by Mari Hannah
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The water was taking its time to dribble into the white plastic cup. ‘Can’t you send a uniform?’
‘She’s a Durham University student, Kate.’
Daniels turned towards him, all ears.
‘Five ten. Blonde hair. Green eyes. Ring any bells?’
‘Shit!’
‘Her name is Jessica Finch. Her father, Adam, owns half of North Yorkshire. You may have heard of him.’
‘Can’t say I have.’
‘I’ve known him for many years. He’s not a guy to panic easily. Before he called me, he called the university and found out that Jess has missed lectures. She hasn’t slept at her halls for the past two nights. Nobody he spoke to has seen or heard from her. He was told she may have moved out, but he doesn’t know where. University staff don’t know either. He’s frantic, Kate. Look at this—’
Bright turned his laptop round to face her. On the screen was an email message from Adam Finch with a scanned document attached. Daniels leaned forward, opened the attachment and found a hastily scrawled note mounted on a shaded background to make it stand out. The paper was unlined and had been torn from a much larger sheet. She read the message twice. It was brief and to the point: STAY BY THE PHONE – CONTACT THE LAW AND I’LL SEND YOUR DAUGHTER HOME IN BITS.
‘When did he receive this?’ Daniels asked.
‘It came in this morning’s post. It was waiting for him when he got home shortly after ten. He’s been away on business and only got back today.’
Daniels studied the note.
For the second time that day, the circumstances of a crime didn’t seem to fit. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she said.
Bright just looked at her.
‘Assuming our dead girl and Jessica Finch are one and the same, why would her kidnapper risk the pay-off by killing her?’
‘Maybe they panicked—’
‘Before making a demand?’
Bright hesitated. ‘Maybe she tried to escape? Or they roughed her up and—’
‘No.’ Daniels shook her head. ‘Stanton told me her injuries are all consistent with the fall. There are no restraint marks and nothing to indicate a struggle.’
‘Perhaps they gave her too many drugs and she died. They lost control and dumped her, hoping to score financially before her body was discovered. That’s probably why they chose such a remote spot. It could just be Sod’s Law that she landed where she did. Otherwise it might’ve been months, years even, until someone stumbled across her remains. If they ever did.’ He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, meeting her eyes across his desk. ‘You know how these things pan out, Kate. Abductions often go horribly wrong. The snatch was planned, I agree, but her death could’ve been accidental.’
Bollocks! Bright was clutching at straws. ‘She was alive when she hit the ground, guv. There was no mistake, believe me.’
Her words hung in the air between them.
‘Is Finch aware we found a body?’ Daniels asked finally.
Bright’s expression was grim. ‘He soon will be.’
6
Daniels was troubled by thoughts of yet another linked incident coming straight off the back of the most gruelling murder investigation of her police career. But somehow it didn’t surprise her that her new case was more complex than first it appeared. She didn’t know why, but her guts had been telling her that right from the start, from the moment she’d stepped inside the crime-scene tent with a rookie PC breathing down her neck.
Her victim had died at Housesteads, but the question Daniels was asking herself was this: was the disposal site accidental or deliberate? She needed to find the answer at the earliest opportunity. The why of the case appeared to be a little clearer now. Monetary gain had been a motive for many a mindless and futile murder since the beginning of time. So why did she still feel as if her detective nose was out of joint, pointing in the wrong direction?
Three uniforms she knew vaguely passed her in the corridor. Acknowledging them with a smile and a nod, Daniels made her way through a set of double doors and out into the sunshine towards the car park where she’d left her car. She was pleased to be getting her Toyota back. The pool car she’d been driving was a piece of shit: smelly on the inside, uncared for on the out, in dire need of a service if the noise of the engine was anything to go by.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she keyed in the number for the mortuary. The call was picked up almost immediately by a young woman with a pleasant but distinctive Welsh accent.
‘Mortuary, Sam speaking.’
