Settled Blood

by Mari Hannah

  Outside, police and civilian teams had stopped what they were doing and were maintaining search protocol, their ears pinned firmly to the ground, a call on the radio eventually breaking the silence.

  ‘TSG Leader to Weldon. Was that a definite shout, over?’

  Weldon looked up, two dozen pairs of eyes turned towards him.

  ‘Not sure,’ Weldon radioed back. ‘Could’ve sworn I heard tapping.’

  ‘TSG Leader to all units. Anyone else hear anything?’

  Several calls of negative came back. One smart arse said the only call he’d heard was one of nature and was told, in no uncertain terms, to fuck right off.

  They listened for a few seconds longer.

  Weldon shook his head. ‘Must’ve been the wind.’

  71

  Daniels drove back to the flying school with a sense of urgency, hoping Stewart Cole might know, or at least know of, Jimmy Makepeace. Brian Townsend had told her they were from the same unit and had left the forces at about the same time. Army regiments tended to be close-knit communities, so chances were high.

  Besides, she was due a lucky break.

  Right now, however, something more tangible than luck was forming in her brain. Last night, when Carmichael had shown them the flying club’s website, Daniels had noticed that there were four flying instructors. So far she’d only met two. Gormley had also picked up on this and they couldn’t wait to check it out. Pushing the button on her hands-free, leaving it on loudspeaker, Daniels called the incident room.

  The phone rang out several times before DS Robson picked up.

  ‘Robbo, you’ve got work to do. Contact Jo Soulsby and ask her to get to the MIR – within the hour, if that’s possible. I also want a full background check on a man called Jimmy Makepeace. Tell Lisa he’s ex-army, last known address Newton Aycliffe area. Tell her to drop everything else, I’ll explain later. And let Naylor know we’re definitely on to something. Tell him we’ll be back soon and ask him to stick around if he can.’

  ‘Consider it done. Anything else?’

  ‘I’ll let you know later. You any further forward with the tapes from Traffic?’

  ‘Yes we are . . .’ He sounded chuffed to be imparting good news for once. ‘A stolen Ford Escort was tailing Finch when he made the journey from his home to the mortuary. Problem is, we can’t make the driver. I’ve put a stop and search on it, but we’re probably wasting our time. Most likely it’ll be in the river or else burnt out somewhere.’

  Daniels thanked him and rang off. She made another call. This time, it was taken straight away, before it had even had a chance to ring out.

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Bright’s office.’

  ‘Ellen, it’s Kate. Is he in?’

  ‘Am I glad you called. He’s been like a bear with a sore head since you two last spoke. Sorry, no pun intended. What the hell did you say to him?’

  Daniels felt guilty for not calling Ellen before now to check on Bright, his medical status at least. It was true she’d been busy. But that wasn’t the reason.

  ‘Long story, Ellen. Is he there?’

  ‘I’ll put you through.’

  There was a short pause and a click on the line.

  Then Bright picked up. ‘Yes, Kate? Something I can do for you?’

  Daniels bypassed small talk and got right to the point. ‘Guv, when you were in Northern Ireland did you ever come across a soldier called Jimmy Makepeace?’

  ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘Townsend told us that he and Makepeace were in the same unit over there and that Finch was their CO. Knowing he was yours, I was hoping you might’ve known the name.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I’m a bit pushed for time, guv. Can you meet me at the MIR in about an hour? It’ll save me explaining myself twice over.’

  ‘You think it’s him?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  ‘You have a bad feeling about him. I can hear it in your voice.’

  ‘Let’s put it this way, guv, if he has any connection with the flying club then you can bet he also had access to the school register, the lot. He could easily have tampered with the flyer.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Finch about him?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s incommunicado.’

  ‘Speak to his driver. Ask him to come in.’

  Daniels turned off the main A1 at a sign pointing to Sunderland. Gormley suggested that Bright should be there when Adam Finch eventually came in and Daniels put that to him.

