by Mari Hannah
‘Has your daughter ever talked about Amy Grainger?’ Gormley asked.
Finch shook his head.
‘She was studying Environmental Management,’ Daniels said. ‘Same intake year as Jessica. If they were mates, perhaps she loaned the necklace to Amy.’
‘No.’ Finch fixed on Daniels. ‘My daughter may take financial risks, but she’s got her head screwed on properly when she chooses her friends. She would never associate with a bad crowd. She’s got too much to lose. She stands to inherit a substantial fortune one day. Anyway, I hardly think this girl would be her type. She’s a medical student, not some tree-hugger.’
Daniels’ jaw went rigid.
Finch was acting like a prat with no thought for anyone but himself. She could already imagine the tirade that would follow from Gormley on the way home. Eyeballing Jessica’s father, she didn’t bother to hide her disgust. ‘A young girl is dead, Mr Finch. A girl you saw with your own eyes lying on a slab in the mortuary. Her parents are beside themselves too, so perhaps you’d care to show a little respect.’
Finch made no comment.
‘There’s something else I need you to look at.’ Putting a hand in her pocket, Daniels pulled out her car keys and gave them to Gormley. ‘Will you get the box from my car?’
Gormley’s expression conveyed a clear message: It’ll be my pleasure. He left the room, passing Mrs Partridge who was on her way in with a tea tray. She poured Finch some tea and handed it to him. He sat down at a partner’s desk near the window, saucer in his left hand, cup in his right. Then Gormley was back, carrying the same evidence box they had shown the Graingers the day before. He set it down on a chair, took out six bags and placed them in a line on Finch’s desk, the items clearly visible through cellophane windows: a pair of jeans, a blue top, a green scarf, underwear and a pair of shoes – left and right in separate bags.
‘Are you able to identify any of these?’ Gormley asked. ‘You can pick them up, but I can’t allow you to break the seal.’
Finch looked at him as if allow was not a word in his vocabulary.
Daniels gave him a nudge. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir. It’s very important.’
Finch shifted his gaze to the bags. ‘I recognize the shoes. Jessica has a pair just like them, though I couldn’t say for sure they’re hers. Jeans are jeans, aren’t they? Frankly, I wouldn’t know one pair from another. I hate the things. My daughter’s underwear is not something I’m privy to.’
‘And the scarf?’ Gormley asked.
‘Is identical to one I bought for her last Christmas when we were in Milan.’
Finch sat back in his chair avoiding eye contact with them both. Daniels detected a chink in his armour. He didn’t say anything, but his hand shook as he put down his tea. She gave him a moment, assured that he’d already worked out what was coming next.
She hated saying it. ‘These are the clothes we took from Amy Grainger’s body.’
‘Then she must’ve stolen them!’ Finch snapped.
The man was in denial, a normal reaction under the circumstances. He didn’t want to believe that his daughter was in danger. Or worse. Why should he? It was unimaginable for any parent to contemplate.
The DCI chose her words carefully. ‘We know nothing of Amy that would suggest she’s anything other than a lovely girl who tragically met her death wearing Jessica’s clothes. I’m so sorry.’
Finch broke down.
Picking up the evidence bag containing the scarf, he held it to his chest and wept.
‘Sir, we’d be lying if we told you that we’re not worried. Of course we are. We all are. But we’ll do everything we can to find her.’
The man’s bluntness was shocking. ‘Dead or alive?’ he asked.
‘My officers are the very best, sir.’ Their eyes locked as Daniels tried to reassure him. ‘They’ll work day and night to find Jessica and I’ll personally keep you updated on all new developments. I assume you’ve had no further contact, from anyone?’
Finch glared at her. ‘Don’t you think I’d have said?’
Gormley had had enough. ‘We will, of course, need to search the house and grounds.’
Finch rounded on him. ‘Why?’
