by Mari Hannah
‘Where the hell have you two been?’ Bright said, looking up. ‘A witness came forward who works in a dry cleaner’s. She claims Jo left a bloodstained coat there on Friday morning that matches the one the taxi driver described in his statement. I think her alleged loss of memory is nothing more than a ploy to deceive us. I know that’s difficult to believe, given the fact that we have worked with her in the past, but we can’t ignore the evidence.’
Daniels was stunned by the news. What had begun as a small seed of doubt in her mind was fast becoming a strong suspicion. She began to question her own judgement: had she taken the case for the promotion, or to protect a woman she still loved? Trying to avoid Gormley’s interest, she fiddled with her briefcase, keeping her head down and her thoughts on the subject of Stephens’ sexual brutality. Hadn’t a motive for murder been evident from the start? Hadn’t it weighed her down from the moment she’d recognized him? The answer to both questions had to be yes. But she still couldn’t believe that this was a case of unfinished business.
‘Is that wise, guv?’ she said. ‘She might not be medically fit.’
‘I’ll get the Police Surgeon to examine her first,’ Bright said. ‘What’s up? Worried I might upset the Home Office?’
‘No, I couldn’t give a shit about them, but . . .’ Daniels scanned the room. ‘Am I the only one round here who has any doubts? You all know her as well as I—’
‘OK, try to imagine you don’t know her personally. Then take away her qualifications, and what do you have?’ Bright scanned the faces of his team. No one spoke up. ‘Exactly! A woman with a big fucking grudge, that’s what. And now we have enough to arrest her, so I suggest we get on with it.’
Daniels shook her head. ‘I hear you, guv. But I think it’s too soon.’
‘The boss is right,’ Gormley jumped to her defence. ‘Don’t forget there are others in the frame.’
Bright laughed. ‘Yeah, they’re queuing up.’
‘James Stephens dropped out of uni two days prior to his father’s death. He still has no alibi,’ Gormley said. ‘And he has one hell of a motive, given Stephens’ refusal to support him financially.’
Daniels placed a hand on Gormley’s shoulder. ‘Yes, he does, Hank. But Sheffield CID spoke with James’ tutor this morning. He was telling the truth about their affair, and she swears he was with her at the relevant time.’
It came as no surprise to Gormley to hear that the lad was innocent. A blind man on a galloping horse could see it, if they took the trouble to look. He swung round to face her. ‘That still leaves Martin! Remember him? Funny blue uniform, scrambled egg on his epaulettes?’
‘Guilty as sin,’ Bright said. ‘But only of wasting police time. He was lying to protect his reputation. Didn’t want his lovely wife Muriel finding out about his extra-marital activities. She’s a bit of a bunny boiler, is our Muriel. Of course, rumour has it, she already knows.’
He grinned, letting them all know he was responsible for that. Daniels eyed him with disdain. They both knew there was more to it than that. She strongly suspected that the ACC had heard the gun go off, may even have entered Stephens’ apartment before Monica arrived home. But she knew she’d never be able to prove it, no matter how much she might like to. In the end, she’d had no choice but to let the matter drop.
‘So it was him that Kim Foreman heard arguing with Wood.’ Gormley took in Daniels’ nod and didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Well, if she heard the gun go off, then so did he, the tosser.’
‘He must’ve done,’ Daniels said.
Gormley was sulking now. ‘Well? What are you going to do about that?’
Bright shrugged.
Daniels thought of the insurance in her pocket. She had enough on the tape to put one over on Martin, enough of a lever to get a crown on her shoulder. But that was for another day. She could see Gormley was furious and there was an uncomfortable exchange between them she hoped others hadn’t seen. He was sending her a clear message: you’ve got to tell him now!
She knew he was right.
It was now or never.
‘Guv . . . There’s something else you should know.’
Her tone of her voice not only had Bright’s attention but also the rest of MIT.
‘Could Hank and I have a private word in your office?’
