Without a Trace

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Lush.’ Hank raised a lecherous eyebrow. ‘Didn’t know you were into older men—’

  She laughed. ‘I’m not, so don’t get any ideas.’

  ‘You’re not my type—’

  ‘Nor you mine.’

  ‘Hey! I’m not that much older.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Kate raised a smile. ‘Anyway, I told Torres I’d do it. If I ran away from one bloke, I’d hardly be brave enough to mix with a terrorist organisation, would I? There’s no reason anyone will get suspicious, assuming they buy my cover story. Besides, it’ll keep my hand in. Don’t fret, Hank. When I turn up for work, you won’t even recognise me.’

  ‘Kate, let me. These people are organised and ruthless.’

  ‘I can handle myself.’

  ‘And what will I be doing?’

  ‘Interviewing. This is your opportunity to vet everyone face-to-face. Baggage handlers will be expecting to be questioned by police, in case they saw or heard anything dodgy in the days and weeks leading up to the attack. You’ll be asking the same set of questions, over and over, in case they compare notes afterwards. No deviation. Torres sent a pro forma so you don’t have to make one up. In fact, that sulky face you’re wearing is perfect. If you could also act bored, your subjects will think you’re a nobody doing the grunt work. Ask me, you’re made for the role.’

  They worked hard getting ready for the tasks that Torres had given them, Kate rehearsing her ‘legend’ as a Geordie runaway, Hank gathering the information he needed to interview staff in the baggage shed. While he was doing that, Kate took the opportunity to call Bright, explaining that her 2ic would not be returning as instructed.

  He was livid.

  Kate interrupted him in full flow. ‘Phil, I don’t want to argue—’

  ‘Good, because I gave you a direct order. You don’t get to choose which ones you obey, which ones you toss aside. I made myself perfectly clear, so if Hank fancies keeping his warrant card, he’d better be standing in my office by close of play with a begging bowl in his hand. Is that clear?’

  ‘Torres needs us both.’

  ‘Tough, I need you more.’

  ‘We have dual roles here. How will it look if you pull us off now?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Believe it or not, your reputation matters to me. Mine I couldn’t give a stuff about. Look, if Robbo needs help with his investigation up north, Hank and I will be on hand to offer support at every turn. We can work remotely. We have access to HOLMES and no intention of letting him cope with it alone.’

  ‘That’s big of you.’

  ‘Have you ID’d the victim?’ She was trying to deflect attention from her refusal to play ball and demonstrate that she was interested in what was happening on her home patch.

  ‘We’re working on it. He’s a mess, Robbo couldn’t make the ID. He said the guy looked like a businessman: posh suit, good shoes, expensive watch. We’ve acquired CCTV from the hospital to identify the men who delivered him to A&E and then left the scene. They told medics his name was Henry Ford, gave a dodgy address and date of birth. I have a bad feeling about this one, Kate.’

  Kate fed this to Hank as she drove. It started to rain as she took a road signposted Hounslow, an area she’d never been to before. Traffic slowed to a crawl at a set of traffic lights. Once she got going again, she turned off at the T-junction heading for an address she’d committed to memory. Homeland Security had rented a one-bedroom crash pad for her in an area that was less than salubrious; part of her cover, should anyone follow her. Whoever Torres had sent to check out the property was experienced and had chosen well, a first-floor flat Kate could escape from if necessary, with a side window directly on to the flat garage roof.

  Clocking it as she passed by, Kate nudged Hank with her elbow, flicking her eyes left. ‘Take note of the green door. The first-floor window is mine.’

  His eyebrows almost met in the middle. ‘You’re moving out?’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘Great, I never liked the colour purple.’ He checked out the house. ‘Which window is mine?’

  ‘You’re not invited. You need to grab your stuff from the Premier Inn.’ She reeled off an address. ‘There’s a room there for you.’

  ‘Let me guess. It’s a B&B with no bar.’

