The Murder Wall (40 page)

‘Welcome to the party,’ Gormley said drily, pulling up a chair. ‘So, assuming Dorothy Smith
is
dead and Ian Cockburn is far enough out of harm’s way, that only
leaves four.’

‘Three,’ Daniels corrected him, updating the list again. ‘Malcolm Wright is safe and well in Cherbourg. He’s scared shitless. The French authorities are making
arrangements to babysit him.’

‘They better hurry up.’

‘That’s what I told them.’

They sat in silence for a moment, studying the computer screen.

‘Hmm . . .’ Gormley was troubled.

‘What?’

‘Leaving aside those who have died of natural causes, there’s a pattern here. He’s killing them in order: Alan Stephens, Jenny Tait, Jamil Malik . . . and now Dorothy Smith is
missing.’

‘You’re forgetting Seamus Dowd.’

Gormley looked up at Dowd’s name. ‘Maybe he’s dead but we just haven’t found his body yet. Or Forster hasn’t traced him yet – which wouldn’t surprise
me, given that we can’t.’

Daniels looked down at the list again. ‘If you’re right, then Frances Cook is next.’

95

S
omething was still troubling Gormley as he entered Forster’s flat. In the living room –
if anybody could actually call it living –
two Scenes of Crime
Officers were conducting a second painstaking search. Dusting powder was everywhere and one officer was busy tipping the entire contents of Forster’s desk into an evidence bag.

Gormley acknowledged them both, then moved on, allowing them space to get on with the important job of finding any clue that might lead them to Forster. Stepping over items left abandoned on the
floor, he entered the bedroom, where another SOCO was running a gloved hand along the inside of an empty chest of drawers. Cupboard doors were hanging open and in some places the floorboards were
up; nothing short of what he’d expected to find. The room was a complete shit-pit: soiled sheets covering a saggy double mattress on the floor; empty bottles and an overflowing ashtray on an
upturned beer crate doubling as bedside table; and dirty clothing scattered everywhere.

Walking back to the living room, the soles of his shoes stuck to the filthy lino with each step. The stench in the flat was getting to him, despite the open balcony door. The officer on her
hands and knees looked up as he arrived.

‘Find anything useful?’ he asked.

She didn’t bother removing her disposable dust mask, just shook her head and went back to work. Stepping out on to the balcony, Gormley lit a cigarette. Leaning against the railing, he
looked out over the cityscape, savouring a brief moment of peace and quiet. In the foreground, a lovely old church sat incongruous amidst seven tower blocks, its huge carved doors boarded up
against the vandals and piss-heads. The word ‘Godforsaken’ jumped into his head as he wondered how long it had been since any cleric had set foot in the place.

He took another long drag on his cigarette, his elbow shifting on the vertical support of the safety rail as he moved his arm. On closer inspection, it was more like a piece of heavy-duty
scaffolding pole than anything else, with a grille attached to stop small children falling through – an absurdity, given its dangerous condition. Crouching down to examine it properly, he
noticed that a T-shaped coupling had come loose. Not for the first time, from the look of it. Pulling the top off, he saw a roll of papers hidden inside. He dug them out and was horrified when he
realized what he’d found.

D
espite several attempts to contact Daniels and umpteen messages left on her voicemail, she still hadn’t called back. This left Gormley with no alternative but to take
matters into his own hands.

He drove straight to Jo’s office at breakneck speed. Entering reception, he came face to face with Henderson, who glared at him through drug-fuelled eyes.

‘I’d sling my hook, if I were you, pal,’ Gormley said.

Realizing that the DS was in even less of a mood for fun and games than he’d been the last time they met, Henderson backed off.

‘Buzz me in, please,’ Gormley said to the receptionist.

Seconds later, he burst through the door to Jo’s room unannounced. She was sitting by the window with her head in a file, dressed casually in a pair of snug-fitting jeans and a petrol blue
cardigan, matching the pumps on her feet. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and she looked a little pale but otherwise more like her old self. Barring a touch of lipstick, she wore no
make-up. She looked very different from how she had at the station.