Knowing it must be important if it had to be said behind closed doors, Bright got to his feet and led them upstairs to mission control. As they all sat down, Daniels took a deep breath, looked him in the eye and just came right out with it.
‘Jo once told me confidentially that Stephens raped her during their marriage.’
Silence.
Bright’s face paled. He looked accusingly at Gormley, then back at Daniels, his jaw clenching as if he were about to explode. But beneath the anger there was also a look of deep disappointment, as well as bewilderment as to why she’d kept him in the dark. Fearing his next question, Daniels got in first.
It was time to make up the truth.
‘And before you ask, the answer is no. Hank wasn’t party to the conversation.’
‘Why wasn’t I informed?’ Bright held on to his temper, just.
‘It was my call, guv. I’m telling you now.’
‘Not good enough!’ He waited.
‘If I’m told something in confidence—’
‘Still not good enough. Try again. Jesus, Kate! Have you lost your mind?’
Daniels didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything at all, just left the room, slamming the door behind her. Bright flinched as it damn near came off its hinges and then he rounded on Gormley.
‘What the hell is wrong with you two? This is the result you’ve been waiting for, right? What we’ve all been waiting for. We’re a team, aren’t we? The Three Must-get-beers!’
‘Yeah, that’ll be right, guv. Teamwork! You and Kate are both good at that.’
Then he walked out too, leaving Bright baffled as to what was really going on.
Seconds later, Gormley was at Daniels’ side as she made her way back down the stairs and along the corridor to her office.
‘You OK?’ he said, after a while.
She glanced sideways. ‘What do you think?’
‘For what it’s worth, I think he’s barking up the wrong tree.’
‘I know he is.’
‘To be that certain, you’d have had to have killed him yourself. You didn’t—’
‘No, of course not, you idiot!’ She stopped walking, and faced him head-on. ‘And by the way, Jo’s impending arrest isn’t our only problem.’
‘Oh, goody.’ Gormley’s tone was sour. ‘What is it this time?’
‘Martin has a snout in the squad.’
‘Maxwell?’
Daniels shrugged. ‘He’s the obvious weak link. Just keep your eyes and ears open. And don’t worry about the ACC. We have ourselves a keepy-back.’
In her office, she delved into her pocket, pulled out the tiny recorder and pressed play. Martin’s voice sounded muffled on the tape: What the fuck is going on? I’ve just had that bitch Daniels over here asking stupid bloody questions . . .
‘All to protect the woman he loves,’ Daniels said, stopping the tape and removing it from the recorder.
‘See, you do have something in common . . .’ Gormley just couldn’t resist the temptation to have a pop at her. ‘Can you live with the hypocrisy?’
‘I think I can manage.’ Daniels threw the tape into her bottom drawer and locked it with a key. ‘Depends how far I’m pushed.’
64
The atmosphere was about as tense as it could get. They had been waiting for a good few minutes; Jo Soulsby and her solicitor, William Oliver, on one side of the table, Detective Superintendent Bright on the other, all of them wondering what was keeping Daniels. Keen to get the interview underway, and growing increasingly angry, Bright looked at his watch and let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn’t prepared to start until he was good and ready to do so, but, a few minutes later –
spurred on by complaints from Oliver – he picked up the internal phone and punched the number for the incident room.
‘Have you found her yet?’ he asked.
Oliver tapped the dial on his own wristwatch, making a show of his growing impatience. He was a small, stern-looking man in his late forties – Jo Soulsby’s friend and brief for over twenty years. He could have done without the delay, not to mention the ridiculous allegation against one of his dearest friends. He flinched as Bright barked into the handset.
‘Well, where the bloody hell is she?’
Oliver glared at him. ‘Superintendent, I have other clients to see. I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?’
Bright ignored him, his thoughts with Kate Daniels. She’d been acting out of character lately and he’d let it go. But her absence this morning with no notification – let alone explanation – was unforgiveable, a liberty too far. Even though he had a soft spot for her, he knew he’d have to pull her into line. Forced to proceed without her, he turned his attention back to the phone.