  ‘Close.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘It’s a section house with no bar.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  There were no section houses left in the Northumbria force area, though he’d lived in one when he first joined the police. He’d often spoken about what went on there: the parties, the fights, the difficulties of young men struggling to cope. For most, it was their first experience of living away from home. His too.

  ‘It’ll be fun!’ she said.

  ‘It’ll be gross. I can smell it from here.’

  ‘It suits our purposes. My place is hardly the Ritz.’

  ‘Yeah, but mine will be full of probationers.’

  ‘Then you can pass on the benefit of your vast experience.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘I could always drop you at the airport.’

  He let out a resigned sigh.

  Kate drove on, turning left up a side street, then left again into the lane that ran behind her new rental so he could identify it from the rear. Despite his plummeting mood, Hank was taking notice as they cruised by, clocking the adjacent properties as well as her own. Kate went around again to be sure he’d seen enough, then doubled back, parking a few streets away outside a small café with few customers inside, telling him she fancied a coffee.

  ‘In there?’ He was unimpressed. ‘This day just keeps on giving.’

  She made no move to get out of the car. Secretly, she looked forward to getting her hands dirty in the baggage shed, but Hank required updating further. She handed over the keys to her vehicle. ‘My car is now yours. Look after it. From now on, I’m on the bus. Our only contact will be via text. Oh, and you need this …’ She passed him her mobile phone. ‘I have a new device. You’re on your own, Hank.’

  ‘How are you going to keep in touch with Robbo and Carmichael?’

  ‘I’m not, you’ll have to. Give me your phone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give.’

  He passed it over.

  Accessing his address book, she entered a fictitious name and her new phone number, showed it to him, then handed it back. ‘We have no contact whatsoever unless we have something important to share.’

  ‘And if we do?’

  ‘Your number is listed in my contacts as Andy O’Brien.’ Hank approved. It was the name of a former Magpies defender he rated. Ignoring his silly grin, Kate continued: ‘If you receive any calls from a number you don’t recognise, you’re a mechanic, not a footballer. You’re my new fella and we’ll communicate by text along those lines. A Miss U text from either of us means meet here as soon as we’re able, or at The Sun around the corner if this place is shut. Text Miss U lots and we’ll meet within the hour. Miss U lots with a kiss from me means send the cavalry … or get out of there if it comes from you.’

  ‘Now you’re worrying me.’

  It worried her too, but Kate didn’t voice her concern. Aware of the risks involved in any undercover operation, and the enormity of the task they were facing, the idea of a coffee no longer appealed. She had stuff to do and told him she’d rather push off than hang around. Asking him to flip the boot, she got out of the car. Hank followed suit, walking round to the rear of the car. Kate grabbed her kit and slammed the tailgate shut, hauling a large backpack onto one shoulder.

  ‘All the details are in my Notes app, Hank. You clear on everything?’

  He nodded. ‘Miss you already.’

  ‘Me too, now get out of here.’

  36

  Kate walked to her new digs alone and let herself in with a key hidden under a stone in the tiny front garden. As she approached the stairs, the front door opened behind her. She swung round to see who was there. The
bloke who’d followed her in threw her a welcoming smile. He had long dark hair, great teeth, nice eyes. He was casually dressed: jeans, a windbreaker, a guitar slung over his back. He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  ‘Hi!’ Leaning the guitar against the front door, he pulled off his scarf. ‘I’m Michael.’

  ‘Lou, nice to meet you.’

  With no time for niceties, nor wish to get acquainted further, she told the truth: she was in a rush to get to work. Hitching her rucksack up onto her shoulder with two hands, she turned away, making for the stairs, leaving him affronted in the hallway. Before she reached them, he called after her.

  ‘You the new tenant?’

  She turned. ‘Yeah, just off the train.’

  ‘The flat will need airing. It’s been empty for months. It’ll be nice to have a neighbour.’ He pointed at her rucksack. ‘Need a hand? That looks heavy.’

  ‘I can manage, thanks.’

