by Mari Hannah
Cynthia Beecham was far less happy. ‘Can I ask why you want to know?’
Gormley answered. ‘We believe he may be able to help us with our enquiries.’
‘Into what exactly? I need to know . . .’ Cynthia Beecham wasn’t about to be fobbed off by the vague answer she’d received. ‘Given you’re both detectives, I take it this is not a speeding offence. If it’s a serious matter, our company has a repu—’
‘It is a serious matter, Ms Beecham,’ Daniels cut in. ‘One that requires us to get a move on, so please answer our questions. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with the detail, not at this stage anyway. Is Harris here now?’
Cynthia Beecham looked at her watch. ‘He should be in the loading dock.’
‘You need to delay his departure without telling him why,’ Daniels said. ‘I have to speak to him now.’
Cynthia Beecham made the call. Then they made their way from the boardroom to the loading shed, a huge hangar-like structure sectioned off into areas marked alphabetically. In one corner, an elderly man was allocating work to three drivers, one of whom – according to Cynthia Beecham – was the man they had come to see.
None of them was Townsend.
Cynthia Beecham stopped short of the group. ‘Do you mind if I get him? He’s an excellent employee and I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt until you tell me otherwise.’
‘We’ll wait here,’ Daniels said.
‘Mark?’ The MD walked on, high heels clicking on the concrete floor. ‘Can I have a word?’
Harris turned round, his expression changing when he saw she was not alone. As she led him away from the others, Daniels couldn’t help notice his obvious discomfort. Cynthia Beecham took them across the yard to a side office: a small, window-less box. Mark Harris couldn’t look Daniels in the eye as his boss left the room, closing the door behind her, having given him the bad news.
Daniels came right to the point. ‘Do you know why we’re here?’
Harris shrugged. ‘I’ve got a bloody good idea.’
‘Tell us then.’ Gormley’s tone was harsh.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt her—’
His words hung in the air. Daniels felt sick and elated at the same time. The man had guilt written all over his face and she couldn’t wait to hear more.
‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Who didn’t you mean to hurt?’
Harris looked at the floor.
Gormley was getting impatient. ‘Mr Harris?’
Harris lifted his head. ‘Rachel, Rachel Somers.’
‘Where is she?’ Daniels fought hard to keep her temper in check. ‘What have you done with her?’
‘Nothing!’ Harris looked really worried. ‘Nothing, I promise you!’
‘We have a witness who saw her in your cab.’ Daniels eyeballed the man, letting him know he was in big trouble. ‘Nobody has seen or heard from her since. We think we know why.’
‘Then you’re a mile wrong,’ Harris snapped back. ‘I don’t know what she’s told you, but all I did was talk to her. That’s all, I swear. Then I dropped her in Durham on my way to Northallerton.’
‘Course you did.’ Gormley glared at him. ‘And we’re supposed to believe that?’
‘Believe what you like, it’s the truth!’ Harris suddenly became defensive, puffing out his chest like he was ready for a fight. ‘Hey, I don’t know what it is you think I’ve done, but I’m telling you nowt ’til I see a solicitor.’
‘Fine.’ Daniels cuffed him. ‘Hank, lock him up and get him in the car.’
35
The journey back to Newcastle was uncomfortable. It seemed to take for ever, but thankfully it was nearly over. Riley Archer’s information had been spot on. As far as Daniels was concerned he deserved a commendation and would get one from a judge eventually if she had anything to do with it, assuming the case ever reached a court of law. But that was still a long way off.
Glancing over her shoulder, she wondered if the man in the back seat was responsible for Amy Grainger’s death and Jessica’s disappearance. Not to mention Rachel. Her suspect had made absolutely no comment whatsoever since his arrest. Harris glared back at her from under the peak of his red cap. Not one word had passed his lips in over two hours and she was relieved when they finally turned into the station car park.
