by Mari Hannah
Hanging up, he walked back to Kate, asking her to sit down and finish her drink. He knew that when he shared Carmichael’s news, Kate would go off on one, despite conclusive proof to the contrary.
She didn’t disappoint. Hope once again took a stranglehold. Her eyes were on fire, desolation replaced by optimism.
Worrying.
‘The phone alert is meaningless …’ Hank said. ‘You said yourself that her mobile was probably stolen. Some arsehole could be messing with it.’
‘Her device is password-protected.’
‘Yeah, and we all know how secure that is, don’t we?’ It was a valid comment even if she didn’t want to hear it.
‘When was the phone switched on?’
‘At three fifteen in the OX20 postcode.’
‘Oxford?’
‘Woodstock.’
‘Jesus!’ Kate felt like she might throw up. ‘Jo booked a hotel there once. Another cancelled trip when I was called out to a crime scene before we were due to travel. This isn’t over yet. Not by any stretch of the imagination.’
‘You’re talking bollocks.’ Hank had to dissuade her from this madness. ‘You know perfectly well how these things work. Steal a phone, discover the ID of its owner, pretend to find it, then hand it over for financial reward. Given the evidence on that boarding card, that’s the only explanation.’
‘Now who’s using the evidence to fit their point of view?’
‘I’m not. You asked for proof and now you have it. Kate, our lives are stored on our devices. We’re prepared to pay to find them when they’re lost. The thieving bastard probably pressed the last number redial to find out who it belonged to so he or she could make their play.’
‘Who did it call, Hank?’
He didn’t want to answer. The results of triangulation had thrown him. Carmichael was probably still wondering why such a monumental breakthrough hadn’t hit the mark. Ordinarily he’d have been praising her for a job well done. Coming on the back of Chadwick’s revelation, he hadn’t. He hung up without thanking her. He was still trying to put the pieces together, assuming he could get a word in edgeways.
‘Well?’ Kate said.
He had to tell her. ‘North Tyneside Hospital, a call lasting a few seconds only.’
‘Would that be the same hospital where my old man is still a patient? I rest my case.’
Smug didn’t suit her. It never had. Kate was desperate, willing to believe her own hype, clinging onto anything and everything that suited her. Unhealthy. For someone so logical, she was beyond reason. Never in his wildest had Hank imagined her reaching a state of such weirdness. ‘Lisa checked in with the hospital,’ he said, in a last-ditch attempt to win Kate over. He had to find a way. ‘No one could remember the call or the caller, whether male or female. They don’t log all enquiries.’
‘She’s alive, Hank.’ Kate stood up. ‘What are the chances of a thief ringing that number from a place Jo loves, one that I happen to know is on her wish list?’
Hank had no answer to that. He had to concede she had a point.
She gestured with her hand. ‘Gimme the car keys. We need to get going. I think I know where Jo went today.’
‘Kate, we can’t—’
‘We can and we will, or I’ll go alone.’ Another hand gesture. ‘Keys! Hand them over. I’ll grab an overnight bag and we’ll call at the section house to collect your stuff. That way, we can travel tonight and get an early start in the morning.’
An arc of light took Hank’s attention. Two men emerged from the pub, loitering in the doorway, lighting their cigarettes. They were out of earshot. Still, he lowered his voice. ‘What if Torres tries to contact you?’
‘She won’t. We’re state zero.’
‘She might. You’re undercover.’
Checking her phone, Kate looked up and said: ‘It’s an hour away, M4, M25, M40. We’ll be there and back before she knows we’re gone.’
‘We don’t even know what we’re looking for.’
‘You might not. I do. If I’m wrong, I’ll work it out. If Torres gets in touch, I won’t answer.’
‘And if she calls me? What will I tell her?’
‘Make something up.’ She took in his exasperation. ‘And, if you’re uncomfortable lying for me, tell her the truth. I don’t give a fat rat’s arse any more.’
