The Murder Wall (31 page)

The judge smiled at Daniels, considering.

She got to her feet, identified who she was and indicated her willingness to give evidence should he wish to hear it. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Jo’s gaze shifting in her
direction. The judge took his time deciding whether or not to call her to the witness box, then he made a downward movement of his hand: a ‘sit’ command, like a handler signalling to a
dog.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Oliver.’

Daniels sat.

The judge put down his pen, his stern voice booming out over the heads of those assembled in Court 8. ‘As I recall, however, there is the small matter of a partial fingerprint found at the
scene. Of itself, such a discovery does not prove guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. But it was presented as “irrefutable evidence” before the magistrates’ court, was it
not?’

Daniels had been expecting him to pick up on that point. She looked across at Jo, who still had no explanation to offer the court as to how it got there. Daniels’ stomach was in knots.
Bail wasn’t a foregone conclusion, even with the corroboration of the statement she had recently obtained from Monica Stephens.

‘It was indeed, Your Lordship,’ Oliver said confidently, ‘but I urge you to release Ms Soulsby while further enquiries are undertaken. The Crown Prosecution Service do not
intend to oppose this bail application. They are, shall we say, keen to avoid any further miscarriage of justice.’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ the Judge said. ‘Do you have anything further to add?’

‘Only that my client is a professional woman of previous good character, willing to surrender her passport and submit to any bail conditions you may feel obliged to impose. She poses no
obvious risk to herself and others. A pity the same cannot be said for the man who charged her in the first place.’

‘Detective Superintendent Bright is not often wrong, Mr Oliver,’ the judge warned.

‘Yes, well, might I respectfully suggest that on this occasion he was, shall we say, wide of the mark. His overzealousness resulted in Ms Soulsby losing her liberty unnecessarily – a
traumatic event, I’m sure Your Lordship will agree, for both herself and her family. I have it on good authority – from Assistant Chief Constable Martin, no less – that an urgent
enquiry into this matter is now underway.’

Oh God!

On the press bench, a junior reporter Daniels knew was scribbling furiously. He worked for a local newspaper, the
Journal
. She wondered if he’d agree to leave Bright’s name
out of his article if she gave him something else in return. Suggesting that the buck should stop with Martin might do the trick. After all, the more senior the officer, the more papers it would
sell. It wouldn’t be the first time a journalist had mixed up two names – an easy mistake to make in the heat of the moment, she thought. Especially if she promised to make it worth his
while. She made a mental note to have a word on the way out.

‘Quite so, Mr Oliver,’ the judge said. Looking over his steel-rimmed spectacles, he addressed the barrister acting for the Crown. ‘Anything to add, Mr Cartright?’

Cartright got to his feet. ‘No, M’lord.’

‘Very well. Bail is granted on three conditions . . .’

Oliver’s chest rose. He let out a sigh of relief, so loud it was audible at the front of the courtroom. Waiting counsel turned round and smiled insincerely at him, keen to get back to
their case.

As the judge continued to read out the conditions, Daniels smiled to herself and scribbled down the result.

Jo Soulsby was free.

H
e remained seated as the judge left the court and prison officers escorted Soulsby below to the cells. Daniels had an expression on her face he didn’t quite understand.
Given her spectacular mistake, he’d have thought she’d have been crapping herself now.

So how come she was smiling?

With no progress on Dotty’s whereabouts, he’d been filling his time by watching, waiting, getting better acquainted with the DCI. Following her here had been a stroke of genius.
He’d slipped into the public gallery behind all the other sad bastards with nothing better to do than stick their noses into other people’s business. During the delay while the female
usher cleared the court of all interested parties from the bail hearing, the woman to his left stopped making notes and went back to her crossword, the one to his right got stuck into a crime
novel. It tickled him. He wanted to lean across and tell her she was sat next to the real deal, just to see the look on her face.

Daniels left her seat and came within a few feet of him as she crossed the room. Inhaling her perfume as she walked by, he could’ve reached out and touched her, they were so close. The
thought of touching her was enough to give him a hard on.