‘It’s routine in cases like these . . .’ Daniels said. ‘We must be absolutely sure we’ve covered every possibility. I’d also like a word with the artist who painted Jessica’s portrait. I imagine they’ll have talked a lot during the time they spent together. I’d be grateful if you would point me in the right direction.’
‘No stone unturned, is that it?’
‘Something like that.’ Daniels didn’t want to row with him. In fact she just wanted out of there, the sooner the better. ‘I’ll also need to interview your staff. If we could have a list by morning, that would be helpful.’
‘You’ll have it within the hour,’ Finch said.
Opening the desk drawer, he removed a business card and handed it over with the name and studio of the artist in question, a woman named Fiona Fielding. They thanked him and went off to look around the house for clues. Their search was unproductive. Two hours later, Mrs Partridge showed them out. Daniels felt the woman’s eyes on her back as she walked to her car, keying in Robson’s number before she reached it. The Toyota’s lights flashed and the door locks clunked open.
Robson picked up. ‘What’s up, boss?’
‘What’s not? I want you to arrange an emergency meeting of the squad for four o’clock sharp. Also, give Bright a bell and tell him it’s confirmed: Amy Grainger was wearing Jessica Finch’s clothes and jewellery. I want the Major Incident Suite made ready. This is now a linked incident and we can’t run it from a cottage in the wilds of Northumberland. We’re going to have to make other arrangements. I’ll let the guv’nor know we’re moving back to town as soon as possible. Except you. I’d like to leave you up there for a few days to coordinate things that end.’
There was a short pause.
‘Robbo? You OK with that?’
‘No problem. You want everyone at the briefing?’
‘If humanly possible, yes . . .’ She started the engine and moved off with Finch watching from his library window. ‘And just for your information, the motive wasn’t financial. That necklace was worth a mint.’
Daniels hung up. If robbery wasn’t the motive, then what was? Someone was threatening Finch, but for what purpose? No demands had yet been made.
‘You’re thinking again,’ Gormley said. ‘I can hear the cogs turning from here.’
‘The lack of contact from Jessica’s abductors worries me.’ Daniels slowed as the gates to the Mansion House opened, allowing them to move off the estate. ‘There’s only one reason I can think of for that. Amy Grainger was chosen in order to send a graphic warning to Finch.’
‘Some warning!’ Gormley said.
‘Someone must really hate him. We find out why and we’ll find our man.’
Gormley settled down in his seat, making himself comfortable for the drive to Newcastle. They hadn’t yet spoken about Daniels’ absence from work, the unease she felt at being back, the confidence she’d lost. In fact they’d seen little of each other at all in the past few days, which was unheard of in the normal course of a week’s work.
For her part, Daniels was aware Hank had his own problems to sort and she didn’t want to add to them.
She glanced at him. ‘How’s Julie?’
‘Why d’you ask?’ It was almost a grunt.
‘Just making conversation. You heard from her?’
‘Nothing civil.’
‘Ryan?’
‘What is this, Twenty Questions?’
When Gormley’s sense of humour went walkabout that usually meant he didn’t want to talk. Daniels wondered what was going on. It wasn’t like him to be secretive and she hoped his silence wasn’t an indication that things had gone from bad to worse at home. She shouldn’t have mentioned his wife and son. Any minute now her DS would cross his arms, shut his eyes, and hang like a bat fro
m his seat belt so she couldn’t quiz him any more.
‘I’ll take that as a no then, shall I?’ She accelerated round a bend in the road.
‘Why don’t we talk about Jo instead?’
Daniels clammed up. He was referring to criminal profiler, Jo Soulsby. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her. When last they’d spoken, it had felt more like a therapy session with a professional counsellor than a conversation between mates, let alone ex-lovers still attracted to one another. She missed Jo more than she cared to admit, even to herself. She missed her smell, her laughter, her touch – just breathing the same air.
She wanted to stop loving her and make the pain go away.
A sign pointed off to the left. Daniels took the slip road on to the A1 heading north, hoping Gormley would change the subject.
