[Kitt Hartley 04] - Death Awaits in Durham

by Helen Cox

  The officer, seemingly unimpressed by Halloran’s subtle attempt at lightening the mood, nodded without dispensing any pleasantries and then spoke straight into his radio. ‘Come in, control.’

  ‘You’ve reached control, over,’ said a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Can you check if a Cynthia Howard is in custody. Apparently we’ve got her flagged on the system already.’

  There was a moment of scratchy silence before the reply came through. ‘Nobody in custody, slow night.’

  ‘All right, thanks,’ said Halloran. ‘I’m going to take a look around for her. I might need your assistance, depending on how things go.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ the officer said.

  Halloran half-smiled. It was clear Halloran wasn’t any more impressed by the officer’s attitude than the officer was by Halloran. ‘If she’s not in custody already, that means she shouldn’t get further than the check-in desk, if we don’t find her first. Fan out. We need to get a good look along these check-in queues so . . . what’s that look for?’

  ‘Does everyone else hear “Buttons” by the Pussycat Dolls accompanied by faint screaming?’ Kitt said, her nose crinkling.

  They all frowned and then turned towards the source of the noise. A small corner of the departures lounge had been screened off. There was a woman standing outside the area with a collection tin, which she was rattling intermittently.

  ‘Oh aye, some young men from the check-in desks are doing a striptease for Cancer Research,’ said the officer, much more animated than he was when Halloran was trying to get information out of him about a potential flight risk. ‘They’re over there right now tearing off Velcro pilot uniforms. I was asked to take part but declined. Didn’t want to make those young ’uns feel bad.’

  Grace looked at the man and hoped her disgust at the mere thought of him taking his clothes off didn’t show too much. It wasn’t anything particularly physical about him – though she suspected the greasy layer of sweat didn’t stop at his neckline – it was more the attitude that put her off. Usually people with that level of arrogance had a patented unsexy dance move they thought they could pull off when everyone else knew they couldn’t.

  ‘I wonder if Cynthia is hiding out in there,’ Kitt said, pointing over at the screened-off area. ‘Can’t hurt to take a quick look just to be sure.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Halloran with a note of amusement in his voice. ‘If anyone’s going to poke their head in there it will be me and it will be brief.’

  ‘But isn’t Kitt more qualified? She does have a personal experience in stripping,’ said Grace. She knew they didn’t have time for banter but when was she ever going to get an opportunity like this to casually drop into conversation that Kitt had been caught streaking across the academy football pitch?

  ‘What’s this?’ said Halloran, looking Kitt up and down.

  ‘Oh, ignore her, will you?’ Kitt said with a dismissive wave. ‘And Grace, for goodness’ sake, give over. Finding Cynthia is our priority, not making silly jokes.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Grace.

  ‘Right,’ said Halloran, still looking a little bit unsettled by Grace’s joke but clearly deciding there were bigger matters to attend to. ‘Start taking a look up and down these queues, I’ll just verify that she isn’t hiding in that charity event. You could help us with the search as well, if you want,’ Halloran said, addressing the officer.

  ‘Suppose I could,’ he replied.

  Halloran turned and started walking away but as he did so Grace heard him mutter under his breath, ‘Don’t do us any favours, will you, mate? There’s only a bloody murderer on the loose.’

  Grace smiled to herself at Halloran’s dig but her smile soon vanished as she, Patrick and Kitt made plans to split up. They selected a couple of check-in queues apiece and set off on their search for Cynthia. The plan was to regroup as soon as they’d finished their surveillance of everyone in line.

  To begin with, Grace started looking for a blonde woman but then wondered if Cynthia would use some kind of wig or other disguise to try and go undetected. That would present a problem if she was using her own passport, and that’s when she realized that the passport checks Halloran had set up might be useless. Cynthia wasn’t as rich as Selina Grant but she wasn’t poor either. She probably had the money to secure a fake passport if she needed to and Grace couldn’t believe that Cynthia had just made the decision on the spot to make a run for Northumberland airport. The likelihood was this had been on her last-resort list for some time. Grace’s heart quickened as she suddenly understood how imperative it was that they find Cynthia before she passed through airport security.

