Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4)

by Rachel McLean

  “Not very,” he said. “Got to cover all bases though.”

  “I’m going to check the passenger compartment. Shout if you find anything.”

  Adi brushed her arm with his hand. “Be careful, yeah?”

  “I won’t disturb anything, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Ian was near Adana, surveying the bodies. Ambulances lined up behind them, collecting the wounded. Sam Hetherton was still at the bottom of the steps, coordinating firefighters. Zoe approached him.

  “How many survivors?” she asked.

  “Just forty-one.” His eyes were bloodshot and his skin sagged. He looked like he’d aged five years in the two hours since she’d seen him. “At least six of them won’t make it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “We didn’t get in your way, did we?”

  “Not too much.”

  Her chest tightened. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. I’m used to it, from your lot.”

  She clenched her fists. “We’ve been given the all-clear to go in there.”

  He twisted his lips together. “So I hear.”

  She started up the steps to the passenger compartment. The bodies had been removed from the plane now, along with the survivors. It had taken almost three hours.

  “Ian?” she called. Ian left the pathologist and hurried to meet Zoe at the steps.

  “We allowed in?” he asked.

  “We are. Go carefully, yes?”

  “You really think I’m incompetent, don’t you?”

  “I’d say the same to Mo, or anyone. Just park the paranoia, please.”

  He wrinkled his nose and pulled up the hood of his protective suit. Zoe sighed.

  “Wait,” Hetherton called from the bottom of the steps. “You’ll need these.” He held out breathing apparatus.

  “Still that bad?” she asked.

  “Precautionary.”

  Ian took the two masks and handed one to Zoe. They were both already wearing forensic suits, not that it would make much difference now the firefighters had stomped all over the inside of the plane.

  “Right,” she told Ian. “The explosion was towards the rear of the plane. We can’t go too close until Adi has marked out the scene, but we can take a look.”

  “Stay by the doors. I get it.”

  “Good.” Preserve the scene. Protect the evidence. That was her job, and she was damn well doing it.

  Zoe hurried up the steps, ignoring the fact that they swayed as she moved. Ian was right behind her, his breathing heavy as he pulled on the breathing apparatus. At the top, she fastened hers around her head and plunged inside. Her vision was obscured by the steaming visor, and the sound of her breath assaulted her ears. How was she supposed to spot anything in these conditions?

  The passenger compartment was wrecked. Seats had buckled and molten plastic formed into stalactites that hung down from the overhead lockers. People in dark firefighters’ uniforms moved slowly through the space, gesturing at each other.

  Zoe looked to the left, towards the front of the plane. The curtain separating them from the toilets had partially disintegrated and the door to the cockpit hung open. A leather holdall, undamaged, sat against the back of one of the pilots’ chairs.

  Zoe turned back to the main compartment. Ahead of her, propped on a window seat, was a doll, its face black with soot. Zoe felt her legs weaken.

  She glanced back at Ian, sharing a grim but silent reaction. This was like nothing either of them had seen before.

  Zoe took a tentative step forward and felt something soft under her foot. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a heavy breath though the mask and looked down. A foot. A single, small foot wearing a pink sock.

  She felt her stomach convulse. Keep it down, she told herself.

  “Finding forensics in the middle of all this is going to be a nightmare,” she said. She looked up, away from the foot.

  Ian pointed towards the back of the plane. “There’s definitely more damage back there.”

  Seats had been torn from their anchor points and were piled up at the back of the plane, a twisted tangle of metal and fabric. Overhead lockers hung open and the floor was strewn with bags and suitcases, many of them charred. Their contents spilled out: clothes, books, toys.

  Zoe went to plunge her fist into her mouth but was stopped by the mask.

  “We need floodlights,” she said. Ian grunted agreement.

  “Come on,” she told him. “There’s nothing we can do here. Not now.”

  She descended the steps, all but pushing Ian down in front of her. A woman had joined Sam Hetherton. She wore a thick black fleece over a grey suit.

  “Who are you?” she asked as Zoe and Ian reached the tarmac.

  Zoe pulled off the mask, glad to breathe in the cold night air. “Detective Inspector Zoe Finch. I’m co-ordinating preservation of the scene.”

  “I’m Sue Turbin. Fire scene investigator, West Midlands Fire Service.”

  Zoe put out a hand and the woman shook it.

  “Our FSI guys are in the hold,” Zoe said. “They’ll want to coordinate with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Hetherton gave the fire investigator a look. Zoe smiled to herself.

  “Have you worked on explosions like this before?” she asked the woman.

  “Plenty of explosions. Mainly gas, one bomb when I worked in London. Nothing involving planes though.”

  “What can you say from what you’ve seen?”

  “I’m not about to jump to conclusions, Inspector.”

  “Do you think it was a bomb, or a malfunction?”

  Sue folded her arms. “You aren’t going to persuade me to speculate. Not till I’ve taken a proper look.”

  “Fine.” Zoe felt fatigue drag on her limbs. This woman might have been a plodder, but she could trust her to work with them.

  “Sue,” Adi approached, smiling. “How’s my favourite fire investigator?”

