Without a Trace

by Mari Hannah

  Kate’s focus was outside of the car. No sign of Hank.

  ‘He hasn’t come back,’ she said.

  ‘He can handle himself. Give him time. If there had been an alternative, there’s no way you’d have sent him in alone—’

  ‘I didn’t. He volunteered.’

  ‘There you go then. I assume he made a good case for keeping you out of it?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Then what other choice did you have? You need to learn to trust him, and while you’re at it, trust your gut. As much as you might like to, you can’t protect everyone on your team. Hank is an experienced copper, a smooth talker with a sensible head on his shoulders. He’s doing the job he’s paid for, because he thinks it’s the right thing to do—’

  ‘He’s been gone fifteen minutes already.’ Tuning Jo out, Kate raised her binoculars, focusing on the gap in the chain-link fence, then the surrounding area, looking for a tiny speck of light that might give away one of Brian’s crew checking a mobile or lighting a cigarette. She detected no movement. All she could see was a malevolent darkness.

  ‘Kate, are you there?’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t—’

  ‘Understandable. You’ve had a stressful week.’

  ‘So has he—’

  ‘Granted, but he didn’t think he’d lost a loved one, did he? You’ve been to hell and back. It’ll take time to recover—’

  ‘Yeah, time I don’t have.’

  Jo didn’t reply.

  Kate shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She was doing it again. The job came first. Always had, and would continue to do so. There wasn’t a hope in hell of that changing. Of all the promises she’d made while Jo was missing, Kate was stuck in the same rut that had been pushing them apart for years. Whether their relationship could survive was still to be tested.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It came out as a whisper. ‘This is who I am—’

  ‘I know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  ‘Liar. You deserve better.’

  ‘Agreed, but I can’t help myself. I want you. No one else will do.’

  ‘Will you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’m crazy about you, you know that.’

  Her words made Kate want to weep. ‘I’ll make time for us when this case is over. We’ll throw a private party, down a bottle of red and dance till dawn. How’s that sound?’

  ‘Like a lot of fun. In the meantime, promise me you’ll think twice before making any important decisions. Don’t jump, that’s all I’m asking, unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ A beat of time. ‘Look, I won’t pretend I’m not self-interested. Of course I am, but if you step on Hank’s toes, he won’t thank you for it. Let him do this for you. You know he’s good for it. Clandestine meetings can go horribly wrong. You could be signing his death warrant, and yours, if you knee-jerk now.’

  61

  Somewhere outside of the car, a door creaked open. Whoever had exited the building didn’t move. The rusting corrugated warehouse was only about thirty yards away. There was no moon. Without night-vision equipment, Kate couldn’t see well enough to make an ID, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the figure moved closer, she recognised the gait of the man strolling towards her.

  She could breathe again.

  Yanking open the door, Hank climbed in, turned on the ignition and pulled away, explaining what had gone down inside as he drove. Kate listened attentively, occasionally checking her wing mirror. The road was so busy, it was impossible to tell if they were being followed, though the overwhelming feeling that she was under surveillance – that prickle at the base of her neck she’d experienced earlier in the day – was evaporating.

  She asked him to drop her off in Hounslow, about a quarter of a mile west of where she needed to be, telling him he could skirt the busy town centre on his way to the section house, avoiding the Saturday-night crowd. With Brian Allen and his cronies around, and no communication device, Hank wasn’t happy with her plan to walk the rest of the way.

  She was fairly sure they hadn’t been followed and told him so. She’d had her eyes glued to the slip road that led onto the motorway the whole time. For as long as it was visible in her wing mirror, only one car joined the M4 after them. If Brian and his crew were tailing them, they would have used half a dozen vehicles, maybe more, and would never have risked losing her. Then again, realistically, where could she go? The next exit off the motorway was miles away. If they were on her tail, knowing what car she was driving, there would be no rush. They could afford to give her a head start, then floor the accelerator in order to catch up.