49
Reluctantly, Hank handed over her keys. They left the pub without seeing their drinks off. There was no changing Kate’s mind. God knows, he’d tried reasoning with her. She was on a mission … again. Her rebelliousness had landed them both in hot water more than once, but where she led, he followed. Until she’d exhausted all possibilities, she wouldn’t rest. Although he didn’t voice his opinion, Hank thought that going off-piste during an undercover operation was bordering on suicidal. If Torres found out, Kate could kiss goodbye to the most high-profile investigation she’d ever work on.
It bothered him that everyone at base was now rooting for Jo, unaware that he had unequivocal proof that she was gone for good. Kate had forbidden him from contacting them. Investigating the call from Jo’s phone was her sole focus. The rest could wait.
What was the harm? Hank thought. They had twenty-four hours to kill. Given that they were leaving the area, at least he would have the opportunity to keep tabs on her and cover her back so she didn’t blow her cover. Already, Kate was in the zone, concentrating on the road ahead, a very different woman now that Carmichael had stuck her oar in. He couldn’t help but admire Kate’s ability to keep the faith, however misguided, and decided to let her follow her nose until she met a dead end, then support her afterwards.
As the miles flew by, she shared her plans to make enquiries at Blenheim Palace, the Duke of Marlborough’s ancestral home.
‘Why there?’ He couldn’t imagine.
‘It was on Jo’s bucket list, a stone’s throw from Woodstock.’ She grinned at him, the weirdness continuing. ‘If her phone was switched on, pound to a penny that’s where she was when she made the call.’
‘If she made the call.’
‘She made it.’
Crossing his arms, Hank wound his neck in, his thoughts turning to Jo. Offender profiling for the MIT had only been part of her job. The rest of the time she’d spent at the Regional Psychology Service, diagnosing and treating people whose mental health was skewed in some way, offering them alternatives to medication through psychotherapy. A few days ago, he’d been prepared to believe that she’d recognised this in herself since the breakdown of her relationship with Kate and was trying to heal herself through meditation or by taking spiritual guidance, but not now. She might disengage at times of stress, curl up and read a book, but any more than a few days of turning her back on the world was a stretch to anyone in their right mind. Unless she’d taken a temporary vow of silence, surely she’d have turned on a TV, picked up a newspaper or called her kids. When he pointed out that she’d done none of those things, Kate bit his head off.
He yawned, exhausted with the whole affair.
Acting on a single phone call lasting twenty-seven seconds, Kate’s self-deception had returned. Even though he didn’t share the view that her destiny wasn’t quite as bleak as it was yesterday, she seemed to have regained good karma without the need to stop talking. She was making his head ache.
‘I’m knackered and ravenous,’ he said. ‘Mind if we grab some food?’
‘I’ll pull over at the next services. I need a map, and I’m hungry too.’
He smiled for two reasons. One: were maps even a thing these days? Two: for the first time since they had arrived in the south of England, it seemed that Kate had an appetite. By the time they pulled over, he’d booked a Travelodge five miles from Woodstock where they would spend the night.
After their meal in the service station, Hank leaned back in his chair, slipping Kate’s mobile from his pocket, sliding it across the table. ‘Here, you’ll need this tomorrow.’
‘Ta …’ Kate scooped it up. ‘Nud
ge me to give it back when we return to London.’
‘Fiona left a few texts,’ he said.
‘Any from my old man?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Why? I’m not.’ She was. ‘What about emails?’
‘There are a few, all work-related.’
She tapped her phone. ‘Anything on here that needs my attention?’
‘Depends—’
Kate licked cream from her upper lip. ‘On what?’
He crossed his arms. ‘Are we talking professional or personal?’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Doesn’t look like nothing.’ Kate lowered her fork. He had something on his mind she wasn’t certain she wanted to hear. ‘Will you stop talking in code? Either make a statement or ask a bloody question. Which is it to be? I won’t bite.’
‘You might.’
‘Well, give us a clue. I’m not a mind reader.’
‘Professional, one of us needs to speak to Robbo ASAP. I think it would be better coming from you. He might think I have an axe to grind. Personal, why do you keep in touch with Fiona Fielding?’
‘She’s a mate. Why wouldn’t I?’ Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you been reading my texts?’
