by Mari Hannah
‘Yeah? There’s absolutely nowt happening this end,’ she said sarcastically. ‘We have a murder victim no one has reported missing and no clue where to start. You pick your moments to be away, Sarge.’
Hank apologised.
With a new enquiry underway, the first few hours were critical. ‘How’s Robbo?’
‘To be honest, he’d rather you weren’t tying up resources.’ Carmichael dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Why d’you think I’m calling from the locker room? Maxwell found the guy who was standing next to Jo at the information desk. You’re right, he did follow her. She accessed one of the bars and he caught up with her at the counter. We can’t be sure what was said but she looked a bit embarrassed when he approached.’
‘She would. Kate overheard part of their conversation. Jo apparently told him to do one.’
‘Doesn’t sound like her.’
‘Yeah, well she wasn’t in the best frame of mind at the time. Can you get a lip-reader to take a look at the CCTV?’
‘I could but there’s no point. It’s a dead end, Hank. Maxwell asked an immigration official if he could help ID the man as he passed through security. They came up with a match. The guy was a passenger on Jo’s flight. He’s not going to be answering any questions.’
38
Kate clocked Hank as he entered the baggage shed, a confident gait, a clipboard in one hand, a briefcase in the other. He unlocked the door to a small office, disappearing momentarily as it closed behind him. Seconds later, he appeared at the window, striking a formidable figure as he stood, arms folded, with a view over the workforce, a bored expression on his face.
His arrival had sparked an immediate reaction. All around, cages were rattling, literally and figuratively. Her new colleagues had stopped what they were doing, all eyes turned towards Hank’s small office window, no one in any doubt that he was there to question them.
Hank appeared not to have noticed Kate, but she knew different. He’d have pegged her for sure and was avoiding eye contact, playing the role she’d given him, a Met detective who’d caught the thin end of the wedge, consigned to the grunt work for the foreseeable future. He was carrying out her instructions to the letter.
Deception cut both ways. It came as second nature to detectives trained in the art of subterfuge. Hank was no exception. He excelled at it. They had met during an undercover operation while working in the drug squad. Having received extensive instruction – and proved that they could withstand intense scrutiny if called upon to do so, scoring top marks in their psychological assessments – they were put to work, infiltrating an organisation prepared to flood the streets with chemicals so addictive that those stupid enough to use them would never fully recover. Passing themselves off as buyers was dangerous, but also thrilling. The sting had thwarted a serious and organised crime syndicate, resulting in long prison sentences.
Could they pull it off one more time?
They might be older, but they were no less hungry for a result.
Rolling her eyes at the young man standing by her side, Kate played dumb, asking him what the fuss was about, without the slightest hint that she was anything other than who she was pretending to be: Lou Paige, the latest recruit with no friends and even less of a clue as to what was causing such a stir among her distracted teammates.
‘We’ll be questioned,’ he said. ‘I suppose, from his perspective, we’re all under suspicion.’
‘Not me, surely!’ Kate feigned outrage. ‘I only started this morning.’
‘Dunno.’
‘Talk about bad timing.’
Grabbing more luggage, the guy examined the label and turned away. Kate resumed work, too. This one was in no mood for introductions and she didn’t wish to appear too keen to make his acquaintance.
A few minutes later, Hank’s door opened. He stood on the threshold, scanning the workers as a tannoy called out the first of many names, asking Pete Abraham to make himself available for interview, telling him where to go. Hank had chosen to work his way through his list alphabetically.
Positioning herself where she could see the interviewees going in and coming out of Hank’s small office, Kate carried on working while keeping an eye on the door, noting the body language of those who were leaving and whether they struck up a conversation with anyone afterwards. Most looked unconcerned, a little sad perhaps, but that was only to be expected.
Kate was physically and emotionally exhausted when she finished her shift and made her way to Hounslow. The Miss U lots text arrived before she did, which meant that Hank would make his way to their rendezvous point within the hour. She replied. Can’t wait to see you. Though she was desperate to soak her body in the bath – not necessarily the one in her new flat – she made straight for The Sun public house, ordered herself a large gin and sat down to wait.
It was an unremarkable pub, fairly popular with local people. Everyone seemed to know each other. Two young women caught her eye. They were sitting away from other customers, side by side, a cosy corner where they could chat over a glass of red without interruption. One of them reminded her of Jo, the way she paid attention to what the other was saying, as if she was the only person in the room, a private conversation that had a subtext Kate recognised instantly. The intensity between them was like a knife to the heart, triggering a reaction deep within her.
In a moment of heartbreak and sorrow, Kate resisted the urge to intervene. She wanted to tell them to hang onto what they had and not let their union slip away as she had done. What was she thinking, putting her job before Jo? She treasured her – just not enough. It had been a costly mistake to assume that she’d always be there. She wouldn’t.
She wasn’t.
Kate looked away as the pub door swung open, bringing with it a waft of cold air. Two men entered, Hank following them in. As always, he seemed pleased to see her. Her smile was forced. He’d seen the desperation in her eyes before she had time to hide it and gave her a moment to compose herself, grabbing a beer from the bar before walking towards her. Kate wondered if he’d texted out of necessity, or if she was merely a diversion from the section house. As it turned out, she wasn’t.