‘I’m busy, Hank. Can this wait?’

‘No, I’m afraid it can’t,’ he said, grabbing her coat and bag.

Ignoring her protests, Gormley escorted her from the building, put her in his car and drove away at speed. It was raining hard, the windshield wipers moving quickly and noisily, and Jo’s
complaining was making his head ache. Only when he explained that she might be in grave danger did she put a sock in it, though not for long. Insisting he pull over, she demanded to know what the
hell he thought he was doing.

Gormley took his foot off the accelerator, stopped the car and turned to face her.

‘On whose authority am I being taken in?’

‘Mine!’ Gormley snapped. He couldn’t stop himself being angry with her, even though he had no real cause. ‘And you’re not being taken in – not to the station,
anyhow. I need to get you to a safe house.’

‘What makes you so sure I’m at risk?’ she said.

Gormley reached into his pocket, removed the rolled-up photographs he’d found hidden on Forster’s balcony. As Jo unfurled the images of her and Daniels kissing on her doorstep, her
hands began to shake.

‘He’s been watching me at home?’

Gormley saw the panic set in. He wished he’d kept quiet. She’d been through hell, and now he was adding to her distress. He’d have liked to offer some comfort, but didn’t
know how.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘He won’t get to you. I’ll make damn sure of that.’

‘Does Kate know?’

‘Not yet. But if I don’t protect you, she’ll string me up by my balls. So, are you going to give me any more grief, or what?’ He paused. ‘Have you two been in
contact today?’

‘No, why?’

‘You’re friends . . .’ Gormley looked out of the window, avoiding eye contact and choosing his words carefully. ‘I just thought you might have.’

Jo’s eyes narrowed. ‘She told you, didn’t she?’

‘Only when she had to, when I forced her because she was wrecking her career.’

‘You resent me, don’t you?’

‘D’you blame me? You landed her right in the shit.’

‘That wasn’t how it was!’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘No, Hank. Kate and I had something special. It was her idea to keep it secret, not mine. That’s why it didn’t last. She’s only got herself to blame. I certainly
didn’t ask her to compromise her position on the murder investigation team. She did that all by herself!’ Glancing again at the photographs, Jo looked as though she could do with a
drink.

Now Gormley thought about it, he could do with one himself.

D
aniels was stunned to hear of the discovery. She needed authorization for a safe house and had absolutely no idea how the hell to get it without disclosing the evidence to
Bright. If he saw the photographs, he was bound to think she’d lied about her relationship with Jo being over. And there was no question that they could form part of a criminal case in a
public court of law.

That would
definitely
finish her career.

‘Jo’s in danger how?’ Bright asked, creeping up behind them.

Daniels jumped. ‘Guv! You scared me half to death!’

‘I found a photo of Jo in Forster’s flat,’ Gormley said, thinking on his feet.

‘You’re joking!’ Bright whistled. ‘C’mon, let’s see it then.’

A tense moment.

Daniels smiled uncomfortably at her boss. Convinced that the shit was about to hit the fan, she braced herself for a dressing-down. Keeping Bright engaged in conversation, she glanced over his
shoulder, her eyes following Gormley to his desk. He looked back at her, spreading his hands in a gesture that said:
What the fuck do I do now?

Turning his back on them, Gormley opened his desk drawer. After a quick look around to ensure that nobody was paying him any attention, he cut one of the photographs of Jo and Daniels in two.
Aware that his actions, if discovered, would result in kissing his pension goodbye, he slipped one half in his pocket and took the other half to Bright.

The guv’nor looked at it briefly then gave it back. ‘Is that it?’

Gormley shrugged. ‘What were you expecting, a Page Three pose? He’s a dab hand with the scissors, this freak.’

‘Close protection it is, then,’ Bright said.

