by Mari Hannah
Jo’s mouth was moving again, her words drowning out Kate’s thoughts, becoming clearer and louder in her head . . . ‘Of course, he’s avoiding the subject. He’s not about to acknowledge that we have any kind of connection, let alone a sexual one. But now is perhaps not the most appropriate time to tackle him. I don’t think his ticker is up to a deep and meaningful on that subject.’
Kate wasn’t laughing.
‘You’d think he’d done it on purpose,’ Jo said.
Kate rolled her yes. ‘Timing is everything. He’s probably been planning to scupper our trip to Scotland for months. I wouldn’t put it past him.’
‘Give him a break, Kate. He’s from a different generation. It must be hard for him to accept that you’ll never have kids, that you prefer to spend your life without a man to fend for you . . .’
Kate didn’t hear the rest of the excuses. In spite of her wish to improve her relationship with her father, all she could think of was his profound disapproval; an unwillingness on his part to accept her for who she was. There was no harder thing to cope with than indifference. As far as he was concerned, she was invisible. Unworthy of the bond they once shared. He’d shut Jo out for years. He’d be civil to her, but he’d never accept her as part of his life – let alone his daughter’s.
Kate sighed.
Had her mother lived, things would have been different.
‘Kate? What’s wrong?’
The voice sounded muffled in her ears. Kate tried to listen, but her thoughts were louder. Angrier. She’d tried everything in her power to persuade her father to acknowledge that she was as precious as any daughter: cosying up to him, arguing her case, occasionally even writing to him. As close as she was to Jo, Kate had never told her about the letters. The replies had been so hurtful she hadn’t been able to share them.
‘He’s a dinosaur,’ she said.
‘He’s your dinosaur.’ Jo placed a cold, slender hand on Kate’s cheek and stroked it gently. ‘Don’t go there now. He’s not well. We’ll have this conversation some other time. If he’s still not willing to admit that he’s in the wrong, then pity for him. Go on in, he’s waiting for you.’
Through the glass panel in the main entrance, Kate could see nurses running around after patients. He’d be nice to them – no doubt about it – and yet he couldn’t be civil to the one person who was always there for him. Why did she even care? He didn’t. She tried to stem her anger. Her father was blind if he couldn’t see what Jo meant to her.
As she stood in the corridor, two separate trains of thought merged like the storylines of a book or film. Suddenly she couldn’t differentiate between her own situation and that of Elliott Foster. If she found out that his death was connected to his homosexuality it would open up a wound she’d been hiding for years. A bleeding open wound she’d been trying and failing to live with. The reason she’d thrown away all that was good in her life.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’ Kate kissed Jo and walked away.
‘Kate? Kate!’
The DCI kept walking.
48
The noise in her head increased as Kate sat in her Audi, arms resting on the steering wheel. Poor Elliott. She wondered if he’d shared his sexuality with his parents, as she had tried to do. The only living relative who knew of her secret was hanging on to life in a hospital bed. He’d rejected her, at pains to point out that she’d had ‘normal’ relationships. Used in this context, the word normal was like a stick to beat her with. Her thoughts swung wildly. She was tempted to run – start the car and drive as far away as possible – but she had to face her father at some point.
In the end, she did neither.
To go back inside and pretend she had any kind of meaningful relationship with him felt like a betrayal of all gay people. The lid on Pandora’s box was lifting. Kate pressed it down tightly. This was no time to let her demons out. Frozen to the seat, the memory of her first altercation with Atkins wormed its way into her thoughts. She was a uniform PC at the time, with aspirations to become a detective . . .
It had been an average night, an unremarkable shift at a busy station: a couple of burglaries, an assault on a prostitute, an arson with intent that got out of hand, a warehouse going up as wind fanned the flames. She’d been out sweeping surrounding premises, making sure that they had been properly evacuated, the only woman on her shift.
