The Murder Wall (14 page)

‘That’s private family stuff!’ Tom blurted out.

‘Why are you really here?’ James fixed the DCI with a penetrating stare. ‘Mum’s not his next of kin.’

32

R
ain thundered against the window pane of the private hospital room, but the patient lay in peaceful oblivion, hooked up to all manner of drips and monitors. Years of
experience had taught Daniels that injuries, particularly ones from road-traffic accidents, often looked worse than they actually were. Even so, she hadn’t expected to see quite as much
swelling or bruising on her colleague’s face.

Daniels stood for a while, contemplating the part of the job that every officer loathes, the part where the truth had to be told and told now – irrespective of the circumstances; a task
made doubly difficult by knowing the woman personally. How could she justify heaping yet more suffering on Jo?

Did she have the right to hold back?

The report on the accident made scary reading. The attending Traffic officer had found black parallel skid marks snaking across the tarmac, a deep gouge in the embankment where Jo’s BMW
had taken off as she swerved to avoid a falling tree. Fortunately for her there was a gap in the drystone wall where it came to land on its roof. Otherwise, according to the experts, the crash
would certainly have been fatal.

Daniels sighed.

Bending down, she unhooked a medical chart from the foot of the bed and tried to decipher Thorburn’s scribbles:
unconscious when found, confusion on admittance, query cranium bleed,
cardiac arrest.

Shaken to the core, but trying to keep a lid on it, Daniels went to the window and looked out over a forbidding sky. She wondered if Jo Soulsby would ever make a full recovery.

‘Took you long enough,’ a croaky voice said.

Daniels spun round and rushed to the bedside, taking Jo’s hand in hers. ‘You scared the hell out of me,’ she said.

Jo attempted a smile. ‘I’m touched you still care.’

‘I’m not sure I should,’ Daniels was in bits, the lump in her throat almost choking her. A single warm tear fell heavily from her right eye and landed on her cheek. She wiped
it away with the back of her hand.

‘Don’t start blubbing, Kate. It really doesn’t suit you,’ Jo moaned. ‘My head feels like shit. Would you . . .?’

As Daniels helped her to sit up in bed, the two women came very close physically, locked eyes briefly, a real sexual tension between them – so close and yet miles apart. It was an intense
moment, interrupted by Nurse Baker, who looked in briefly. She checked a drip and then disappeared again, smiling at Jo as she left the room.

‘See, it’s not all bad,’ Jo said. ‘You know I’m a sucker for a uniform.’

Daniels didn’t respond.

Jo forced a grin. ‘Then again, you never could handle the competition.’

‘Your sick sense of humour’s still intact, I see . . .’ Daniels pulled herself together, got serious: ‘Your lads are waiting to see you.’

‘Tell them I’ve no cash on me. That’ll send them packing.’

Seeing that Jo was still uncomfortable, Daniels moved to support her body with one arm, while plumping up her pillows with the other. No sooner had she eased her back down than the combined
effects of the medication and the effort required just to sit up took their toll. Jo was fast asleep . . .

33

A
clap of thunder rumbled overhead as Carmichael drove out of the city, turning her wipers up a notch so as not to miss the turning.

Three miles further on, she reached the residential heart of upmarket Gosforth and the Victorian splendour of the Weston Hotel, set back off the A1. Though she’d never been inside,
Carmichael knew it catered for the discerning business and tourist traveller alike – as long as they had deep pockets, from the look of the cars outside. Beneath a covered portico, a smart
limousine was dropping someone off. There were no free parking spaces close to the entrance, so she drove round the back, pulling between some recycling bins and a stack of empty crates.

In the hotel’s plush foyer, five businessmen were huddled together at a table near the window. Talking in low whispers, they looked more like a gang of thieves plotting their next big job
than a group of corporate lawyers holding a business meeting. They looked up as an elegant woman swept in like a summer breeze, gliding to reception leaving the scent of her perfume drifting subtly
in her wake. She was exquisitely dressed, might just have stepped off the cover of
Vogue
. The concierge jumped to attention, handed her a key, and accompanied her to an elevator that only
went to the penthouse suite.