She was having a quiet word with a young guy on the press bench now. They were so obviously in cahoots: definitely a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours type deal going down.

The police made him sick sometimes.
He
was the one that was newsworthy, not Soulsby, not Bright – and
certainly
not Daniels. She was fucking hopeless, when he came to think
about it. He hoped she’d be a better screw than she was a detective.

The reporter was nodding, a wry smile on his face as he reached into his top pocket, pulled out a business card and gave it to her. She did likewise, then walked away.

Well, he had cards too. Only his said
goodbye
and not
hello
.

He chuckled.

‘All rise!’ the usher said loudly.

The door at the back of the court opened and the judge re-entered.

The woman on his left hastily substituted her puzzle with a notebook; the one on the right shut her novel; a John Grisham bestseller, he noticed. The front cover depicted a man in silhouette,
backlit by a street lamp, a shadow on the wall behind him, the title emblazoned across the bottom of the cover in white lettering:
The Partner.

And then it hit him like a brick.

Was this why Daniels looked so relieved?

Jesus, it was!

Fuck – they were partners.

This was so bizarre you couldn’t make it up. First he offs a guy that turns out to be his psych’s ex – another controlling female who thought she could push him around. Then,
in a cruel twist of fate, she goes down for it, leaving him free to carry on as before. When her name got splashed over all the newspapers and he realized she was once married to Stephens, he just
about pissed himself laughing. Which fuckwit said there’s no such thing as a coincidence?

And now it turns out that the woman who should be hunting him down is shagging the bitch! What would ACC Martin and Superintendent Not-so-Bright make of that?

76

T
hey looked like a bored married couple, breathing the same air, occupying the same hard wooden bench, sitting side by side with a big space between them, facing forwards, not
speaking – each acting as if the other wasn’t there. An hour earlier, Bright had summoned her to his office, having received an anonymous tip-off – a letter, hand-delivered to the
gatehouse at HQ – alleging an inappropriate relationship between her and Jo Soulsby.

By all accounts, the ACC had received an identical copy.

Daniels was gutted. Was this a disgruntled colleague out to make trouble? God knows it had happened before as she’d risen through the ranks. But how and when had they found out about her
relationship with Jo? She knew Gormley wouldn’t have said anything. And Jo certainly wouldn’t. Then again, she’d been to hell and back lately. In a moment of madness, maybe
she’d confided in someone with a grudge against the police. A bloody parking ticket was enough to set
some
people off on a crusade.

After all she’d lost, the news was out.

It had all been for nothing.

She could’ve lied to Bright. But her recent weird behaviour had given her away. The guv’nor was no fool and – figuring that she was about to meet her end – she decided to
do so with dignity and front up there and then. She owed him that much. He’d taken it well, under the circumstances, accepting that the relationship was over and had been for some time,
accepting too that Daniels had tried to tell him on more than one occasion since the enquiry began. But as she replayed their conversation in her head, she still felt like a traitor with her head
on the block.

‘I feel like such a tit,’ Bright said, out of the blue, without looking at her. ‘Asking you to stay the night.’

‘Forget it, guv. I have.’

‘You could’ve said—’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘You didn’t offer.’

Daniels rolled her eyes. ‘And why would I do that?’

Bright let out a sigh. ‘My gaydar never
was
any good.’

‘That’s just the sort of comment—’ Daniels stopped talking as a pretty secretary let herself out of the Assistant Chief Constable’s office. She held up her hand,
indicating five, and walked off down the corridor.

‘He wants someone’s head,’ Bright said. ‘For the cock-up mainly, but this other stuff too. Seems to think yours and mine will do nicely.’

Daniels just stared at the wall opposite, unsure how she would handle it. She decided to play it by ear, wait and see what Martin had in mind for her, and take it from there.

‘The personal stuff is down to you,’ Bright continued. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll take full responsibility for the rest.’

Now Daniels looked at him. ‘I’m
not
worried,’ she said.

