Settled Blood

by Mari Hannah

  Bright scribbled his name on various documents. As he handed them to Ellen, Daniels’ eyes slid over her. She was a woman of indeterminate age; mid to late forties, Daniels guessed. She had the body of someone half her age, good skin and perfect teeth, her own, not manufactured in some laboratory. She had great hair too, red to match her fiery personality.

  ‘How about that tea?’ Bright made a begging gesture. ‘Just this once?’

  ‘It’s fine, Ellen,’ Daniels said. ‘I can make my own tea and so can he.’

  Ellen relented. ‘Milk, no sugar?’

  ‘You sure?’

  The PA smiled.

  Daniels took a seat as she left the room.

  Bright spoke up as she shut the door. ‘What have you got that I haven’t?

  ‘Appreciation might do it.’ She grinned. ‘It usually works a treat, guv.’

  ‘You any further forward? Adam must be desperate for news.’

  ‘Well, he’s going to be disappointed.’

  ‘How’s he holding up?’

  Daniels shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected, I suppose.’

  ‘House-to-house come up with anything?’

  ‘Have you seen his place? It’s miles from the nearest village, not a neighbour in sight – thousands of acres of land accessible from all points on the compass. It’s a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘I meant around the crime scene.’

  ‘That’s even worse! Open countryside. Big sky. Sheep. And not a lot else. There’s hardly any CCTV from Greenhead in the west all the way to Heddon-on-the-Wall in the east. I’ve got officers with local knowledge helping us, but it isn’t going to be easy. There are only forty or so buildings within a four-mile radius. Some of those are derelict. I’m having them all checked out, but my guts are telling me we’re wasting our time up there. You do know it’s also a military training area?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘That means low-flying exercises at all times of the day and night. Aircraft noise – fixed wing or helicopter – isn’t something the locals would notice a whole lot.’

  Daniels’ eyes fell on his new desk, in particular on his most prized possession: a photograph of his late wife Stella posing in the foyer of the city’s Malmaison Hotel. She had her glad rags on and high-heeled shoes, her shapely dancer’s legs on show for all to see. Next to her photograph sat a card with Daniels’ name on it.

  Damn! He’d remembered it was her birthday.

  She hoped he wasn’t planning anything. She was supposed to be having dinner with her father, who was trying his best to make things right between them. He’d booked a table at Bouchon, a French restaurant in Hexham she’d heard good reports of. Friends had been there and had raved about the food. She looked at her watch. It was far too late to cancel. But what choice did she have? It would cause a row, she knew that much. Her father, a stickler for protocol and good manners, would take it as a personal affront if she allowed her job to come first again. The irony was not lost on her. The fact of the matter was, her chosen career had driven a wedge between them from the moment she had signed on the dotted line all those years ago.

  It hadn’t always been like that.

  Ed Daniels was an affectionate, hard-working man with a great sense of humour. At least, he used to be, until the miners’ strike put him out of work and closed his pit. They had been close back then. But years later, when she left school with above-average grades and a burning ambition to join the police force, he saw her career choice as a personal betrayal and from there on things began to slide downhill.

  Her mother’s premature death hadn’t helped.

  Daniels sighed.

  Her father had a strong moral code. He’d encouraged her always to do the right thing, taught her the importance of devotion and commitment, nurtured those qualities as she grew up. He’d given her the foundation Bright had later used to mould her into the impressive officer she was.

  Ellen was back with her coat on, a pot of tea and two mugs.

  Bright watched her set it down. ‘You’re a darling, you know that?’

  ‘And you’re a sexist pig!’ Ellen left the room without another word.

  Daniels laughed out loud. ‘Looks like you met your match, guv.’

  She meant it too. Ellen Crawford was just the sort of woman to put Bright back in his box. He was a great bloke, an excellent mentor, but a law unto himself. He was often overbearing and occasionally downright rude to his staff. Her included. Ellen had nailed him the minute she set eyes on him. They were made for each other.

  ‘How well do you know Adam Finch?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s a mate. We play golf together now and again. Why?’

  Daniels met his eyes over the rim of her mug.