Gormley parked as close to the back door as he could. They got out and took their prisoner straight to the custody suite, booked him in and handed him over to the custody sergeant, who put him in a cell to await his solicitor.
Back in MIR, Daniels went directly to her office, picked up the phone and made arrangements for Harris’s fingerprint image to be entered into PNC database for comparison. Cynthia Beecham hadn’t argued about handing it over. Protected data could prove innocence as well as guilt, was how she’d put it. Daniels couldn’t argue with that. In the end, it drew a blank. Harris had no criminal record, not as much as a speeding ticket. With no time to dwell on that, the DCI lifted the telephone receiver to call Laura Somers. Rachel’s mother was anxious for news, understandable given the recent death of Amy Grainger. Updating her on developments, Daniels arranged for a family liaison officer to visit, hesitating when she heard a knock at the door.
She covered the speaker with her free hand.
Carmichael poked her head in. ‘Harris’s brief has arrived,’ she whispered.
Miming a thank you, Daniels went back to her call, apologizing to Mrs Somers for the interruption. ‘Has Rachel ever mentioned someone called Mark to you, now or in the past?’
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a short delay, some noise at the other end of the line, then Laura Somers was back. ‘Sorry, Inspector, I dropped something. Who is he?’
‘We have reason to believe that a man called Mark met with Rachel on Friday morning. I’ll be speaking to him shortly. I thought I’d run it by you first in case you knew anything about him. I’ll keep you informed if my enquiries come to anything.’
Daniels rang off.
Mark Harris and his brief were waiting in the interview room when she and Gormley walked in. The solicitor wasn’t known to them. He was relatively young, around thirty years old, very good-looking but with a deep red scar which ran from his hairline down his forehead and through his left eyebrow as if he’d recently had an argument with a car windscreen. Unless, Daniels thought, one of his clients had taken umbrage at his instructions. Either way, it looked painful.
Harris was sitting back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. A little smug, Daniels observed, but nervous too, if the perspiration on his brow was anything to go by. He looked right through her as if she wasn’t there. Noticing the exchange between accused and accuser, the brief quickly got to his feet and handed over his business card. He smiled broadly, trying his best to take the heat out of the situation.
‘I’m Alec Walton, Bradley, Walton and Associates. I’ll be acting for Mr Harris. I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘DCI Daniels.’ She pointed to her left. ‘My colleague, DS Gormley.’
They all sat down. Gormley turned on a recording device housed in a recess in the wall, reintroduced all four for the benefit of the tape, adding the time and date, reminding Harris he was still under caution and had been arrested on suspicion of the abduction of Rachel Somers.
‘Do you understand?’ he said.
The suspect sighed. ‘Yes.’
Daniels leaned her elbows on the table. ‘Would you please tell us where you were between eight a.m. and ten a.m. on the morning of Friday the seventh, and what exactly you were doing?’
Harris looked at his brief and received a nod in return. ‘I was at work.’
‘In what capacity?’ Gormley picked up his pen.
‘I work as an HGV driver for Conrad Couriers.’
‘Their head office being where exactly?’ Daniels asked.
‘On the Access 63 business park. It’s near Selby. You should know, you’ve already been there. Thanks to you, I’ll probably lose my job.’
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Daniels moved on. ‘What time did your shift begin?’
‘Four a.m. I had an early delivery to South Shields. Got there around six, dropped my load and grabbed some breakfast—’
‘Where?’ Gormley stopped making notes.
Harris’s brow creased. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a simple enough question.’ Daniels met his gaze across the table. ‘Where did you eat?’
‘In my cab.’
‘Packed it yourself, did you?’ Gormley asked.
‘No. I bought it from a mobile breakfast van.’
Daniels wanted more. ‘Which one?’
‘Lindisfarne roundabout. It’s one I use regularly. Lass called Sheila runs it, does an excellent fry-up, if you guys are ever interested.’ Harris grinned. ‘Ask her if you don’t believe me.’