  ‘OK, holler if you need anything—’

  The door to her flat opened directly into a grim living room that hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years. On one wall, there was a black, faux-leather sofa with no armrests or cushions, a cheap coffee table in front of it, a grubby grey carpet on the floor. A TV sat in one corner, wires trailing to the nearest three-pin plug. Picking up the remote, she switched it on. The picture wasn’t great but she could catch the news and use the radio channels to make some noise.

  There was nothing worse than silence.

  Kate wandered aimlessly through the rest of the property, pushing open doors to the adjoining rooms. The bedroom was the saddest thing she’d ever seen. A queensize bed with a heavily stained mattress, a wonky lamp with no lightshade. Relieved to see a brand-new sleeping bag on the floor beside the radiator, she turned away. The bathroom had no shower. A single toothbrush lay abandoned in the sink that hadn’t been cleaned when the property was vacated. Ditto the kitchenette at the rear. Then and there, she decided she’d be eating out whenever she got the chance.

  ‘Welcome home, Lou,’ she said.

  Her legend was simple: a northern lass who’d fled domestic violence and couldn’t find work because her region was an unemployment wasteland now that shipbuilding and mining had disappeared. She didn’t fancy a call centre, so she’d decided on a fresh start in the south. It was not only credible, it was perfectly reasonable that she’d head for one of the largest employers in the London Borough of Hillingdon where her non-existent female cousin lived – fifteen miles from the bright lights of central London.

  Returning to the living room, she sat down heavily on the sofa, staring at the wall opposite. It was bare, save for lumps of Blu Tack that clung onto the torn edges of posters and photographs ripped down when the previous tenant left. It seemed he or she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  She could relate.

  By comparison, Hank’s place would feel like home.

  The loneliness returned. It had hit her time and again all day – and not always when she was on her own. She’d done her best to hide it from Hank but it kept slamming into her when she least expected. He’d tried telling her that she was in denial, refusing to accept the inevitable. The more he hinted at it, the more she dug her heels in, and now she had to accept that he might have been right. It wasn’t the fact that Jo hadn’t been in touch. For her, that wasn’t unusual. But there had been no bank transactions, and her phone had gone dead at the airport.

  Kate felt sick to her stomach, the reality of the situation causing her untold pain. Slipping her mobile from her pocket with the intention of calling Tom or James only served to make matters worse. She couldn’t do so on her new device, neither could she speak to her father. Another reason for him to hate her. She was now Lou Paige. Kate Daniels no longer existed. Her life was now in Hank’s possession: her contacts and images; texts and emails; anything and everything that might ID her as a cop.

  The mobile hit the table with a solid thump.

  Kate couldn’t write Jo out of her life yet. She still needed proof, one way or the other. Unanswered questions tugged at her heart: the discrepancy over Jo’s hold luggage, the fact that two women didn’t board the flight.

  She willed one of them to be Jo.

  Please, let her live.

  Kate didn’t know who she was praying to. Only that she was. Please let her live. The same words had spilled from her mouth when her mother was dying. If there was a God, he didn’t listen then. Kate hoped the fucker was listening now.

  She closed her eyes, mentally replaying the CCTV clip Carmichael had sent through, showing Jo walking away from the airport information desk, the tall guy following close behind. It was only a matter of time before Maxwell identified him. Hank would follow it up. Kate couldn’t break cover. She’d given Torres assurances, and she had no intention of reneging on them.

  I won’t let you down, Gabriele.

  Or you, Jo.

  37

  Having moved his gear from the Premier Inn, Hank grabbed a bite to eat at the section house before heading for Heathrow. As he approached the staff car park at Terminal 5, the barrier lifted allowing him in. Torres had thought of everything. Checking his watch as he got out of the car, he quickened his step, keen to get inside for his meeting with Somi Haq, Heathrow’s Human Resources Manager. Briefed to provide him with the names of baggage handlers who had access to Flight 0113 – including those on duty the night before and details of any who’d been in trouble – she’d come in to take care of it herself.