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ Bright said.

  There was an awkward moment of silence on the phone and in the car. Gormley glanced at Daniels, probably wondering which of his superiors would blink first. Daniels seemed lost for words and Bright wasn’t helping her out. It was the first time they had spoken since their confrontation at his home.

  ‘Give him a break,’ Gormley whispered.

  Daniels scowled at him.

  ‘Catch you later, guv.’ She rang off abruptly. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Someone with a bit of common sense, I guess.’ Fixing his eyes on the potholed road ahead, Gormley ignored her stare. ‘Is that the end of it then?’

  ‘The end of what?’

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘I’m still pissed with him, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘So, he’s no saint! Who the hell is?’

  Daniels didn’t answer. Slowing down, she turned left. As luck would have it, the barrier to the MAC Flying School was up and she didn’t have to stop. Cole’s Audi TT was still parked in the same spot. She pulled up alongside and cut the engine, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Wanna talk about it?’ Gormley said.

  ‘No, I bloody don’t.’

  ‘That’s what I love about you. You’re such a great communicator.’

  72

  Cole was not at the ground school so they went to the office instead. A young receptionist informed them that he wasn’t at the hangar either. She’d just come from there and had no idea where he was. Asking them to wait in Cole’s office, she offered to locate him.

  ‘He’s probably done a runner,’ Gormley said drily.

  Daniels glared at him. ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘Not over much.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno. Maybe for the same reason you do. Could it have something to do with his exceptional good looks? His toned physique? His thrill-seeking, shit-kicking lifestyle? His fuck-off job?’

  Daniels turned away smiling. Through the window she could see the receptionist walking briskly towards a small plane parked on the tarmac, a helicopter with the registration number G-1TWA standing next to it. Wondering if there were other flying schools affiliated to this one but working from the same premises, she sent Gormley out to investigate.

  When he’d gone, she glanced idly around Cole’s tidy office. There were no personal pictures on his desk but there were lots of souvenirs, including a paperweight bearing the emblem of the Canadian Air Force, a maple leaf in the sky with a vapour trail encircling it. Next to it sat a miniature Sopwith Camel biplane, the fuselage of which was actually a small box containing a pile of Cole’s business cards.

  Picking one out, she casually slipped it into her pocket.

  There was a storyboard on the wall, a photographic record of Cole’s exploits over the past ten years. Crossing the room to view it more closely, she observed that the images had been shot at recognizable landmarks all over the world: Ayers Rock, Great Wall of China, the Grand Canyon, to name but a few. Inevitably, a lot of the photographs featured the cockpits of aircraft, both fixed-wing and helicopter. In others, Cole stood beside various aircraft with his arm round the shoulders of other pilots, posing for the camera with a smile on his handsome face. And it was these that sent her heart rate up as she noted four men in total, one of them too old to have been Makepeace.

  But the other?

  Shit!

  The door behind squ
eaked as it opened.

  ‘Come and have a look at this, Hank,’ she said, without turning round.

  In the absence of further movement behind her, she turned. Stewart Cole was standing in the doorway, his hands and one cheek covered in engine oil, his flying suit a little grubbier than when they’d first met.

  He pointed at the storyboard. ‘That’s the best part of being a pilot, we tend to get around. I’ve had some amazing adventures in my time.’

  He was being friendly, not conceited. The fact that she was a police officer who might regard him with a certain amount of suspicion because of his past didn’t seem to affect his attitude towards her. Daniels didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to the man. All morning she’d found herself mulling over his question about rehabilitation, unable to shake it off.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Turning her back on Cole, she pointed to the older man in the photographs, a man with white hair and a winning smile, his eyes covered with wrap-around sunglasses, a man she estimated to be mid-to-late sixties.

  ‘That’s Mac,’ Cole made his way towards her. ‘Don’s father-in-law. The guy who founded the company. Sadly he’s no longer with us.’

  ‘And this?’ Daniels pointed at the fourth man.

