Monument to Murder

by Mari Hannah

  Kate couldn’t remember enjoying a meal more.

  Passing on the wine, she poured Jo a glass, watching her tuck into her pasta. It felt unsettling being in the same room with her when they hadn’t seen each other socially for months. Eating with her, especially in candlelight with soulful music filling the air, required a level of intimacy she’d missed since they’d split up.

  ‘I’m stuffed,’ Jo said, pushing her plate away.

  ‘Me too . . .’ Kate put a hand on her stomach to labour the point. ‘That was delicious, above and beyond considering I invited myself along at such short notice.’

  ‘You always were pushy.’

  ‘I never heard you complaining.’

  Nelson snorted, making them both laugh, taking the heat out of the conversation. His body twitched. He opened one eye and then closed it again. Rolling over on to his back, he splayed his legs out giving them an eyeful of what Hank Gormley would refer to as his Gutiérrez.

  ‘God!’ Jo laughed. ‘He’s such a slut. You want dessert?’

  Kate blew out her cheeks. ‘No room.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  They cleared away the dishes together, replenished their glasses and returned to the living room where Jo stoked the fire and joined her guest on the sofa. Panic seized hold of Kate. This was the point of the evening when the small talk was over and they would turn their attention to her murder case, safer ground for both of them. But the photograph she’d found in the kitchen kept edging its way into her thoughts. She wanted to mention it, to ask Jo why she’d felt the need to conceal it. Instead, she said nothing – fearful of spoiling the moment she was hoping still might come.

  They talked about the case. Then, to Kate’s surprise, the conversation drifted to more personal matters, the good fun they had enjoyed at home and at work in the preceding years. Relaxed and happy, Jo pulled up a footstool and turned off the standard lamp, plunging them into the past and the room into semi-darkness.

  In flickering candlelight, Kate reached for her hand, began stroking it. When Jo didn’t pull away, she leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips. There was no resistance – no words exchanged – just an intense closeness between them. Caught up in the moment, Jo responded, tentatively at first, then with an urgency that surprised and excited her former lover.

  Kate groaned as her mobile rang.

  Jo pulled away, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

  Kate let the phone ring out, cursing Hank. She knew it would be him. Who else would it be? When it stopped, she kissed Jo again. This time her whole body responded. Altering her position, she straddled Kate, a mischievous grin spreading over her face, eyes on fire.

  ‘We’ve a lot to thank him for,’ she said.

  Kate felt a pang of guilt.

  Crossing her arms, Jo took hold of the hem of her dress, peeling it off in slow motion. Dumping it on the floor, she unclipped her bra, causing it to fall from her shoulders. The sight of her naked flesh took Kate’s breath away. Her pale breasts were full, her dark nipples enormous. She smelled wonderful. Her skin was soft, her back warm from the fire.

  ‘If you stay the night—’

  ‘If?’ Kate pulled a face. ‘Where else would I be staying?’

  ‘There’s no bacon and egg in my fridge.’

  ‘I’m not on Dukan. Give me toast.’

  ‘No bread, sorry.’

  ‘Stop talking.’

  They kissed again.

  A mobile rang. Jo’s this time.

  ‘Shit, shit shit!’ She grinned at Kate. ‘I’m ignoring that!’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake! Course I’m sure . . .’ Easing herself forward, Jo whispered in Kate’s ear: ‘Don’t make me wait. I’ve missed you so much.’

  ‘You drive me mad,’ Kate said.

  Jo’s desperation had always been appealing. If she was up for sex, she never held back. The woman was shameless and totally uninhibited. Kate ripped off her shirt as the mobile died, leaving only the sound of pounding waves outside, the odd crackle of firewood, her own heartbeat.

  Two seconds later the house phone rang. They both tried to ignore it but the answer machine kicked in. Emily McCann’s voice pushed its way into the room. She was very distressed. ‘Jo, if you’re in, please pick up. It’s Rachel. She hasn’t come home!’

  Grimacing, Jo shut her eyes.

  Kate sighed.

  The magic had gone.