‘Can I get you another before I spill the beans?’ he said. ‘You look like you could use one.’
She shook her head. ‘One more and I’ll keel over.’
‘Kate, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing a hot soak in the tub won’t fix.’
He wasn’t fooled.
Straddling a bar stool, he took a swig of his pint, setting the glass on a beer mat advertising the gin she was drinking. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hate to add to your woes but I had a call from Lisa. It’s not good news. The man Jo spoke to at the airport was booked on the same flight to New York and is now on the “Missing Presumed Dead” list in Blue’s office.’
‘Maxwell found him?’
‘Them,’ Hank corrected her. ‘They shared a drink, then went their separate ways. I checked in with Esposito. This guy she did remember. He was good-looking, charming too, or so she said. First at the gate, so presumably first to board. As Daisy Reynolds said, Jo was one of the last to board, so they weren’t together. She hung back for some reason.’
‘She always does. She can’t be arsed to queue or wrestle with other passengers if she has a seat booked. She prefers to walk on when everyone else is settled. She’d have booked an aisle seat so as not to disturb anyone, too, I bet. I’d like to think that it saved her life, but as each day passes I have to face facts.’
It killed her to say it.
Words eluded Hank for a moment. ‘Kate, there’s still a chance.’
He was trying to lift her.
She loved him for it. ‘There’s a reason I can’t accept that she’s gone. If I let go, I may as well find myself a tall building.’
‘Kate, don’t. You’re under a lot of stress. I get that, but you can’t let it ruin your life.’
‘That’s just it. My life will never be the same without her in it.’ Acro
ss the room, hands were finding each other – the slightest of touches. A demonstration of true love. ‘See those women over there? We were like that once, couldn’t take our eyes off each other for longer than a few seconds. Jo was the most wonderful person I ever met, Hank. How can I live with the fact that I failed her?’
39
The last few days had been agonising, every hour, every minute, every second having brought Kate nearer to the realisation that she’d never see Jo again. Hank’s attempt to comfort her at the pub didn’t help. Touching though it was, it felt like pity and she couldn’t cope with that. She didn’t feel worthy of his compassion — or anyone else’s – and told him so. Against his advice, she’d bought a bottle of gin from the barman at The Sun, waved him off in her car and returned to her grotty flat with the intention of getting blotto.
Taking a chipped glass from the kitchen cupboard, the only one there, she’d poured herself a large drink and tuned the TV to a radio channel. The music soothed her as she cleaned and ran a hot bath. She’d just sunk her aching body in the water when A Great Big World came on the radio, the poignant lyrics of ‘Say Something’ floating in through the open door, the words moving her to tears as they had the first time she’d heard them. Back then, they had stirred her emotions. On this occasion the song echoed exactly what she was feeling, the words tugging at her heart. She would have followed Jo anywhere and was reluctantly giving up on her, regretting the fact that she couldn’t get to her in time – physically or emotionally.
As drunk as she was when she finally made it to bed, Kate was too wired to sleep. She’d lain awake for hours, staring at shadows on the ceiling, blaming herself for pushing Jo too far, rerunning their life together: their first kiss; frequent holidays; theatre trips. Good times. But in the small hours, the memories had become darker: the disagreements; Jo’s car accident resulting in partial memory loss interpreted by Bright as a way to avoid being questioned in connection with her ex-husband’s murder; her subsequent arrest and remand in custody; the way Kate had fought tooth and nail to prove her innocence, putting her job on the line in the process; and finally, the horror of her flight to JFK being blown to bits over the Atlantic Ocean. Kate could only hope that every one of the passengers had died instantly, Jo along with them. To imagine anything else was too painful.
Next morning, feeling badly hungover and exhausted through lack of sleep as she got ready for another shift in the baggage shed, it took every ounce of resolve Kate possessed to report for duty. There were at least three hundred and sixteen reasons why she had no option but to continue what she’d started. Multiplying that figure by the extended families of flight crew, security staff and passengers from thirteen countries worldwide was unimaginable. Every single one of them deserved justice. If there was anything she could do to bring that closer, she would.
Nothing would deter her.
Nothing.
The name Lou Paige being transmitted loudly over the public address system made her look towards the window of Hank’s office. Putting down the suitcase she was transporting to a cage bound for a flight due to take off within the hour, she checked in with her supervisor, then left the baggage floor for a chance to exchange information with Hank without having to wait for him to meet with her in Hounslow.
She’d not been idle but wanted his feedback first.
‘It’s interesting what you learn when you start asking questions,’ Hank said. ‘Already a picture is emerging. You were right. There’s pilfering going on here. On what scale, I’ve yet to determine. People are tight-lipped. They want to keep their jobs. No one is prepared to admit to anything, certainly not to any knowledge of selling or cloning airside passes.’
‘Why would they?’
‘Exactly.’
