by Hannah, Mari
‘Stand by . . .’ Halvorsen looked out of his window. He could see two officers, one male, one female, waiting by the departure gate. ‘DCI Daniels, please advise if a remote stand is required.’
Daniels thought for a moment. Before boarding, Laidlaw had gone through airport security. If she hadn’t been frisked, she and her bag would’ve been through a scanner. It was highly unlikely that she was armed with anything that could do much damage, other than a thoroughly disagreeable personality, and the DCI took the view that a remote stand was unnecessary.
‘That’s a negative, Captain,’ she said finally. ‘She’s going nowhere. If we do this right, it’s unlikely that other passengers will be in danger.’
‘OK, if that’s the conversation complete, I’m returning to stand.’ Halvorsen advised his FO accordingly and then made an announcement to the passengers: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a technical problem. I do apologize. Hopefully it won’t take very long to sort out, so when we get back on stand please remain in your seats and leave your seat belts fastened. I will be opening the forward left door of the aircraft, but it’s nothing at all to worry about and we don’t anticipate a significant delay.’
As the Airbus pulled back on to stand, Halvorsen asked the FO to manage things on the ground while he spoke to the number one cabin crew on board. He pushed a call button twice and a female voice came on the interphone.
‘Hello?’
‘June, it’s Kjell. Would you bring the passenger manifest to the flight deck, please?’ Halvorsen checked the video and saw his number one approach the door. He hit a switch, allowing her in. ‘Shut the door behind you.’ She did as he asked. ‘Right, we’re going back on stand. You heard me tell the passengers it’s a technical problem. It’s not. We’ve got a criminal on board. What we’re going to do is shut the aircraft down. I’ll open the window and talk to detectives on the ground and negotiate how they want to play this.’
The number one nodded.
Having briefed her fully, Halvorsen asked her to go back to the cabin and await further instructions. He opened the window. Below him, Daniels and Gormley were approaching the aircraft.
‘What’s the sketch here, guys?’ he said.
‘Can you get the steps put on?’ Daniels asked. ‘Front or back, it’s your call.’
‘It’ll be forward, left. You come up to the steps. Just knock on the door. The number one will open it and you’re in. I’ve left the seatbelt signs on, so no one else will be getting up. My number one tells me that the woman you’re looking for is in seat thirty-three D, on the right-hand side as you look towards the rear of the aircraft. Fortunately, she’s the only person in that row. Soon as you get on board, it’s over to you.’
Daniels held up a thumb. ‘Works for us.’
‘Up the steps, two knocks and you’re in,’ Halvorsen repeated. ‘Everybody happy?’
‘Let’s do it,’ Daniels said.
79
The plan worked like clockwork. As soon as Daniels stepped through the aircraft door she’d clocked Laidlaw in an aisle seat about a third of the way down on the right side. Her head was completely shaved and she was wearing a headscarf tied closely round it, like a cancer patient, her face made pale with the use of make-up. It was the eyes that did it: pure evil. Eyes that Fielding had so expertly captured in the portrait she’d painted. Eyes that now looked through the senior investigating officer as she approached.
Not resigned or defeated – just ice cold.
As Daniels walked down the aisle, her professional persona on full show, passengers realized the problem wasn’t technical at all and craned their necks to see what was going on.
The DCI held up ID. ‘Madam, would you come with me, please?’
Daniels’ anger grew as she took in the exquisite seal ring on Laidlaw’s little finger. The callous bitch . . . pound to a penny it was Bridget’s. Laidlaw didn’t move. She sat there, staring up, waiting for an explanation which wasn’t long in coming. There was no need to arrest her for murder, not yet anyway, that would come later. For now, the DCI was content to use the assault on Chantelle as a way of getting her off the plane without causing distress to other passengers.
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Daniels. Lucy Laidlaw, I am arresting you on suspicion of Section 18 Wounding. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘I bloody love it!’ A man across the aisle said loudly. ‘I’ve always wanted to hear someone say that!’