He had no hesitation in financing the safe house. Which was just as well, Gormley told him, because Jo was already there. They assigned two officers to stay with her round the clock and agreed
that Carmichael should keep her company through the day and work remotely from there.

‘I’ll take the night shift,’ Gormley volunteered.

‘Good idea.’ Bright glanced at Daniels. ‘She’s practically one of us, after all.’

Daniels felt like smacking and hugging him at the same time. It was painfully obvious that he was trying his best to make amends.

Then he went and spoiled it.

‘With any luck, it might get us back in the ACC’s good books,’ he said.

‘Fat chance!’ Gormley smirked.

As Bright walked away, Daniels put her hands together and mouthed the words:
Thank You
. Gormley winked at her, using his fingers like scissors. She smiled and blew out her cheeks.
That
was a close call.

T
he isolated bastle house was located to the north west of the Northumbria force’s area, deep within Border Reiver country. The police regularly used it as a safe house.
With its metre-thick stone walls and built-in fortifications it was perfectly constructed for keeping unwanted visitors out.

While Daniels and Gormley peered over her shoulder, Carmichael logged on to a familiar website. She placed a cursor into a search box and began typing out a name:

O
n the advanced search page, she highlighted a box for the United Kingdom and Ireland, pressed the enter key, then looked up at Daniels.

‘Age?’ she asked.

‘Fifty-seven.’

Carmichael highlighted the appropriate age range and pressed the enter key again. The screen jumped and up popped a negative result.

‘Shit!’ she said. ‘No matches fit the criteria.’

Daniels had an idea. ‘Try a younger age range.’

Carmichael gave her an odd look. ‘Boss?’

‘Trust me, Lisa. Women lie about their age as they get older. It’s a well-known fact. You’ll understand when your turn comes.’

As Carmichael scrolled down to the next age range, Daniels glanced across the room. Jo looked completely at ease sitting near a wood-burning stove with her head in a book, her socked feet
toasting by the fire. Satisfied that she’d be safe here, Daniels turned her attention back to the computer as Carmichael pressed the enter key again. Processing the search didn’t take
long. Within seconds, four matches appeared on screen.

Daniels’ smile said it all. ‘That’s the most likely candidate . . .’ She pointed to a set of details in the list.
‘Frances Cook. UK Member. Ex-pupil of Gosforth
High School. Now living and working in Berwick.’

‘Perfect!’ Carmichael looked more relieved than excited.

Daniels was grateful to her. It had been a huge responsibility for someone so young in service, but Lisa had coped with the enormous pressure and risen to the challenge of locating the targets.
Everyone at MIT was aware of her contribution, not least Bright, which effectively meant she’d rise through the ranks and follow in her DCI’s footsteps.

‘See if you can get a quicker response, Lisa. For all we know, she may be online now.’

Carmichael was off again, entering a message into a box on the screen:
Please contact DC Lisa Carmichael urgently on this direct line
. She typed in a designated number, checked the
details before confirming them.

‘Now we wait!’ she said.

96

T
he sound of the gun cocking was enough to alert her. Frances Cook had just let herself in through the front door and had her back to him.

‘Frankie . . .’ He said it like they were long-lost friends.

The woman froze.

‘Turn around . . .’ He waited. ‘I said, turn around!’

Slowly she turned and found him sitting on her sofa, drinking her whisky. Her face was pale, her expression disbelieving, as if this was something that happened to other people or in dramas on
the box.

He grinned arrogantly, raising his glass. ‘Remember me?’

There was no sign of recognition at first – not the slightest flicker – even when he pulled down his hood to reveal his face. She was trying to make the connection – but still
it wouldn’t come. It angered him to think that someone who’d had such a lot to say about his life could so easily have forgotten. He felt the edges of his lips form into a wide grin.
Well, she wouldn’t forget again – he’d make damn sure of that.

There had been a slight delay in getting round to her, a time when he feared he might not accomplish his mission after all. But he’d shown great patience and restraint, waiting for Dotty
to show, and this one had been a pushover by comparison.