‘Get Carmichael in here, now!’ he said.
He hung up.
Daniels slipped quietly into the observation room. Through a two-way mirror, she could see that the interview had been going on for a while: statements, exhibits, crime-scene photographs lay on the table, along with plastic beakers and a jug of water she knew from experience would be warm.
Lisa Carmichael appeared to be savouring her first experience of sitting in with the guv’nor who was poised like a cheetah waiting for that split second when the moment was right to pounce. Oliver, on the other hand, seemed far from impressed. In fact, he appeared to find Bright’s approach extremely tiresome. Sighing loudly, the solicitor whispered something to his client, using his hand to shield his mouth, before replying on her behalf.
‘My client has already answered your question, Superintendent. Did she not just state that she has no knowledge whatsoever of how that photograph came to be in her bin?’
Bright moved on. ‘CCTV puts you on the Quayside shortly after midnight, Mrs Soulsby. Where were you between leaving the reunion and getting into a taxi at one thirty?’
He paused, inviting Jo to tender an alibi.
None was forthcoming.
Oliver intervened. ‘Can we just stick to the facts?’
Carmichael’s eyes flitted from Oliver to Jo and back again. She rested her forearms on the table so she could read over Bright’s shoulder, no doubt grateful that Daniels had been ‘inexplicably delayed’.
‘Mrs Soulsby,’ Bright continued, ‘we have a witness who will testify that you were in a dirty and confused state when you arrived home. Can you explain that?’
‘I can’t help you.’ Jo turned her head away, unaware of Daniels’ presence in the room next door. The two women were looking straight at each other on opposite sides of a party wall. Bright glanced at his notes and fired off another question, giving Jo no time to dwell on the last.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘the weapon used to kill Alan Stephens was found close to your office. Do you wish to comment on that?’
He relaxed back in his seat, using his steely eyes to intimidate Jo.
The silence in the room was deafening.
‘Superintendent!’ Oliver damn near exploded. ‘You can do better than that, surely? I asked for evidence! Have you found gun residue on my client or her clothing?’ He waited for Bright to respond. ‘No, I didn’t think so. Your question is irrelevant. I’ll let you in on a little secret: that gun was discovered closer to my home than it was to Ms Soulsby’s office. Are you going to arrest me, too?’
Carmichael was enjoying the battle. She was getting the lesson of her police career. Bright wasn’t in the least put off by Oliver’s sarcasm. Sensing her adulation, he loosened his tie and revved up for the kill, pushing a package in Soulsby’s direction.
‘Do you recognize this? It’s your coat. The one you took to the dry cleaner’s within hours of your ex-husband’s death.’
Jo chose not to answer.
‘Refusing to comment will do you no good in the long run, as you well know. This is your opportunity to set the record straight.’
Jo watched Bright pour himself a beaker of water. He took a sip, letting his comment linger a while in everyone’s mind. She was frustrated with all the questions. The man asking them was not someone she had much time for. And she knew the feeling was mutual – they’d never seen eye to eye. By reputation, he was apparently good at his job, a detective others – including Kate Daniels – tried to emulate.
Did he really think she looked like a killer?
Jo thought about this for a while. She had to concede that most killers she’d ever come across looked like your average person. They bore no distinguishing features, marking them out from the rest of society. Most went about their business just as she did: working, spending time with family and friends, eating, drinking, sleeping . . .
Suddenly very tired, she wanted the interview to come to an end so she could go home and climb into bed. She was innocent, and Bright had no evidence to prove otherwise.
‘I haven’t lived with him for years . . .’ Jo pinched the bridge of her nose, meeting her accuser’s eyes across the table. ‘You know that to be the case, Superintendent. What reason would I have to kill him?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ Bright said confidently, keeping his trump card up his sleeve for just a moment longer.
