Without a Trace

by Mari Hannah

  It saddened her to think that his father’s plan had gone so horribly wrong and cost so many lives, leaving the bereaved families devastated and without closure. Kate hated loose ends and did her level best to answer all the questions raised during the life of an enquiry, large or small, but no resolution of a case was ever 100 per cent complete.

  Examination of the surveillance log led her to conclude that Marat had murdered the bomb-maker prior to the team being deployed by her. Subsequently, neither the kill site nor his body had been found and Stephanie Jackson was still missing, presumed dead. Kate didn’t think she’d ever find her body. She would try.

  It was clear that Jackson had been playing both ends against the middle; Marr had seen her with Raúl Rodríguez and Marat Nikolaev on separate casino visits. Jackson had been dicing with death, vying for the affections of two ruthless men prepared to give her money and feed her cocaine addiction.

  She was probably the one who ended up with her throat cut …

  She’d never bother Marr again.

  In the days following the take-down of these two drug lords, over two hundred officers from Northumbria and neighbouring forces had rounded up as many of their cohorts as they could find, seizing hundreds of thousands of British pounds and foreign currencies, an armoury of weapons and huge quantities of drugs. The seizures had the potential to save many lives. Kate liked to think that, in a small way, it would balance out those taken on Flight 0113. In the US, the wheels of justice were also turning, with arrests in New York and other US cities, a joint report being painstakingly prepared by British Police, Homeland Security and the DEA for the United States Attorney General.

  The case would run and run. In time, Marat Nikolaev would be interviewed by the American authorities, though Bright was keen that he should be tried in the UK. And yes, he wanted Kate, Hank and Northumbria Police to take the credit, not the Metropolitan Police Gold Commander, Waverley, Homeland Security or the FBI. The US would almost certainly demand that British authorities surrender him for trial, US citizens making up the majority of those who’d lost their lives. It had taken over twelve years to reach a verdict in the Lockerbie disaster, the costs running into millions. Kate hoped that the wealth of evidence against Marat would speed the process this time around.

  She wondered what Brian was up to, believing that there was some good in even the most audacious villain. This one had proved her right so many times, saving Hank and providing intelligence that she’d never have uncovered without his help. Jo had tapped into Kate’s ambivalence towards him. The profiler was understandably wary. She had mixed feelings towards him, too. Though, unlike Kate, she hadn’t seen his sons’ bodies – or what was left of them – after they were brutally tortured to death by a rival gang. It was far from pretty. Brian was wrong to exact revenge and take the law into his own hands. But Kate knew, deep down, that if they had been her offspring – or Jo’s – she’d have been tempted to do exactly the same, morally reprehensible though it may seem to some.

  89

  Robbo’s burial was hard to take, hundreds of mourners turning out to pay their respects along with a guard of honour. Unexpectedly, Irene brought Callum along to see his daddy sent in a special box to heaven, his uniform hat atop the casket, surrounded by floral tributes from family, friends and colleagues dressed in full uniform. The sight of that child holding hands with his mum nearly broke Kate’s heart. The fact that his father had died in the line of duty while taking her place as SIO she’d have to learn to live with.

  A posthumous award would come later.

  Afterwards, Kate had gone to see her father, taking Jo and her sons along, a statement of intent he could never have imagined and wasn’t expecting. For once, he seemed pleased to see her. He was home and doing well; his attitude towards her had softened considerably. Finally, he could see how much it meant to his daughter to have a family around her, Jo especially. Better get used to it. She had no plans to leave and there was no way Kate would allow history to repeat itself.

  At Kate’s place later, Tom and James stayed for a quick drink, then left Kate and Jo alone, making an excuse that they had other plans. It was rubbish, of course, but neither woman made much effort to prevent them from leaving. If Kate had learned anything while investigating 0113, it was that she must make adjustments and see more of Jo.

  She’d asked Jo to move in and she’d accepted.