  ‘Remind me, guv. How did you say you met him?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Bright opened his desk drawer and pulled out a packet of his favourite biscuits. He offered her one, but she waved it away.

  ‘Well, now I’m asking. How did you meet?’

  ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, Kate.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘He was my commanding officer in the army.’

  ‘What regiment?’

  Bright took a bite of his garibaldi. ‘Army Air Corps.’

  ‘You are kidding?’

  17

  The restaurant was candlelit, an intimate space done out in a rich wine colour that made it feel warm and cosy beneath an open beamed ceiling. Daniels wished she’d made more of an effort to dress for the occasion. But she didn’t intend to stop long. She was there under sufferance and was keen to get back to High Shaw where she planned to spend the night. It was closer to home and she could get an early start in the morning.

  Her father was sitting directly opposite, smart as a pin in a navy suit with a waistcoat, a spotted tie and pocket handkerchief to match. In many ways he reminded her of Bright. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that they were two of a kind. Immaculate on the outside but flawed when it came to the personal stuff. She’d argued with Bright before leaving his office. His failure to disclose Finch’s obvious flying experience bothered her still. When they had parted she was angry, a mood that only got worse when her father rang her to confirm arrangements for dinner, refusing to take no for an answer.

  Sensing she’d gone to another place, Ed Daniels smiled at the women on the next table even though they were strangers. Daniels hated his fake charm. As long as he didn’t know you, you had his undivided attention. They were halfway through their meal, trying hard to ignore the atmosphere between them. Though the seared mullet on her plate was beautifully cooked and smelled delicious, somehow she couldn’t summon up the appetite.

  Ed Daniels tucked into his rib-eye, oblivious to his daughter, or so it seemed. He put down his knife and fork, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and lifted the wine bottle. Daniels shook her head, regretting her decision not to cancel. He’d gone to great lengths to celebrate her birthday and she hadn’t had the heart. Recent events had put things into perspective. He was all the family she had now. She owed it to them both to give it a go. But nobody said it would be easy.

  ‘Can’t you have one glass?’

  ‘Not even one. I told you I couldn’t make a night of it.’ She looked at her watch. It was gone nine. ‘I’ve still got stuff to do.’

  ‘It’s your birthday!’

  Daniels looked at him. Was he really too dumb to understand what it was like doing her job? Or was he merely pretending to be? He did that sometimes, just to wind her up. Her terms and conditions as a Detective Chief Inspector and SIO on this particular murder investigation didn’t recognize family occasions of any description.

  ‘I’ve got a lot on.’ She wasn’t telling any lies, although she knew fine well that her squad would’ve knocked off by now, gone home to recharge the batteries and get some kip for a few hours at least. ‘Think yourself lucky I made it at all.’

  ‘I’m surprised you did.’ Ed picked up his wine. ‘I heard you were bus
y.’

  Daniels bristled. ‘Hank still spying on me, is he?’

  ‘He has your best interests at heart, Kate. Don’t be so hard on him.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘That’s not what it sounds like.’

  ‘Well, tough!’ Daniels glared at him.

  ‘Why are you so angry?’ Ed looked at his half-eaten dinner, put down his wine glass and picked up his knife and fork. Daniels watched him slice into the meat, blood-red and cooked to perfection. He didn’t bother to look up. ‘Is it because of Jo?’

  Daniels folded her napkin and put it on her side plate. It was a warning not to go any further, advance notice that she was about to leave. When she’d first told Ed of her relationship with Jo Soulsby he hadn’t wanted to know. He certainly didn’t care that it was over. In fact, if anything, he was glad. Did he really expect her to confide in him now? Well, it wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Touchy subject?’

  ‘We’ll do this some other time.’

  ‘The conversation or dinner?’ He just wouldn’t leave it alone.

  The women on the next table glanced in their direction. Her father smiled at them again. To save his blushes, Daniels got up and walked round the table. She gave him a peck on the cheek, made her apologies, promising to make it up to him. On the way out of the restaurant she paid the bill, an action she regretted before she’d pinned her number.

  Her father would be furious.

  Another thing for him to complain about.

