by Mari Hannah
27
Hank checked his watch for the umpteenth time since he’d got out of bed at seven a.m. He may have put Lisa’s mind at rest last night, but now he too was anxious. It was after nine and there had been no word from her yet. What the hell was keeping her? He’d breakfasted with Kate and driven her to the Casualty Bureau. She hadn’t mentioned her meeting in Windsor and he’d kept Lisa’s call to himself. When Kate left to call her father to tell him she’d be back as soon as was humanly possible, Hank seized his chance to text Lisa.
Any news?
CCTV clip came through.
And?
Not had a chance to check it out yet.
Send it to me. I’ll deal.
Will do.
A second text arrived:
Thanks Hank. X
Moments later an email arrived, complete with video attachment. Hank took a deep breath. So much depended on what it contained. As soon as he’d arrived at work, he’d looked into the possibility of Jo having made an attempt to retrieve a bag from Flight 0113. If her plans had changed, she certainly would’ve done so. The memo in his hand was confirmation that she had not.
There were three scenarios in play. One: Jo had not used the luggage allowance she’d paid for. Two: she’d checked hold luggage at Newcastle and it had been diverted to the wrong onward flight. Three: checked luggage had arrived at Heathrow for her transatlantic flight but had not been recorded properly.
What a shambles.
The absence of a suitcase would allow them to cling to the possibility that Jo didn’t travel. The presence of a suitcase, on the other hand, together with confirmation that she hadn’t tried to retrieve any luggage would mean that Jo was, quite literally, sunk.
No wonder Carmichael was fretting.
The video attachment was critical.
‘Who was that?’
Hank swung round to find Kate standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard her approach. ‘Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’ He pulled a face. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’ His bad choice of words gave him an excuse to change the subject. ‘Did you get through to the hospital and speak to Mr Rai? How’s your old man doing?’
‘That’s two questions to my one.’ Kate sat down at her desk. ‘Well?’
‘It was Julie.’ The fib was unimpressive.
‘Nice try …’ Kate admonished him with her eyes. ‘Now tell me the truth.’
Nothing got past her. Hank didn’t want to say before he had the chance to view the footage, but there was no point trying to bluff his way out of it. Kate had clocked his concern the minute she set eyes on him and knew him too well to be fooled by his attempt to deceive. He had no choice but to front up.
‘It was Lisa.’
‘She has the CCTV?’
A nod.
Hank noticed an immediate change in Kate’s body language. Instantly, she became rigid, steeling herself for more bad news. ‘She hasn’t looked at it,’ he added quickly. ‘And neither have I, so slow down and take a deep breath.’ He didn’t want her to think he was hiding the worst possible scenario.
‘You expect me to believe that?’ She was staring at him, a tortured expression on her face.
He didn’t try arguing, just located the unopened email and handed her his mobile. ‘Happy now?’
‘You’d better upload it then.’
She walked round to his side of the desk and sat down beside him so that they could view the footage together on his laptop.
He felt tense as he carried out her instructions.
The file opened and he pressed play.
As expected, the CCTV lens was pointed directly at a busy queue in Newcastle Airport’s departure hall. It took him a moment to adjust as travellers moved in what seemed like a continuous stream in the foreground, a moment more to spot Jo. She was halfway from check-in desk number 21, queues on either side of her, long straggly lines of passengers partially obscuring her from the camera.
They watched her inch forward in the queue …
It was obvious to both that she was pulling something. Hank couldn’t see what it was but, from the angle of her arm, it looked fairly heavy. His heart was pounding in his chest as he continued to observe the line. There were travellers of all ages, mostly happy to be taking a trip to the capital, some impatient to dump luggage and be away to the bar, an occasional stressed face.
Hank could relate.
He wasn’t keen on flying.
It was harrowing to watch; more so for Kate, whose eyes were fixed to the screen. There were parents carrying young babies, toddlers jostling for position, some astride brightly coloured Trunki fun luggage. The thought that some of them might have been heading for the same connecting flight as Jo – unaware that they wouldn’t be returning – was sickening. The fact that the queue was slow-moving made the process all the more distressing.
Neither detective spoke for what felt like an hour but what was, in reality, a matter of ten or twelve minutes in total. Kate seemed to shrink physically as she continued to observe the queue. Hank hung onto his distress. Jo was his friend and colleague too but, if he buckled, he’d be no use to his guv’nor.
She needed him more than ever now.
In the past few days, layer upon layer of armour she’d put on during her police career had been peeled away, leaving her exposed to the same raw feelings as anyone suffering the loss of a loved one. Stripped of her confidence, she was inherently vulnerable. He hated seeing her this way and daren’t imagine what kind of self-destructive workaholic she might become without Jo’s hand on the tiller.
On screen, Jo shuffled forward in the queue, inch by painful inch. She seemed uncharacteristically depressed, not like someone looking forward to a break in the Big Apple, and didn’t talk to anyone around her. Then the very worst thing that might happen did. She was wheeling a suitcase towards the check-in desk.
‘No!’ Kate’s hand flew involuntarily to her mouth. ‘Zoom in.’ Her voice was barely audible.
Hank did as she asked.