Daniels glared at him. He was the epitome of the great unwashed: mid-thirties, grossly overweight, wearing a black-and-white nylon football shirt and no deodorant. His complexion was angry and red, like he’d spent a fortnight in the sun with no protection, or been to a studio to top up the tan before his holiday began in earnest. He was half-cut too, she noticed, sun and booze, a lethal mixture for the cabin crew to deal with.
The DCI was pleased to be getting off.
‘What’s she done, love?’ the man asked, his alcohol breath filling the cabin.
Ignoring him, Daniels turned back to Laidlaw. ‘Come on, Lucy. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, eh?’
‘I’m sorry, Detective, but there must be some mistake.’ Cool as you like, Laidlaw took her passport from her bag, opened it up and handed it to Daniels. ‘My name isn’t Lucy, it’s Penelope Clark.’
‘You tell her, Miss Penelope!’ The fat drunk again. He was glaring at Daniels through bloodshot eyes ‘She’s ill man, can’t you tell? And it’s bloody ridiculous keeping us waiting like this. We’ve got places to go, people to see, even if you don’t. Get the fucking trolley dollies out here. It’s time for a bevvy.’
‘Wind your neck in, pal,’ Gormley warned. ‘Or you’ll be next!’
The guy didn’t need telling twice. He sank into his seat, minding his own business.
Pocketing Laidlaw’s passport, Daniels produced a pair of rigid handcuffs from a clip behind her back. In deference to her, Laidlaw dropped her head and took a deep breath. She pointed at the snips. ‘There’s no need for those, Detective Inspector. I’ll come quietly.’
Pleased to hear it, Daniels put them away.
Taking possession of Laidlaw’s bag, she handed it to Gormley for safekeeping, then stepped back to allow the woman out of her seat. Laidlaw unclipped her seatbelt. Placing her hands on the armrests, she eased herself up, her trailing hand already reaching for the iPad she’d placed on the next seat. With full force, she swung her arm round, smashing the device across Gormley’s cheek, knocking him unconscious and sending him crashing to the floor.
The DCI fought to get hold of her, but Laidlaw proved too strong and managed to struggle free. What happened next made Daniels’ day. The smelly drunk stuck out his leg, tripping Laidlaw up as she tried to run for the open cabin door. Scrambling forward, Daniels made a lunge for Laidlaw. In one swift movement, the snips were on and she stopped struggling.
Relieved, Daniels remained on the floor, trying to get her breath back, high-fiving the drunk as she sat there. Further down the aisle, Gormley was on his feet, holding his head. Helping her up, he winked at her. Job done. Taking an arm each, they escorted Laidlaw from the aircraft. As they walked down the stairs, a huge round of applause rang out from above their heads as Captain Halvorsen asked for the cabin doors to be made secure and ready for take-off.
Laidlaw was silent on the way back the city. At Market Street nick, they lodged her in the custody suite, then Gormley peeled off to be checked out by the police surgeon as Carmichael and Daniels went straight to the incident room. Robson was sitting at his desk, a phone jammed between shoulder and neck, taking down notes as he listened. Maxwell was also busy on the phone, feet up, a much more laid-back approach – but at least he was working. Brown was sitting at Carmichael’s computer, updating the murder wall with the fourth victim and Laidlaw’s recent arrest. He smiled
at Carmichael and held up a thumb as she went off to find refreshments, applauding Daniels on a great result as she passed his desk. But they and the rest of the team knew there was still a way to go: facts to be checked, solicitors briefed, offences put, an interview to conduct.
Naylor added his congratulations as the DCI approached. ‘How’s Hank?’ he asked.
‘He’ll live,’ she said. ‘Any news on the Mediterranean?’
Naylor nodded. ‘Yusuf Sevket. Stanton lifted his prints in situ and we ran them through the system. He’s from Northern Cyprus, a fugitive in several countries. Andy found a Warning–Wanted marker on the PNC too. It seems he jumped bail in Turkey in 2005 during an investigation into the killing of a British woman on holiday. Sounds like he and Laidlaw are two of a kind. Let’s put it this way, I don’t think he’ll be missed. You did a good job today, Kate.’
‘I taught her everything she knows,’ a familiar voice behind them said.