Daniels didn’t recognize the voice at all. ‘Sam, this is Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels. I’m the SIO for the murder up at Housesteads Fort. I’d like to arrange a viewing of the victim for identification purposes.’
‘No problem. What time would suit?’
Daniels looked at her watch. She’d offered to drive down to Yorkshire to collect Adam Finch, accompany him on his painful journey north. But he’d saved her the trouble, insisting that he’d get there under his own steam. She estimated that it would take him an hour and a half at least. She didn’t want to rush him, but neither did she want him hanging around waiting when he arrived.
‘About twelve thirty?’ Daniels suggested. ‘Sorry not to be more specific, Sam. The man we think may be the IP’s father has a long way to travel. I’m meeting him at headquarters and I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives. His name is Adam Finch. I’ll accompany him, as will Detective Chief Superintendent Bright.’
Daniels completed the arrangements and hung up. She had reached her Toyota. Opening the door, she took off her coat and threw it on the passenger seat before climbing in. The inside of her car smelled fresh and clean. She started the engine, but didn’t immediately move off. First she dialled Gormley’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail so she tried Robson instead, this time with more success. She gave him a quick update on developments and asked him to pass the information on to the rest of the team.
‘I’ll be off the radar for a while,’ she said. ‘Any problems, text me.’
Robson told her there was absolutely nothing doing up at High Shaw. He asked if there wasn’t something more useful he could do, his resentment reaching her down the line.
‘Be patient, Robbo. Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we?’
She hung up.
Engaging first gear, she drove away from headquarters and out on to the main road heading for Etal Lane in Westerhope, Newcastle Area Command. It was only a short journey, a distance of four and a half miles, give or take a few hundred metres. Passing the airport on the way, she wondered how much detail air traffic control might hold on light aircraft movement.
Parking the Toyota in a bay reserved for the Area Commander, she got out and locked it, hoping it wouldn’t be clamped by the time she returned. As she rushed into the building, there were many questions running through her mind in relation to her victim’s cause of death. The man who’d found her had been transported to the station in a patrol car and had been made to wait for over an hour.
He looked bored as she entered the interview room.
‘Mr Bull, I’m so sorry for having kept you . . .’ Daniels held out her hand. ‘I’m Kate Daniels, Senior Investigating Officer. I had no idea I’d be this long.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Frank Bull sat back in his chair and yawned. Holding up a foot in a thick green woollen sock, he explained that Forensics had seized his footwear to take a cast of the sole for comparison with boot prints they had found at the scene. He was red in the face and dressed for hiking, had too many layers of clothing on to be contained in a centrally heated office block. ‘It wasn’t smart, finding your body, was it, DCI Daniels? Should’ve kept walking, shouldn’t I? Instead, I’ve been walking down memory lane.’ He yawned again. ‘Excuse me! I’m not used to being inside for very long these days. In my former role as a police officer, I spent many an hour in rooms like this one.’
Daniels phone r
ang: BRIGHT CALLING.
Bull saw a look of frustration cross her face before she had time to hide it.
‘Better order lunch then.’ He smiled, accepting that she was about to ask him to wait even longer. ‘Grub still as bad as ever?’
‘I’m so sorry. I wish I could be in two places at once, but I can’t. I’ll call Hank Gormley, my DS. Ask him to take your statement immediately. Then you can get on your way, as long as you leave a contact number so I’ll be able to reach you.’
The viewing room of any city morgue is grim at the best of times. For Adam Finch, this was the worst of times. His near-perfect life had fallen apart spectacularly in the past few hours. He looked small and insignificant standing beside a corpse covered with a green sheet, flanked on either side by Bright and Daniels.
The DCI spoke softly, not wanting to pressure him. ‘Are you ready, Mr Finch?’
