by Lisa Hartley
‘What?’
‘I can’t drive.’
His eyes widened. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I honestly can’t. Don’t you think I would if I knew how to?’
‘They wouldn’t have a policewoman who couldn’t drive.’
Catherine was worried she was going too far. It had been a stupid idea, born out of desperation. ‘They can’t discriminate, Jake.’
Ghislaine stared, her eyes questioning what Catherine was doing. Catherine had no idea.
‘Jake, tell me about Jasmine. Was she blackmailing you?’
Pringle’s eyes darted left and right as he tried to figure out what to do. ‘She found the knife, when I stabbed that woman. Devious cow. Wanted money, drugs, or she’d grass me up.’
‘Meaning you had to kill her.’
‘Yeah, she was bleeding me dry.’ He giggled at his joke. ‘Wait a minute, you smart-mouthed bitch, you can’t talk your way out of this. I know you can fucking drive, pick up the keys and let’s go. Otherwise …’
‘Otherwise?’
‘Say goodbye to your girlfriend here.’ He gave Ghislaine’s hair a savage twist. She squealed as the knife bit into her neck.
Catherine threw herself onto her knees, snatching at the keys. ‘All right, I’ve got them. Don’t hurt her.’
Pringle was laughing as Catherine unlocked the car and climbed inside. He had to be off his head on something. As she turned the key, Catherine considered her options. She could floor the accelerator and smash into him, but Ghislaine would be killed too. Catherine had no way of knowing how badly Pringle had cut her, but at least Ghislaine was still alive. And could she bring herself to do it, to purposely plough into him? Catherine was out of ideas.
‘Bring the car over here, get out and open the back door,’ Pringle called. ‘Ghislaine can sit on my knee. She’ll enjoy it, won’t you sweetheart?’
Gritting her teeth, Catherine slid the car into first gear and eased it forward. She stopped beside Pringle, climbed out. As Catherine opened the door, Pringle jerked Ghislaine again, pressing his mouth against her ear.
‘You know what, I’ve changed my mind. You can stay here.’ He stroked the knife against Ghislaine’s throat, smiling at Catherine. ‘It’ll be easier to handle one hostage, and the copper’s more valuable than you are. Maybe I’ll cut your throat now and get it over with.’
Catherine froze as Ghislaine let out a muffled scream. Pringle suddenly thrust her away from his body, keeping hold of the knife as Ghislaine tumbled across the tarmac.
‘Fucking hell, the dirty bitch has pissed herself …’
Catherine didn’t see where the shot came from, but she heard Pringle scream as the bullet entered his body. The knife fell from his grasp, clattering away, blood blooming on his shoulder, the front of his shirt. As Catherine fell to her knees beside Ghislaine, Pringle crumpled to the ground.
51
‘What a fucking baby,’ Dolan said.
Catherine laughed.
‘He had been shot, to be fair.’
‘Yeah, in the arm. All that whining and snivelling - pathetic.’
‘How did the armed response team arrive so quickly?’
‘They were training nearby. I may have pulled in a few favours.’
Catherine blew out her cheeks. ‘Thankfully.’
‘You saved Ghislaine’s life, not me.’
Catherine waved the statement away. ‘Any one of you would have done the same.’
‘But we didn’t.’ Knight was beaming.
‘How’s Ghislaine?’ Catherine asked. She was sitting in a cubicle in Accident and Emergency, having arrived by ambulance despite protesting she was fine. The paramedics muttered about shock, and kept smiling at her.
‘She fine,’ Dolan said. ‘Shaken, of course. They’ve stitched the wound on her throat, she should be able to go …’ Dolan blushed. ‘She should be able to leave later tonight.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘Don’t see why not.’ Dolan checked her watch. ‘I need to leave. See you at Headquarters soon. I’ll send a car.’
She marched away with a wave. Alone in the cubicle, Catherine and Knight looked at each other.
‘You know you took a massive risk?’ Knight said.
‘More than one. But what choice did I have?’