The secretary was back and showed them into Martin’s office. He was sitting at his desk with an open file in front of him. Daniels recognized it as a personnel file – most probably
hers – and braced herself for what was coming. Bright walked round one side of the desk, leaving her exposed, standing to attention directly in front of the ACC, shoulders straight, hands
behind her back, feet slightly apart.

Martin sat forward, interlocking his fingers, resting his chin on his hands, his elbows on the desk. He observed her for what seemed like an age, enjoying his moment, playing up to his nickname:
the smiling assassin.

Daniels met his gaze defiantly.

‘This is very impressive . . .’ He tapped the file in front of him. ‘Seven Chief Constable’s commendations. Two compliments. Exemplary conduct all round. Not a mark or a
blemish to be found. Until now . . .’ He paused for effect. ‘You seem to have shot yourself in the foot, Daniels.’

‘Have I, sir?’

He sat back, hands behind his head, looking her up and down. ‘Weren’t you telling me that a relationship with a suspect in a murder enquiry is against the rules? What was it you
said? A neglect of duty? An attempt to pervert the course of justice?’

A flicker of a smile crossed Daniels’ lips.

Martin glared at her.

Bright shook his head – almost imperceptibly – warning her not to push it.

‘I’d like to help you out here, Daniels. I really would. But you seem to have an attitude problem bordering on insubordination . . .’ The ACC locked eyes with her. ‘You
think you’re so smart, don’t you?’

‘I don’t think, sir. I know,’ Daniels said. ‘You see, I actually have proof, whereas you have nothing more than a flimsy piece of paper from an anonymous source. I
wouldn’t get the blue forms out just yet, because if I’m going down, then so are you.’

He spent the next half-hour haranguing her, baiting her, trying to trip her up. Daniels stood her ground until he ran out of steam, incensed by her resolve. And in all the time she stood there
taking it, Bright never said a word either for or against. But she felt his support, didn’t need telling whose side he was on.

‘Get her out of here!’ Martin yelled.

Bright led Daniels out of the office, down the corridor and out into the fresh air.

‘You better get your shit together, Kate. He’s not finished with you yet – not by a long chalk.’

‘I couldn’t care less!’ Daniels kept walking.

‘That’s not true and you know it.’

‘Isn’t it? Jo went to prison because
he
wanted the enquiry to go away, and that’s the truth of it. What I’d like to know is, what’s he got on you?’

Bright went quiet. As they reached her Toyota, the doors clunked open. They got in. Daniels started the car and drove off, stopping at the main entrance to enable the gate officer to check her
vehicle’s security disc, then drove on as the barrier lifted and he waved her through.

‘I’m still angry with you for charging Jo without consulting me first,’ she said.

‘If you hadn’t gone AWOL—’

‘Yeah, well, now you know the reason for that. A: I never thought there was sufficient evidence. And B: Well, how
could
I interview her, guv? You can see my problem. And what Robson
was doing during the enquiry, God only knows!’

She turned right, heading towards Ponteland village, intending to pick up the A696, the fastest route back to the city.

Bright tried to make amends. ‘Look, none of us can turn the clock back, so the best we can do is find Stephens’ killer—’

‘I think you should apologize to Jo first, don’t you?’

‘OK, I will. But she still lied about being in his flat!’

‘There’ll be an explanation for that, I’m sure.’

At least, Daniels hoped there would . . .

77

T
hey made good time and twenty-five minutes later Daniels parked the Toyota in her usual spot. On a mission to prove her point, she bypassed the incident room and went straight
downstairs. She had one aim in mind as she pressed the bell for attention.

The exhibits officer appeared at the counter almost immediately.

‘I need the evidence box for the Stephens enquiry, right away,’ Daniels said.

He disappeared. Seconds later, he was back carrying a large box. He waited as she signed for the item, then he turned away.

‘No, can you stay? I want you to witness this.’

‘Oh?’

‘Trust me,’ Daniels said. ‘I’m a detective.’

The officer smiled, retraced his steps and leaned on the counter as she put on latex gloves. Taking an evidence bag from the box, she checked the reference number on the side before breaking the
seal, then lifted an item free: an unremarkable, commonplace frame with a mounted photograph of Alan and Monica Stephens inside.