  55

  JO SAT IN SILENCE. The atmosphere in the car was grim. Words seemed difficult for both of them following a scramble to get dressed. Kate’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead. Jo couldn’t fathom what the hell was going through that level head of hers.

  Were they a couple again? Just good friends? What?

  Was that even a good idea? Jo wondered.

  Her thoughts drifted back to when she’d ended it between them.

  Kate was a terrific person, an attentive lover, but ambitious to a fault. Her work came first. Always had. Still did. And now, Jo was asking herself, what had changed? Nothing, was the truthful answer. Not a damned thing. A little red wine might have brought her guard down on this special day but their romantic evening would most probably have been a one off.

  Maybe Emily had done them both a favour.

  In Alnwick, Kate slowed the car, pulling up outside the nick. She put the handbrake on but left the engine running, signalling her intent not to hang around, relieved that the journey had come to an end.

  Well, that made two of them, Jo thought.

  Jumping out, she held on to the door, preventing Kate from driving away. ‘Call you tomorrow?’ she asked. A nod was all the reply she got.

  Kate put the car in gear. ‘Will you explain to Emily?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Kate gave a weak smile in lieu of thanks.

  She needed no excuse to avoid getting involved in Emily’s latest drama. Incident room personnel had sent texts asking her to get in touch as a matter of urgency. Hank had called several times, twice in the last half hour. Their persistence probably signalled more bad news: another death, another family in distress. Jo hoped not, for all their sakes. Shutting the door, she waved Kate off and then went inside.

  EMILY MCCANN WAS seated on a hard wooden bench in reception, her coat wrapped up in a ball beside her, elbows resting on her knees, head in hands. A tan leather bag lay open on the floor, a pack of tissues spilling out. Sensing a presence, she looked up anxiously. It was obvious she’d been crying. Her face was all puffy and red, a telltale smudge of mascara beneath her right eye. She was still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to work. She seemed to have aged ten years since the afternoon.

  ‘Thank God!’ she said. ‘Maybe you can talk some sense into them. I’ve been here for ages and no one’s taking any bloody notice of a word I’ve said.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Jo said.

  ‘The PC I saw is not much older than Rachel. You’d think he’d understand. And when I insisted on seeing a detective, someone in authority who’s over eighteen, he took offence and the shutters went up.’ Emily looked past Jo to the entrance. ‘Where’s Kate?’

  56

  THE NAME CAUGHT Kate’s eye as soon as she entered the MIR. She didn’t need telling that there had been a major breakthrough in the case. It was writ large on the murder wall beneath crime scene photographs of the more recent victim. It was her sole focus. The longer she looked at it, the bigger it became. It was like looking through a camera lens, zooming ever closer. Carmichael’s handwriting. Black marker. Capital letters. Neat script, around three inches tall. A simple name. Two words: MAXINE O’NEIL.

  ‘SHE’S BUSY, EM. Really busy,’ Jo said. ‘The incident room have been calling nonstop.’

  Jo was used to making excuses for Kate. She’d lost count of how many engagements she’d cancelled because Kate had been called in to work. Never off duty was a clichéd term but it was also a true reflection of the working life of a detective
. Emily knew that to be the case. Even so, her disappointment was plain to see.

  Jo sat down, changing the subject. ‘Tell me what happened with Rachel.’

  Emily’s bottom lip quivered at the mention of her daughter’s name.

  Jo put her arm around her. ‘I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, Em.’

  ‘She didn’t come home. Something terrible has happened, I know it has!’

  ‘You can’t possibly—’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘Emily, listen to me—’

  ‘I gave the copper a recent photo, the names of Rachel’s friends, but he’s wasting his time. I already rang round everyone.’

  Jo looked around. ‘Where’s the officer now?’

  ‘Officer?’ Emily’s expression hardened. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

  The desk sergeant looked up from her paperwork. Jo smiled – a forgive-her-shes-upset kind of smile – trying to keep her onside. Turning to Emily, she dropped her voice and said, ‘Em, you need to calm down. You’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t. Where is he?’