Finch nodded. Anxiety seemed to have aged him in a matter of minutes. Daniels lifted the sheet exposing the dead girl’s face and took a step back as Finch leaned over the body. He shut his eyes but said nothing. She thought he was praying and allowed him a moment of silence. When he opened his eyes, a single tear ran from his eye and dripped off the end of his nose on to the girl’s cheek, making it look like she was crying too. That was when he fell apart.
Daniels exchanged a concerned glance with Bright. He placed a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder and guided him from the room into the corridor beyond.
‘I’m so very sorry, Adam,’ Bright said as they left the room.
‘No . . .’ It was almost a sob. ‘It’s not her. It’s not Jessica.’
7
The Jaguar sped off with Daniels’ Toyota following close behind. The fiasco at the morgue had riled Bright, so much so that he’d ordered her to accompany Finch home in return for access to his daughter’s room. For all that abduction was a very serious offence – if indeed that’s what it was – Daniels wasn’t too chuffed with the arrangement. In fact she was really pissed off. She was an SIO with a murder enquiry to run. Besides, Adam Finch had told them that this wasn’t the first time his daughter had taken off and on previous occasions she had always turned up safe and well. She’d been living away from home for eighteen months now, and they weren’t in regular contact.
Fuck’s sake: he didn’t even have an address for her!
As the miles rushed by, Daniels’ frustration grew. She wondered if she were on a wild-goose chase when she ought to have been concentrating her efforts on finding the identity of a woman lying in a freezer in Newcastle. Passing a sign for Yarm, her phone rang. Stanton had faxed his preliminary report to the incident room and an officer had called him back confirming receipt of it. But he never left anything to chance and wanted to let her know personally. It was as he’d feared: the dead girl had hit the ground with incredible force.
Daniels thanked him and hung up.
She tried Gormley’s mobile.
This time he answered.
‘You manage to interview Frank Bull?’ she asked.
‘Yep . . .’ His voice was breaking up a little. ‘He seems genuine enough to me, but his evidence hasn’t taken us any further forward.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Heading back to High Shaw.’
‘You sent Bull on his way?’
‘Yeah, conditional on daily contact until you tell him otherwise.’
‘Good. You know what to do, Hank. Start with the local airports: Newcastle, Carlisle, Sunderland. If necessary we can fan out from there. I want details of all private airstrips and military establishments within a fifty-mile radius, plus a large-scale map of the area. Make sure it’s detailed enough to show us all we need to know. Get Robbo to help too and put Lisa on missing persons, liaising with Durham Uni. Tell her we’re looking at med students in particular and keep the uniforms busy ’til I’m back. I could be a while.’
Half an hour later, Daniels followed the Jaguar as it turned off the main road leading to Finch’s estate. Pulling up behind it at the front door of the Mansion House, she could see that a glass partition separated Finch from his chauffeur. Sensing her interest, Pearce glanced in her direction. Checking his rear-view mirror, he mouthed something to his boss before cutting the Jaguar’s three-litre V6 diesel engine. Pearce took off his cap as he got out of the car and placed it under his left arm, military fashion. With a gloved hand he opened the rear passenger door and waited for Finch to emerge.
As Daniels climbed out of her own car she heard a mobile phone bleep twice.
Finch went for his pocket as his housekeeper appeared through the panelled front door. She ran up to him, waiting to take his coat. He waved her away and she turned tail and went back inside. As they followed her in, Daniels registered the man’s coldness. There was something about him she didn’t like. She studied him closely as he fumbled with his specs, relief replacing concern on his face as he peered at the tiny screen.
His tone was more annoyed than reassured. ‘I seem to have wasted your valuable time, Chief Inspector.’ He held up the phone. ‘Text message from my daughter.’
Daniels swore under her breath but was taken aback when Finch suddenly handed her the mobile and rushed from the hall, retching. The chilling message had only six words: I TOLD YOU TO STAY PUT! Finch was being watched. Daniels looked around her, waiting for the businessman to resurface. Although elegant, the house was formal, silent, and bloody cold inside. Dog-leg stairs led up to the floor above, to Jessica’s room and possible clues to whoever was holding her against her will. From the plethora of art on the walls, she formed the impression that Finch was definitely old money, not new.