‘Look, Catherine, about the Paul Hughes case. I’ve spoken to Professional Standards.’ Catherine opened her mouth, but Knight kept talking. ‘It’s okay. I told them what happened, that I had some help from outside the force. I didn’t mention your name, kept you out of it.’
‘And?’
‘And, it’s all right. I told them everything. There was overwhelming evidence against the accused, as you know. They killed him, and they’re doing the time. You can forget about it.’
‘Promise?’
He smiled. ‘Promise.’
She exhaled. ‘All right.’
‘Catherine!’
Thomas burst into the cubicle, grabbing his sister. ‘What the hell have you been doing? Someone phoned, told me you were in here.’ He held her at arm’s length, examining her. ‘You look all right to me.’
Catherine laughed, the tension of the day leaving her as she threw her arms around her brother. Thomas scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles, and Catherine turned to Knight.
‘Can we go? I want to see Ghislaine.’
Knight cleared his throat.
‘You’re not supposed to walk out …’
A nurse stuck her head around the curtain. ‘You can leave when you’re ready, Sergeant Bishop.’
Catherine grinned. ‘It’s as if they’re listening. Thank you!’ she called.
*
Ghislaine was in a bay at the other end of the department. Lying on a trolley with her eyes closed, wearing a hospital gown and covered by a thin green blanket, she looked tiny. A white dressing covered the wound to her throat inflicted by Pringle’s knife.
Catherine stepped closer to the bed. ‘Ghislaine?’
Her eyelids fluttered. She smiled.
‘Catherine. You’re here. Is he dead?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘No. Listen, I’m sorry I lied to you.’
Ghislaine frowned. ‘Lied?’
‘Said I was homeless. I didn’t mean to deceive you, it was …’
‘Your job. It’s okay, I understand.’
There was a silence.
‘Where will you go?’ Catherine asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I spoke to your mum. She misses you.’
Ghislaine turned her face away. ‘I doubt it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She hates me.’
Catherine remembered Bethany Oliver lying in her dark, half-empty house. Her hands trembling, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke about her daughter.
‘I don’t think she does, Ghislaine.’
‘Did she tell you why I left?’
‘No. I didn’t ask.’
‘You’ll have to arrest me.’
‘Arrest you? What do you mean?’
‘I killed her boyfriend. Her drunken, fat pig of a boyfriend.’
The floor shifted beneath Catherine’s feet.
‘You … You killed him?’
Ghislaine trembled. ‘Well, I don’t … He used to beat her up. Her, me, his own kids. One day, I was in my room and he came storming in, pissed out of his head, ranting at me. I hadn’t tidied or something. I ran. At the top of the stairs, he tried to grab me, and I stepped back. He fell, and …’ Her eyes were far away, watching the incident happen again in her mind. ‘We called an ambulance, they took him to hospital, but he died. They said he’d smacked his head.’
‘It was an accident.’
‘I felt like I killed him. Still do. My mum said I did. We had row after row, and in the end I walked out, never went back.’
‘She’d like to see you.’
Ghislaine looked away. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Catherine knew s
he could do no more. She held out a piece of paper to Ghislaine.
‘Here.’
‘What is it?’
‘My address and phone numbers. Ring me any time, or come to the house. Stay with me, if you want to. You don’t have to go back to the streets.’
Slowly, Ghislaine reached out a hand. ‘I haven’t even thanked you. You saved my life.’
‘You did that yourself,’ Catherine told her.
Ghislaine laughed. ‘If I’d known wetting myself would make him let go of me, I’d have done it long before.’
Catherine laughed. ‘It was original, I’ll give you that.’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘I need to go, but I meant what I said.’
‘Won’t I need to give a statement?’
‘We’ll be in touch. Don’t worry about Pringle. The shot was meant to disable him, which it did. He’ll soon be fit to stand trial for Jasmine’s death.’ She turned. ‘Take care, Ghislaine.’
There were tears in her eyes as she walked.
‘Catherine.’
Ghislaine was behind her.
‘You shouldn’t be out of bed,’ Catherine scolded.
