Shot Through the Heart: DI Grace Fisher 2

by Isabelle Grey

Grace felt almost sorry for him. He was such a dinosaur, trying so hard to stay safely inside the ramparts of the fort he’d built around himself. ‘You’re very clear about what’s right and what’s wrong,’ she said, leaning back in her own chair, deliberately not responding to the challenge of his body language. ‘You and your sons are all – or were – in uniform. Three men who have no problem exercising authority, taking decisive action when they see what has to be done. Is that fair?’

  ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’ he demanded.

  ‘What if it extends to bullying those who don’t accept your authority or even shooting someone you don’t think should have been let out of jail?’

  He snorted with anger and contempt. ‘Gordon Church, you mean? I don’t think you’ll find many in this nick who’ll be weeping at his funeral!’

  ‘So canteen culture knows best?’

  ‘Not good enough for you, eh, girl? With your fancy degree and your management-speak.’

  ‘We’re currently working through a nationwide list of owners of silver or metallic-grey Renault Kangoo vans,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Like the one you found burned out?’

  Grace raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘You seem very familiar with my team’s confidential operational details.’

  Kirkby, unabashed, tapped a finger to the side of his nose. ‘You really don’t know who I am, do you, girl?’

  ‘Have you or either of your sons ever owned or had access to such a vehicle?’

  Kirkby laughed in disbelief. ‘You asking if I shot Gordon Church?’

  ‘Did you?’

  He pushed himself to his feet. ‘No.’ At the door he turned back to face her. ‘I deserve a bit more respect, you know.’ He beat himself softly on the chest with a clenched fist. ‘So you tell that guv’nor of yours not to send a girl to do a man’s job in future, all right?’

  Grace didn’t waste her indignation on his misogyny – after ten years in the job she was used to it – but she was taken aback by the confidence with which he’d met her questions about the murder of Gordon Church. Either he possessed the same almost delusional arrogance that she had sensed behind Adam Kirkby’s insults on the steps outside the coroner’s court, or his sons had kept him in ignorance of their vigilante fantasies.

  Either way, it was time to press her boss into action against Adam Kirkby

  59

  Robyn sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room outside the headmistress’s office. The head liked dramatic flourishes, and the rather sumptuous room had been decked out like the hotel she’d stayed in once on a trip to Lisbon with her parents. The only exit from the waiting room was through the secretary’s office, and she was feeling trapped.

  She and Lance had packed up and left the Martello tower early that morning and then sat in a supermarket car park on the outskirts of Colchester until Grace had called and given the OK for him to drop her near her school. The plan was for her to walk in as if nothing more serious had happened than a couple of days’ absence, but as soon as she was spotted by one of the teachers there had commenced a flurry of discreet alarm. She gave the same story each time: when Lance had told her about her father’s arrest on Monday, she’d panicked and lied to both him and her mother about her intention to stay the night with Sally and then taken off on her own. She refused to say where she’d been, pointing out that she was back now, all in one piece, and so it couldn’t possibly matter.

  After an embarrassed interview with the headmistress, who seemed unsure how to strike the right tone with the daughter of a potential arch-criminal, the police had been called, and she’d been informed that her family liaison officer was on his way to collect her. Lance would then take her to her parents.

  The room was hot but her hands were freezing, so she sat on them, feeling the scratchy nap of the cut-velvet upholstery fabric. She felt sick, even though she hadn’t been able to eat anything for breakfast. She both longed to see her mum and dad and dreaded it. Her life of even a week ago seemed like a distant memory or something she’d read in a children’s book. The process that had started with Angie’s death was now complete. She was a grown-up. She could never go back to that carefree state when all she had to do if something bothered her was ask her dad’s advice.

  She heard voices from the secretary’s office, then the door opened and Lance walked in. They went through the greetings they’d rehearsed in the supermarket car park, then he guided her along a corridor and down some stairs and out into the grounds. They drove in silence: they had nothing more to say to one another. She felt as if she were the one going to prison, not her dad, as if she were the one who deserved it.