A couple of hours later, she’d received a call to return to the station. She was a mess when she arrived, her uniform sweater singed from getting too close to the flames, white shirt blackened by dense smoke and smeared with blood from a casualty hit by flying glass. Her then sergeant, James Atkins, told her to get cleaned up. She’d gone upstairs to take a shower and grab a change of clothes and had just stripped off her shirt when he appeared in the doorway of the women’s locker room.
‘Thought you might like some company,’ he said casually.
‘Sarge, you scared the hell out of me.’ She thought he was messing around, trying to put the wind up her, except that wasn’t his style. He was the bully in charge of her shift, the one with all the clout and none of the charisma. No sense of humour.
She pointed at the open door. ‘Do you mind?’
‘I do, as it happens.’ He pushed the door shut.
The lock clicking home sounded loud in Kate’s head.
‘I heard the rumours,’ he said. ‘Came to see if they were true.’
She held his gaze. ‘What rumours would they be?’
‘They call you Ice Maiden.’ He grinned. ‘It’s strictly business with you. You’re friendly enough, but that’s where it ends. Boyfriends are out, that’s the word in the bait room anyway. I’m inclined to believe it. It’s not like you even look interested—’
‘In you? I’m not.’
‘Watch your back with Atkins.’ Kate remembered the warning from PC David Reynolds the day she arrived at the station. When she’d asked what he meant, he repeated what he’d said and left it at that. Never in a million years did she think he was referring to their sergeant’s sexual appetite for rookie female officers.
‘Aw,’ Atkins mocked. ‘Don’t be like that.’
She wasn’t scared of him, but his fixed stare made her nervous.
He took a condom from his pocket and held it in the air. ‘No one needs to know. Shift’ll be tied up for a while yet.’
‘They’ll be stood down soon—’
‘And who’s going to do that then? I’m the boss. They’ll stay put until I say so. Even if they return to base, they’re hardly going to come in here, are they?’
‘Sod off.’
He made no attempt to leave. He was there by design, not by accident, the shout for her to return to the station a deliberate ploy to get her kit off while the rest of her shift were following his orders, dealing with a major incident elsewhere.
Clever.
Kate didn’t know what to do. She was nineteen years old.
She felt sullied, thinking about the wretched experience. Even though she was safe in her car, her recollection of that night made the flesh beneath her clothing crawl, anguish tug at her heart. No amount of time or hot water would ever wash away the sickening episode. The memory was as much a part of her as her arms and legs.
Rain began to spot the windscreen.
Kate raised her head. The hospital car park was half-empty. Umbrellas were up as people rushed to find transport.
Visiting time was over . . .
Jo would be furious . . .
Get a grip.
If Jo had known the real reason Kate couldn’t face her father, she’d be more than angry. She’d been the victim of a similar attack from someone she ought to have been able to trust – Alan Stephens: the man she was once married to. He was a serial philanderer, not unlike Atkins. Jo had baggage of her own to carry.
From the moment Jo confided in her, Kate had vowed that heaping more misery on her was never going to happen – she’d kept the darkness of her own abuse buried deep withi
n where it couldn’t be seen. That was the theory anyway. In truth, Atkins’ actions – that night and since – had not only scarred her, they had shaped the way she’d conducted the rest of her life, much of it in secret. Now he was in her face again. She couldn’t bear it.
Kate had felt every step he took towards her as a body blow. He oozed ill intent and seemed confident that she wouldn’t resist whatever he had in mind to do. He was wrong. Something snapped in her head and she retaliated – a push in the chest, no more – enough to make her point and let him know that she wasn’t about to go along with his plans. He seemed to find her resistance amusing. The longer the pushing and shoving went on, the stronger her feeling that she wasn’t the first woman to suffer at his hands.
Kate dropped the Audi’s window, took a gulp of fresh air and switched off the engine. Had it not been for her mother’s unconditional love and understanding, she would have gone under, or left the force. She’d felt stuck in a rut, believing that she’d never make it to the top in her chosen career. They had talked about it before she died. Her mum had worried about her isolation, urged her to seek help. Counselling from a professional with whom she could discuss the ‘dilemma’ they both knew was ruining her private life. At the time, Kate hadn’t listened. Afraid of being stigmatized, she’d gone against her mother’s advice.