  She stood up to welcome him as he entered her office. ‘DS Gormley, please sit down. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. I have everything you need right here.’ She placed a slender, manicured hand on a pile of paperwork, then lifted it, removed the top sheet and held it up. ‘This list contains the names of those who’ve been warned for breaches of protocol. I want you to know that we take these very seriously. We dismiss anyone whose actions threaten the security of the travelling public.’

  ‘Have you fired anyone recently?’

  ‘Not in the time parameters I was given, no. Nor has anyone gone sick, taken holiday or resigned – I checked.’

  ‘That makes my job easier,’ Hank said, ‘although I may have to widen the timescale at some point.’

  ‘Of course. The Airport Operations Manager has pledged full cooperation. I’ll be on hand to assist you for as long as required.’

  Hank thanked her with a half-smile. ‘Have you taken on anyone new in the past few weeks?’

  ‘One or two. Their names are highlighted. Staff who were on duty on Friday the seventeenth of October are also clearly marked.’ This information was significant – the departure date for 0113. ‘I’ve flagged them in my system. If anyone requests to take leave at short notice or disappears, you’ll be notified immediately.’

  ‘Thanks … I intend to stagger my interviews across each shift until all employees have been questioned, though I’d appreciate it if you would keep that to yourself.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They spent another hour together before Hank left for his office, a small box room overlooking the baggage shed. Somi explained that he’d been put there for three reasons: to facilitate a speedy flow of interviewees; to avoid staff having to leave the secure area; to expedite their return to work, causing minimum disruption to the workforce. If Hank was a betting man – which he wasn’t – he thought there might be a fourth, a stipulation from Torres to watch over Kate.

  Kate dressed in warm, dark kit, avoiding anything that would make her stand out. Before moving her belongings to Hounslow, she’d been through every pocket of her clothing to ensure that there was no receipt or clue to her real identity that might blow her cover.

  The baggage shed was freezing, a huge corrugated iron structure, sectioned off and manned by workers of all nationalities. Having gone through the same brief induction process as any other staff member working behind the scenes, she’d got a sense of how closely staff were scrutinised as
they entered the security identification display areas, and how they proved that they were legit. Agreeing to work a split shift, Kate had been given protective clothing, a security pass and a designated member of staff to tell her what to do. It wasn’t rocket science. In no time she was hauling luggage like the rest of them.

  The shed was busy, a constant flow of luggage arriving on a conveyor belt from feeder flights and directly from the check-in desks. As she worked, Kate thought about Torres. The special agent was convinced that someone here was either on the take, prepared to look the other way in exchange for cash, unaware that they were helping someone motivated by hate.

  Kate wondered how Hank’s preparations were going. Before starting his interviews, he’d have put together an overview of employees, seeking out those who’d drawn attention to themselves for the wrong reasons, sussing out any who’d been disciplined or found in sterile areas where they had no authority to be. Her priority was more straightforward: to identify suspects. It was a big ask, but one she was well placed to investigate as an insider. Her eyes scanned the baggage shed for anyone who looked nervous. As staff worked, they talked, to each other and to her. None seemed particularly interested in the northerner who’d arrived in the worst week possible, following an incident that had rocked the aviation industry around the world.

  For the first time since he’d taken possession of Kate’s police mobile, the device rang in Hank’s breast pocket. Backing away from the entrance to the baggage shed, he found a quiet corner and pulled out the phone. Carmichael’s name was on the home screen. She was already speaking as he lifted the device to his ear.

  ‘Hello?’ She seemed distracted. ‘Sorry, Kate, false alarm. Thought I had good news for you, but I don’t.’

  ‘Lisa, it’s me.’

  ‘Is the boss there?’

  ‘No, she’s incommunicado. From now on, if you have anything for her, you’ll have to go through me. I can’t explain, so don’t ask.’ If Hank knew Lisa, she’d have worked out that Kate’s lack of availability had something to do with the guy she was meeting in Windsor. ‘She’s busy, and so am I. That’s all you need to know.’