‘No!’
Kate relaxed. Fiona got a bit racy occasionally. ‘Hank, I have one judgemental dinosaur in my life already. I don’t need, nor do I want, another.’ When he didn’t respond, she carried on. ‘What is it about my relationship with her that bothers you so much?’ She knew the answer even before she’d asked the question. His feelings for Jo ran deep. Consequently, he saw Fiona as a threat to her happiness. He’d never understood the complicated triangle, because he’d chosen not to.
Bored with the conversation, and minus an answer, Kate got to her feet, keen to crack on, but he wouldn’t let it go as they wandered to her car, his gob going the whole time. ‘Fiona’s a free agent. Fair enough, I’m a bloke, I get that. You had a fling. I get that too, but why keep it going?’
‘Quit while you’re ahead, Hank. You’re beginning to piss me off.’ Kate stopped walking. ‘You’ve made up your mind that Jo is history, so now you want to play the blame game. Isn’t that what all this is about?’ She didn’t pause for breath. ‘You’re wrong if you think Fiona got in the way of my relationship with Jo. So now we’ve ruled her out, do you want to start on me?’ A pause. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be to blame for everything that went wrong between us? Can I help it if the job takes precedence? Can you?’
He didn’t answer.
Kate said, ‘It wasn’t only work that stopped me sharing everything with Jo. She was pulling me one way, my old man the other. I didn’t know what to do, Hank. Fiona was different, the only one who didn’t put me under pressure. You can’t pick people up and discard them at will. No matter what the future holds, she’s important to me. I’ll always care for her and we’ll probably never lose touch, so get over it. For the record, she’s not at fault here. When Jo and I were together, she steered clear. I saw her when I wanted to. Want being the operative word.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s fucking irresistible.’
Hank didn’t raise a smile. ‘And lonely, don’t forget lonely. She wants you at any cost. You’re blind if you can’t see it—’
‘Well, she can have me now, can’t she? Even if Jo is alive, she’s not interested in continuing our relationship.’ Kate threw him her car keys. ‘Now drive!’ Her good humour over supper had vanished.
50
At the Travelodge, Kate rang North Tyneside Hospital. Her father was doing well, was out of intensive care and on a general ward. It was too late to wake him. Kate punched in Fiona Fielding’s number for the hell of it. The greeting she received was warm and friendly, a stark contrast to the ear-bashing she’d received from Hank earlier. There was no awkwardness, no prying. There were few women who could maintain a sense of humour in the face of such tragedy and not sound like they were trying to fill a vacancy. In a race for Kate’s affections, Fiona would lose. Not only did she know it, she’d accepted it without argument, something that Hank never understood.
The artist had been good for Kate, her liberal attitude and love of life rubbing off whenever they were together. If she was in the UK, they’d arrange dinner and meet up. If she was on the other side of the world, exhibiting her artwork, she sent postcards; code for a rendezvous when she was in town and Kate was at a loose end.
It felt so right, and yet so wrong …
Kate had a bundle of the postcards in a drawer at home.
Hearing Fiona’s voice, thinking about her, lifted Kate from the gloom that had dominated the past week. She wasn’t – and never had been – in the market for a new girlfriend. Their relationship was what it was: a shoulder to cry on initially; the development of a deep and meaningful friendship that had taken them both by surprise.
Kate didn’t mention that Jo might be alive, kicking around in Oxford.
She wouldn’t, not until she was sure.
They said their goodbyes, then Kate called Robbo, apologising for the late hour, offering help should he need it, without making it sound like she didn’t think he was up to the job.
‘How’s it going?’ she said.
‘From the outset there was little to go on,’ he said. ‘Nikolaev was shot on his doorstep by a high-powered rifle at long range, surrounded by his bodyguards. Two heavies rushed him to hospital but he was in a bad way. The minute he was pronounced dead, they scarpered.’
‘Yeah, Bright told me. They’ve not been seen since?’