Jo walked forward, hauling a bag onto the conveyor belt.
‘Oh, thank God!’ Kate locked eyes with Hank. ‘It’s not hers, Hank. That bag is not hers.’
‘You sure?’
She rounded on him. ‘I said so, didn’t I?’
Relief washed over them both as Jo stepped away from the check-in desk without offering up her passport, smiling at the old lady standing by her side, so small and frail she’d been obscured from the camera by Jo and the passengers surrounding her. As the elderly passenger shuffled forward to the check-in desk, Jo retook her place in the queue.
It was like a last-minute reprieve as the executioner stepped forward to do his job but, for Kate, it wasn’t enough. She watched for another minute, maybe more, until Jo offered up her passport. The check-in clerk took it from her, scanned it into the system, asking Jo a question to which she received a shake of the head.
There was no suitcase by her side.
Only when she moved away did Kate and Hank possess clear-cut verification that she hadn’t checked hold luggage. Jo looked up as she mounted the escalator that would take her to the floor above where she’d pass through security. In that split second, she was staring directly into the lens of the CCTV camera. Hank froze the image on screen. Kate was undone, but the dream was still alive.
28
Hank could see and feel Kate’s pain. Deep down, she knew that the possibility of finding Jo’s body was zero per cent, but she was a copper and would follow the evidence until she’d exhausted every possibility. Right now, she was hanging on by her fingernails, trying desperately to find a reason – any reason – why Jo might not have boarded that plane. She was doing what any detective would do: looking into a victim’s phone, her bank account, the whereabouts of her car, taking nothing at face value. Flying solo, she was risking everything on an outside chance. Bright was against her, the Met police were suspicious of her motives and Hank was humouring her. She was up against it, heading for
a car crash, the hold luggage question her last throw of the dice. It would end in tears. He was sure of it.
Kate’s failure to accept any version other than her own had kept her semi-sane, though she was aware that it was tormenting Hank. She only needed to look at him to confirm it. After the high of finding that Jo hadn’t checked hold luggage at Newcastle, he probably thought that she’d drop like a stone if things went wrong. So far, she hadn’t, but she could swing the other way at a moment’s notice.
‘Why the delay at Heathrow?’ she said.
He looked at her as if she were completely barking.
‘Remember what Daisy Reynolds said? After Jo’s boarding pass was scanned at the departure gate, there had been a slight delay, confirming a late pushback of around twenty, twenty-five minutes. She was vague on cause – could have been a technical hitch, difficult passenger, illness on board, error on the passenger manifest …’
‘All valid possibilities, I’d have thought.’
‘I don’t want possibilities, Hank. I want specifics.’
‘Are you asking me to find out?’
‘You’re catching on.’
Unaware that their remit was about to change, Kate and Hank went for lunch to discuss the way forward and work out what they would like to do and what they could reasonably expect to do, given their limited scope within the Casualty Bureau. When they returned to Gold Command, trouble was brewing. Conversations ended the minute the two Northumbria detectives crossed the threshold. No one in the incident room would make eye contact. Given the meeting she’d come from, Kate stood there wondering what was going on.
An elbow nudged her arm.
‘Your two o’clock,’ Hank whispered.
Kate’s eyes shifted to the right. DS Blue was hovering on the periphery of the room, trying to attract her attention without showing his hand. Locking onto her, he gave a slight nod in the direction of his office and was gone. ‘I think Waverley noticed our extended absence. Wait here.’
‘I’m not leaving you.’
‘Don’t crowd me, you know I don’t like it.’ He looked wounded. ‘And don’t sulk, I won’t be long.’
Leaving him muttering under his breath, Kate followed Blue to his office. The Met detective didn’t bother to walk around behind his desk to sit down. Instead, he perched on the end of it, feet and arms crossed, tie loosened slightly, his expression bordering on lecherous. His roving eye made Kate feel uncomfortable. You could go off people.
‘Shut the door,’ he said. ‘You and I need to have a chat.’
‘Shall I bend over, too? Your tone is beginning to resemble that of my old headmaster with a cane in his hand.’
Blue grinned.
Kate didn’t.
‘There’s been a significant development. While you were out of the office, US Homeland Security asked for your help. In fact, they demanded it. I’m not sure why, only that their request went directly to Waverley, copied to Northumbria’s head of CID, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright—’
‘I know my guv’nor’s name, so cut the crap or I’m out of here.’
‘He must think an awful lot of you.’
‘We get on. Is there a point to this?’
‘You tell me.’ He looked past her through the glass panel of his office door. ‘Why don’t we take it outside? You can confide in me over a quick pint. Maybe we could have dinner later.’
‘I already have a date.’
‘With whom?’
‘My 2ic – not that it’s any business of yours.’
Her first warning shot had gone over his head. He was unsure whether or not she was joking. The more direct she became, the more turned on he seemed to be.
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘You’re away from home. I’m a free agent. We’re going to be working together for a while. Call it southern hospitality, inter-agency cooperation or being nice. You have a problem with that, Kate?’