  It hadn’t put Hank’s mind at rest …

  Hers either, now she’d thought it through.

  Checking his wing mirror, Hank indicated, then changed lanes, insisting that he drop her off at her flat or very close by. ‘Brian wasn’t joking when he threatened to come after you if I didn’t deliver his message.’

  ‘Well, you have, so stop carping—’

  ‘He doesn’t know that, does he?’

  ‘Bollocks! He knows we’re tight and, by extension, will have worked out that you wouldn’t keep something that important from me. He may be all sorts of things but he’s not stupid. You think he didn’t know that I was outside waiting for you? Did he try to drag me in there, kicking and screaming?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘But what? There can be only one reason for that, Hank. Think about it. Brian wants me to go to him willingly. He knows I won’t play ball if he employs any strong-arm tactics. That’s why he didn’t touch a hair on your head, and why he won’t make a move on me. It would be counter-productive.’

  ‘If you think so.’

  ‘I know so.’

  Hank fell silent.

  Kate eyed the Kevlar vest in the footwell. She’d insisted he wear it beneath his overcoat when he took off to meet the Glaswegian. It wouldn’t have helped if he’d taken a headshot. She shivered at the thought. There was little doubt that the rendezvous in the warehouse had disturbed Hank more than he was prepared to admit. It wasn’t every day you came face-to-face with a gunman who also happened to be the guy who’d saved your life. It was bound to have been stressful, stirring up emotions and memories he’d worked hard to forget.

  It was a chilly night, a slight breeze taking a degree or two off the temperature, a lot of people about as Kate made her way to her temporary digs. With Torres pushing for a meet, she had no choice but to take her request seriously, especially since she’d hinted at a possible lead herself. She wondered what was going on, if Homeland Security had caught a break their end and had new intelligence to share, or if there had been a significant development of a different kind, wind of a further terrorist strike on the horizon, perhaps. Kate couldn’t imagine that those responsible for the atrocity of 0113 would dare attack a second time with heightened security in place – but people with a cause rarely let that bother them.

  They had done it before; they could do it again.

  Trying not to second-guess what might lay ahead, good or bad, she had decided to make her way to Garcia’s hotel room after her half-shift in the morning. Not to turn up at work might raise a few eyebrows from management and crew when she was new in post, particularly when everyone was suspicious of everyone else.

  Crossing the road, she called Jo from a public call box to tell her that Hank was safe and to say all the things she hadn’t said from her car while waiting for him to emerge from the clandestine meeting with Brian. Exhaustion had caught up with her. She returned to her flat and slept well for the first time in a week.

  62

  Kate’s shift in the baggage shed flew by. She’d kept an eye out for anything that looked suspicious and got as close as she dared to the three guys whose names she’d passed on to Torres. Without her burner, any dialogue she picked up was committed to memory, no longer overheard by Garcia in the safety of his hotel room. He’d be furious. Tough. Changing priorities at short notice wasn’t unusual i
n their line of work. She couldn’t risk exposing Brian before finding out what information he had to give.

  She clocked off and left Heathrow, taking a bus to meet Garcia. He was stony-faced when he let her in, checking the corridor before closing the door and locking it.

  No words were exchanged.

  Fine – Kate wasn’t there for a friendly chat.

  He’d made it clear last time that their relationship was strictly business. She could only imagine that his negative mood was due to the fact that she hadn’t recorded her shift in the baggage shed that morning. He was avoiding eye contact, his jaw set like the blade of an axe, similar to the one she’d used to smash her burner to smithereens. If he was waiting for an apology for that – or not jumping the minute he’d asked to see her – he wouldn’t get one. Kate had been buying time, giving Hank the opportunity to carry out her instructions before taking on Torres.

  Maybe the SAC had been bending Garcia’s ear.

  Kate swung round as the adjoining door opened. She wasn’t expecting company and tried not to react, though internally her chin nearly hit the floor with a thump as the woman she’d been thinking about entered the room. Torres was around the same height as Kate, a little over six feet tall. Unlike her colleague, her expression was inscrutable.

