boss? Is that you?’
She picked up her beer. ‘Isn’t that what it says on your phone?’
‘Yeah, I’m just not used to you calling so late in the day.’
There were reasons for that. One: he was well down the pecking order. Ordinarily, she’d call the whole squad before him. Two: he lived alone and was always shit-faced before ten. Kate checked her watch: it was twenty past the hour. The thought of his alcohol intake – she’d stop short of calling it dependency – made her question the wisdom of utilising him for such an important job. But where CCTV analysis was concerned, he’d found his forte. In the words of the song, or as good as, no one did it better.
‘Neil, I know you’re state zero but are you sober?’
‘I’m a teetotaller me, on or off duty.’
She could almost hear the grin. ‘Great. Now listen carefully. Lisa sent me the clip of Jo at the Terminal 5 information desk. There’s a tall guy standing to her left. He doesn’t speak but wanders off after her when she leaves the counter. Tomorrow morning, when you’re checking the CCTV, keep an eye out for him. I want to know if he’s trailing her. It may be the same guy Jo mentioned when we spoke on the phone.’
‘I’m on it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No … yes, you did an excellent job today. I appreciate you coming in on your rest day. I won’t forget it.’
‘It was nothing. Are you OK?’
‘With guys like you in my team, how could I not be?’ She hung up.
‘Did you just say what I think you said?’ Hank was sporting a full-on grin.
‘He deserves it. He found Jo.’
‘I know. Lisa texted me.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Kate said.
‘Does it hurt?’
It was a tired joke and she didn’t laugh. ‘I have a serious point to make, so open your ears and pay attention. The police service isn’t the only organisation paring back and cost-cutting. Airports are no different. Baggage handlers are paid peanuts and probably have ten jobs to do where they once had five. If an incendiary device got onto that aircraft, someone put it there. They could be the key to this whole affair, whether secreting a bomb on board or allowing a suicide bomber to stow away in the landing gear. Security breaches do happen. Remember the fifteen-year-old who flew from San Jose on the wheel of Maui-bound Hawaiian Airlines flight? He survived, virtually unharmed. Then there was the Romanian guy found in the wheel bay on a flight to Heathrow from Vienna, another so-called miraculous escape from the jaws of death. Lucky for him, the plane was cruising at lower altitude because of bad weather. He gambled with his life in order to reach the UK, but that’s a hop compared to a transatlantic flight. To escape persecution, you’d take a chance, but we’re dealing with a very different scenario – a bomb-toting terrorist won’t give a stuff about survival. All they care about is murdering as many as they can get away with and die a martyr. Once they’re ready to detonate, BOOM. Job done.’ Kate shivered involuntarily. ‘We need to investigate security breaches.’
‘And how do you propose we go about it? It’s not yet a criminal case.’
‘Deep down, you and I know it soon will be.’ If there was one thing they were good at it was apprehending villains who needed locking up.
Hank took a long pull on his beer, then set it down on the table and crossed his arms. ‘You have a plan?’
‘Unformulated.’
‘Involving Blue?’
‘Not this time.’
‘What then?’
‘Nothing illegal or sneaky. Quite the opposite. If I can swing it – and I think with my credentials I can – it’ll open doors and we might learn something to our advantage.’ She lifted a hand, cutting off an attempt to cajole her into disclosure. ‘Leave it with me. As soon as I know anything concrete, I’ll fill you in, but first, we need to establish if Jo checked in hold luggage at Newcastle.’ Kate was praying she hadn’t.
22
A plane had gone down in the Atlantic Ocean. Jo might have been on it. Thomas and James might have lost their mother. There was no comfort to give, no scene to secure, no body to recover, all tasks Kate excelled at, practicalities that would keep her occupied. She couldn’t deny hard evidence. Jo was on the manifest. Booked to fly. The pencilled line beneath the question Had she? held no authority. It had been written so faintly it was barely legible.
Proof! Kate scribbled on her notepad.
She needed something tangible, more than the scan of a boarding card or a name on a list. She required DNA; a recognisable part of Jo’s body; her purse or other personal effects; the Omega watch Kate had given her one Christmas – the one she never took off. Nothing else would do.
Kate stood, pulled on her coat, heading for somewhere less public to make the confidential call she’d been reflecting on all morning. In the corridor, she made sure the coast was clear and pushed open a fire escape door that wasn’t properly secure. The mystery as to why that should be was solved the minute the smell of nicotine hit her senses. Smokers had collared the outside space in order to feed their addiction. Fresh smoke wafted up from below causing Kate to peer through the holes in the steel platform beneath her feet to see who was hiding there.
The guilty smoker looked up.
Kate shook her head. ‘You’re well and truly busted, mate.’
‘What can I say?’ Hank began to climb the stairs to join her, his weight shaking the structure, a sheepish expression on his face. They had both stopped smoking years ago, making a pact never to light up again without consulting the other.
Using all four fingers in line Kate beckoned him forward. ‘Give! And if you’re going to lie to me, make a better job of it next time. I knew you were up to no good when you left me. Sly bastard.’