  ‘Making calls.’ Emily looked over her shoulder. ‘What’s taking so long? I told him Rachel’s not one to run off—’

  ‘That’s not strictly true though, is it?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Emily bit back. ‘Whose side are you on?’

  ‘It’s not a question of sides. She’s gone missing before—’

  ‘That was years ago, a schoolgirl prank and you know it. You know Rachel! She’s a responsible adult now!’ Emily paused, then swung round as Jo’s gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. The PC she was waiting for was standing right behind her. Emily glared at him. ‘Well? What are you waiting for? Now will you take a missing person report?’

  CARMICHAEL NUDGED HANK Gormley’s arm, tipping him off that their boss had arrived. Kate was standing in the doorway, her eyes focused on the murder wall. She’d changed her clothes and done her hair, had on a little more make-up than usual. She looked stunning.

  Gormley left the others to greet her. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he whispered. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you for hours. I was about to call the police.’

  Ignoring the jibe, Kate walked further into the room, sidestepping his question with one of her own. ‘What is this? DNA match?’

  ‘Yep. Maxine O’Neil. Fifteen years old. One of four children to Suzanne and Graham O’Neil. Missing since around 11.30 on Tuesday, 12 February 2006. Last known sighting at a bus stop on the A1079, five miles north of Hull.’

  ‘Seen by who?’

  ‘Passing motorist. School teacher who knew her well.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Male. They’re not allowed to pick up students, so he drove right by.’

  ‘Allegedly,’ Robson said as he approached.

  ‘Why weren’t they both at school?’ Kate queried.

  ‘Half-term,’ Gormley said.

  Kate met his eyes. ‘How seriously was her disappearance taken at the time?’

  ‘Not very. It was treated as a misper, in view of her age.’

  Kate noticed Lisa Carmichael’s disgust. She understood it too. If the girl had been five or even ten years old they would have been on it like a rash. But that wasn’t necessarily the case for fifteen-year-olds. Chances were they had gone off with a boyfriend or just decided they’d had enough of their parents and run away. All of those things came into play when deciding who to believe and how to proceed. However, now she was a murder statistic, all that was about to change.

  57

  ‘WE NEED TO talk some more,’ the PC said.

  ‘Fine!’ Emily pointed at Jo. ‘I want her to come too.’

  ‘No problem.’ The PC unlocked a door to an interview room and stood back, checking Jo out as she followed Emily into the room. All three took a seat, the policeman placing a scruffy reporter’s notepad on the table between them. He cleared his throat. ‘You should listen to your friend, Mrs McCann.’

  ‘No, you listen to me!’ Emily said. ‘You may as well, because I’m not going to be put off. Thousands of kids go missing every year in this country. I know what I’m talking about, OK?’

  ‘You just said Rachel was a responsible adult.’

  Jo looked at her friend. ‘He’s right, Em. You can’t have it both ways.’

  Emily looked wounded.

  Despite the fact that he was the only one with any authority in the room, the PC appeared intimidated by her outburst. He chose his words carefully, acknowledging that of course people of Rachel’s age went missing every day but pointing out that more often than not they returned unharmed within a few hours or days.

  ‘Why?’ Emily was off again. ‘Why would Rachel go missing?’

  ‘You tell me,’ the PC said. ‘Boyfriend you don’t approve of, perhaps?’

  Emily’s cheeks flushed, her eyes darting to Jo for support.

  Knowing there was some truth in that, Jo said nothing. Emily had suspected a clandestine relationship for weeks. That said, Jo understood her reluctance to rubbish her daughter to the police. Only last night, mother and daughter had apparently reached an agreement: Emily would stop treating Rachel like a kid and in return, Rachel would resume her studies and start keeping regular hours.

  Would she suddenly go back on her word?

  ‘Why won’t you listen to me? I already told you what I think has happened.’ Emily looked at Jo, a plea for help. ‘I’ve told him about Walter Fearon, the things he said. Please make him understand or get hold of Kate. Do something.’

  ‘Who’s Kate?’ the PC asked.

  ‘She’s a DCI with a bit more oomph than you,’ Emily said.