Had his inherited wealth made him a target for blackmail?
Her eyes fell on the open library door. Beyond it, a portrait of a beautiful young woman hung above a fireplace large enough for a small person to stand up in. Finch rejoined her, looking ashen but composed. Apologizing for leaving her alone, he offered her something to drink after their long journey south.
Daniels declined. She had to get on.
Finch nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Can I call someone for you?’
Finch shook his head and turned away, pressing a bell-push on the wall, mumbling something she didn’t quite catch.
‘I need to keep this.’ Daniels held up his mobile. ‘Do you have another you can use?’
Finch nodded. ‘It’s obvious they’re watching me. What the hell do they want?’
The housekeeper arrived in the hall. She hung back, waiting for instructions. Finch ignored her as if she wasn’t there. He was deep in his own dark thoughts. Daniels glanced again at the portrait in the adjoining room and asked if she might take a look. The library was a magnificent room furnished with antiques and several thousand books. Some of the larger volumes looked ancient. Daniels figured there would be first editions among them, a treasure trove of history dating back to who knows when.
On closer inspection, the portrait above the fireplace was stunning. It was painted in oils and mounted in a heavy gilt frame, the like of which Daniels had only ever seen hanging in an art gallery. It was probably worth a small fortune, as was the exquisite piece of jewellery around the subject’s neck. The artist had signed and dated the portrait not so very long ago, with a flamboyant FF. Making a mental note to follow that up, Daniels asked Finch when the painting was commissioned.
‘Before she went to university . . .’ Finch said, eyes fixed on the painting. ‘Getting her to sit was hopeless. My daughter is a wonderful free spirit, but wilful to the point of being downright obstinate at times. No sense of ancestral history, I’m afraid, unlike her mother.’
Daniels knew he was a widower. Bright had told her as much. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the late Mrs Finch, but decided that now was not the time to pry into his personal affairs. In the past few hours, Adam Finch had faced a parent’s worst nightmare. He didn’t need her adding to his grief, reminding him of the wife he’d once had. There
would be time enough for questions later, and every reason to hope that his daughter was still alive.
For now.
Looking up at the painting, Daniels said, ‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘And very like the young woman I saw earlier,’ Finch said.
His jaw bunched, his eyes growing cold. It was as if he’d read her mind.
‘Yes, I’m so sorry we put you through that.’
‘I’ve work to do, DCI Daniels.’ It was a dismissal. He pointed towards the door where his housekeeper was still waiting. ‘Mrs Partridge will show you to my daughter’s room.’
8
Daniels woke early, unable to sleep, and spent the next half-hour on her new treadmill, feet pounding, giving it her all – heart monitor showing she was at the peak of fitness.
A digital clock clicked forward a notch – 06:00.
She killed the machine, ending her workout, and walked back to her bedroom undressing as she went. There was a pile of neatly folded clean clothes on a chair by the door put there the night before; shoes and briefcase on the floor beneath; a banana, a bottle of water and car keys on her bedside table in case of a call-out during the night.
Thankfully there hadn’t been one.
Daniels jumped in the shower, deliberating the day ahead. It came as no surprise that there was too much to do in too little time. That was the reality of being an SIO. She would spend the day prioritizing actions, house-to-house, forensics, press, TV, public relations, liaison with HQ and dealing with scene issues. Both ends of the enquiry would be tricky and time consuming. Searches of areas surrounding Housesteads and the Mansion House involved outbuildings, difficult terrain and woodland, taking up valuable resources, financial as well as human.
Please God nobody call in sick.
She dressed quickly, a pair of black pants and a silk blouse, the top button left undone. She dried her hair, tied it up and applied a little make-up. A last check in the mirror and she was ready for anything.