  Looking along the row, Grace passed numerous families, one or two with an exhausted-looking mother holding a child who had fallen asleep on their shoulder. There were several men in suits, likely flying back home after some kind of business meeting, and given that it was Saturday night, Grace could only assume they were workaholics. Who’s flying around having business meetings on a weekend? But none of the people in the first queue, from the young woman listening to her music so loud that everyone within five metres of her could feel the beat, to an elderly tanned couple probably heading off for some winter sun, were Cynthia.

  Sighing, Grace moved onto the next, taking the time to look carefully at each face she passed. She reasoned it wouldn’t seem too weird to the people in the queue. They probably just thought she was looking for family members or perhaps a boyfriend she was flying out with. With every face, however, came disappointment. Grace was almost at the end of her second queue and was on the brink of heading back to regroup and see if the others had had any luck when all of a sudden someone grabbed her arm and she felt something sharp jab into her side.

  ‘If you so much as squeak I’ll stab you where you stand,’ said a deep, gravelly voice. Grace glanced down at the hand that held her and saw the sleeve of a black coat.

  The man in black.

  He’d found her.

  ‘If she’s here, she won’t be alone,’ said another voice. A woman’s voice, Cynthia’s.

  ‘Who’ve you got with you?’ the man in black muttered.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Grace, wishing her voice wasn’t wavering quite so much.

  ‘You’re lying.’ The knife dug deeper into Grace’s side and though she tried to shuffle away the man’s grip held her in place. If he pressed any harder he was going to break skin for sure. ‘Tell me who else is here, or I’ll gut you.’

  Grace would have thought she’d be a lot braver in a situation like this one. She liked adventure. Got a kick out of being impulsive. But right now all she could think about was Berkeley’s body, lying with her throat cut on her dining room floor. Grace couldn’t be sure but she would wager that was the man in black’s handiwork. She believed him when he said he would gut her and as Randy Hobbs would say, being alive is a good thing. In a small, resigned voice Grace replied, ‘Kitt and Halloran are here.’

  ‘The copper,’ said the man in black, gruffly.

  ‘Patrick’s here too,’ Grace said, keeping her breathing shallow to avoid the prick of the knife tip. The man in black must have been camouflaging it under his coat somehow, as nobody around them was paying any attention whatsoever to what was going on. ‘He’s worried about you, Cynthia. His first thought when he found Berkeley was for your safety. He just wants to see you. To talk to you. To try and understand.’

  There was a moment of silence before the man in black’s rough response. ‘If she’s brought the whole gang with her the odds of us leaving on a plane are slim. We’ll have to move to plan B.’ He pushed Grace forward. ‘Start moving towards the exit and act natural. If you do anything to raise the alarm, that’s the end of you.’

  Swallowing hard, Grace did as she was told and started moving towards the exit. With every step she could feel the knife in her side. Was this what happened to Jodie? she wondered as tears filled her eyes. Did the drugging only come later? H
ad the man in black marched her down the river path like this and then killed her the first chance he had? The very thought that she could suffer the same fate as Jodie, lost without a trace, made Grace sick to her stomach.

  She needed to find a way out of this, but couldn’t think of one. Kitt and Halloran would hear her if she screamed out, she was sure of it, but would they be quick enough to come to her aid before the man in black put an end to her? She might not know exactly what she wanted to do with her life yet but she would like to be around long enough to feel out a few options. There was other stuff too. Stuff she’d been planning to do once she had the basics of home and work in order. She wanted to see the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge; to sail to Iceland and marvel at the Northern Lights; and to fall in love. Properly fall in love with someone who meant it when they kissed you. She guessed Jodie must have had those plans too, before they were cut short.

  The sound of a dog barking jolted her out of her thoughts.

  ‘Grace?’

  She heard Patrick’s voice calling but didn’t dare turn to face him. The man in black dug the knife in harder, prompting her to move faster.