  Her parents were waiting for her at the police station in a room decorated in plain soft colours and furnished with pale wooden furniture. A box of tissues sat in the middle of a low table between the chairs. They stood up awkwardly when Lance showed her in, and then he left, closing the door behind him. Nicola started to cry as Leonard enveloped Robyn wordlessly in a big hug. She submitted rather than returned it, feeling like an unfamiliar visitor from a foreign country. Nicola then stepped forward to offer an awkward embrace. Feeling a wave of guilt that she had never loved her mum as much as her dad, Robyn hugged her back, whispering that she was sorry. Releasing herself, she took a seat opposite them and looked at the man who had lied to her all her life about who he was.

  Leonard leaned over and pressed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Birdie. I never meant for it to come to this. Although maybe it’s best that it has. I don’t know. Forgive me?’

  She nodded. Somehow her own betrayal still felt worse than anything he had done.

  Leonard looked anxiously at Nicola, who nodded her encouragement, and he sat back. ‘The police have promised to arrange a fresh start for us all,’ he said. ‘They’ll register me as an informant and write a letter to the judge, and then, once everything’s sorted out, we’ll go away. We’ll have new documents, new names, somewhere else to live. We can start again.’

  ‘As if nothing happened?’ asked Robyn. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the best way, Birdie. A new beginning.’

  ‘But my exams,’ she said. ‘My university application. I can’t just . . .’

  She didn’t know how to finish. She could see from the way Leonard was looking at her that he was still in that place where there was no separation between himself and his daughter. There had been no shift. He still believed that what he benevolently wished for on her behalf was precisely what she would want for herself. This time she felt not only sadness that he could be so blind, but also terror at the black hole of unquestioning self that he sought to draw her into.

  She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want to change my identity,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to lie about who I am for the rest of my life. I don’t understand why it’s necessary.’

  ‘It’s the only way to keep us all safe,’ said Nicola, her voice trembling. ‘Your father has to tell them everything he knows.’

  Robyn was desperate to ask whether what Lance thought was true – that her dad had murdered a man named Peter – but she was too afraid that they would lie to her, and of what she’d do if they did.

  ‘You mean people will want revenge?’ she asked instead.

  ‘Yes.’ Her mother, usually so capable and matter-of-fact, shrank into herself as she almost whispered her answer. ‘You may not be safe if you don’t come with us.’

  ‘What about Kenny and the other drivers?’ asked Robyn. ‘What happens to them? Are they in trouble? Will they go to prison, or will the police help them too?’

  Leonard reached out for her, but she snatched her hands away.

  ‘It was business,’ he pleaded. ‘You might as well hold cutlery manufacturers responsible for knife crime, or say the car industry is to blame when some idiot crashes a stolen car and kills half a dozen people.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I never made anyone pull the trigger. What about people who sell booze or cigarettes, or t
hose payday loan companies? Or bankers’ bonuses and MPs who fiddle their expenses? Britain’s a corrupt society. Everyone’s at it. You’d be a fool not to make it the best way you can. I was taking care of my family, same as everyone else.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I never chose to be taken care of like that! I never gave my permission. How could you say you were so sorry and offer me comfort when Angie died when all the time you knew it was you? It was you!’

  Nicola put her hands to her mouth as if trying to contain her distress. Leonard got up and came to kneel stiffly beside his daughter. ‘Please listen to me, Birdie. You have to listen.’ He paused to look over his shoulder towards the door, and then lowered his voice. ‘The rifle used by that madman in Dunholt, it came from a police officer. A police officer, Birdie. I’ll be giving evidence against gangsters and police officers. Where do you think we’re going to be safe? Nowhere. It’s our only chance, and we have to take it.’

  Robyn felt as if her head were going to burst. The stress was unbearable. He was right: there was nowhere to go, no road left for her to take. But her dad would never have been arrested or had to agree to this deal, if it wasn’t for her. She too was responsible for the deal he had made.