  ‘Emily!’ Jo apologized to the officer then turned to her friend. ‘C’mon, Em. You’re doing yourself no favours.’

  Emily combed a hand through her hair, her face pained with distress, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, honestly I am. It’s just . . . I want my daughter back.’

  ‘This young prisoner,’ the PC queried, ‘he’s someone you both work with?’

  ‘No.’ Emily wiped her eyes. ‘Just me.’

  ‘I’m aware of him,’ Jo said quietly. ‘He’s a piece of work.’

  Emily confirmed that with a nod. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but he’s obsessed with me. That might appear odd to you given my age, but older women are his thing. He’s not been getting his own way lately and I think he’s done something awful to Rachel just to get back at me. I’ve been giving him a hard time over his behaviour in prison.’

  The officer was looking directly at Jo. ‘Do you agree with Ms McCann?’

  His question was a lowballer designed to divide and conquer. A clever tactic when he was on the back foot. He was beginning to piss Jo off.

  Where the hell was Daniels when you wanted her?

  ‘I agree that he’s a very dangerous young man,’ Jo said.

  Her failure to commit herself wasn’t lost on the other two.

  ‘He’s making that up though, surely,’ the policeman said. ‘I mean, he’s in prison, right? He’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘Yet!’ Emily said.

  ‘He’s due out imminently,’ Jo explained. ‘Which is why Emily is so distraught.’

  ‘And I have every reason to be,’ Emily said. ‘It may have passed you by, but sex offenders often work in pairs. That obviously didn’t appear in your police entrance exam!’

  ‘Has it occurred to you what day it is?’ the PC asked, ignoring the dig.

  ‘Day?’ Emily looked puzzled.

  Jo knew what he was getting at. His question felt like a slap. Taking hold of Emily’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. The physical contact produced a sudden flashback: Kate stroking her hand and ripping off her shirt in a candlelit room.

  A lot can happen in an hour.

  ‘It’s Valentine’s Day,’ Jo said gently.

  Emily looked away in a flood of tears.

  Jo focused on the officer. ‘Emily’s husband died a few months ago. Were you aware of
that?’ she asked pointedly. The PC clearly was. ‘Then perhaps you’ll understand why she can’t bear to let her daughter out of her sight. Hardly surprising she’s beside herself, is it?’

  The PC blushed. ‘Rachel’s mixed up too, I gather.’

  Jo resented the inference that Emily’s state of mind was not good. But the way she was acting, it was hardly surprising the policeman would take that view. She certainly sounded like she was losing it.

  ‘Enough to harm herself?’ the PC asked.

  ‘No.’ Jo shook her head. ‘Rachel would never do that.’

  ‘No way!’ Emily snapped. ‘I’m her mother! I should know. She hasn’t run away, or thrown herself under a bus. I told you, this offender described her to me, he described the house where we live.’

  ‘How come?’ the PC asked. ‘Did you talk to him about—’

  ‘No! Why would I? I have no idea how he knows. He just does! Please, I’m begging you. Take me seriously before it’s too late.’

  Jo realized there wasn’t a lot the officer could do. It was obvious he thought that Rachel had gone off with a mate. She hadn’t been missing long and, by her own admission, Emily had already done what the police would do under the circumstances: contacted all Rachel’s friends, the college, etcetera. Although he was under pressure to offer Emily some small crumb of comfort, at least show some sympathy for the woman’s plight, behind his eyes there was a steely determination Jo had seen so often in Kate Daniels when she was about to deliver bad news. A sucker punch was on its way.

  58

  CORE MEMBERS OF the Murder Investigation Team were sitting in a semi-circle in the centre of the incident room, lights dimmed, no civilian personnel present. DC Lisa Carmichael looked as though she wanted to punch someone. It was an appalling state of affairs but, like it or not, age had a bearing on how any police force dealt with missing children.

  ‘Hank, you up for driving to Hull?’ Kate took in Gormley’s nod. ‘Maxine O’Neil’s parents need telling and I’d like to be the one to do that before they find out from some arsehole blabbing to the press. Who spoke to Humberside?’