  She eyeballed Garcia. ‘Clear the room.’

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  He was gone in a flash.

  Kate met the impenetrable gaze of the woman facing her, experienced enough to know that they were about to lock horns. Torres didn’t invite her to sit, and never took her eyes off the Northumbria detective. It wasn’t a glare. Glares required emotion. Torres had none. She had something on her mind she’d dole out when she was good and ready and not before. Temporarily off-guard, Kate’s head was spinning, thoughts that swung wildly between what she’d been up to in the past twenty-four hours and the task conferred on her by Homeland Security. It occurred to her that Torres was waiting to hear the lift go down, Garcia along with it.

  The elevator wasn’t far away.

  Summoning all the spirit she could muster, Kate eyed the shoulder holster strapped to Torres’s, chest, a reminder of the difference between them and how dangerous a case they were dealing with. To be carrying in the UK required special dispensation, though the special agent would still be subject to the same legal provisos and protocols of any British firearms officer, carefully negotiated by the United States agency and the British government. Her gun was as much a part of her as her upper limbs.

  To be unarmed, in any situation, was unthinkable.

  Torres hadn’t intended making a trip to London and had said as much. The fact that she had, Kate interpreted as suspicious. Either she’d identified a suspect from her own enquiries or the case had taken a different turn. Kate was intrigued, a gut feeling that Torres knew something she didn’t, a million scenarios rushing through her head. Had US intelligence dried up, stalling the investigation into the fate of 0113?

  Kate didn’t ask a question she’d never get an answer to, but whatever was bothering the special agent, it required her help. Why else would Torres waste her time in the UK?

  I won’t let you down, Gabriele.

  The eyes behind the tortoiseshell specs hadn’t blinked. ‘Let’s get one thing clear, Detective …’ Torres’s accent seemed thicker than it had over the secure link. ‘If you have a lead, I want it. If you have an informant, you disclose it.’

  ‘That would normally be the case—’

  ‘That is the case. Period. You have something for me?’

  Kate returned her gaze, a moment’s hesitation while she considered what was really going on here. Clearly, Torres had been talking to Garcia. Only yesterday, Kate had told her that she was bringing ‘cake’, a euphemism for new intelligence, but no names had been mentioned. By her calculation, it would have been around one thirty in New York then, time enough for the lead investigator to jump on a plane and get over here, but why would she travel three and a half thousand miles without specifics?

  Kate relaxed …

  She was in the driving seat, a fact that seemed to have passed her American counterpart by. Or had it? Torres stood in the centre of the room, a commanding presence, no visible signs of jet lag, which made Kate wonder if she’d been in the capital all along, perhaps working from the US Embassy. Kate had intended keeping her in the loop, but not before she’d had time to meet with Brian and investigate claims that might lead nowhere. If Torres had flown over to oversee the operation personally, it gave Kate pause for thought. Maybe Brian was holding a trump card after all.

  ‘You were made.’ Torres’s mobile left her hand like a missile.

  Kate caught it mid-air.

  As the SAC waited, Kate tapped the screen, shocked and embarrassed to find a photograph of herself and Jo outside the hotel at Minster Lovell. They were talking, not kissing – thankfully.

  Torres didn’t stand on ceremony. ‘Agent Garcia has the ability to follow anyone who isn’t taking note of who’s behind, someone so keen to reach their destination that they only have eyes front. That’s dangerous, the mistake of a third-grader.’

  ‘You’re right.’ There was no point bluffing. Kate should have, would have, spotted Garcia if she hadn’t been so distracted by thoughts of finding Jo. Failing to spot a tail made her look stupid. She’d been caught asleep on the job, and that wouldn’t play well with the woman facing her.

  Torres kept her voice level. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Not my lead, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Jo Soulsby.’

  Tipping her head on one side, Torres frowned. ‘The British profiler?’