  ‘I have to know one thing,’ she said, looking down at her father, wondering how every feature could still seem so familiar and beloved. She took a deep breath. ‘Did you ever kill anyone?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not lying. I promise, Birdie. Please.’

  She had to decide, but she didn’t know how. She’d thought Lance would take care of her, but she’d been wrong. Her parents loved her. If she turned away from them, she’d have to put her trust in Grace Fisher. Her dad’s words echoed in her head: I’ll be giving evidence against police officers. Where do you think we’re going to be safe? If she was to stay sane, she had to focus on one clear thing and cling to that: the devil who had started all this was Grace Fisher. She looked into Leonard’s eyes and nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  60

  Grace had positioned herself in the superintendent’s office so that she could watch out for Lance as he returned from fetching Robyn from her school. She, Duncan and Colin were running over everything they had. She suspected Colin had noted her transparent lack of curiosity over where Robyn had spent the past two nights, and she had been relieved when he appeared content to shelve the issue, at least for the time being.

  He summed up the investigation as they understood it so far. Ingold had admitted illegally supplying Mark Kirkby and his brother Adam with two Heckler & Koch G3 rifles plus ammunition after meeting them through a gun club. This corroborated what Davey Fewell had said about Mark showing him a weapon. The military shell casings recovered from Fewell’s lethal rampage through Dunholt had been primed with the tool recovered from the creek near Ingold’s house where Robyn Ingold had witnessed her father dump another bag – also retrieved from the mud – which contained casings with the same military head stamps. Davey said he’d told his father that Mark had shown him a gun, and there was every reason to assume that Russell Fewell’s weapon and ammunition had been stolen from Mark Kirkby.

  ‘At the present time,’ said Colin, ‘Davey Fewell’s whereabouts are unknown.’

  And, Grace told herself, offering silent and heartfelt thanks to Ivo, going to stay that way until this is all safely wrapped up.

  ‘OK,’ Colin resumed. ‘Moving on to the Church inquiry. The shell casings recovered from the hospital grounds also came from Ingold’s workshop and also have military head stamps. It’s your belief, DI Fisher, that we should be taking a look at Adam Kirkby?’

  Grace was about to reply when she saw Lance walk past the door. Colin also spotted him and waved for him to join them. Grace’s heart sank: this was the worst possible timing. She had hoped to be able to make a strong enough case against Adam Kirkby for the sniper killings to arrest and interview him before drawing Colin into an argument over whether Adam might also be in the frame for beating Peter to death. If Lance launched into the Vale do Lobo connections too soon – forcing her to explain both how she had come by the information that Adam had stayed in Leonard’s villa and that she had told Lance that Peter was working undercover – the resulting fallout would probably persuade their boss that they should both be suspended, and so jeopardize an investigation independent of the security services.

  Lance drew up a chair beside her. His face was pale, his mouth set in a thin line. He nodded to her in a friendly enough way, but he wasn’t really looking at her or seeing anything. It didn’t bode well.

  ‘We’re just getting on to the sniper,’ she told him. ‘Adam Kirkby is a prison officer, so he’d have grapevine knowledge of the releases of both Gordon Church and the paedophile shot dead in Grantham.’

  ‘And the Ely shooting?’ asked Duncan.

  ‘Mark Kirkby was alive then,’ said Grace. ‘He could well have heard locker-room gossip about an Albanian mafia guy thumbing his nose at British justice. PC Curtis Mullins, an old friend of Mark’s, told me that the brothers had visited a militia training camp in Arizona. When they got back, they asked Leonard Ingold to tool them up.’

  ‘Sounds like they fancied themselves as Death Wish meets Dirty Harry,’ said Colin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Pathetic. And lethal.’

  ‘I heard this morning that Curtis has resigned,’ said Duncan. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin.

  ‘But once he’s gone, it won’t even be possible to interview him over any disciplinary action,’ said Lance.