He didn’t disappoint. ‘Finch is an arrogant bastard. I’m not surprised he has enemies.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Hank. He’s under so much stress he probably doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.’
‘Sympathy sits between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.’
She grinned. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting he’s someone I’ve warmed to a whole lot, but I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, don’t you?’
‘The man’s a prick, Kate.’
Gormley took off his bifocals, put them in his breast pocket and shut his eyes. Conversation over: at least for now. Within seconds, he was sending the zeds up. He didn’t wake until she stopped to refuel at Washington Services. They grabbed a quick bite to eat, the atmosphere between them thawing a little, and then got back in the car. Traffic was unusually light and they made good time. At Corbridge, Daniels turned north on the A68 and cut up on to the Military Road, reaching High Shaw at three forty-five.
14
PC Kevin Hook walked towards the Toyota as Daniels parked in the only space available. As they got out of the car, he handed her a message from the forensic science laboratory and stood by waiting for further instructions.
‘Matt West said it wasn’t urgent, but he’d appreciate a call back.’
Daniels thanked him and made a mental note to return the call. ‘Any news from the house-to-house while we were gone?’
Hook shook his head. ‘Nothing so far.’
Gormley spoke over his shoulder as they walked away. ‘Keep us posted.’
The murder investigation team were ready and waiting as they entered High Shaw. It was standing-room only with the whole squad crammed into the tiny cottage. They were on starter’s orders, the buzz of a new enquiry filling the air. Robson had been busy. Photographs of Jessica Finch and Amy Grainger were pinned to the whiteboard, alongside their details: height, build and eye colour. These photographs were the focus of everyone’s attention, the similarity between the two glaringly obvious.
‘OK, listen up!’ Daniels sat down surrounded by her squad. ‘It won’t have escaped your notice that Amy Grainger is a dead ringer for Jessica Finch, which means that our priorities have now changed. I’m not suggesting for one minute that we forget about Amy. This is a murder enquiry. But our main concern must be on finding Jessica Finch while there’s a chance she’s still alive.’
‘Did they know each other?’ Robson asked.
‘Not according to either of their parents,’ Gormley said.
‘Yeah, but what do parents ever know?’ Daniels said. ‘Mine were on a different planet, hadn’t a clue what I was up to. It’s like that for most kids, surely.’ Her eyes found Carmichael. ‘Lisa, when we’re done here, get over to the university and find out what you can. I need an address for Jessica and I need it now. Her father was under the impression she was living at halls, but she’s moved out. Someone must know where she lives. Be careful what you say though. We don’t want to spook the students.’
Daniels had worked on many high-profile cases but this MO somehow seemed more macabre than all the rest. It was an exceptionally cold method of sending anyone to an early grave and calculated in its intent. It brought to mind Jonathan Forster, a serial killer who’d recently terrorized northern Britain – payback for an abusive mother. A deranged psychopath, he’d killed many times, once by placing a gun into a toddler’s hand, pointing it at the child’s grandfather and pulling the trigger.
Equally gross.
Daniels’ left hand stroked her right shoulder, injured by the same bullet that had glanced off her clavicle before imbedding itself in Forster’s heart – killing him instantaneously. Her memory of his killing spree was drowned out by Carmichael’s voice.
‘So what are we looking at, a kidnapping?’
‘Yes, but as I’ve said, it may not be motivated by money. The necklace I showed you earlier was worth a small fortune, enough to keep your average arsehole going for months. This offence is personal – someone really wants Adam Finch to suffer.’
‘So what happens now?’ Carmichael asked. ‘We run the two cases as one?’
‘Theoretically, yes, but under no circumstances does that fact leave this room. I don’t want the press finding out we have yet another linked incident on our patch. They’ll have a field day.’
‘So we’re the lead force again?’ Robson was referring to the case the DCI had just been thinking about. Three forces had been involved but Northumbria Police had taken control of the investigation. ‘There’s going to be no involvement from Durham?’
