Settled Blood (34 page)

‘Mr Cole?’

‘Sorry, yes, it’s one of ours.’

Daniels thanked him. ‘Could you take another look, please?’

‘A good look this time,’ Gormley added.

‘What more do you want me to say?’ Cole met Daniels’ steady gaze. ‘OK, it’s been tampered with. But not by me!’

‘What exactly do you mean,“tampered with”?’ Daniels asked.

‘The phone number’s different. I’ll show you.’ He walked to a three-drawer filing cabinet and looked inside. From it he produced an identical flyer and brought it to
them. Daniels noted that it was for the same course, on the same dates, but on this one the contact number was correct. ‘Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?’

If she’d had money on it, Daniels would have said he was telling the truth. She glanced around the room. Six rows of chairs faced the blackboard on the rear wall. Either side of it were
posters for the Private Pilot’s Licence (PPL) Syllabus, medical and safety procedures, navigation, radiotelephony and Met Office charts covering almost the entire wall. In one corner, a
picture gallery showed ex-students skydiving, all with smiling faces, some in tandem, some brave enough to jump alone.

Goosebumps covered Daniels’ skin as Amy Grainger’s dead body popped into her head.

‘You don’t like the police much, do you, Mr Cole?’ Gormley said.

Cole ignored the wind-up. For a long time he didn’t answer. Then he took a deep breath, his eyes on the more senior of the two detectives. ‘Do you believe in rehabilitation, DCI
Daniels?’

Good question
. One Daniels didn’t answer.

But Cole had her undivided attention.

‘I don’t know what you think I might’ve done. But I run a legitimate business here and I’ve nothing to hide from the police. I’ve been in trouble in the past, I
admit it. But then, I guess you already know that.’ The pilot paused. ‘Look, I paid for my mistakes a long time ago and I’ve moved on. My business partner doesn’t know of my
history and I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘I bet you would.’ Gormley kept up the pressure. ‘Three months’ imprisonment in 1999 for Affray, kicked out of the Army Air Corps in 2000. That’s not something
I’d be proud of either.’

‘We haven’t accused you of anything, Mr Cole,’ Daniels reminded them both.

‘Yet,’ Gormley said, hellbent on the final word.

On this occasion, Daniels didn’t give him the satisfaction. She thanked Cole, deciding to leave it there . . .
for now
.

D
riving was one of the pleasures of Daniels’ life. She never tired of it. But there was stuff she had to do and even she couldn’t work and drive at the same time,
at least not on a laptop. So she took the unprecedented step of asking Gormley to drive down to the Mansion House as fast as the Toyota would carry them, calling Naylor from the car to give him an
update and receive one in return.

‘Lisa’s squared things with Bryony Sharp,’ he told her. ‘And she’s also been doing some digging into the MAC Flying Club
.
They are up to their wings in shit,
within an inch of being wound up – there’s possible motive there.’

‘Except there’s been no demand for a ransom and no further contact from Jess’s abductors since the very first day—’

‘According to Finch!’ Naylor reminded her. ‘Bright tells me he’s a bit of a maverick. Always was. Maybe he’s going it alone.’

‘Don’t think so.’ Daniels went quiet, reminded of her conversation with Finch in the early stages of the case.
Even if they continue, I will not be blackmailed!
He
refused to be intimidated, didn’t strike her as the sort who’d submit to the demands of others, under any circumstances. No. He’d see that as a weakness, something to resist at
all costs. ‘The note he received was never about money, guv. It was designed to torment him. Think about it: he didn’t have the best relationship with Jessica and I gather she was
pretty headstrong. So when she disappeared he wouldn’t have known whether she’d gone off of her own free will or not.’

‘So if it weren’t for the note, he’d never have known that someone had taken her?’

‘Precisely! Receiving that note – and the text sent from her mobile – guarantees ongoing pain and suffering. Mental torture, if you will. His imagination will be working
overtime for as long as she remains missing. Is she alive? Suffering a horrible lingering death? What do these people want from him? You get what I’m saying?’

‘Seeing as you put it so eloquently.’

Daniels dropped the subject. ‘Is there any other news?’

‘The Durham lads interviewed Freek.’

‘Did they get anything from him?’

‘Maybe. They’ve gone back to Aykley Heads to mount an operation of their own. He’s still in custody, but he’s their problem, not ours.’