  ‘We can’t stop him,’ said Colin tersely. ‘Not unless he’s already subject to an allegation, and he’s not.’

  ‘Not yet!’ cried Lance. ‘We must be able to do something.’

  Grace was equally furious. The idea of Curtis taking his pension and walking out with an unblemished record stuck in her throat. At the same time she hoped Lance would see that what mattered most right now was to let her get on with crafting her argument against Adam for the sniper killings. There would be plenty of time later to go after him for Peter’s murder.

  But Lance turned to her indignantly. ‘You can put in a complaint, can’t you? Curtis admitted all kinds of stuff to you. Get something in before his papers are signed!’

  ‘I’ve got no proof,’ she said gently, wishing he’d respond to her beseeching look. ‘It’s all hearsay. He could make a counterclaim against me for harassment. And the Federation would back him to the hilt,’ she added pointedly. Steeling herself, she turned away from him, back to Colin. ‘I’d like to move on, if that’s OK, sir?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘But—’ began Lance.

  She spoke over him. ‘Duncan, fill us in on what you’ve got.’ She could sense Lance fizzing dangerously beside her and prayed that he’d hold it all together long enough to discern her larger purpose.

  ‘We haven’t been able to link any member of the Kirkby family directly to a Renault Kangoo van,’ Duncan began, ‘but a neighbour thought he’d seen one parked in Adam Kirkby’s drive on more than one occasion. And we checked his working hours against the dates of the three sniper killings: he was off duty each time.’

  ‘Good!’ said Colin, rubbing his hands. ‘Plenty there for him to talk himself into a nice little trap.’

  ‘There’s one last thing,’ said Grace. ‘Purely circumstantial, but Adam has in the past worked in the prison where Warren Cox was knifed earlier this week. Adam would have good reason to want to send a message to Leonard Ingold to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘But we don’t think Adam had anything to do with the daughter going AWOL, do we?’ asked Colin.

  Grace felt as if the momentary pause, as she and Lance each waited for the other to speak, was lasting for ever.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Lance firmly. ‘My view is that a friend helped her, and she doesn’t want to get whoever it is into trouble. Just a bit of teenage drama.’


  ‘Pretty understandable,’ said Duncan.

  ‘Yes,’ Lance agreed.

  ‘OK,’ said Colin. ‘Let’s draw up an arrest plan for Adam Kirkby. We want search warrants for anywhere he might have stashed the rifle. And we don’t want anyone tipping off his father, so keep this nice and tight.’

  Dismissed, Grace followed Lance and Duncan out into the main office. When Lance hesitated and glanced back with a scowl of determination, she moved in front of him, blocking his way.

  ‘Wait!’ she mouthed.

  He shook his head and made to walk past her. She put her hands on his chest and pushed back. ‘Wait!’ she hissed. ‘Get Adam in custody first, then we’ll do the rest. I promise.’

  Duncan shot them a curious glance, and she forced a smile. ‘Feels like this one has been a long time coming, doesn’t it?’ she said to him, giving Lance another little shove towards his desk. To her relief, this time he went.

  She followed Duncan and as he sat down leaned on the back of his chair. ‘Do me a favour?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Check out if Adam Kirkby was working the night Peter Burnley was murdered.’

  Duncan looked up at her in surprise, his gaze immediately travelling past her to where Lance sat staring fiercely at his computer screen. She nodded. ‘Just between us for now, OK?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ His expression registered sympathy for Lance. ‘Don’t worry, boss. I’ll get straight on it.’

  Grace thanked him and went to her own desk, praying that Lance would get the answers he craved before he lost it completely.

  61

  Hilary Burnett began by apologizing that the media conference was running slightly late due to the delayed arrival of the two detectives from Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire. They now sat either side of Colin Pitman, all three trying not to look like cats with cream-covered whiskers as the photographers jostled to take their snaps. It was a good result, Ivo gave them that, but he was pretty certain that DI Fisher had done all the heavy lifting. Besides, he reckoned he deserved at least one little pat on the back himself.