Daniels’ old guv’nor, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright, had a wide grin on his face. He was standing in the doorway, feet crossed over each other, looking the picture of health. He was immaculately dressed as usual: grey suit and tie, white shirt, his signature handkerchief in his breast pocket. ‘Still running the show, I see.’
A wide smile spread over Daniels’ face. ‘Hello, guv!’
‘She never looks at me that way,’ Naylor said.
‘Some people have it, some don’t.’ Bright grinned at Naylor. ‘Get over it!’
‘And to what do we owe this pleasure?’ Naylor asked. ‘Paint dry at Fantasy Island?’
‘You should try stand-up!’ Bright was enjoying the camaraderie. ‘The Chief asked me to pass on his appreciation for a sterling day’s work. Thought I’d drop by and deliver the message in person . . .’ He turned his attention from Naylor to Daniels, his feelings for his protégé plain to see. ‘You know, I reckon you could make Super out of this, if you play your cards right.’
‘You keep telling me that, guv. But it hasn’t happened yet.’ She gave him a pointed look, her ambition for promotion no laughing matter as far as she was concerned. ‘Don’t suppose you know why?’
Acknowledging a gaffe wasn’t Bright’s style.
‘Patience, Kate. It’s just a matter of time.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze. He’d shaped her career, knew only too well she’d done more than enough to progress to the next rank. Scooping up his briefcase from the floor, he scanned the room, smiling at Carmichael as she arrived laden with sandwiches, crisps and coffee. ‘By the way,’ he said. ‘The drinks are on me when time allows. A knees up is long overdue. Maxwell can come too, if he can still make it off his arse.’
Everyone laughed.
Daniels walked him to the door. ‘I hear things are going well at Ponteland.’
She was discreetly referring to his new PA, Ellen Crawford. But as he turned towards her, there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that he was doing his best to hide. His feelings for her hadn’t always been purely platonic or professional. There was a time, during his late wife’s illness, that he’d have taken things to another level, had she been willing. But that was before he found out about her relationship with Jo Soulsby who, spookily, had just walked through the door and was heading straight for them.
‘Catch you later,’ Bright said.
And with that he was gone.
80
Jo smiled. ‘Was it something I said?’
Daniels didn’t answer. She was angry with Bright for walking away. His relationship with Jo had always swung between bearable and non-existent. But in recent months they’d toned their antagonism down a little, tolerated one another, helped by his move to HQ. It wasn’t a personal thing when it began. Bright was old school, always would be. Despite Jo’s reputation as an exceptional criminal profiler, he didn’t see the need to involve her, or anyone like her, in police work. As far as he was concerned, detectives cracked cases and worked best when left alone to do their jobs without outside influence or interference. But Daniels suspected it was now personal, fuelled by his knowledge that the two women had once been an item. She hated that two of the most important people in her life couldn’t get along. Bright would probably throw a party when Jo handed in her notice.
Maybe it would be best if she did leave.
Life would certainly be far less complicated.
‘I heard congrats were in order,’ Jo said.
Too distracted to answer, Daniels was busy watching her former boss make good his escape. He turned as he reached the door, made a telephone with his hand and held it to his ear indicating that he’d ring her later. As she nodded her understanding, Jo waved a hand in front of her face.
‘Kate?’
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Absolutely nothing . . .’ Jo pointed to Daniels’ office door. ‘Shall we get on?’
The DCI led the way. On her journey back to town, she’d been as high as a kite for two reasons. One: she’d collared her suspect. Two: she’d seen Fielding again, and that brought hope of something special for the future. Someone special she wanted to get to know. But as she made coffee and sat down opposite Jo, her newfound joy faded and she found herself dragged backwards, memories of their time together crashing in on her, all thoughts of Fielding pushed away.
Torn by mixed emotions, she fought her feelings and dealt with the situation badly. Because of where they were, the conversation didn’t escalate into a full-blown row. But for the next few minutes there was awkwardness between them she found hard to ignore. If Jo said black, Daniels said white, treating her former partner like any other business associate, making it obvious she had neither the time nor the inclination to prolong their meeting beyond that which was absolutely necessary.
‘You OK?’ Jo asked. ‘You seem really agitated.’