  ‘Yeah, I found her … but then you already know that.’ After the desperation of the past week, Kate couldn’t believe she was saying that out loud. ‘Last-minute change of plan. She’s the luckiest woman alive.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  Coming from Torres, the word was drawn out, a ‘dj’ where the ‘t’ should’ve been. The special agent wasn’t praising Kate’s achievement in locating a member of the Northumbria team – a survivor of one of the worst atrocities in recent history; she was being disrespectful, a dig at the DCI for working off-book and failing to spot one man in a car – a rookie mistake she’d made a point of highlighting. Bearing in mind the hundreds of names that must have passed over Torres’s desk in the past few days, she’d been quick to recall Jo’s name.

  Kate would have to be quicker, smarter. ‘It seems you’ve had a wasted journey,’ she said.

  The eyes didn’t flicker. ‘Listen, I don’t give a flying fuck about you or your girlfriend—’

  ‘Good, because our relationship is none of your business.’

  ‘I made it my business. Whatever the circumstances, there’s no room for personal crusaders on my team—’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Kate said defiantly. Waverley had said the same thing to her, more or less. Bright, too, though he was her mentor – her guv’nor for as long as she’d been a police officer – so it didn’t sting quite as much. ‘You’d have done the same thing in my position—’

  ‘What concerns me is your inability to focus solely on 0113.’

  ‘My finding Jo has done nothing to compromise the case. I was state zero with time on my hands, and so was my 2ic. He was following orders.’

  ‘Shame you weren’t.’

  Dropping her gaze, Kate used her forefinger to flick left and right through Torres’s photographs. Had Garcia deployed a surveillance team there would have been more content there, hundreds of photographs taken in quick succession, not one or two. Looking up, Kate chanced her arm. ‘Did Agent Garcia stop for grub in Minster Lovell? I see no evidence here of what Hank and I got up to afterwards. It seems we lost him at around the same time as I destroyed the burner you supplied. Next time you decide on surveillance, perhaps you’d have the courtesy of giving me a heads-up.’

  Her flippancy had hit home.

  To
rres wasn’t used to backchat. ‘Where did you go afterwards?’

  ‘To meet an informant.’

  ‘Specifically.’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘You mean you won’t.’

  ‘You’re a busy woman. I was planning to make contact when I had something worth handing over. I haven’t spoken to him myself. I sent Hank in to protect my cover. Like most of my informants, this one won’t talk to anyone but me.’

  ‘I have three hundred and sixteen reasons why that doesn’t work for me, Detective. Apart from the fact that you and I should have carried out a risk assessment before Hank went in alone, I gave you a specific instruction, which you ignored.’

  ‘I might have a foot in the door. Have you?’

  For the first time since Kate entered the room, Torres looked away.

  ‘I’m taking this forward with or without your say-so, Gabriele. You want me to quit so you don’t have to fire me? Hey, if that would make things easier for you, say the word and I’m gone.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Torres knew she wouldn’t get an answer.

  The SAC would never divulge a source, any more than Kate would. Even so, she felt compelled to give her something. ‘He’s a man neither of us wants to mess with. He’s underworld, organised, in it for the money, not motivated by cause. Over and above that, I can confirm that he’s eluded the authorities for years. I have reason to believe that he can and will unlock the investigation into 0113. He wouldn’t have shown his hand if that were not the case.’

  Torres didn’t respond right away.

  She was deliberating, weighing up the pros and cons of using information from a UK felon, a balancing act for anyone in her position, making a judgement about Kate too, no doubt. Their endgame was to wrap up the case, using any means at their disposal, so what in God’s name was the woman waiting for?

  Kate gave her a nudge. ‘Don’t underestimate me, Gabriele, or my snout. On a scale of one to ten, he’s a ten. His people live in the shadowy space between freedom and incarceration, doing what they do best without a thought for the consequences. Criminals are standing in line waiting for a chance to work for him. He has the means to shut an operation down, up sticks and move on.’