‘Takes one to know one.’
‘In my case they call it astute.’ It was nice to see him smile. ‘C’mon, hand them over.’
‘Don’t give me a hard time. And whatever you do, don’t tell Julie. She’ll kill me if she finds out. She likes the new me rather than the one who used to smell like an ashtray.’ Like a kid caught behind the school bike sheds, he handed her the packet of Marlboro, fully expecting her to crumple it up and head for the nearest bin.
She was checking to see how many were gone.
‘What the hell,’ she said, tapping one out, lighting up. She coughed as the smoke caught her throat, then took another couple of drags to make sure she didn’t like it.
Hank took a last pull on his own before extinguishing it on the handrail, turning to leave. ‘This time I really do have to go.’ He pointed at her cigarette. ‘Bin that. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘You neither.’ She crushed it under her boot.
Hank eased himself inside, pulling the door to behind him.
Left alone, Kate took out her mobile and rang Tyneside Hospital’s intensive care unit. She needn’t have bothered. She received the same bland statements every time: little change, recovering relatively well, Mr Rai will be in to see him later. Of course, he would. Her old man had undergone ten hours of open-heart surgery. She left a message and then made that all-important call to her friend Rob Clark. His extension rang out for what seemed like an age. Kate was about to hang up and go inside when he answered with a cheery: ‘Rob Clark speaking.’
‘Rob, it’s Kate … Daniels.’
‘Hello, stranger! How long has it been?’
‘Too long. I need to talk to you urgently.’
‘About?’<
br />
‘Not something I can discuss over the phone. I’m in the area. Why don’t we have dinner? My shout. I’ll come to you. Are you still in the same house?’ He said he was and she rang off. If anyone could help her cause, Rob could.
23
Last time Kate and Jo travelled through Heathrow Airport, they had gone for a meal at Gordon Ramsay’s Plane Food and made the boarding gate with minutes to spare. Kate took Hank there, treating him to something that didn’t involve bread or pastry. It was time they began looking after themselves. She ordered Caesar salad, pancetta, anchovies and soft-boiled egg. He’d gone for the steamed sea bass, crushed minted potatoes, courgette pesto. While they could both have murdered a G&T, non-alcoholic drinks were the order of the day. As soon as he’d finished eating, Hank put down his cutlery and studied her, a worried expression that made her nervous.
Her mobile rang.
She checked the screen. ‘I need to take this, it’s Rosemary Taylor.’
Hank knew how important the call was. Kate’s dream of finding Jo depended on the answer to one question: did her bag go on that plane? Because if it did, and didn’t come off again, she was sunk.
Their collective ignorance surrounding the baggage-handling system was disconcerting. Their detective brains could only function in terms they understood, a chain of evidence passing from person to person, signed for at every stage. Kate had spoken to Taylor in order to clarify matters and had been waiting for an answer.
She lifted the phone to her ear. ‘DCI Daniels.’
‘Inspector, I have news. You want it over the phone?’
‘No, I’ll come up.’
‘You know where to find me.’
Kate ended the call, eyes on Hank. A deep breath. ‘Stay put.’
Leaving him to pay the bill, she went in search of the elevator. As she raced through the terminal, dodging travellers, mentally crossing her fingers, she hoped that Taylor’s news would go her way.
Any second now …
Their last discussion replayed in her head as Kate moved towards the lift. ‘This is not a trick question but a general one,’ she’d said. ‘I’m curious. In your experience, does luggage ever manage to find its way onto or off a flight without being entered into an airport baggage system?’
‘It shouldn’t happen.’
From anyone else, Kate might have thought they were being deliberately evasive but, the first time they had spoken, Taylor had gained her trust. She knew she’d get a straight answer.
‘Could it, theoretically speaking?’
‘Everything relies on computers, Inspector. They go wrong. Millions of bags are lost or mishandled globally every year.’ The woman had been talking sense. No matter how good the system, human error and computer glitches were a fact of life in most organisations. HOLMES wasn’t infallible by any stretch of the imagination. And that’s where they left it.
Kate jabbed the button for the lift. Nervously, she watched it begin a slow descent, her mind in turmoil. Last time Jo had visited New York was on a shopping trip. She’d checked hold luggage, a suitcase that was practically empty, a few old clothes that she intended to wear and discard so she could buy new kit to bring home. Kate prayed that she hadn’t done it this time around.
Stepping into the lift, she pressed the second-floor button, her foot tapping impatiently as the door closed. When it opened again, she rushed off to find Taylor, arriving almost out of breath at the rendezvous point, unable to contain her anxiety.
Taylor’s expression was hard to read.
‘Tell me,’ Kate said.
‘No hold luggage checked through from the Newcastle flight for passenger Jo Soulsby.’
Kate covered her mouth, stemming the scream waiting there. Taylor gave a smile of encouragement, as if she knew that this was a momentous outcome, one that the DCI had been hoping for. The first three words of that brief but perfectly formed sentence echoed in Kate’s head …
No hold luggage.
No hold luggage.