She wasn’t the one with the problem.
Kate had seen other officers marginalized by vindictive, ambitious colleagues. She’d witnessed their exclusion from the elite club that is the upper echelons of the police service in a world dominated by men. She didn’t want her sexuality to open up her career to negative scrutiny. She wanted to be revered for her professionalism, not put down by gender stereotyping. Why should she tell all? Her private life was simply that – no one’s business but her own.
Her phone vibrated on the dash, startling her. The third call in as many minutes. She wasn’t ready to take it. Not for Jo, Hank, or anyone. She needed time to get her shit together. She was bigger and better than guys like Atkins. Always had been. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
He laughed as she stepped away from him. Kate stood her ground, her senses heightened by the need to protect herself: she could smell the spicy aroma of Paco Rabanne; hear the sound of old floorboards creaking beneath his feet; taste the bitterness of bile in her mouth. As he came within striking distance, her self-defence training – still fresh in the memory – kicked in. In one rapid upward movement, she straightened her arm, hitting him in the face, the heel of her hand striking the underside of his nose, incapacitating him. It was so swift a jab, and so unexpected, he was unable to duck in time.
‘You fucking dyke!’ Eyes watering, he slammed her against metal lockers, knocking shampoo bottles and other personal items on top of her. ‘Shame you feel that way.’ He wiped snot and blood away on his sleeve. ‘You’re finished, Daniels. Get ready for the shit jobs, because that’s all your kind are good for. It’s all you’ll ever get from now on. I’d rather jerk myself off than have sex with half a woman.’
She flinched, taken aback by his hatred.
‘Step away,’ she warned.
When he stayed put, she kneed him in the groin.
The door to the next room slammed shut.
The cleaner’s cupboard.
Kate’s eyes flew to the party wall.
Atkins placed a hand over her mouth, his voice barely audible. ‘You’ll keep quiet if you know what’s good for you. One word of this gets out and you can forget ever making the CID. They don’t take bent bitches like you.’ It was his only leverage. He knew how much she wanted it. She grabbed her shirt and started to put it on.
The phone vibrated again. Kate stared at it for a long time, the memory slipping away from her. It would return. No doubt about it. The warbling stopped. She picked up the phone as a voicemail arrived, lifting it to her ear.
‘Where the hell are you?’ Hank sounded frantic. He was not in the station as far as she could tell. There was no chatter of radios, phones ringing. No conversation or office banter going on.
Worrying.
She pressed redial.
‘Finally!’ he said.
Through the windscreen, Jo came into view, walking quickly to her car. She didn’t look happy. No bloody wonder. She was babysitting a man who’d much rather she would get the hell out of Kate’s life. No place would ever be far enough away.
‘Kate? The signal is weak. You still there?’
‘Sorry I missed your calls, Hank. I’m at the hospital.’
‘Oh yeah? I rang maternity. They have no record of you being there.’
‘That’s because I slipped in unannounced.’ Kate watched Jo get into her car, drive out of the car park and disappear. She wanted to follow, to explain, but her attention slid back to Hank. He was asking if she was on the level. Clearly, he knew she was hiding something. ‘I told you where I am. Don’t question me, please.’
‘What’s wrong? You’re upset, I can tell.’
‘Oh, so now you’re a mind-reader?’ She wiped a tear from her cheek.
‘My mistake; sorry for asking.’
‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I have a headache, that’s all. Has there been a development?’
‘Hedley’s been located.’
At last: some good news.
‘Stick him in a cell. I’m on my way in.’
‘That would be difficult. He’s dead. A rambler found him hanging in Harbottle Forest an hour ago. No suspicious circumstances this time. There’s a note addressed to Beth. I’m at the scene waiting for the pathologist. The finder is with me. We’ll wait for you.’