Kate stared at the pro forma in front of him. From his position near the door, she was fairly sure he wasn’t visible from the window. Facing away from it, she could talk freely, but she was taking no chances. ‘Keep writing, Hank. We’re under scrutiny. I can’t stay long. Everyone knows I’m new in, so a nil return as far as you’re concerned.’
He wrote her dodgy name on the sheet in front of him, then continued with his update. His contact in HR claimed that breaches involving security passes were usually a route to theft, not anything more serious. ‘Assuming there was such a transaction, the person involved probably didn’t know the intention of the buyer. I mean, why ask a question when you don’t want to know the answer, when money is more important than anything else?’
‘If anyone traded with someone motivated by terrorism it’s a monstrous betrayal of trust on an unsuspecting travelling public,’ Kate said, her tone bitter. ‘Everyone who clocked on this morning was told that the Operations Manager has increased security. He’s asking for vigilance. Well, it’s a bit bloody late for that!’
A flash of anger hit its target.
Hank almost ducked.
Kate wasn’t finished. ‘Everything they do is supposed to be intelligence-led. And yet people are on the take, from taxis to hire cars to those working behind the scenes. If security have any idea what’s going on, it seems to me that they’re doing nothing to stamp it out. If they let people get away with the small things, it breeds contempt for the bigger things. According to Blue, they’re losing millions and it’s happening right in front of them.’
A nod from Hank. ‘It’s like trying to get toothpaste back in a tube—’
‘You reckon?’ She was being sarcastic.
Hank had allocated each interviewee a maximum of five minutes in order to get through as many as he could in the shortest possible time. He seemed distracted, as though he had something on his mind.
Kate was about to ask him to spit it out when he did.
‘Does Torres really think we’re still under threat?’
‘I can’t answer that. No one has yet claimed responsibility. She hinted at a new kid on the block, which makes our job a damned sight harder. Whoever we’re looking for is not on any official watchlist.’ Pulling up her sleeve, Kate consulted her arm where she’d scribbled down three separate times.
He was horrified. ‘What the fuck is that?’
She gave him a pointed look. ‘I could hardly take a notepad in without drawing attention to myself, could I? Your nine o’clock appointment I didn’t like the look of.’
Consulting his list, he gave her the name of the corresponding interviewee. She wrote it next to the time on her arm, producing a great deal of anxiety in her 2ic. He had no need to warn her that she was taking a risk, but he did it anyway.
‘Anyone else you’re not happy about?’
‘Yeah, your ten fifteen and ten forty-five.’ He gave another two names, one of which he had to spell out for her. Another scribble on the underside of her left arm, then Kate pulled down her sleeve, before asking: ‘How many more are there?’
‘A shedload.’ The pun was unintentional. ‘I told all of them this is the start of a protracted enquiry and that they may be recalled.’ He rotated his neck and flexed his shoulders. ‘I’m knackered. It’s so bloody hot in here.’
‘Think yourself lucky, it’s freezing in the shed. Muscles are aching where I didn’t know I had any … and I’m dying for a cuppa.’ She tapped her forearm. ‘I’ll feed this to Torres as soon as I get the chance.’
‘When you have, wash it off.’
‘Yes, Dad.’ Her comment prompted her to ask him to call the hospital and enquire about the patient. She pushed her chair away. ‘I’m out of here.’
‘No, don’t get up.’
Kate was intrigued.
‘You’re not going to like this.’
‘I can see that.’
Hank said, ‘Whatever you do, promise me you won’t react.’
She waited.
Reluctantly, he pushed a copy of the Daily Mail across his desk, open on page two, a half-page spread. Kate shook, clenching her hands as she read the print, unable to believe what she was seeing. Jo’s smiling face stared at her from a photogr
aph taken at a charity function they had both attended to support the work of a local hospice. Details of her life, family and job – including her role within Northumbria Police – the fact that she was once charged with her late husband’s murder and released for lack of evidence, the whole shebang. At the bottom of the piece, a comment from Tom, a tribute to his mother that brought a lump to Kate’s throat.
Kate felt the blood drain from her face. ‘This has Blue’s name all over it.’
A nod. ‘He’s getting at you for playing him.’
‘It worked. Does the dozy knacker have any idea how dangerous this is?’
‘No, but I do. You’re exposed, Kate—’
‘I’m exposed! You’re a Geordie cop. What the fuck—’
‘You need to tell Torres.’
‘Let’s not knee-jerk. Bright will go spare when he reads this. Waverley will be mincemeat and Blue will be out on his ear. Get in touch with Carmichael. Do it now. Tell her I want an internet search for any images of me and Jo together. If she can’t find them, they don’t exist. If she does, we have a real problem. You know what to do.’
40
Torres had made arrangements for the transfer of information, a designated hotel room where Kate’s contact would meet with her whenever she deemed it necessary. Assuming she ever found who she was looking for, Kate knew that the prosecution of the perpetrators would be neither swift nor straightforward. It would take years of legal argument over jurisdiction, exactly what happened following the Lockerbie bombing. It took a decade to decide where to try Abdelbaset Al Megrahi and Al Amin Khalifa Fhimah, the Libyans claiming that they would not receive a fair trial in the US or UK. And finally, the case was heard in The Hague under Scottish law.
