Without a Trace

by Mari Hannah

Kate’s mind raced yet again through the probable cause list: terrorism; catastrophic engine failure; suicidal pilot; bird strike, like the one that brought down US Airways Flight 1549 in 2009, an Airbus A320-214 flying from New York’s LaGuardia Airport forced to ditch in the Hudson River, saving the lives of the 155 people on board. She discounted a bird strike immediately. It wasn’t credible at the altitude of Jo’s flight, unless … There was always a flip side. Could the aircraft’s computerised instruments have been transmitting the wrong data?

  Kate tried to separate fact from supposition. Reliable information was hard to come by at such an early stage of any investigation, never mind one on a scale of this magnitude. Earlier in the day, she’d overheard someone say that, assuming it hadn’t blown to bits in the air, it would take a few minutes for a plane flying at thirty-seven thousand feet to reach ground level – a horrendous length of time if you were awake and knew what was coming.

  Those poor passengers.

  Kate imagined the crew yelling at everyone to brace for impact, panic and prayers, sobs and screams; the aircraft gyrating wildly as its pilot lost control; oxygen masks dropping down from the console above their heads, everyone wishing that they had paid attention during the in-flight safety demonstration. Kate would – if she ever flew again.

  Of the believers among them, Kate visualised people crossing themselves, offering up a final prayer to whichever god they worshipped. Kate liked to think there would have been heroism from flight crew and passengers had a terrorist made him or herself known. The fact that Kate hadn’t imagined Jo in the centre of the mayhem was down to sheer doggedness.

  She wasn’t there.

  She wasn’t.

  Kate had no idea what happened to bags in transit from one flight to another, only that Carmichael was right. Many never arrived at their intended destination. Did they have a special sticker attached to identify the onward flight? Could it have come off? It could, she decided. Anything was possible. A damaged bag might have been held back; a suspect bag seized by customs officials.

  A series of scenarios rushed through her head, confusing her but also driving her on. For every question raised there was a counter-argument. Where humans were involved in any process there were bound to be mistakes. How many times had Kate almost sent a confidential report to the wrong person? A click on the wrong name in a contacts list and it would be gone in an instant. Given the millions of travellers passing daily through busy airports, anything was possible. Oftentimes, airline check-in personnel were so busy they hardly gave you a second look. They couldn’t always be certain whether travellers were with someone else or travelling solo.

  Every scenario she came up with only raised more questions. Which made it more important than ever for Kate to keep her date with Rob Clark.

  He’d changed his mind about meeting at his place and called to suggest that they meet at seven thirty at the Two Brewers, a seventeenth-century inn close to Windsor Great Park and the River Thames. After her mother died, Kate had gone there with her father for a few days’ break, an attempt to shake him from his grief and prove to him that life would go on without her. Whether Kate still believed in that meaningless platitude was a different matter. Her father hadn’t made it to the funeral. Too upsetting for him, apparently. Didn’t matter that Kate needed him by her side. Selfish sod. Now she was back at the pub, no less distressed than on her first visit.

  Rob stood up as she entered, always the gent.

  They kissed on both cheeks, genuinely pleased to see one another. Despite the intervening years, he looked no different from the last time they had met. Like Kate, he was a bit of an adrenalin junkie, for no other reason than to maintain a level of fitness that would see him through the exceptional demands of his job. His eyes shone with good health. After the day’s events, Kate hated to think what hers looked like.

  They sat down at a table already set for dinner. The inn hadn’t changed. It was full of punters and big on atmosphere: weathered oak, wood floors, candlelight. Hank would have called it a real pub as opposed to a pretender. The fire in the grate gave the dining area a cosy feel.

  ‘It’s great to see you, Kate.’

  ‘Thanks for meeting me at such short notice. I hope it’s not too far out of your way.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘You’re lucky you caught me. I’m flying to the States tomorrow afternoon.’

  She knew he would be and had to move fast.