  Jo was sitting opposite her now, eyes sparkling, a glass of celebratory fizz lifted to lips that Kate found hard not to focus on. They were both ready to make allowances others might see as sacrifices. To do that, Kate would shed the person trapped inside her body for so long, the one who’d been bullied into submission by a senior officer, Atkins, her shift sergeant back when she was a rookie. They might now be the same rank, both DCIs, but he’d caused untold damage to her happiness. She used to think she couldn’t change that, though this past couple of weeks had taught her that it was up to her, and no one else, to ensure that he didn’t win. Like many of the people she’d come across during this tragic case, Kate had hidden her true identity, compartmentalising her life, being true to no one, least of all herself. She’d allowed Atkins to rule her life for the last time.

  The mobile in her pocket vibrated. It was Torres. Jo got up to refill her glass, leaving Kate to take the call. Though not in any detail, Torres now knew about Brian and was less conflicted than Kate. In fact, she wished him well, hoping he’d live the rest of his days on the right side of a cell door.

  A lot of people had him to thank for resolving the investigation into 0113.

  Ending her call with Torres, Kate called him. When he’d saved Hank from certain death, for obvious reasons there was no commendation for him. ‘That’ll be the case this time around,’ she said. ‘Though you should know that my US contact would, and I’m quoting her now, “pin a purple heart on you if she could”, and so would I.’

  ‘Kate, I got what I wanted, thanks to you.’

  ‘Which was? You never did tell me the real reason you involved yourself in this case. You can handle yourself, I get that, but Jiménez-Alexander, Rodríguez, Marat and Yulian Nikolaev are off the scale. Why on earth did you take that risk?’

  There was a heavy pause.

  ‘Theresa was on that flight,’ he said finally.

  ‘What?’ Kate was genuinely shocked to hear it.

  Brian was talking about his wife, the woman who believed that he’d died in Spain all those years ago when he fled Newcastle, faking his death in order to keep her safe. Last Kate heard, she was living with his former right-hand man, a heavy called Arthur Ross McKenzie. He’d not only taken over Brian’s UK operation, but his wife too. Brian’s resurrection hadn’t brought her back.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Kate said.

  ‘Don’t be, I lost her a long time ago.’

  ‘McKenzie called you?’

  ‘The minute the plane went down. If you have any sympathy, send him a bunch of flowers, hen. Theresa and I never did get divorced, so if you’ve come to your senses and hopped on the right bus, now she’s gone I’m available, if you’re interested.’

  Kate wasn’t fooled by his humour. She left the kitchen before Jo noticed her sadness. She was worried about her friendly fugitive, remembering his antics when they met on the outskirts of London, the gun aimed at his head. Was he contemplating a replay?

  For the first time in his life, Brian had nothing to live for.

  As she entered the hallway, Kate bent down to scoop up a pile of letters from the floor and others that Jo had placed in a neat pile on the table, having let herself in the night Kate arrived home from the south. They were mostly utility bills but, as she sifted through them, she came across one whose handwriting she recognised. It had a London postmark dated Friday, 17 October, the day Jo had been due to fly to New York. Moving into the living room, Kate sat down on the sofa, cross-legged. She tore open the letter, a single sheet of good writing paper with a watermark, the script beautifully written in fountai
n pen.

  Hello Kate,

  I’m writing this from Heathrow. I was in such a state before I left, I didn’t even know what I was doing. I’m not sure what I said to Fiona, but I figured that I might have gone too far, returning the key to your heart front door.

  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

  I’m so relieved to hear that your old man survived his op – has he cracked a smile yet? Anyway, I thought I’d write you a letter, rather than call. A text didn’t seem right somehow.

  You sounded very emotional on the phone. Understandable. You’re up against it, at home and in the office, I know that now. Too bad I didn’t recognise it sooner. I made a mistake and I’m truly sorry. I hope you’re not blaming yourself.

  I’m just as much at fault.