  ‘Grace! Mum!’ Patrick shouted. It was clear from the ragged nature of the call that he was running after them. Roxy was going nuts. Probably because she recognized the man in black from her earlier encounter with him back at Berkeley’s house.

  ‘Stop that man,’ came Halloran’s thundering call, audible even over the many conversations people were having. ‘Stop them!’ he called again, just as the man in black hustled Grace out of the door and into the airport car park.

  The October chill hit her the second she was outside, though she wasn’t sure if she’d already been shaking.

  ‘Get your legs moving,’ said the man in black, lapsing into a run. ‘If you want to still be here tomorrow you’ll move faster than that.’

  In less than a minute they stopped next to a green Honda Civic. ‘Get in,’ the man snapped.

  ‘Don’t bother getting in, Grace, they’re not taking you anywhere,’ said Halloran’s voice. There was a mere split second of relief before the man in black whipped round and the next thing Grace felt was a knife at her throat.

  Thirty-Three

  Wide-eyed, Grace stared at the circle of faces surrounding her. Kitt, Halloran and Patrick were all frozen to the spot. They were joined by their reluctant ally, the airport officer from earlier who, given the serious expression on his face, was rather wishing he’d taken Halloran a bit more seriously. Roxy was still barking incessantly; clearly she wasn’t going to be content until she’d barked herself hoarse.

  The depth of Halloran’s frown confirmed to Grace what she suspected when she’d first felt metal graze her skin: that the man in black had angled the knife in such a way that one swift, sudden movement would be all it took to end her.

  ‘This whole thing is over,’ said Halloran. ‘Airport police have been alerted and back-up is on its way. We can see the vehicle you’re planning to get away in so tracking you down will be no problem. You’ve already got blood on your hands, I wouldn’t make it any worse for yourself by hurting anyone else if I were you.’

  ‘Well, you’re not me,’ said the man in black. ‘We’re leaving and if any of you even think of coming after us I will slit her throat in a moment.’

  Grace felt the blade start to push harder against her skin and cried out. She wasn’t ready to die. She couldn’t die, not like this. Not when she was on terrible terms with her whole family. If she died and they never settled the argument, they’d never forgive themselves. An image of her mother’s face formed in Grace’s mind. Out of nowhere she could see her mother teaching her how to count on the abacus. And taking a zillion photographs on her phone when she graduated from the Vale of York University. All of a sudden, all she could think about was how proud her mother was of her. How much she wanted the best for her, even if she had a funny way of showing it. If she could just talk to her one last time, she could tell her that.

  ‘And then what?’ said Kitt. ‘If you kill Grace – her name’s Grace, by the way, and she’s a mere twenty-two years old – then you’ll have no leverage and the police will come after you anyway. Is it really worth cutting yet another life short when there’s no escaping the inevitable?’

  ‘We’ll be long gone by then.’

  ‘It’s no good, Quentin,’ said Cynthia. ‘We’re not going to get away. Not this time.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Quentin snarled. ‘If you hadn’t let that stupid little bitch record your confession, none of this would have happened in the first place and I wouldn’t have to clean up your mess.’

  ‘Don’t you dare try and pin this on me,’ Cynthia said, outraged. ‘You’re the one who kidnapped her.’

  ‘And you’re the one who killed her!’ Quentin spat.

  Seizing the moment while Quentin was distracted by Cynthia’s unexpected verbal attack, Grace gripped his arm with all her might and started pushing the knife away.

  ‘Don’t you dare, you little . . .’ but it was too late. On seeing Grace was momentarily out of immediate peril, Halloran dived towards Quentin and grabbed his knife arm. There was a struggle, but between them, Halloran and Grace managed to relieve Quentin of his knife. Now unarmed, Quentin started to lash out with his fists. Halloran deflected the punches and delivered two of his own to Quentin’s face. He didn’t go down but the hits were strong enough to disorientate him, and Halloran took the opportunity to restrain him.

  ‘You can give me a hand anytime,’ Halloran said to the airport officer.

  ‘Oh, right, aye,’ he said, walking over and helping Halloran with the cuffs.