  ‘This place was good for both of us,’ he added. ‘Given the fact that you’re a northerner, it was clever of you to pick it. It’s bang smack in the middle of my workplace and Heathrow.’

  He’d already guessed why she was there.

  Kate wanted to dive right in, but what she had in mind was a bloody big ask. It would take some organisation on his part to swing it, at a time when he was most probably run off his feet. She decided to bide her time, prepared to beg if necessary. Failing that, she’d have to think of something else … but first, the small talk.

  She pointed at his pint. ‘Can I get you another?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. If you want real ale I can recommend a good one. Or would you prefer something stronger? They do a fine G&T.’

  She could die for one. ‘I’ll stick to water, thanks.’

  ‘You’re on the wagon?’

  ‘Driving.’

  ‘Bummer.’ He toasted her with his pint. ‘Helen dumped me and took off to see a friend.’

  His wife, Helen Clark, was born and bred in the gentle Coquet Valley town of Rothbury. Whenever the Clarks made the trip north to Northumberland, Kate made a special effort to visit them there. It was the number one destination for motorcyclists in summer, an exhilarating ride along twisty roads in order to reach it. Riders, Kate included, loved that route.

  ‘Shame I won’t see Helen this trip,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t stay long.’

  He looked as disappointed as he was relieved.

  Kate knew why he was heading to the US and that he’d be gone for months. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘Men,’ he reminded her.

  She glanced at the menu, then back at him, a smile developing. ‘Yeah, I forget we all age at the same rate. They must be at least twenty-two.’

  ‘Twenty-four and twenty-six.’ He took in her shock. ‘Yeah, I know. Our Jack is living overseas these days. He’s a telecommunications operations manager in Singapore. Simon’s at university in the middle of a PhD. Aeronautical, Maritime and Transport Engineering.’

  ‘Blimey!’

  ‘Don’t be too impressed. I have a strong suspicion that he’d have studied the exploits of Mickey Mouse in order to remain in academia.’ Rob was joking, happy with Simon’s choice. ‘The life suits him. Why work for a living when you can hang out as a full-time student or, better still, move up and become a lecturer?’

  ‘No-brainer. Did I ever tell you I was going to be a vet?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Yeah. I had a place at Edinburgh University. Joining the police was a last-minute decision, a shock for everyone, including my parents, especially my old man. He never forgave me …’ Kate frowned, adding an explanation. ‘He was a miner.’

  ‘Ouch. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention him.’

  ‘That’s because he’s a self-righteous, hypocritical dinosaur.’

  He’s your dinosaur.

  Jo’s words transported Kate to the Coronary Care Unit after her father’s heart attack. Kate was angry, for many reasons, bemoaning the fact that he’d point-blank refused to accept her for who she was. Jo had done her level best to calm troubled waters, reminding her that he was very unwell and may not survive, urging Kate to give the man a break.

  Why should she?

  He’d never given her one.

  Kate took a sip of water.

  Before Rob had a chance to query her untimely dip into the past, a waiter arrived to take their order. K
ate rechecked the menu, opting to skip the starter and go straight for a main course: root vegetable tartlet, new potatoes and green beans. She didn’t intend hanging around for dessert.

  Rob closed his menu. ‘I’ll have the roasted lamb rump, please.’

  ‘No starter for you either, sir?’

  ‘No thanks.’ He handed over his menu.

  Kate did the same, waiting for the waiter to move off before resuming their conversation, or lack of it, forcing away all thoughts of her father and Jo. If she was to make her case and ask for Rob’s assistance, she had to do it now, except he beat her to it.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘You wanted my ear on something too weighty to discuss over the wire. It’s the air disaster, right?’

  Kate nodded.

  ‘Well, fire away. I qualify.’

  He did too.

  He’d been employed in the Air Accidents Investigation Branch of the Department of Transport for almost twenty years. They had met at a coroner’s inquest early on in Kate’s career. He was an engineering inspector then. They were both giving evidence about a light aircraft that had come down near Cheviot. Based at Farnborough Airport, he was an experienced pilot and air accident investigator. These days his role was to provide assistance and expertise on a global scale, determining the cause of incidents with the sole aim of improving aviation safety.