  ‘Ex-army buddy of mine. He used to be one of our freelance instructors.’

  Daniels turned to face him. ‘Used to be?’

  ‘He left us around a month ago.’ Cole’s face grew serious as he picked up on her tension. ‘He hasn’t gone and done anything stupid, has he?’

  73

  It was gone five, later than expected, when they arrived back at the MIR. Bright and Naylor were both there waiting for news, ready to swing into action with a full murder investigation team and the promise of more resources if required. The atmosphere in the room was one of real hope and expectation: Carmichael, Brown, Robson, Maxwell, all keen to do their bit.

  ‘No Jo Soulsby?’ Daniels said, looking round.

  ‘Ladies’ room.’ Carmichael’s eyes looked past her. ‘Oh, speak of the devil.’

  Daniels turned round.

  Watching her former lover walk into her place of work had always been a little awkward, more so in the past few months because both Gormley and Bright had knowledge of their relationship. Even though they were now just colleagues, Daniels felt her temperature rise. She waited for Jo to take a seat, then turned her attention to the task in hand, the hastily arranged briefing.

  Cole had cooperated fully, providing vital background information on Jimmy Makepeace, his ex-army pal. Makepeace was a first-class pilot with special operations training who’d taught survival techniques in the military. Daniels was at pains to point out that he also fitted the profile Jo had given them: organized, methodical, a risk-taker . . .

  ‘. . . a good man, but highly volatile. Not switched right, according to Cole.’

  ‘Then that makes him very dangerous,’ Jo said.

  Robson said, ‘I guess that means we’re ruling out Cole.’

  ‘We’re ruling out no one,’ Daniels corrected him, although she didn’t really believe Cole had any direct connection to the murder case. ‘But Jimmy Makepeace has history with Finch and that gives him clear motive. The thing is . . .’ she hesitated, her eyes finding Jo, ‘. . . it’s been several years since he lost his daughter to meningitis. I’d have thought that was too long, if we’re talking revenge here.’

  ‘I’d have thought so too,’ Jo said. ‘But it’s not entirely beyond the bounds of possibility. The criminal mind isn’t that easy to predict.’

  ‘It wasn’t too long for Forster,’ Gormley reminded them. ‘Twisted bastard waited twenty years to exact his revenge.’

  Daniels felt an ache in her shoulder. She yearned for the day she could rid herself of the connection with the notorious serial killer. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Jonathan Forster’s name and hers were inextricably linked now, whether she liked it or not. Everyone she met, in and out of the job, wanted her to tell them what he was really like.

  Scum, that’s what.

  ‘Forster had no choice but to wait that long,’ Jo said. ‘He was incarcerated, don’t forget. He passed away his years inside planning his revenge on his mother.’

  Naylor was looking directly at Jo now, putting her right on the spot. ‘Is it possible that a traumatic event so far in the past could trigger violence in the here and now?’

  ‘Yes, but there has to be a flashpoint, something catastrophic that would send a sane person over the top.’

  ‘Like what?’

  As Jo began to explain, Daniels glanced at Bright. In the past he’d not seen eye to eye with Jo, despite her reputation as an exceptionally talented criminal profiler. His attitude to her job was belittling and Daniels was pleased to see that Naylor was including Jo in his plans as a full and valued member of the team.

  It boded well for the future.

  Carmichael raised her hand, apologizing for interrupting Jo mid-flow. ‘Makepeace lost his daughter – that sounds pretty catastrophic to me.’

  ‘Yes, but that was years ago.’

  ‘No it wasn’t! It was just last month.’

  The room descended into silence.

  ‘What do you mean, last month?’ Daniels said. ‘Sally Makepeace died in ’95!’

  ‘Different daughter,’ Carmichael said. ‘I spoke to neighbours at his last known address. Soon after they lost Sally, Makepeace split from his first wife, Susan. I’m still trying to trace her. The woman I spoke to said Susan stayed for a while but he left without saying goodbye to anyone. No one had an inkling he’d gone until months afterwards, not even his closest friends and neighbours. Then she ups and leaves the very same way, there one minute, gone the next . . .’