‘Oh, we intend to,’ Gormley said. ‘First chance we get.
‘Did you meet anyone else while you were having breakfast?’ Daniels asked.
She watched for a reaction and got one. Harris’s grin had disappeared. She looked across the table at Alec Walton, wondering what advice he’d given his client, suspecting that she was about to encounter a stone wall. A ‘no comment’ interview was not what she needed right now. But Mark Harris surprised her.
‘I told you, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just . . . I wanted to talk to her.’
‘Rachel Somers?’
‘Yes.’
‘She met you at Sheila’s breakfast bar?’
Harris nodded.
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Daniels said. ‘Had you met before?’
‘Only in cyberspace.’ The grin was back.
Daniels bristled. The remark was more than irritating. Millions of people around the world had fallen foul of web fraudsters and conmen. Yet people continued to post personal information on social networking sites with total disregard to the consequences, some of which had been fatal.
‘I take it you mean the Internet?’ she said.
Another nod.
‘On which site?’ Gormley asked.
Harris hung his right arm over the back of his chair. ‘Facebook.’
Daniels waited for Gormley to stop scribbling. Harris was a cool customer. Either he hadn’t taken on board the seriousness of the situation or he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his meeting a girl half his age. But if that were so, why had he refused to speak to them without a solicitor present?
She moved on. ‘You told us earlier, you hadn’t meant to hurt her. What did you mean by that?’
Harris looked away.
‘Answer the DCI’s question.’ Alec Walton put a hand on his client’s arm. ‘It’s OK, Mark, you have nothing to hide. We discussed this.’
Harris was scared and it showed.
Walton looked at him.
But still he remained silent.
‘Could I have a few moments alone with my client?’ Walton said.
At such a critical point in the interview, Daniels was annoyed at the suggestion that they should take a break. Her suspect was beginning to lose his bottle and this was no time to take her eye off the ball. Refusing Alec Walton’s request, she said, ‘Earlier you told me that you dropped Rachel Somers in Durham, Mr Harris. What time was that exactly?’
‘No comment.’
The brief spoke next. ‘DCI Daniels, if I could just—’
But Daniels was on a roll. ‘How long have you been corresponding with Rachel on Facebook?’
‘No comment.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Daniels looked at her watch. ‘Interview terminated at 3.05 p.m. Mr Walton, there’s no point in you hanging around. This is a major investigation. We’ve got urgent enquiries to make outside of the area and time is of the essence. Your client is going to be lodged here until those enquiries are complete. If you wish to speak to him, see the custody officer. If he has anything more to say, I’ll be happy to listen. I don’t have time for this.’
36
Daniels hovered outside the interview room. She was experienced enough to recognize when an interviewee was ready to give up his secrets and, in her considered opinion, any further questioning of Harris at this time was unlikely to bear fruit.
‘Lodge him in the cells,’ she told Gormley. ‘He’s giving us fuck all. What time are we meeting Dave Weldon?’
‘An hour?’ Gormley checked his watch. ‘Actually, we’d better get a move on.’
They waited until the custody sergeant had taken charge of Harris. Then Daniels led Gormley out of the station and into the car park. They argued over whose car to take and finally tossed a coin. With a big smile on her face, Daniels unlocked her Toyota and got in – Gormley’s new toy would have to wait.
It was a lovely day, bright sunshine and a cloudless sky, and for that Daniels was grateful. A change in the weather might represent imminent danger to Jessica Finch if, as they suspected, she was being held underground. Unclipping her sunglasses from the visor above her head, Daniels put them on and moved off. They had been in the car about half an hour when her mobile rang, a number she didn’t recognize. She answered, leaving the phone on loudspeaker.
‘DCI Daniels, this is Alec Walton.’
‘What can I do for you, Mr Walton?’
‘I was hoping to catch you before you left the station. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of Mark Harris – or me, come to think of it. You should know he acted against my advice during questioning.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it. Next you’ll be telling me that he has a legitimate explanation for his contact with Rachel Somers.’