‘Thank you,’ Ghislaine said. ‘Not only for today, but for what you’ve said. And for last night …’
Catherine opened her arms. Ghislaine clung to her for a second, but when she stepped back, her eyes were dry. Catherine smiled, blinded by tears again herself. She kissed Ghislaine’s cheek, and walked away.
*
‘Last night?’ Thomas said. ‘What happened last night? Bit young for you, isn’t she?’
‘Shut up, Thomas.’ Catherine gave her brother a shove as they walked across the hospital’s car park. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening.’
‘I wasn’t, I was on the phone. That’s all I heard, promise.’
‘She was told her friend had been murdered. I comforted her.’
‘Never heard it called that before.’
Thomas was protecting her, Catherine knew, joking around, keeping her mind off what had happened.
‘I’m okay, you know,’ she told him.
‘If you say so.’
Inside his car, Catherine put on her seatbelt, but Thomas waited.
‘What?’ she said. He gave a hesitant smile. ‘Don’t piss around, Thomas, not today. What is it?’
He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the small blue box. Opening it, he held it out for her to see. An engagement ring, a diamond set on a platinum band. Her eyes welled again, but she choked the tears back.
‘Thomas, I’m flattered, but I can’t accept. I’m your sister.’
He snapped the box closed. ‘Hilarious. Think she’ll like it?’
‘Anna?’
‘Yes, Anna! Who else?’
‘Does this mean … Is she responding to the treatment?’
‘They say she is. Her mum phoned. A slight improvement, anyway. They’re hoping to wake her soon.’
52
When Catherine walked into Lincolnshire Police Headquarters, Maggie Kemp was waiting at the reception desk. Confused, Catherine approached her.
‘Maggie? Can I help?’
Maggie barely saw her. ‘I want to see the Chief Constable.’
‘I see. May I ask why?’
‘It’s about my husband. He’s confessed to a murder, but I know he’s innocent.’
Catherine blinked at her.
‘Mrs Kemp, I know it must have come as a shock, but …’
Maggie set her hands on her hips, finally realising who she was speaking to.
‘You’ve solved John’s murder, have you, Catherine? You’ve arrested Pat, who can’t squash a spider, Pat who cried when a bird flew into the window and died.’
‘Pat who raped a young girl.’
Maggie Kemp waved her hand.
‘Nonsense. She’s lying.’
‘Mrs Kemp, your husband has confessed. I know it’s difficult to accept, but …’
‘I killed him.’
Catherine stopped, stared. ‘What did you say?’
‘I killed John McKinley. Stuck a needle in his arm. He tried to blackmail Pat, ruin everything we’ve worked for. He was going to tell everyone his lies, go to the newspapers. Ruin Phoenix House, where we’d made him welcome.’
She fluffed her hair. ‘Now, can I see the Chief Constable or not?’
*
Dolan bought the first round, knocked back a gin and tonic and called for another.
‘I didn’t even get to go home early,’ she said, swirling ice around her glass. ‘Anyone else want to confess to the murder of John McKinley?’
‘Do you think she’s telling the truth?’ Adil Zaman asked, swallowing a mouthful of lemonade. He was eager to get home to his family, his car waiting outside the pub.
‘Who knows?’ Dolan burped discreetly. ‘And who cares. One of them did it, and I’ll worry about which in the morning. Maybe a night in the cells will bring her to her senses.’
Catherine cradled her bottle of lager, worrying about Ghislaine. Where she was spending the night?
Knight touched her arm. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah. Remembering it might have been me with my throat cut.’
‘You did well.’
She shrugged. ‘Is Jo coming over to celebrate?’
‘No, and I’m only staying for one drink. DCI Dolan has asked me to come back tomorrow.’
‘Early night with Jo then?’
Knight blushed. When Zaman and Knight stood to make their excuses, Catherine also got to her feet.
‘Can I cadge a lift please, Jonathan?
Catherine could have booked into a hotel, stayed for a few more drinks, but she didn’t want to. Dolan was already talking about going back to her room, and being stuck on her own with Rafferty wasn’t in the least appealing.