  Daniels opened her mouth to speak, but Carmichael was on a roll.

  ‘Since Makepeace wasn’t high-ranking ex-army like Finch, I figured he wouldn’t be particularly well off. In order to live he’d need money: social security if he was unemployed, a national insurance number if he wasn’t. Anyway, I tracked him down to an address in Sunderland and found out he remarried three years ago and had a child, Hattie. Sadly, she also died.’

  ‘Died how?’ Naylor asked.

  ‘Also of meningitis, believe it or not.’

  ‘There’s your trauma trigger,’ Jo said.

  ‘Brilliant work, Lisa!’

  The comment had come from Bright. He’d always had a soft spot for Carmichael and had taken a personal interest in her career. She was dependable and industrious and he’d make it his business to see that she progressed through the ranks.

  Daniels agreed with him.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Drop everything. I want a concerted effort to bring Makepeace in. Run a full background check: houses, haunts, vehicles, friends, family – whatever it takes. And I want it yesterday. I also want covert obs of the North Pennines search area overnight in case he turns up to move Jess again. I want a doctor standing by, briefed on her possible condition, should we find her, with full access to her med history, blood group, et cetera.’ Daniels paused, wondering if it was possible to requisition the police helicopter. ‘Can you sanction India 99 for our sole use, guv?’

  Bright and Naylor looked at each other in a moment of confusion.

  Everybody laughed, including the two of them.

  ‘She doesn’t want much, does she?’ Bright said, just as his mobile rang.

  There was a brief hiatus as he took the call.

  Pocketing the phone, he nodded to Daniels.

  ‘Adam’s here,’ he said.

  74

  They left the others and went downstairs to meet with Adam Finch, making polite conversation on the way, mainly about the enquiry but also about Bright’s recent health scare. The MRI had found no tumour or anything else that could have caused his violent headaches. He was no longer undergoing tests and his neurologist had signed him off, ordering him to take it easy.

  ‘Fat chance, eh?’ he said.

  It was the news D
aniels had been praying for. Not that there was any chance of Bright heeding the consultant’s advice. He picked up the pace, asking her to do the same, not wanting to keep his friend waiting. She caught up with him as he turned the corner, heading for reception.

  Her wry smile was beginning to irritate him.

  ‘OK, so you were right. Again. Christ Almighty, are you ever wrong?’

  It was nice to see the return of the grumpy bugger Daniels knew and loved. She was relieved that they’d faced one another after that awful row. They needed to pull together, now more than ever. Opening the door to a quiet room off reception, she stood back, allowing him to enter first.

  Adam Finch got to his feet and shook hands with them both. He was immaculately dressed in a charcoal-grey suit and a black tie as if he’d come from a funeral.

  A bad omen?

  Daniels hoped not.

  Finch looked tired and drawn, his dark clothing accentuating this. His hopeful expression faded as she shook her head slowly. As Senior Investigating Officer, it was down to her to take the lead. She asked him to sit down and took the only other available seat in the room, leaving the guv’nor standing.

  ‘We still haven’t found Jessica but we’ve made some huge strides forward today. Why didn’t you tell us about Jimmy Makepeace?’

  Finch went a ghostly white when he heard the name. He hung his head, struggling for composure and for words with which to respond. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. He said nothing.

  ‘That’s ex-Army Air Corps, Captain James Makepeace, in case you’re in any doubt.’ Daniels’ tone was deliberately harsh. ‘You were aware that his young daughter died?’

  It was more a statement than a question.

  Finch nodded. ‘He was like a man possessed when I refused his application for repatriation. The man was desperate. Now I know how he felt. But under the circumstances—’

  ‘I’m not interested in your justification, Mr Finch. I have only one goal and that is to find your daughter. Why didn’t you tell us this before?’