  Zoe stared at him. How well did this pair know each other?

  “Adi.” Sue leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Zoe exchanged raised eyebrows with Ian.

  “Sue’s one of the good ones, Zoe,” Adi said. “If this is suspicious, you can bet that between us, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sofia sat on the vast leather sofa, her legs curled beneath her. Her senses tingled, alert for sounds of the children. She’d allocated them rooms, none of them alone. She figured a bunch of kids who’d been though what they had would want company.

  Adam and the other men had left an hour earlier. Adam had argued with her, but she’d put her foot down and got her way. She had precedence over him, as the woman Titi loved.

  Good.

  She heard a noise from the hallway. A girl stood at the bottom of the carpeted stairs.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Sofia flicked the TV off, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on it anyway. She walked into the hallway and gave the girl a look designed to convey concern and kindness. She was careful not to touch her.

  “That’s OK,” she said. “Come to the kitchen, I’ll get you a glass of milk.”

  A smile flashed across the girl’s face and quickly disappeared. These children had no idea who she was. They would be unsure whether to trust her. She hoped to show by her actions that they could.

  In the kitchen, she opened the massive American-style fridge and brought out a carton of milk. She poured a generous glass and placed it on the marble worktop in front of the girl. The girl stroked the worktop then grabbed the glass and downed the milk in one lengthy gulp. Sofia stepped in to refill it. The girl took a step back.

  Sofia stood back. “Sorry,” she said. “You must be scared.”

  The girl said nothing. Sofia refilled the glass and placed it down, then retreated.

  “What’s your name?” Sofia asked.

  “Gabriella.”

  “I’ve got a friend called Gabriella. Or at leas
t I did.”

  Gabriella had worked with her in the coffee shop where she’d met Titi. She’d been Sofia’s supervisor, barking orders at her morning till night. They’d gone for a drink after work a few times, when she’d loosened up and been less officious.

  “You must be wondering why you’re here.”

  The girl finished the second glass, her brown eyes not leaving Sofia’s face. She shrugged.

  “Truth is, I’m not sure myself. But I do know there was an explosion, at the airport. We got you out safe.”

  The girl’s eyes narrowed.

  “Were your family on the plane with you?”

  There’d been no adults in sight, and she’d been told it was an exchange programme. But Adam might have been lying to her.

  Gabriella shook her head. “School trip.”

  Sofia relaxed. “That’s nice. Visiting England.” She wondered what there was in Birmingham to entice a group of Romanian children on a school trip.

  “We’ll find your teacher,” she said. “We’ll make sure you’re back with your other friends. My boyfriend, Titi. He’s a good man, he’ll—”

  “What’s that about me?”

  Sofia turned to see him standing in the doorway. His tie was loose and his face red.

  She hurried to him. “Titi. This is Gabriella. We rescued her and her friends from the airport today. Like Adam told me you wanted. She was on the same plane as Andreea.”

  He gave Sofia a peck on the cheek and walked past her. The girl shrank back, rounding the kitchen island.

  “What’s she doing here?” he asked.

  “We could not take them to hotel. Some problem, a bomb. At the station. I brought them here. Just one night.”

  The girl stared at him, her shoulders rising and falling. He turned to Sofia, his movements measured. “You did what?”

  “Adam tried to call you. I tried to call you. We could not get you. Titi. I did not want to le—”

  He put a hand up to silence her. “Don’t call me that. This is my home.” He eyed her. “Our home.”

  “Sorry. It is very big. Plenty of space, huh? And just one night.”

  He narrowed his eyes, looking at her as if she were stupid. Had she been stupid? Would someone be looking for these children? Would they think she’d kidnapped them?

  “I am sorry. Maybe it was not such a good thing to do. But I wanted them to be safe.”

  He looked back at the girl. She’d grabbed the glass of milk and held it up, staring across the rim at the two of them. Titi smiled at her, his eyes cold. She didn’t smile back.

  “They shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Adam shouldn’t have let you.”

  “Was not his fault.” Sofia approached him and lifted a hand to his cheek. “I am sorry, honeybun. I forced him.”

  He raised an eyebrow. She stroked his cheek. His flesh was hot. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Do not be cross with your munchkin, please?”

  His body loosened. He grabbed her hand and put it to his lips, then kissed it gently. “It’s been a rough day, but I could never be cross with you.”

  She bit her lip. She was right. Titi was a good man. She looked at Gabriella as if to say I told you so. The girl stared back, her face pale.

  Titi turned to the girl. “Leave us.”

  Sofia nodded at her, gesturing for her to leave. The girl placed the glass on the counter and ran around the island. Sofia heard footsteps recede up the stairs.

  Titi clutched her hand. His eyes flashed at her. He liked rough sex, it was a weakness of his. It had taken her by surprise when he’d invited her to his hotel room in Bucharest, but she was getting used to it. Enjoying it.

  He span her round. She stumbled into the kitchen island, her hip hitting the marble.

  “Take off your top.”

  She pulled her t-shirt over her head, her eyes on his. Warmth radiated through her body. She glanced at the door. “We should close it.”