‘Take tomorrow off, Catherine,’ Dolan told her.
‘We’ll see.’ She waved. ‘Good night, DS Rafferty.’
Rafferty inclined her head and twitched her lips. As she followed Knight out into the cold, crisp night air, Catherine smiled to herself.
Some things didn’t change.
53
Later, after a bath, Catherine got into bed with a sigh of contentment. Her own home. She felt as though she’d been away for weeks.
The house was silent. Thomas was staying with Anna’s parents, as their house was closer to the hospital. Catherine’s eyes were open, loneliness soon creeping over her again. As strange as sharing a room with Ghislaine and Jasmine had felt, at least she hadn’t been alone.
As she lay there, recalling the events of the day, a thought came into Catherine’s head, something she’d recognised, but had forgotten.
She sat, swinging her legs out of bed. Pulling her bathrobe around her shoulders, she grabbed her phone.
It rang four times before a bleary voice answered.
‘Have you seen the time? What is it?’
‘Can I come to see you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You,’ Catherine said. ‘I want to talk about you.’
*
The sky was bright, frost slipping through the air, highlighting blades of grass and cobwebs. Catherine drove quickly, not allowing doubt to creep into her head. She was right, she knew it.
She parked the car and hurried towards her destination. She had dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. As she’d pulled on her coat, she had wondered if the stresses of the day, of the week, were the reason behind her decision. She didn’t care. If she didn’t do this now, tonight, she would never know. What did she have to lose?
Only my self-respect. Her mood had lifted, but the darkness lingered. She would talk to Jo, go to her GP. It wouldn’t beat her. This was reckless, foolish even – but so what? She could have died today. How long you could live in the shadows?
Catherine approached the door, not permitting herself to consider turning around. She raised her hand, steeled herself, and knocked.
Isla Rafferty peered out.
‘Are you mad?’ she said.
Catherine grinned.
‘Possibly.’
‘You’d better come in.’
Rafferty opened the door and stepped back. The hotel was basic, but modern. Rafferty’s room was tidy, no clothes thrown over the chair or empty food containers lying around. Catherine had expected no less. There was a double bed, a sofa and a desk with a chair. Rafferty was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a navy-and-white striped sweater. Her hair was damp, the scent of shampoo and shower gel lingering. She sat on the bed, clearly confused and not a little pissed off. Catherine perched on the sofa, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. Now she was here, she may as well get on with it.
‘I’m sorry to turn up like this.’
‘What do you want, DS Bishop?’
‘Where’s DCI Dolan’s room?’
‘The floor above somewhere. Why?’
‘I wondered.’
Rafferty shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Does Dolan know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That you fancy the pants off her?’
Rafferty blushed. ‘What are you talking about? I’m engaged.’
‘Are you?’ Catherine sat up straight. ‘So why aren’t you rushing back to your fiancé every night, like Adil does to his wife? Any chance he has, Adil goes home. And you? You sit in your hotel room, wishing you had the courage to tell your boss how you feel about her.’
Rafferty turned away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘But I do, Isla. I’ve seen how you look at her, how you defend her. How you call her “Ma’am” when you speak to her, even though she hates it, because you’re afraid of giving yourself away if you’re less formal. I know, Isla. I’ve been there myself.’
Rafferty’s shoulders were shaking. Horrified, Catherine ran to her. ‘Come here, it’s okay, honestly.’ She sat on the bed, wrapping her arm around Rafferty. ‘You don’t have to live like this, Isla. You don’t have to hide, to keep pushing people away.’
Rafferty was holding back tears. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘But …’
‘Okay, yes, you’re right. I had a crush on Mary – who hasn’t? I saw the way you looked at her too.’
Catherine glanced away, her cheeks flaming. ‘Bugger. I hoped no one noticed. It didn’t last long.’
Rafferty managed a laugh. ‘I even bought myself this stupid ring to stop people asking when I was going to get a boyfriend. I had to say he was a paramedic, so he couldn’t come on nights out, tell them he didn’t mind me working late because he always was too …’