Her heart almost leapt from her chest. There was still an outside chance that Jo had changed her mind about flying. This was the best news ever. Her focus switched to the sheet of paper in Taylor’s hand.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
Nodding, the woman handed over a document supporting what she’d said. The image of that flimsy form would stay with Kate for the rest of her days. It offered an element of hope, a lifeline that led to Jo.
24
Ignoring the lift, Kate thundered down the stairs. She wanted Hank to be the first to know. She was close to tears by the time she caught sight of him across a moving sea of bodies, armed police among them, more than yesterday, deployed to reassure the travelling public. He was sitting where she’d left him, talking on the phone. She weaved her way through the crowds towards him.
Sensing a presence, he looked up, ending the call. From the petrified look on his face, he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion as to which way it had played out upstairs.
He stood up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’ Kate’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke. ‘No hold luggage.’
His response was half-hearted, as she knew it would be. That was OK. A true detective, it was his job to be sceptical. It was a long shot that Jo didn’t board 0113 but, right now, Kate was happy to play the naive civilian, the airheaded optimist, the dreamer. Any role would do. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face and was clinging to the only life raft she had.
She cut the caution he was about to deliver. ‘I know it’s not much, but to me it’s everything.’
Her mobile rang again.
The call ended before she could wrestle the device from her bag.
In such a precarious position – on a massive high – Kate panicked in case Taylor was ringing to tell her it had all been a terrible mistake, then relaxed when she saw that it had been Carmichael calling.
The phone was still in her hand when an email arrived, subject: Hays Travel Itinerary. Clicking on the attachment, Kate found an unremarkable holiday document, complete with confirmation of a booking in Jo’s name. She was going to New York for ten days – the Ritz-Carlton, Lower Manhattan, near the waterfront with a view of America’s most iconic symbol of freedom, the Statue of Liberty. She and Jo had been there before.
I think we’re done.
No, Kate thought. They were far from done if this was where she was intending to stay. The smile slid off her face as her eyes focused on one item listed on the itinerary. Her stomach heaved as she read it again, unable to take in what she was seeing, not wanting to. Her sudden intake of breath raised Hank’s stress levels to an all-time high.
‘Kate? What is it?’
Unable to speak, she handed him her mobile.
His face paled as he read the document.
In silence, he handed it back.
Punching in Carmichael’s number, Kate lost her voice at the very moment her young DC picked up. Her eyes found Hank’s. ‘I can’t do this.’
He took the mobile from her, clearing his throat before speaking. ‘Lisa, Kate’s tied up, but she received your email and there seems to be a discrepancy. A moment ago, she was told by staff here that no hold luggage arrived at Heathrow for Jo’s onward journey. The travel itinerary you sent says different.’
Aware of the implication, Carmichael hesitated. ‘All I know is that Jo booked and paid for one bag as hold luggage. It’s on the receipt.’
‘So I see. The question I’m asking is, did it actually go on?’
‘That’s what I was told.’
Kate was in pieces as Hank pushed Carmichael for a straight answer. ‘Is it possible that she didn’t use her allocation, that she paid for it, then changed her mind in favour of carry-on?’
‘I guess so. I’ll check it out.’
‘Do it now. Hang on, I need a word with Kate.’
She didn’t hear what he said. Her head was down, imagination in overdrive. She pictured Jo at Newcastle International
Airport check-in desk, hold luggage being lifted onto the conveyor belt to be weighed, ID tags attached, the luggage disappearing through a strip curtain. Grabbing the device from Hank, she lifted it to her ear.
‘Lisa, it’s Kate.’
‘Guv, this is very worrying, but even if a bag went on here, the fact that it didn’t arrive with you is meaningless.’ Carmichael sounded rattled. ‘It could have been loaded on the wrong flight this end. It happens more than you might think. Unless it went on but wasn’t entered correctly. You sure the error is not at your end?’
‘I don’t know, Lisa. I bloody hope not.’
Hank was trying to attract her attention.
Kate asked Lisa to hold so she could consult with him …
‘If Jo checked luggage in at Newcastle and it arrived at Heathrow but she subsequently changed her plans, she’d have attempted to retrieve it.’ He said. ‘If that’s the case, there’s bound to be a record of it somewhere.’
‘Go!’ As he did so, Kate returned to her phone call. ‘Lisa, get back to me. I want to see that luggage going on. Grab the CCTV and send it.’
Hanging up, Kate found a quiet, relatively empty corner of the building and slumped down on a seat. Three days and she was no further forward. It was time to acknowledge, if only to herself, that if hold luggage went onto the New York flight, then so did Jo.
25
Kate was pinning her hopes on an error in the baggage system. She reviewed the facts she’d been presented with. Jo had booked hold luggage – that much was clear – but none had been recorded at Heathrow, according to Taylor. It was a devastating blow, a nauseating piece of a much larger jigsaw, for Kate personally and for Northumbria MIT who were so fond of Jo. For the first time since Flight 0113 had vanished, the DCI felt her hopes slipping away. The chance of Jo’s survival had been slim. It was now infinitesimal.
A horrible thought emerged.