  She left the restaurant and walked quickly to her Toyota. She drove away, suddenly feeling lonely and upset. What a way to spend a birthday! She put on some music, a Dixie Chicks album Jo had bought her when they were still together. Track five was playing: ‘You Were Mine’. The lyrics got to her and she turned it off again.

  She glanced at her watch, an idea forming. Taking her left hand off the steering wheel she pressed the talking-head icon on her touch-screen Bluetooth device and said:

  ‘Dial Jo Soulsby.’

  The machine said: ‘Pardon?’

  Bollocks. ‘Call Jo.’

  ‘Call Jo, general?’

  The Bury device was beginning to annoy her. ‘Yes!’ she said.

  The number rang out and then switched to voicemail.

  ‘Jo, it’s me. I need to speak to you. Can you call me when you get in?’

  She hung up.

  Almost immediately, the phone rang and the Bury kicked in. ‘Incoming call.’

  Daniels could see from the display screen that it was Jo calling. She’d obviously ignored the house phone, then had second thoughts. Or maybe she just hadn’t got there in time. Daniels pressed the receiver icon.

  ‘Ringing me from your police number now?’ Jo said cheerfully. ‘Wow! Things have moved on!’

  She was teasing. There was a time when they only used pay-as-you-go unregistered mobiles to ring each other, a must-have item for those who dealt in deception. It had been Daniels’ idea to keep their relationship private – secret – for fear that coming out would hamper her chances of promotion within the force. Putting ambition before Jo had been a fatal mistake.

  ‘Happy birthday, by the way.’ There was hint of sadness in Jo’s voice now. ‘You doing anything nice? Didn’t have time to buy you a card. Anyway, I know how you hate all that hearts and flowers stuff.’

  At least she’d remembered to forget.

  ‘Didn’t expect one.’ Daniels tried to sound upbeat. Jo could’ve picked up the phone. If she’d wanted to. ‘You in for the rest of the night?’

  ‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sounds like you’re still up.’ Daniels could hear music in the background. Jackson Browne, one of Jo’s favourite artists. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Work! What else is there?’

  ‘Thought I was about to get lucky,’ Jo said.

  Daniels’ heart skipped a beat. She still craved a close relationship with this woman and yet she was her own worst enemy in achieving it. She knew she’d said the wrong thing. Again. She also knew she’d have to up her game if she stood any chance of a reconciliation.

  Was this a come-on?

  Or wishful thinking on her part?

  ‘I could be there in twenty . . .’ Daniels hesitated after saying that. She could hardly breathe and felt much like a fifteen-year-old trying to arrange a first date. She turned right, heading east along the A69 towards Newcastle. ‘It would be great to see you.’

  ‘Just being friendly,’ Jo came back. ‘I have Kirsten here.’

  Hearing those words was like a knife in the guts. Daniels felt like a fool. She did a reciprocal at the Styford roundabout and floored the accelerator, heading in the opposite direction.

  ‘Kate? You still there?’

  ‘Yep, traffic’s a nightmare, sorry.’ Daniels lied.

  There wasn’t a soul on the road.

  ‘Is it urgent?’ Jo asked.

  ‘No, I’ll call you in the morning.’ Daniels hung up. She looked at the talking-head icon. ‘And you can fuck off too!’ she said.

  18

  Switching on her main-beam headlights, Daniels turned off the road and entered a narrow country lane, a thick blanket of cloud above and dense hedgerows on either side. A few minutes later, she saw a light in the distance: the Mobile Police Incident Unit. She drove towards it, cut her lights, got out of her car and went straight to the caravan to let the duty officer know she’d arrived. She tapped on the door and it opened immediately. For some reason, Hook was working a double shift.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, ma’am,’ he peered beyond her into the darkness.

  ‘Who were you expecting – Madonna?’

  He grinned. ‘I should be so lucky.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that was Kylie.’

  Hook grinned.

  ‘Just letting you know I’m back.’

  ‘Want me to see you in?’ Hook nodded towards High Shaw.