  Kate’s mobile vibrated in her pocket.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She held up the device. ‘This might be important. Do you mind?’

  ‘No, take it.’

  ‘Lisa, what gives?’ Kate listened, her eyes fixed on Rob. She tried hard to keep the frustration from her voice. ‘I know she paid for hold luggage, but did you see the bag go on?’ Lisa was uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Are you there now? Well, do it! That’s what I asked for. If they’re so bloody incompetent, you have my authority to seize the CCTV … No, Lisa. We don’t need a warrant.’

  Rob was staring at Kate, taking it all in, a concerned expression on his face. He was joining dots, filling in blanks, working out why she was so keen to talk to him. What she was asking Carmichael to do was hard for anyone, even for a maverick like her. And still Lisa wasn’t playing ball.

  Kate rubbed at her temples. Lisa’s observations were making her head hurt. ‘I’m not saying it’ll be easy without one, but I need to know if she put hold luggage on that plane. Work your magic, sweet-talk them, handle them with kid gloves, do whatever is required in order to get the information. I know you will … yes … and if they give you a hard time tell them to call me directly, day or night. I’m available. Yeah, keep me posted.’

  Kate hung up.

  ‘You have someone on board?’ The question didn’t require an answer. Didn’t get one either. A ten-year-old could have worked that out.

  26

  Hank sat on his bed, suspecting that the uncomfortable, wobbly chair in his hotel room wouldn’t take his weight for much longer. With a better view of the TV, he flicked channels, trying to find something to watch post-watershed. Failing to find anything that floated his boat, he scrolled down to BBC News 24 where yet another so-called expert was giving an opinion on what might have caused a plane to fall from the sky. He was somewhat relieved when an incoming text message arrived, taking his attention away from the screen.

  Scooping his mobile off the bed, expecting a text from Kate, he found one from Carmichael. The message was short and to the point: Are you alone? Intrigued by the question, he muted the TV and called her number. Dispensing with a greeting, he went straight for the joke on the tip of his tongue …

  ‘Either you’re drunk, DC Carmichael, or it’s my lucky day.’

  When Lisa failed to respond to his lame attempt at humour – something she always did – he knew she was in trouble.

  Lisa tripped over herself to explain what Kate had asked her to get hold of and why. ‘She wanted an update, PDQ – in fact she insisted – but now I can’t raise her. Her mobile is switched off. I found that strange, bearing in mind her insistence that she’d make herself available—’

  ‘She went out to meet someone.’

  ‘So?’

  Hank yawned. ‘So what?’

  ‘Her phone is always on standby. And she stressed how important it was. Even if she’s in a meeting, as soon as she saw I was trying to reach her, she’d have taken the call.’

  ‘Maybe her battery died.’

  ‘With all that’s going on? I doubt that.’

  ‘She hasn’t called me either, as it happens.’

  Lisa didn’t ask who Kate was with or why he wasn’t along for the ride. The thought lingered, his mind wandering off up the M4 to Windsor. He had no idea of the identity of the person she’d gone to meet, or the venue; it was a rendezvous she’d kept to herself. Sometimes, she frustrated the hell out of him.

  ‘Were you expecting her to call?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘I never expect anything from the boss …’ Hank chuckled. ‘She’s an unknown quantity. Who knows what goes through that head of hers? I hoped she might give me a bell, if only to tell me she was back so I could sleep.’

  ‘What are you, her dad?’

  ‘Never let her hear you say that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s not the cuddly type and doesn’t appreciate her like we do. Besides, is that any way to speak to the person writing your evaluation? It’s due imminently.’ He’d been responsible for Lisa’s supervision since the day she arrived in the MIT.

  ‘I couldn’t give a shit about that now, Hank. I need to speak to Kate.’