  He shook his head. “This is my house. Our house. We leave it open.”

  He gestured for her to remove her bra. She unfastened it and let it fall to the floor. She wore only her jogging bottoms now and her pink panties, the lace ones he’d bought her.

  Two paces brought him up against her. He had an erection. He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her up onto the counter. He grabbed the waistband of her trousers and pushed them to the floor. She lifted her butt off the counter to help. His eyes held her in place. He had a look of calm, of power. It turned her on.

  He leaned in to kiss her. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth and she let him possess her, her body filling with fire.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zoe leaned against the front door. It was past midnight and every muscle in her body ached.

  The cat lay stretched out on the stairs in front of her. The second step up seemed to have become her favourite spot lately.

  “Hey, Yoda.” Zoe slung her coat on the hook and picked the cat up. She nuzzled its warm fur. “You must have been wondering where I was.”

  She went into the living room. The coffee table was empty, no sign of the mugs she’d left there this morning. The floor had been cleared too, no discarded books or clothes awaiting the journey upstairs to the washing basket.

  Nicholas had been tidying.

  Zoe laid her fingertips on the surface of the coffee table. He’d been dusting, too. And hoovering, by the tracks in the carpet.

  Her son cleaned when he was anxious. She hadn’t rung him all night.

  She glanced back towards the stairs. Should she knock on his door, let him know she was home?

  She didn’t want to wake him. And she was too tired for an argument. In the morning, she’d have the energy to explain herself.

  The kitchen door opened. “Mum.”

  Her body slumped. “I’m sorry. You’ve been worried.”

  “I’ve been fine.” His voice was thin.

  “You’ve been cleaning.”

  He shrugged. “The place was a tip. I needed to fill the time.”

  “Come here.” She placed the cat on the sofa and reached her arms out. Nicholas approached and let her hug him. He patted her back.

  She pushed him away and held him at arm’s length. He was just an inch taller than she was.

  “I should have called you, let you know I was safe.”

  “They said a detective had been injured.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. That wasn’t me. It was Lesley.”

  “Your boss Lesley?” His eyes widened.

  She nodded. “She was hit by glass, at New Street. I… I don’t know much else.”

  What time had she spoken to Mo? Hours ago. She’d been preoccupied with cordoning off the plane, establishing a potential crime scene. Randle had still been there when she left, managing the ops room. Ian had left hours earlier. She’d sent him home, thinking of Alison and the kids.

  “I need to call the hospital,” she said.

  “You think they’ll talk to you?”

  “You’re right. Her husband. I don’t even know his name.” She frowned. She knew Lesley had two daughters, but wasn’t sure about a husband.

  “It can wait till morning, surely,” Nicholas said. “I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, love. I appreciate you saying that.”

  He shrugged. “We need to talk.” He turned for the kitchen.

  “OK.” She followed him. The clock above the hob said 12:35am. “What’s up? Is it Zaf?”

  “No.”

  “He not here tonight?”

  “He had revision to do. So did I, not that I got any done.” He switched the kettle on.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Again.”

  He leaned on the kitchen counter. Their kitchen was tiny, barely enough space for two people. Zoe shuffled against the fridge, ignoring the handle digging into her back. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Please. You’ve got me worried now.”r />
  He met her gaze. “It’s Gran.”

  She craned her neck to stare up at the ceiling. “And there was me thinking it was something important.”

  “Gran is important.”

  “Yes, love. But she’s predictable. If there’s a problem with your gran, then it’s nothing new for me to worry about.”

  “She’s in the spare room.”

  “She’s what?” Zoe’s eyes shot upwards. “Why?”

  “She was at New Street. When it happened.”

  “Doing what?” Annette wasn’t the shopping type.

  “I dunno. But she called me, from a phone box on Corporation Street.”

  “They still have phone boxes?”

  “She was scared, Mum. Confused.”

  “Drunk, you mean.”

  “A bit.”

  A bit drunk, for Annette Finch, meant half a bottle of gin. On a good day.

  “So she came here,” Zoe said.

  “I went to get her. I took a taxi. There was some cash in your room.” His voice dropped. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  She’d left fifteen quid on her bedside table that morning. Money for the window cleaner. “Of course I don’t mind. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “The network was down.”

  Of course. The first thing to happen after a major incident was that everybody in the vicinity hammered their phones.

  She grabbed his hand. “Well done, love. You did the right thing.”

  He puffed out a breath. A lock of hair blew upwards; he’d been letting it grow. “I thought you were going to give me a bollocking.”

  “Tomorrow.” She winked.

  He laughed, a tired laugh that spoke volumes about the day he’d had. “Yeah. I’m off to bed.”

  “Good. See you in the morning, sweetie.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  As he left the room, she looked up at the ceiling again. Her mum was above her head, in the small room at the back of the house that she worked from when she needed to but that also housed a single bed. Asleep, or awake? Listening in?

  Right now, she didn’t have the energy to care. She’d deal with it tomorrow. She trudged up the stairs, avoiding the cat and ignoring the clenching of her stomach as she passed the spare room door.