  Grace stepped back from the fray, panting hard, knife in hand.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Kitt said, pulling a plastic bag from her satchel and dropping the knife inside.

  No sooner had Halloran and the officer restrained Quentin than Patrick called out.

  ‘Mum! No!’

  Cynthia was trying to make a run for it in the kerfuffle. How she thought she was going to get away on foot was beyond Grace but it seemed there was no logic left. Only desperation. Patrick caught her in just a few moments, grabbed her by the arms and shook her. ‘Did you kill Jodie?’

  ‘Patrick, don’t, I—’

  ‘Did you? Did you kill her?’

  ‘Yes! But I didn’t mean to. She was dead in an instant. She didn’t suffer. I—’

  ‘How could you? Why did you do this?’

  ‘She wasn’t good enough for you. You weren’t supposed to be with her. She was . . . poor and badly dressed and . . . a mechanic. I couldn’t just let you settle for that. You were far too young to get married. You were making a mistake. But . . . she wasn’t supposed to die. She was never supposed to die.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Patrick shouted back at her, before staggering backward as though he’d been punched in the face.

  Halloran looked the airport officer up and down.

  ‘Here, think you can look after this one?’ He nodded at two more officers walking towards them from the main entrance. ‘It looks as though your colleagues have finally roused so they’ll be able to help you. I’ll be back to caution him once I’ve secured the other one.’

  Grace watched as Halloran strode over to Cynthia.

  ‘Will handcuffs be necessary?’

  Cynthia looked at Patrick and then back at Halloran; slowly, she shook her head.

  ‘Cynthia Howard, you are under arrest for the murder of Jodie Perkins and conspiracy to murder Regina Berkeley,’ Halloran said, starting the caution speech that had become familiar to Grace over the time Kitt had started investigating murders. There was a strange relief in hearing it. Though often coupled with an unspeakable sadness about the fact that somebody had taken it upon themselves to end the life of another, it also meant that the culprit had been found. That the killing was over and justice would hopefully be served.

  Halloran began to lead Cynthia back towards Quentin, who he then proceeded to caution. Gla
ncing over, Grace noticed Patrick was looking unsteady on his feet. She went over to him.

  ‘Patrick – are you . . .’

  But before Grace could even finish her question, before he could verbally respond, Patrick fell to his knees on the uneven tarmac and pushed his head against Grace’s tummy.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he began to sob. ‘She’s really gone. I’m never going to see her again.’

  Not knowing what else to say and at once understanding that nothing she could say would bring Jodie back to life or undo his mother’s betrayal, Grace did the only thing she could think of. She stroked Patrick’s dark hair and pressed his head close to her, as though that alone would be enough to shield him from any further pain.

  Thirty-Four

  Grace sat out on the twelfth floor balcony of the Ryedale Hotel in York, overlooking the Ouse. Glancing inside, through the glass door she’d left ajar, she checked to see Patrick was still wrapped up in bed, sleeping. Satisfied that he hadn’t stirred, she opened her laptop and dialled into a Zoom call. Within moments, a familiar face flashed up on the screen.

  ‘Hi, Selina,’ Grace said, her voice wavering. ‘How are you?’

  Grace had been surprised when Selina had sent her a text message asking for a video call. After what had passed between them before she was taken into police custody, Grace didn’t think she would ever get to speak to her again.

  ‘I’m . . . better. Glad the whole Jodie affair has been put to rest,’ she said with a small smile.

  ‘I’m with you on that,’ said Grace. ‘But I am sorry that to get to the truth I had to deceive you. People probably look at you and just see the money you have but you’ve got a lot going on that they don’t know about and it was never my intention to add to that. Me and Kitt, we just wanted to get to the truth.’

  ‘I know,’ said Selina. ‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t angry when I found out but if it weren’t for you and Kitt I might have gone down for Jodie’s disappearance, and possibly her murder. The police had all that evidence against me, more than enough to convict, and if you hadn’t found out what was really going on, well, I’m not even sure the family lawyers could have got me out of that one.’