‘No, but we’ve nailed their vehicle as it pulled up at A&E. It’s difficult to tell if anyone else was inside. We also have stills and video footage of them entering the hospital. According to SOCA, we’re looking for two men, both Russian: Vasily Zhuk, thought to be Nikolaev’s head of security, and Alexei Dobrynin, his personal protection officer. They didn’t do a very good job.’
Kate was pleased to hear that the Serious Organised Crime Agency were sharing intel. ‘If either of them saw the shooter they’ll be as keen to find him as we are,’ she said. ‘Any idea what type of weapon was used?’
‘High-powered rifle. That’s all we have.’
‘Let me know if that changes.’
‘You’ve seen the crime scene photographs?’
‘Yeah, that’s quite a pile.’ Nikolaev’s home was a fine mansion house with south-facing views over the Ingram Valley, a property surrounded by heather-clad moorland. ‘Do you know where the weapon was fired from?’
‘We’re working on it, Kate. The property is sealed off, flanked by trees on either side, providing cover for anyone lying in wait.’
‘Anything incriminating inside?’
‘No.’
‘Figures. If you want to run anything by me, get in touch.’
‘Appreciate the call, guv.’
Blenheim Palace was bathed in autumn sunshine, the grounds extending to over two thousand acres. Kate had seen pictures of the World Heritage Site, but no image could match the reality of seeing the monument up close. It was as huge as it was glorious. Without taking her eyes off it, she slipped her phone from her pocket and called the incident room. The phone was picked up immediately. DC Carmichael was on the ball, as always.
‘Lisa, it’s me.’ Kate wasted no time. ‘What’s the position with Jo’s Santander account?’
‘No transactions of any kind, guv. I’m receiving hourly updates from the bank. Great news about the phone though, eh?’
‘Absolutely. I’m checking it out now.’
‘Do you think … what I mean is—’
‘I know what you mean, Lisa. There’s no news yet.’ Kate didn’t mention that Hank had written Jo off on the say-so of Chadwick, Heathrow’s security manager, or that they had argued over it. ‘I’ll update you when I can.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Incommunicado.’
‘Understood. Is
Hank with you?’
‘Yeah, he is, but since when do I need a babysitter?’
Carmichael laughed. ‘He’s your dad, isn’t he?’
Kate turned. Hank was walking away. ‘Don’t ever let him hear you say that, Lisa. Not until you outrank him – and you will if I have anything to do with it – then you can call him whatever the hell you like.’
A chuckle from Carmichael didn’t match the tone of her voice when she spoke. She was worried. ‘The team send their best. We’re hanging in here, all hoping …’ She left the sentence unfinished.
‘Keep the faith,’ Kate said. ‘Say hi from me and let me know if there’s any news.’
Hanging up, she scanned the crowds for Hank. He was seated on a bench, head down, reading the information leaflet handed to him through the car window as they arrived. He hadn’t paid an entry fee, just showed his warrant card. Official police business. No one queried it.
He looked up as she closed in. ‘Any joy?’
A sombre shake of the head. ‘Jo hasn’t used her bank account, but that means very little in the scheme of things. She may still have chosen not to fly.’
‘Kate, if Jo hasn’t used her bank account—’
‘Don’t go there, Hank.’
‘It wouldn’t be smart to get your hopes up—’
‘If you don’t want to be here, say the word.’
He stopped trying to convince her that she was on a hiding to nothing. It would only end in another row. They both knew it. He held up the leaflet, telling her that to go over the place properly, they needed more boots on the ground, even though he knew perfectly well that they were on their own.
‘Where do you propose we start searching this particular haystack?’
‘I don’t know, is the truthful answer …’ She sat down, reading over his shoulder, then took the leaflet from him. On the front were images of the house and grounds, but it was the advisory strip at the bottom, offering an annual pass for the price of one entry, that piqued her interest. ‘Unless …’ She met his gaze. ‘I have an idea. Come with me.’
51
Hank followed Kate to a ticket kiosk in the East Courtyard. When she got to the front of the queue, she asked to see whoever was in charge. The girl behind the counter politely asked why. On seeing Kate’s warrant card, she eyed Hank, then made a call, asking the detectives to wait. Someone was on their way.