I have a problem with you …
‘May I respectfully remind you that I’m a guest of the Metropolitan Police and that I currently hold the rank of Detective Chief Inspector. Unless it’s different down here, I think the term you’re look for is ma’am. Now, shall we start again? If you have something to tell me, get it said. I need to crack on, even if you don’t.’
Slighted was the best way to describe his reaction.
Uncrossing his arms, Blue scurried off to hide behind his desk, placing a physical barrier between them, as if it might protect him from the dominatrix he’d conjured up in his head. Kate suppressed a laugh. She could never dine with a man whose suit trousers were too tight.
Not a good look.
‘My mistake … ma’am.’ Blue cleared his throat, his arrogance morphing into hostility in thirty seconds flat. ‘For some reason, Waverley has sanctioned your inclusion into the inner circle of the Casualty Bureau. No holds barred. He’s even providing you with an office of your own, an outside line and a computer linked to HOLMES—’
‘What about Hank?’
A shrug. ‘You’ll have to ask my guv’nor—’
‘I will.’
‘Good luck with that,’ he scoffed.
The internal line rang.
Kate nodded towards it. ‘You’d better get that. It might be the man from Del Monte.’
Blue hesitated.
‘Don’t worry, Fraser, I won’t tell Waverley that you’ve been feeding me confidential information for your own ends, dissing him behind his back – not unless he asks.’
The Met detective leaned forward, snatching up the landline. ‘DS Blue.’
His eyes fixed on Kate, a smirk forming on his face as he listened.
She gathered it was the Gold Commander.
‘Yes, sir, right away.’ He put down the phone. ‘Waverley wants you and your bagman in his office.’
She didn’t bother asking when.
The answer was now.
29
Without another word, Kate left the room, feeling daggers in her back as she made for the door. Hank was loitering directly outside. He fell in behind her as she headed along the corridor, a stupid grin on his face.
‘Like your style … ma’am.’
Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening at keyholes.’
‘You shouldn’t have led him on.’
She waved away the comment. ‘Needs must, Hank. I always knew the guy was a snake. Take note: any detective prepared to disrespect their boss to an outsider deserves exactly what he gets.’
‘Noted.’
They fell in step.
Kate hadn’t the time to celebrate the success of her plan, let alone call Rob Clark to thank him for his support. She had no idea how he’d managed to sway the American authorities so quickly and could only assume that he was well in with the decision makers. She checked her watch. No point emailing. He’d be halfway to the US by now. In a few hours, he’d pass over the fatal crash site. She imagined naval vessels in the sea below, a wreckage and body search in full swing.
They had reached Waverley’s door.
Taking a deep breath, Kate gave a gentle knock and heard a muffled ‘Come!’ from the other side. She eyeballed Hank. ‘Keep shtum, I’ll do the talking.’
A cheeky nod.
Expecting a row, he pushed open the door, standing aside to let her in. Kate approached Gold as she would any senior officer, shoulders back, head held high. It was a plush office, four times the size of hers back home: a huge desk, bookshelves crammed with police and legal manuals familiar to her. A framed photograph of Waverley in full dress uniform proudly shaking hands with former Labour Home Secretary, Jack Straw, was mounted on the wall. There were no personal mementos she could see. The commander was strictly business.
Kate stared at the top of Waverley’s head. ‘Sir, you wanted to see us?’
Looking up, he left them both standing.
As anticipated, he came down on her royally for wheedling her way into the mix. She had no idea why he’d asked Hank along –
except maybe to embarrass her. The Gold Commander had no clue what her link with US Homeland Security was, only that it existed, and probably involved what he described as ‘failing to follow proper procedure’.
In other words, she’d gone over his head.
For all he knew, she’d shagged the US Attorney General, the Director of National Intelligence or both at the same time in order to secure her new-found status. Kate would never divulge her connection or mention who was involved. Rob Clark was a star. He deserved anonymity. Kate would ensure that his name was left out of any political fallout, should Waverley decide to make an issue of it. She wasn’t sure if the US authorities had sanctioned Hank’s help, or just hers, and there was no way she was about to ask for clarification. Rob would brief her later, even if Waverley would not, and still his motor mouth was running …
‘I told you before. I will not put up with your interference or stand for your showboating on my watch.’
On his watch?
Who did he think he was – a US Navy Seal?
‘Be afraid, Inspector. Northumberland is not as far away as you might think. One false move and you’re out, Homeland Security or not.’
Kate kept it buttoned until he ran out of steam or, more accurately, ideas. There were only so many ways that a misogynist could disrespect her in front of someone he considered to be her subordinate and who she valued as a close and loyal colleague. Hank was seething but managing to curb his temper.
So far.
He’d be expecting Kate to give Waverley a piece of her mind. She held her tongue. This was the Met commander’s turf, not hers. Someone with his management style wasn’t about to listen to a woman of any rank. Kate had noticed that not one of his senior staff was female. Blue hadn’t responded when she raised it with him.
Silence spoke volumes.
Waverley reminded Kate of DCI Atkins, a detective who had taken pleasure in baiting her at every opportunity, trying to provoke her into an argument and piss her off to the point of retaliation. When she was a young officer and he was her uniformed sergeant, he’d given her all the shit jobs, hoping she would fail.