  His comment amused her. She glanced over her shoulder. The cottage was in darkness. Had she been wearing a blindfold it would have made little difference to what she could see. In this part of the world there were no streetlights to guide folks home. They weren’t necessary. It was as safe as houses round here, according to the parish council – not a single violent incident for almost forty years.

  Until now.

  Taking a pencil torch from her pocket, she switched it on, said goodnight to Hook and turned away. He wasn’t to know she’d grown up in the countryside and was well used to the silence and the darkness. He remained at the caravan door watching her back as she picked her way through the garden gate and up the path. She looked round as she reached the front door and gave him the thumbs up. He waved back and disappeared inside. But as Daniels put her key in the lock and pushed open the door, she wished he hadn’t.

  There was someone inside.

  She could feel it.

  Adrenalin pumped through her veins as she called out to Hook. When he didn’t come running she braced herself for an attack. She fumbled for the light switch and heard a small explosion which damn near gave her a heart attack.

  ‘Surprise! Surprise!’

  Party poppers ignited and trumpets blew. The light came on and a curtain of streamers floated gently to the floor in front of her. Gormley, Brown, Robson, Carmichael and Bright held up their glasses, the work hard, play hard mentality returning to her squad. Reluctantly she accepted a glass of champagne. It had been a very long day and she needed a party like a hole in the head.

  19

  Mist hung like a veil over the grass. Detective Chief Superintendent Bright was standing outside High Shaw looking out at the scenery wishing Stella could’ve seen the place. She’d have loved it. Last night had been the first time since her untimely death he’d truly enjoyed himself surrounded by his former team, his other family. Stella couldn’t have kids.

  Hank Gormley joined him, mug in each hand, muttering a husk
y greeting. He needed a shave and was clearly hung-over. Handing Bright a coffee, he leaned back against the metre-thick stone wall of the cottage.

  Bright took a slurp. ‘Shit, that’s hot!’

  ‘It’s made with boiling water, guv.’

  A grunt was all Bright managed in reply.

  Gormley yawned. ‘Suppose I should clear out the troops before the world and his wife get up. What the hell happened to Lisa? She didn’t hang around long.’

  ‘Try the caravan.’

  Gormley’s gaze shifted to the Mobile Incident Unit.

  When he looked back, his former guv’nor was grinning.

  ‘Nah.’ Hank shook his head. ‘Fiver says you’re wrong.’

  Bright stuck a hand out. ‘Fifty quid says I’m right.’

  Gormley didn’t shake on it. They stood for a while, taking in the view, enjoying the silence. Then the door to the Mobile Incident Unit opened and DC Lisa Carmichael emerged. She was clearly half-asleep and didn’t notice their eyes upon her.

  ‘Bad choice, Lisa.’ Bright didn’t even try to hide his amusement. ‘Did nobody tell you he’s got more patter than Gandhi’s flip-flop?’

  Gormley stifled a laugh as Carmichael hurried into the cottage.

  Within half an hour Bright had returned to headquarters and High Shaw was back to normal with no evidence of the previous night’s impromptu celebration. Daniels was sitting in the centre of her squad, stressing that the party was over and from here on in she wanted their minds on the job. Kevin Hook smirked at Carmichael, who looked at her boss with an expression of regret. Daniels felt sorry for her. Most young detectives she’d ever known had been in that particular place. Drink in, wits out – a drunken fuck with an inappropriate other whose name they couldn’t and didn’t want to recall the next day.

  She moved quickly on. ‘Adam Finch is our starting point. He was once in the Army Air Corps . . .’ She paused to let the information sink in. ‘And yes, he was a pilot, although according to the guv’nor he currently has no licence. Later today, Hank and I will re-interview him, but I want to run this scenario past Jo Soulsby first, see if she can give us a handle on the person or persons we’re looking for. Andy, put in a request to Durham Uni: I want all CCTV footage seized. Tell them we’ll be along later in the day – get us an office up there, if you can. If you come up with any leads, feed them back through Robbo, who’ll coordinate things this end. Robbo, I want you to get in touch with this artist woman, make arrangements for her to come in and see me.’ She handed over the business card for Fiona Fielding that Finch had supplied. ‘Kevin, caravan, now! The rest of you can go.’