  When I responded to the callout over the airport tannoy, I knew it was you. I was thrilled, until you told me that it was a work issue and not an excuse to stop this nonsense and return home, but it wasn’t to be. It was only when I realised that you were trying to save a life that the guilt kicked in. I feel terrible now. If you managed to do that, or even if you didn’t, I know you’ll have given it your best shot, as you always do.

  I’m so proud of you.

  I hope the case went well and you now have your shit together. Hopefully, you’re basking in the glory of closing the investigation. If nothing else, you’re good at that!

  You’re good at other stuff too, but I won’t go there.

  I feel totally lost without you, Kate. I wanted you to know that I’m not going to New York. I need some space, but not in the US without you by my side. I’ll find somewhere else to lick my wounds until you’re ready to talk to me. I’d have come home if you’d asked me to. The fact that you didn’t, spoke volumes. I can’t imagine how angry you must be.

  What am I saying?

  You must be climbing the walls.

  Not sure how long I’ll be away but, having stamped my feet over our fucked-up relationship, it might be good to put some distance between us for a while. It’ll give us both time to cool off and think of what we’re about to throw away. Who knows, we might even come to our senses.

  Kate, I adore you. If my luck is in, maybe one day you’ll realise just how much. I know one thing: if I was ever in danger, I can think of no one I’d rather have looking out for me than you. Not that it matters now. It was my choice to end it. I don’t expect you to understand my point of view, let alone forgive and forget. See, you don’t hold the monopoly on bad judgement in the love department.

  I’m desperately sad right now but I hope we can get through this and give it one last chance. I hear acting like grown-ups is all the rage!

  Please think about it.

  I do love you,

  Jo x

  Kate lost it then, big blobs of tears pouring from her eyes. The case had taken its toll on her from the moment she left Newcastle on a mission to find Jo. The list of her experiences seemed endless: informing Tom and James that their mother may never be coming home; barging her way into the Casualty Bureau without authority; disobeying her guv’nor; risking her job and Hank’s; meeting secretly with a fugitive from justice; finding Jo, then losing Robbo; giving Irene the death message; attending the funeral today when Acting Detective Inspector Paul Robson booked off for the last time. All these things had come at a price, awakening emotions in Kate she never knew she had.

  She’d argued relentlessly, angry with almost everyone: her father, Bright, Waverley, Blue, Esposito, Torres and Jo. Hank, too, on several occasions, though he’d stuck with her throughout, helping keep the dream alive. Had she not been so impetuous, running off to London in search of Jo the minute she heard the news, Kate would have received the letter and saved herself untold agony.

  It had all been too much …

  The letter, the tipping point.

  When Kate looked up, Jo was standing in the doorway.

  She walked towards Kate and sat down, eyeing the sheet of writing paper in a shaky hand. ‘You look like you could use a hug.’

  They embraced. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Kate whispered, still holding her.

  Jo pulled away. ‘I tried … twice. As I recall, you were biting my head off at the time.’ She gave a shrug. ‘I could say it slipped my mind since, but that would be a lie. It’s a love letter addressed to you, and a criminal offence to tamper with the Royal Mail.’ She made a crazy face. ‘Do you know nothing?’

  Kate laughed.

  Jo bit her lip, a playful expression. ‘There’s another one here if you’re interested.’ She took something from the back pocket of her jeans and passed it over – a postcard from Paris. She looked on, watching Kate blush as she read it, then said: ‘I’m not entirely sure that one was intended for my eyes.’

  Kate grinned. ‘That’s what you get when you burgle someone’s home.’

  ‘I had a key—’

  ‘But no permission to use it.’ Kate held up the card. ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘You can’t knock a girl for having good taste. Your postie must love these. I saw you had a few more stuffed in the kitchen drawer. Fiona’s good with words, isn’t she?’ Jo laughed. ‘What? Don’t look at me like that! I had to have something to do while I waited. Couldn’t help myself, guv’nor.’

  ‘Does it bother you?’

  ‘Not unless you’re about to give me the brush-off.’

  Kate stopped grinning. ‘Actually, I do have something to tell you.’