‘For the time being, at least,’Gormley said. ‘We had a conversation with Ron Naylor on the way back here. He agrees that’s the best course of action. So keep up the good work, boys and girls. You know what to do.’
The team scattered.
Daniels pulled out her phone to call Matt West. As the number rang out she imagined him eighty-five miles south, puzzling over some sample or other, his eyes permanently fixed to the lenses of his microscope. After several rings he picked up.
‘Matt, it’s Kate Daniels returning your call.’
‘How you doing?’ He sounded preoccupied.
‘You got something for me?’
‘Maybe . . . that sample I took from your victim’s shoe—’
‘Hold on . . .’ Daniels nodded as Gormley walked in from the kitchen holding up a china mug. Then she switched the phone to loudspeaker so he could listen in on her call. ‘OK, shoot. I want Hank to hear this too.’
‘I’ve found a slight mineral deposit. I thought it was glass at first, but it isn’t. I’m not going to commit myself until I’ve completed my research, but I’m fairly sure I’ve never come across it before.’
‘Can you be more specific?’ The DCI had detected excitement in his voice. But Matt being Matt he was always cagey until he was sure of his facts. All the same, she had every reason to think that he might be on to something. ‘Those test results are vital now. Another girl’s gone missing. It looks like the same guy has taken her.’
‘The only thing I can say for certain is that it didn’t come from the area where the body was found. Not a chance. In fact, I’m looking at it now . . .’ There was a slight pause in the conversation. ‘I’ve been testing it for a good few hours. It’s so unusual it might determine exactly where your victim was held before she met her death. You find that, chances are you’ll find your missing girl.’
Daniels locked eyes with Gormley.
It didn’t get much better than that.
15
Somewhere deep within the North Pennines, Jessica Finch opened her eyes wondering if she was still asleep, her terror and confusion part of a bad dream. She tried to focus, tried to make out where she was. She could hear a noise she couldn’t immediately identify, the same sound that had woken her. The drip, drip, drip of liquid as it plopped heavily into the moving body of black water she was standing in.
Jessica moved her head to the left, her eyes following the dim pool of light reflected on the wet wall opposite. Her only source of light was coming from the cap lamp attached to the hard hat on her head, the chin strap of which was h
anging loose around her neck.
Something slithered past her right calf.
She was sure it was nibbling at her skin.
A rat?
Something worse than a rat?
Jessica struggled but the shackles held firm. She screamed at the top of her voice, trying to look down without knocking off the hat, her terrified eyes searching the water below. Whatever it was, it slithered past again and she screamed even louder, her voice echoing in the chamber beyond . . .
HELP!
And then she noticed something else. Something even more terrifying than whatever was swimming around her in the water below. It was the colour that caught her eye, one she’d hated all her life. To some it signified triumph, courage and determination. To others, danger, rage, malevolence . . . blood. To her it was the colour of nightmares since the night her mother passed away. At first she thought she was seeing things. Fear did that to people, didn’t it? Surely her mind was playing tricks. But as she strained her eyes to look again, she realized she was right. Her dress. No . . . not her dress. Someone else’s.
Why?
And why hadn’t her abductors gagged her?
There could be only one possible explanation.
She was in a place too remote to be heard.
16
Daniels glanced through the open door hoping to catch a few minutes with her former boss. Detective Chief Superintendent Bright hung up as she entered the room, tapping on the door on her way in.
Ellen Crawford smiled as she walked in.
‘Am I interrupting?’ Daniels asked.
‘No, I was just leaving.’ Ellen made a show of looking at her watch. ‘As soon as Phil signs his mail, which has been sitting on his desk for hours.’
Bright smiled at her. ‘Don’t suppose you could organize a cup of tea for DCI Daniels before you go? One for me too, if you’re boiling the kettle; I know how you love to save the planet.’
‘I’m your PA, not your tea lady.’ Ellen’s eyes flashed, warning him not to push his luck. But she was smiling when she turned to Daniels. ‘What’s he like? How on earth you’ve put up with him all these years is beyond me, it really is!’