On the other side of the party wall, Daniels’ face was red with anger and frustration. She knew what was coming and cursed her guv’nor under her breath. She could remember sitting where Carmichael was now. Watching Bright in action that first time had seemed amazing. It felt like only yesterday, not some ten years ago. He was skilled at interviewing suspects, knew instinctively which buttons to press and how hard to press them. He’d taught her so much: how timing was almost as important as the evidence itself, spotting the precise moment to turn the knife. That was the key to getting a confession. Tripping the suspect up, forcing them to make the mistake that would put them inside for a very long time. But with all that was going on in his life, Daniels began to wonder whether he was losing his touch.
Couldn’t he see he was getting it wrong?
Despite the police surgeon’s assertion that Jo was fit to be interviewed, Daniels suspected she was still traumatized by the accident. Bright would make mincemeat of her and nothing Oliver could say or do would stop him. He was on the brink of asking another question when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘Come!’ he yelled, glancing at Carmichael.
From her position in the observation room, it was clear to Daniels that they both expected her to come walking through the door. She grew anxious when Robson entered, carrying a package of some kind, which she assumed must be another exhibit, something vitally important to the case.
‘For the benefit of the recording, DS Robson has entered the room.’ Bright couldn’t mask his disappointment. He got to his feet, joining Robson in a corner. They stood with their backs to Daniels, talking in low whispers. She couldn’t see their faces, nor hear what was said, but their muted conversation didn’t last long.
Dismissing Robson, Bright took the package. As he turned back to the others, Daniels detected a familiar look – a triumphant look that put the fear of God into her. He approached the table and sat down, fingering the package in his hand before placing it very deliberately on the table, halfway between himself and Jo. This piece of drama was calculated in its intent, a classic method of raising the stakes and putting the suspect under pressure.
‘Mrs Soulsby, have you ever visited number 24 Court Mews?’
‘It’s Ms Soulsby . . . and no, I have not.’
‘Are you certain about that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So you have never been in Alan Stephens’ apartment before?’
‘That is what I said.’
‘Are you familiar with the term “provable lies”?’
�
��You patronizing bastard! You know I am!’
Picking up the package he’d so carefully and theatrically placed in the centre of the table, Bright opened it to reveal an unremarkable and commonplace photo frame with a mounted picture of Alan and Monica Stephens inside. He held it aloft so that Jo and Oliver could see it clearly.
‘For the benefit of the recording, I’m showing Ms Soulsby exhibit FMD0811, a photograph . . .’ He paused for effect. ‘Have you ever seen this before?’
‘No.’
‘Any idea who the subject is?’
‘Alan . . . and his current wife, I presume.’
‘Explain to me how your prints came to be on this photo frame.’
Jo faltered, processing this. ‘They can’t have been!’
Jo stared at Oliver and shook her head. The solicitor remained poker-faced and said nothing. There was a short pause as Bright let the gravity of the information sink in.
In the viewing room, Daniels sat down. She felt so betrayed, it was hard to concentrate, even harder to accept what she’d just heard. The fingerprint bureau had produced the trump card: irrefutable evidence that Jo had visited Stephens’ apartment, if not on the night of the murder, then at some time in the past. She’d given Jo every opportunity to take her into her confidence. Whatever the reason for her silence, Jo had created yet another blindside for Daniels to deal with.
Didn’t she know that whoever knows the truth has the most power?
Bright was staring at Jo across the table, savouring his moment of victory, letting his suspect reconsider her position. He shuffled a few papers and stood up. As he walked away from the table, Jo appeared to relax a little. She obviously thought the interview was over.
Daniels knew it wasn’t . . . not in a million years.
‘In the past, you alleged that Alan Stephens raped you, is that correct?’
Bright said it matter-of-factly, as if he’d been talking about something inconsequential like the wintry weather outside. It was done for a purpose and left Jo visibly stunned. Turning her face away from him, she looked towards the two-way mirror separating the adjoining rooms. Looking hurt and betrayed, her anger was so near to the surface it very nearly brought tears to her eyes as she sensed Daniels watching the proceedings.