Daniels shook her head in frustration as Gormley was forced to slow to a crawl in a long line of cars stuck in roadwork hell. The mention of Durham HQ reminded her of the last time she was
there, at a Bike Wise event run by the constabulary’s motorcycle section. A great day out, one of few she’d had in the past twelve months. If she was on her bike now, the roadworks she
was staring at through the window would melt away.

Sensing her irritation, Gormley pulled on to the hard shoulder and shot past the line of cars. Unadulterated road rage contorted the faces of the other drivers as they sped away.

Daniels liked his style.

‘Did Andy manage to get hold of Finch’s army records?’ Daniels asked.

‘He did, but only after a monumental battle with the MOD.’

‘Pearce and Townsend’s too, I hope! Did Lisa tell him I wanted Cole’s too?’

‘I believe so. How’s it going your end?’

‘We’ve interviewed Cole and Fairley, guv.’ Daniels felt awkward calling him guv. Somehow it sounded wrong. Bright would always be her guv’nor, despite his bad temper, his
bad manners and latterly, she’d learned, his spectacular bad judgement in relation to Adam bloody Finch. She was still really angry with him. ‘I have to say, the business looked to be
thriving to me. I’m on my way to see Finch right now.’

‘Because?’

‘I wanted to run their names by him and see the whites of his eyes when I do.’

‘Interesting.’ Naylor’s voice was drowned out by an internal phone ringing somewhere close by. ‘Kate, I’ve got to—’

‘Damn!’ Gormley swore under his breath. ‘We missed him.’

Putting his foot on the brake pedal, Gormley glanced in the rear-view mirror. Daniels asked Naylor to hang on. She swivelled round in her seat, just in time to see a Jaguar XJ Portfolio
disappearing round the bend.

‘Want me to turn around?’ Gormley asked.

‘Sure it was him?’

‘Positive.’ Gormley smacked his hand on the dash in anger. ‘What a bloody waste of time! Told you we should’ve phoned ahead!’

‘Push on, Hank.’ Daniels was calm. ‘There’s method in my madness. It’s Brian Townsend I’d
really
like a word with.’

Gormley’s brow creased. ‘Why?’

‘Let’s just say he’s a bit more truthful and lot more pliable than the rest.’

‘Kate?’ Naylor was back in Daniels’ ear. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Everything’s fine, guv. I’ll catch you later.’

Naylor told her to take care and she hung up.

M
rs Partridge opened the panelled front door before they had a chance to ring the bell. From the look on the woman’s face as she peered out from within it was clear she
was expecting someone else. ‘Oh, it’s you, Inspector!’ She smiled. ‘I heard a car. I thought Mr Finch had forgotten something. I’m afraid you just—’

‘Missed him. I know.’ Daniels pointed into the house. ‘Could we ask you one or two questions while we’re here?’

‘Of course, come in.’

The housekeeper stepped aside, inviting Daniels and Gormley to go through to the library and make themselves comfortable. Daniels felt anything but as she walked into the room with
Jessica’s eyes looking down from the portrait, her confidence so powerfully portrayed by the equally scary lady, Fiona Fielding.
Scary, in a nice way,
Daniels thought guiltily, those
enigmatic eyes still following her as she took a seat by the cavernous fireplace.

‘Do the names Donald Fairley and Stewart Cole mean anything to you, Mrs Partridge?’ Daniels said. ‘Either recently or in the past.’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Mr Pearce is out with Mr Finch, I take it? I couldn’t tell who was driving the car when it passed us on the road.’

Mrs Partridge nodded. ‘Can I get either of you something to drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ Daniels said.

Gormley just shook his head. ‘You told my colleagues that Mr Pearce wrote to Mr Finch begging for work, is that right?’

‘I never used the word “begging”, Sergeant. But yes, that’s about the gist of it. It’s not easy, starting out in Civvy Street when you leave the forces. I think
it’s terrible how the government expects servicemen and women to fight for our country and then won’t support them afterwards, don’t you? At least Mr Finch is doing his bit. He
employs ex-service personnel because he knows he can trust them.’

Daniels remembered the coldness of Finch towards his housekeeper on the first occasion they’d met and thought it odd that she was so loyal to a man who not only delighted in putting
people’s backs up, but was downright bloody rude if the mood so took him.

‘Are you happy here, Mrs Partridge?’ she asked.

‘Confidentially?’ The woman took in Daniels’ nod. ‘I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t need a roof over my head—’

‘You live in?’ Gormley interrupted.