  ‘Then send her a text. She’ll pick it up soon as she’s done. If you get no reply and it’s urgent, send it to me and I’ll shove it under her door.’ Hank’s eyes were on the TV screen, the same images he’d seen less than five minutes ago, going round and round in a loop. ‘Is there any reason you’re not discussing this with me? You know you can tell me anything, right?’

  Lisa didn’t answer.

  Hank folded a pillow in half and shoved it behind his head in an effort to get comfortable. He spoke through another yawn. ‘C’mon, Lisa, I’m not as young as I used to be. It’s way past my bedtime. I need to brush my teeth and say my prayers, so get to the point before I drop off. I can’t help unless you tell me what’s bugging you.’

  ‘Kate asked me to acquire CCTV without official authorisation. It made me feel uncomfortable. I just want to talk it through with her before I proceed.’

  Hank loved Lisa’s honesty. She was well liked within MIT. Few people knew how good she was at her job. He’d made it his business to thrust her progress under the noses of those who could do her some good. For someone so young in service, no one could touch her. When it came to commitment and integrity she was in a league of her own. He could only speculate on what had shaped her ambitious personality; she had lost both her parents and the aunt who’d brought her up. There was no knowing whether it was in her genes, but she certainly had the right attitude to succeed as one of Northumbria’s finest.

  ‘She’s the boss,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Her authorisation is all that counts. She wasn’t asking you to steal the CCTV. You’re a copper. You’re good for this. It’s within the rules to ask, so long as you do it nicely. If the airport’s administrators don’t want to hand it over, call Kate for further instructions.’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  ‘I already asked nicely.’

  ‘And they won’t play ball?’

  ‘No, it’s not that …’ She allowed the sentence to tail off.

  There was more to this.

  A feeling of unease crept over Hank, settling right between his shoulder blades. Carmichael was acting weird and he thought he knew why. ‘Have you got the CCTV already? Is that what all the cloak and dagger is about?’

  ‘Not yet. They’re considering my request and will let me know first thing in the morning.’

  Hank took a swig of warm beer, the last of a four-pack he’d bought at the co
rner shop down the road. Crumpling the can, he threw it towards the rubbish bin, hitting the target for the third time in a row. He was worried about Carmichael. It was unlike her to be so evasive. And still she didn’t elaborate. Suddenly he understood. Or thought he did. ‘You don’t want to acquire the CCTV in case there’s something on it that the boss won’t like, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Then send it to me and I’ll talk her through it.’

  ‘Would you?’ She sounded relieved.

  ‘Lisa, Kate’s in a really bad place right now, but she’s strong and she won’t thank you for keeping things from her, no matter how unpalatable you think they might be. This is no time to lose your bottle—’

  ‘I’m not. Well, OK, I am. It’s just, knowing how much this means to her, I’d rather not be the messenger if it’s all the same to you. I don’t want to be the one to break her heart if this goes tits up, Hank. Promise me you’ll be with her when she gets the news.’

  ‘No sweat.’

  ‘And if I can’t get what she needs?’

  ‘That won’t be your fault. Kate made the decision to work off-book, not you. Relax. Whatever the outcome of your enquiries, she won’t blame you any more than she’ll blame me if the news isn’t what she’s hoping for, so crack on. And if you need a warrant, I’ll contact Bright and make sure you get one.’

  A pause. ‘How is she?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you. She’s on the floor. You couldn’t knock her any further down if you used a mallet. As far as Jo is concerned, Kate would rather know than not. It’s the uncertainty that’s killing her.’

  ‘I know, but every time I’ve tried to say something nice, she’s cut me off. I feel helpless—’

  ‘Join the club. Now put the phone down and get yourself away home.’

  ‘How did you know I was in the incident room?’

  ‘I know you … and so does Kate. She’ll talk when she’s ready. Be there to hold her hand when she does.’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Sarge.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Hank ended the call, turning up the volume on the TV, yet another opinion on the missing flight, this time from across the pond, where distraught families gathered for news on loved ones. How the hell was he supposed to sleep now?