As the lift doors closed in front of her, she smiled briefly at the lawyers and then at the young woman who had just walked through the door. Carmichael was soaked to the skin, water dripping
off her clothes and on to the floor, strands of bedraggled hair clinging to her red face. The contrast between the two women could not have been more obvious. Embarrassed by her appearance,
Carmichael hurried to the desk where a member of staff checked her ID and took her in the service lift to a less salubrious part of the hotel, a small room in the warm basement far away from the
eyes of paying guests. She was offered a towel to dry her hair and advised that the security guards she’d come to see would be along very shortly.

By the time they arrived, Carmichael looked a bit more like a detective and a little less like a drowned rat. She spent the next hour poring over Fitzgerald’s list, checking the seating
plan against invitations handed in at the door. One of the guards told her that security had been a major consideration at the prestigious event.

‘No invitation meant strictly no admittance,’ he said. ‘Company policy, on account of the high-profile guests.’

Unconvinced, Carmichael threw a spanner in to test them out. ‘But if someone turned up without an invitation – for argument’s sake, someone
really
important – for
a few quid you’d let them in, right?’

A fleeting look from one guard to another provided a truthful answer.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ Carmichael said.

34

L
ightning suddenly lit up Jo’s room. Counting the seconds between the flash and the next crack of thunder, Daniels calculated that the eye of the storm was around five
miles away – somewhere south of the river.

Jo stirred in the bed.

Daniels looked on, a deep sadness gnawing at her heart. They’d once shared so much more than a passion for solving cases. She wished things were different between them and thought of all
the reasons why they were not. Nobody – not her father, not even Jo – had ever come before her ambition to reach the very top.

She had to speak to her now – she still had a job to do.

‘Why didn’t you tell me Alan was back?’ she said gently.

It was a good question; one that had niggled Daniels from the very second she’d come across Stephens’ body. Jo was many things, but it wasn’t in her nature to be secretive.
When push came to shove, she always told the truth. Like the day she ended their relationship because Daniels refused to ‘come out’.

The worst day of her life.

Jo chose not to answer.

‘You knew he was in the country?’ Daniels pushed.

She waited for a response. Jo might have come up with any number of excuses, but clearly she didn’t want to talk. Well, she’d have to sometime, whether she liked it or not. Better to
Daniels than to one of her colleagues.

‘Talk to me, Jo . . . We found his body two nights ago.’

Jo shut her eyes and turned away, her emotions spilling over. Daniels had known it was coming. She got up from the bed and walked to the window, unsure of where to go next.

She spoke without turning around. ‘Do you want me to get the kids?’

‘No, I need to be on my own. I want you to go now.’

Daniels turned back to face her. ‘Things are not that simple. I’m looking into Alan’s death. You know I can’t do that if anyone finds out about us.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting – there
is
no us!’ Jo stopped talking as a second flash of lightning lit up the room, quickly followed by a rumble of thunder. The lights
flickered on and off. The storm was getting closer. ‘Oh my God! How did he . . .? Kate?’

Daniels looked at the floor.

‘He was murdered!?’ It seemed to take for ever for the news to hit home. ‘You don’t think I—’

‘Don’t be stupid!’

‘You’re not sure, are you?’ Jo laughed, then filled up. ‘You seriously think I might have put a bullet in his head?’

An unfortunate choice of words.

Being suspicious was in Daniels’ nature, an integral part of who she was and why she was good at her job. But then again, so was a sense of fair play. Everyone deserved the benefit of the
doubt.
Once
. Innocent until proven guilty, there was nothing wrong with that.

Daniels had no idea just how she’d managed to reach this particular hard place, even less idea of how she could find her way back from it. She moved towards Jo, touching her arm
gently.