‘It’s almost dusk, Hank.’
‘Tell me about it. I’m in the deep dark wood. The only thing I’m missing is a Gruffalo.’
‘Get an incident van, arc lights and photographers—’
‘Already taken care of.’
The DCI started the car.
‘Kate, did you get that? Damn this bloody phone! Kate, you still there?’ She’d hung up and was driving away.
49
Harbottle Forest was part of Northumberland National Park, a vast area. No one with any sense would venture into it without reference to an up-to-date Ordnance Survey map. Kate didn’t have one to hand so, as night fell, she rang Hank for information. When he didn’t answer, she called Control requesting explicit directions and GPS coordinates for the discovery site. It was almost seven fifteen by the time she arrived.
Turning left off the main road, she followed a dirt track for as far as she could go, stopping her Audi in a small clearing, a visitor’s parking area, alongside other police vehicles. The forest was silent as she got out of the car, an eerie silence broken only by the odd hoot from an owl or rustle of vegetation as wildlife came out of hiding in the hunt for food.
Tucked away under the trees, to the south of the car park, there were two other civilian vehicles: a rusty Ford Focus and a VW Polo, neither with a local registration plate. Wondering if one of them might be Hedley’s, Kate walked towards the Focus. There was a small dog bed inside, the window slightly ajar, the remains of a picnic and a map lying on the front passenger seat. Kate moved to the Polo. Nothing visible. The car was locked and secure.
She rang the incident room to crosscheck the Polo’s vehicle registration with the PNC. It was Hedley’s. Thanking Lisa for the confirmation, Kate hung up. With a police-issue torch for company, she set off on foot. She didn’t need to check her bearings. Around half a mile ahead, a light cut through the darkness, guiding her. Sheltered by oak and birch, the forest floor was largely dry, moss-covered, like a natural carpet. Nevertheless, it was difficult terrain, with many hazards in her way: fallen trees, rabbit holes and rutted ground.
Breathless and wrung out when she arrived, she was dreading the next few hours. Hank seemed pleased to see her. The blinding white light of arc lamps against the pitch-black forest gave the appearance of a sci-fi movie shoot. Kate half-expected to hear a director shout: ‘ACTION!’ In rea
lity, she was the one giving the orders, the person authorized to give advice to Hank and Home Office pathologist Tim Stanton, who was standing by in full forensic kit waiting to get to work.
‘Nice to see you, Tim.’ Kate managed a smile. ‘How’s Maddie?’
‘At home, being cared for by her mum,’ he said. ‘None the worse for her experience of a night in hospital.’
‘That’s great news.’
‘But not a priority conversation.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Small talk isn’t your thing.’
Kate assumed he was anxious to get on and get home. Ordinarily a suspicious death of this nature wouldn’t fall within the remit of the Murder Investigation Team. A straightforward suicide wouldn’t involve her. Stanton had been kept waiting because of Richard Hedley’s close association with her victim.
‘Just pulling your leg,’ he said. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you, Kate. I hear you’ve had a tough couple of days.’
‘You could say that.’ Kate wondered what he meant. Who he’d been talking to. She was going to say she’d had worse, but that would have been a lie. With Atkins on her case, things were about as bad as they could get.
Checking that the photographers were finished, for the second time this week she gave permission for the body to be cut down and laid on plastic sheeting. She stepped away as Stanton knelt beside the corpse, opening up the medical case he’d brought with him, the initials TWS engraved on its side. Watching him get to work, she knew he’d take his time. He’d share his views on cause of death when he was ready and not before. Meticulous in his approach to his work, she had every confidence in him as a colleague.
Waiting for his verdict was par for the course in her job.
Kate sighed, another suspicious death of a young person on her patch filling her with despair, chipping away at the shell she hid behind in order to stay sane. The first time she’d viewed a dead body, Bright had been by her side. He’d told her it would get easier. It never had. But that was not something you shared it if you wanted to get on and move up.