‘I assure you that is the case. He knows about your missing teenagers and he’s scared. Understandable, don’t you think?’
‘Or he’s as guilty as sin,’ Gormley muttered under his breath.
Daniels dug him in the ribs, lifting a finger to her lips to shut him up. He grinned at her, holding out a pack of gum. She shook her head. He took one for himself then put the packet back on the dash.
Changing down, Daniels negotiated a left hander.
‘Watch out!’ Gormley yelled.
Daniels braked sharply as two young females stepped off the pavement without looking, one with a mobile stuck to her ear, the other pushing a stroller with a newborn baby inside and a toddler riding a buggy board. The little boy was around three years old with the face of an angel and a mischievous expression in big brown eyes. He waved at her as they passed in front of the car and got a slap from his mother for letting go of the handle straps.
The DCI wanted to stop and give her a piece of her mind but didn’t have time.
‘DCI Daniels?’ Walton’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Depends, is Harris ready to talk?’
‘Ready might be a bit too strong a word—’
‘Listen to me, Mr Walton. If your client is going to front up and tell me the truth I’ll happily come back and interview him. I’ve got two missing girls and a dead one. So if he’s going to piss me about, he’ll have a long wait. By all means relay that message to him and in the meantime the custody sergeant will review his detention.’
Walton didn’t respond.
‘I’ll wait to hear from you then.’ Daniels ended the call abruptly.
‘That went well.’ Gormley grinned. ‘It’s not like you to be so arsy.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m a bit sick of being messed around, Hank. A life is at stake – two potentially – and time-wasting bastards like Harris make my blood boil. He can wait now until I’m good and ready.’
‘You think he’s our man?’
‘He’s hiding something.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘Could we be that lucky? I honestly don’t know if he is or not.’
They drove on in silence until they reached a signpost: A689 Nenthead and Killhope. Daniels followed it, joining a minor road, very narrow in parts. As they travelled further still, the atmosphere both inside the car and out became heavy and the sunshine
disappeared. Daniels looked up at the sky. A huge black mass of cloud had formed up ahead.
‘Don’t think I’m going to need these any more.’ Taking off her shades, she hung them over the visor.
Gormley didn’t answer. He’d fallen asleep.
As Daniels drove on, the landscape changed. Rolling hills and valleys were replaced by wilder and more rugged terrain. Snow poles flashed by on either side of the road, testament to the extreme conditions encountered there in winter. And suddenly there was a crack of thunder so loud it damn near shook the Toyota from its chassis.
Gormley snorted, waking with a start.
Daniels switched on the wipers as the heavens opened. But even at full pelt they were hardly able to cope with the water raining down on them. Gormley yawned. Leaning forward, he peered through the windscreen at the sight of lights ahead. A cluster of vehicles – all Land Rover Defenders – were parked off the road about half a mile away. Daniels drove towards them, eventually pulling up alongside. Each vehicle bore the logo of the North Pennines Fell Rescue.
Someone they couldn’t identify waved through the steamed-up window of the lead vehicle. He leapt out and ran to the rear of the Toyota, water pouring off him as he opened the rear door and climbed in. Weldon was wearing waterproof combat pants, a red cagoule with the hood pulled tight around his face and a white safety helmet protruding from beneath.
His expression was grave as the hood came off.
Pulling down the heavy zip of his cagoule he revealed a whistle, a GPS and a pair of binoculars round his neck. The latter he handed to Daniels, her side window being the least exposed to the driving rain. Lifting them to her eyes, she brought them into focus. Panning the landscape, her morale took a dive. The rough ground she was looking at was dotted with shaft mounds, spoil heaps and old mine workings as far as the eye could see. Worse still, gentle streams were forming into raging torrents of white water, splashing and bubbling all over the place. Just what she didn’t need.