‘A condition of the job, I’m afraid. Ensures I’m at his beck and call round the clock in case he needs anything. The work isn’t a problem, but sometimes Mr Finch and I
don’t see eye to eye.’

‘I’m not hearing
The Sound of Music
!’ Gormley joked.

Mrs Partridge giggled. ‘He
can
be a little difficult on occasions.’

‘Tell me about it!’ Gormley flicked his eyes in Daniels’ direction, teasing them both and putting the housekeeper at her ease. ‘Do you see Mr Townsend up at the house
often?’

‘Not really. He’s been keeping himself to himself lately.’

‘Any particular reason?’ Daniels asked.

‘His wife’s very poorly – malignant brain tumour. Inoperable, sadly. It’s unlikely she’ll last out the summer.’ The woman looked upset. ‘Forgive me, but
I have work to do.You’ll find Brian in the garden.’

They left the house via the front door and wandered round the back. Skirting the gable end of the mansion, they spotted Townsend about forty metres away. He was edging the lawn with a sod
cutter, the like of which they’d never seen before. About halfway across the lawn, one of Daniels’ high heels stuck fast in the turf and she almost toppled over. The gardener stopped
what he was doing and stood up straight.

‘Steady on, lass, you’ll do yourself an injury.’ Retrieving the shoe, he smiled as he handed it back. ‘My missus is always doing that. I’ve told her, lawns
aren’t made for fancy footwear.’

Lifting her foot, Daniels slipped the shoe back on. ‘I was sorry to hear from Mrs Partridge that your wife’s not at all well.’

Townsend went quiet.

‘Cancer is a terrible thing . . .’ Daniels felt a wave of grief crashing over her.

Townsend picked up on her heartache. ‘Someone close to you?’

Daniels nodded. ‘My mother.’

‘Then you have my sympathies, ma’am. I just can’t come to terms with the prospect of life without Joyce.’ Upset now, he bit down on his lip, his eyes darkening. ‘My
employer lost his good lady a long time ago, but I haven’t had an ounce of sympathy from him. A compassionate man, he is not. But he’s paying for it now, isn’t he? Reaping what he
sows.’

‘I’d be careful what you say, if I were you.’ Gormley’s tone was sharp, warning Townsend that he’d overstepped the mark. ‘People might get the wrong
impression. Nobody deserves what your boss is going through. Jessica’s his only child—’

‘He stood by and—’ Townsend stopped himself going any further.

Daniels said, ‘Stood by and did what exactly?’

The gardener looked at the wet grass, then took a tobacco tin from a torn jacket pocket and opened it up. Inside were several pre-prepared rollies. He took one out and lit it, inhaling the
nicotine deep into his lungs. He was angry and Daniels wanted to know why.

‘Brian?’She used his first name, hoping to prompt an answer from him. ‘Please, finish what you were going to say.’

Townsend stared at her. ‘He stood by and let it happen to a mate of mine and didn’t bat an eyelid. Is it any wonder nobody gives a shit what happens to him? It’s the young lass
I feel sorry for.’

‘How do you mean, “stood by and let it happen”?’

‘I’ve said too much already.’ Townsend looked away.

‘On the contrary,’ Gormley said. ‘If you know something, tell us. Only a callous man would refuse to cooperate. You might be the only hope we have of finding Jessica alive,
Brian. Please help us.’

Townsend carried on smoking.

Sick of waiting, Gormley told him to stop dicking around. The gardener spat a rogue piece of tobacco on to the lawn at Daniels’ feet. It was a gesture she considered deliberate, designed
to tell her exactly how disgusted he was with his employer. Then, suddenly, he relented.

‘A bunch of us were on special ops in Northern Ireland – V Regiment. Finch was our Commanding Officer. An urgent message came through for a guy in my unit whose daughter was
critically ill in hospital with meningitis. She was his only child and Finch ignored the request for repatriation on grounds that it could jeopardize our mission.’

‘Maybe it would have. I’ve had to make tough decisions for the greater good—’

‘Nah . . .’ Townsend shook his head. ‘Jimmy was good, but he wasn’t that good. There were other guys in our unit who could’ve stepped in.’

‘She died?’ Gormley asked.

Daniels held her breath.

Townsend nodded.

W
eldon stared at the muddy footprints at the entrance to the mine. The gate was secure enough, a hefty chain wrapped several times around both uprights. But on further
inspection he noticed that the padlock was relatively new.