Jo pulled away. ‘Don’t touch me! What’s in it for you, Kate? Offer you a promotion, did they?’

Silence.

Jo smirked. ‘Oh, that is priceless. They really know how to push your buttons.’

Daniels tried to stay calm, tried to think of the right thing to say – and got it wrong all over again. ‘Look, taking this case has landed me right in it. Please, Jo. Listen to
me—’

‘No. You listen to me. Whatever you’re up to—’

‘I’m trying to protect you!’

‘You sure that’s why you’re here?’

‘Don’t, Jo.’

‘Why not? Your job comes first, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s unfair!’

‘What is it with you and the police force? It’s just a job, Kate. It isn’t real.
We
were real, you and me! We had something good, something other people would give their
right arm for. But it wasn’t enough for you, was it? Why d’you think I—’

Daniels cut her off. ‘It’ll be different this time, I promise.’

Jo wanted to believe her. ‘Yeah, well it’s a bit late now.’

Daniels failed to notice her press the buzzer for assistance until it was too late. Thorburn was first through the door, followed closely by Nurse Baker, Tom and James. She slipped quietly from
the room – there was nothing more to be said.

35

T
he lights dimmed as the Metro train rattled into the tunnel. The woman seemed terrified, but he was just marvelling at human nature. She couldn’t help herself watching
his reflection in the black window, checking on the intensity of his gaze. He looked down at the
Evening Chronicle
someone had left on the seat and reread the article, his temper boiling in
his gut.

His agitation grew. He’d expected a visit by now and yet the silly cow was still pussyfooting around asking the public for help. How much bloody help did she need? What kind of SIO was she
anyhow?

‘She’s not even a fucking superintendent!’ he muttered under his breath.

T
he woman’s heart raced.
What did he say?
Was he talking to her? He was probably one of them psychopaths she’d read about. He’d probably escaped from
some mental institution, mistaken her for someone else.

God, help me!

Tightening her grip on her bag, she pulled her skirt down over her knees and looked around her. The carriage was busy. All young people. Heading out? Heading home? Laughing. Texting. Paying her
no attention. Trains unnerved her. They always had. The Metro especially. She wished she’d left earlier and paid extra for a cab. The creep had been staring at her since the last stop, his
eyes sliding over her, taking in every detail of her face, each button on her jacket, the cut of her skirt, her legs, her shoes. She didn’t want to think about why he was examining her so
closely, sizing her up, or what his intentions were. He was filthy and unshaven. Probably drunk or high on drugs, she thought. And yet, he had a presence, an awareness about him that suggested
otherwise.

Avoiding his gaze, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. But looking out of the window didn’t help. For the second time in as many weeks, a power failure had plunged the north of the city
into total darkness, creating chaos and cutting off twenty thousand homes. As the train sped along there were no references outside, no familiar landmarks, no moon, just the odd candle flickering
in houses that backed on to the track.

Otherwise, only pitch darkness.

And those eyes . . .

The Metro slowed. He looked at her, a sneer almost. Should she move while she had the chance? Get off? Stay put? What if he followed her? Her body was frozen to the spot, refusing to obey her
instructions. Too late. A buzzer sounded. The doors were closing.

Maybe . . .

He’d like that.

But for now he had only one thing on his mind. Shoving the newspaper on the floor, he slid his hand inside his pocket and grinned at the woman sitting opposite. Her face paled as he withdrew the
scissors, toying with them, teasing her for a while, unchecked by anyone in the carriage.

Where was a guard when you wanted one, eh?

It had taken a while, but he’d traced his next victim. He’d trace them all eventually. Shows what an education can do. Classroom dunce to computer wizard in one stretch. Sweet.
Didn’t they realize he was a genius? He cut around Malik’s smiling face. Still alive, but not for long. He held the picture up to his new friend and travelling companion. Fuck her!
Tomorrow morning he’d be on his way. Crack of dawn. All the more special because it was a Sunday.