‘I’m fine,’ Daniels lied. ‘Tired, that’s all.’
‘We’re all tired,’ Jo said. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.’
Daniels’ apologetic smile felt like a sneer on her lips.
‘Better get to it then.’ Jo slapped a thick file on the desk between them and handed Daniels some handwritten notes, a précis of what she’d discovered. ‘While you were out searching for Laidlaw, Abbott gave me access to her Fire Service record. I called in a few favours with my colleagues at Social Services. Bribery and corruption usually does the trick, I find.’
Her joke fell on deaf ears.
‘It’s very impressive,’ was all Daniels said.
‘Ahm, what’s with the cold and unfriendly tone?’
‘Can you give it to me in layman’s terms?’
‘Of course!’ Jo said. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’
‘No.’
‘If this is about my leaving—’
‘It’s not!’
‘Because, if it is, I’ve decided—’
Daniels cut her off. ‘Look, you must do what you think fit. It’s really none of my business, is it?’
Jo looked angry but held her tongue. Grabbing the notes from the desk, she buried her head in them, trying to hide the fact that she was upset. As she began to sum up what she’d found out – something to do with Laidlaw being mistreated as a child – her words were drowned out by Daniels’ guilty thoughts. She was behaving like a prat and Jo had done nothing to deserve it.
‘Are you getting any of this or am I wasting my breath?’ Jo asked pointedly.
‘Child abuse doesn’t excuse what she did.’
‘No . . . but it goes some way to explaining it,’ Jo reminded her. ‘Shall I carry on?’
‘Please.’
‘From an early age, Lucy was living south of the river. She was taken into the care of Gateshead local authority when she was eight years old . . .’ Jo paused. ‘Is she being processed now?’
Daniels nodded. ‘It’ll take a while to get her brief down here. I wanted your input so I could work out an interview strategy.’ Deciding that an apology was in order, she tried to find the right form of wo
rds but they remained on the tip of her tongue and were never articulated because she hid behind the work as usual. ‘Naylor’s building up a picture of the man she was with. Information is flooding in now we’ve ID’d him. Con man and money launderer was his claim to fame. I think he’d groomed Laidlaw, who was the Brit arm of a much larger operation of organized crime.’ Daniels was still choking on the apology. ‘Her living in Gateshead during the early part of her life adds up, though.’
‘How?’
‘It’s another connection between her and Ivy’s lottery ticket. She wasted no time collecting the winnings. On Thursday she caught a train to King’s Cross and met a man who has since called the incident room. Ben Foster happens to be a linguist and nailed her accent which, he says, she was none too happy about at the time. He also said she was very odd. Dangerous, was the word he used to describe her. Reckons she’s got a screw loose.’
‘Is that a psychiatric term?’
Daniels smiled. ‘He claims she made a play for him that he rejected, then denied knowing him when they met by chance the very next day.’ She paused for a moment. ‘There’s something odd about him too, I reckon. I get the feeling he’s not telling the whole truth, only the part he wants us to hear.’
‘That makes two of you,’ Jo said.
‘Look—’
Jo held up a hand. ‘I take that back. I can see you’re under a lot of pressure, Kate. I’ll do anything to help, you know that. Just let’s not argue, eh?’ She handed Daniels a set of glossy photographs. ‘Take a look at these.’
Daniels’ face twisted in revulsion as she flicked through the photographs. They were graphic images: close-ups of cigarette burns on a child’s torso. There were more than two dozen of them in total. ‘They’re disgusting,’ she said. ‘But then so is what she did to Jamie Reid.’
‘Violence breeds violence, you know that.’ Jo exhaled as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. ‘It was too late for Lucy by the time social workers discovered the extent of the problem. A school nurse raised the alarm. Education professionals were concerned but didn’t flag her up as they should’ve, despite the fact that she was displaying classic character traits of an abused child. Had they done so, Lucy would’ve been picked up by child protection much sooner. According to reports, she was a precocious child from an early age, exhibiting inappropriate and provocative behaviour towards adult males: teachers, social workers, doctors, foster fathers. Each time they found a home for her, she was returned to care.’