  ‘You slept with her.’ Jo spread her hands. ‘Can I help it if I can read between the lines?’

  ‘Be serious … What I’m making such a hash of affects us both. A proposal. I haven’t made my mind up whether or not to accept it. It’s a big step, one I don’t think I’m ready for.’ Seeing that the comment had knocked Jo sideways, Kate put her out of her misery. ‘Agent Torres offered me a job in New York, a chance to see the investigation through to the bitter end, if I’m up for it.’

  ‘That’s huge. Congratulations!’ Jo was crestfallen, trying to hide it.

  Kate stroked her right thumb across Jo’s left cheek. ‘Would you come with me?’

  A beaming smile. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘We don’t. I just needed to know that you would if I asked you to.’

  ‘You turned it down? Why?’

  Kate kept a straight face. ‘I’d have thought it was obvious – there’s no way I could leave Hank.’

  If you loved Without a Trace, don’t miss Mari’s Stone and Oliver series, beginning with The Lost

  Alex arrives home from holiday to find that her ten-year-old son Daniel has disappeared. It’s the first case together for Northumbria CID officers David Stone and Frankie Oliver. But as the investigation unfolds, they realise the family’s betrayal goes deeper than anyone suspected. This isn’t just a missing persons case. Stone and Oliver are hunting a killer.

  Click here to start reading The Lost today!

  Then read on for the second thrilling case in the Stone and Oliver series: The Insider

  When the body of a young woman is found by a Northumberland railway line, it’s a baptism of fire for the Murder Investigation Team’s newest detective duo: DCI David Stone and DS Frankie Oliver. The case is tough by anyone’s standards, but Stone is convinced that there’s a leak in his team. Until he finds out who, Stone can only trust his partner. But Frankie is struggling with her own past. And she isn’t the only one being driven by a personal vendetta. The killer is targeting these women for a reason. And his next target is close to home...

  Click here to start reading The Insider today!

  And check out the third Stone and Oliver case in: The Scandal

  When Herald court reporter, Chris Adams, is found stabbed to death in Newcastle with no eyewitnesses, the MIT are stumped. Adams was working on a scoop that would make his name. But what was the story he was investigating? And who was trying to cover it up? When a link to a missing woman is uncovered, the investigation turns on its head. The exposé has put more t
han Adams’ life in danger. And it’s not over yet.

  Click here to start reading The Scandal today!

  Acknowledgements

  Rarely have I been so keen to deliver a book as I was this time around. Without A Trace has been a long time coming, and Team Orion are very excited to publish it. I have my brilliant editor, Francesca Pathak, to thank for accepting that Kate Daniels has waited long enough for another outing.

  There are others to thank for their contribution: Alainna Hadjigeorgiou, Lynsey Sutherland, Tomás Almeida and copy editor Anne O’Brien, who is nothing short of a magician. Also, everyone who has supported me over the years: fellow writers, readers, bloggers, booksellers and librarians, all at A. M. Heath Literary Agency – you are the best.

  A decade ago, agent Oli Munson plucked an aspiring writer from nowhere, believed in her and gave her the chance to realise a dream of being published. That writer was me. From the moment we began working together, he’s had my back, understanding why I felt compelled to create the character of Kate. His vision for the series matched my own from the outset. Words cannot express enough gratitude.

  A big high five to family Hannah: Paul, Kate, Max and Frankie; Chris, Jodie, Daisy and Finn, whose love and support I value above all else. And finally, Mo, to whom this book is dedicated. In her, I have the perfect muse, professional collaborator and life partner. If you look close enough, she appears in every line of this book, for good reason – without her, Kate Daniels would not exist.

  Credits

  Mari Hannah and Orion Fiction would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of Without A Trace in the UK.

  Editorial

  Francesca Pathak

  Lucy Frederick

  Copy editor

  Anne O’Brien

  Proofreader

  Jenny Page

  Audio

  Paul Stark

  Amber Bates

  Contracts