Settled Blood

by Mari Hannah

  But Finch was curious. ‘Why do you want to see Mrs Partridge?’

  Daniels stepped forward. ‘It’s vital we speak to her. What do you mean “gone”?’

  ‘She resigned. After ten years, she suddenly ups and leaves! No explanation.’ Finch rolled his eyes. ‘My employees are a bloody ungrateful bunch sometimes. You’d have thought she’d have shown enough loyalty to work her notice at least.’

  ‘How long ago did she leave?’ Daniels asked.

  ‘Why do you need to know?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. How long?’

  ‘Twenty minutes, half an hour, no more than that. Assuming she hasn’t called a taxi, it’ll take her at least that long to walk to the village.’

  ‘Could she have taken the bus, sir?’ Gormley asked.

  Finch looked at his watch and shook his head. ‘No, she’ll have missed it. There’s only one an hour I believe, the next one’s due at twenty past. Jessica used to get it when—’

  He broke off as Gormley caught Daniels’ attention and tapped his watch. It was already five past twelve. They had time to catch up with Susan Makepeace, but they needed to move fast. Leaving Finch in the study, they practically ran back to Carmichael’s car and got in.

  ‘Step on it, Lisa,’ Daniels said.

  Carmichael drove away so quickly she sent plumes of dust high into the air as the gravel gave way beneath the tyres of her three series BMW, a car she’d recently acquired with money her aunt had given her. She shot down the drive, sending geese running for their lives. At the main gate, she turned right on to a Broad and floored the accelerator for about half a mile, slowing less than a minute later as she reached the outskirts of the village of Kirby Ayden.

  The BMW inched along, three pairs of eyes glued to pavements on either side of the road as they passed a row of quaint, olde worlde shops on the right: a tea room, a bakery, a newsagent, a barber shop sporting an old-fashioned red-and-white striped pole outside. No unisex salon here.

  ‘Pull in!’ Daniels said sharply.

  She waited for Carmichael to stop, then pointed across the road to a market with more visitors than any of them expected to see in a village this size. Individual stalls were selling anything and everything it was possible to cram on to half a dozen trestle tables pushed together in two parallel lines with a walkway in between.

  ‘There she is!’ Carmichael was pointing through the front windscreen.

  Straight ahead, Mrs Partridge was trudging along the street, head down, pulling a large bag on wheels. Carmichael checked her rear-view mirror, eased out on to the road and put her foot down.

  ‘Pull up short,’ Daniels said.

  Carmichael did just that and her boss jumped out.

  ‘Susan Makepeace?’ she yelled.

  The woman struggling with the bag on wheels stopped dead in her tracks. She didn’t try to run, just turned towards Daniels, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt. A couple she obviously knew approached her. Then, following her gaze, they hesitated a moment before walking by, deciding not to get involved.

  Sensible.

  ‘The photograph, Susan.’ Daniels held out her hand. ‘Where is it?’

  Susan Makepeace didn’t respond.

  ‘Here, let me take that from you.’ Carmichael took possession of the woman’s bag. ‘It must be heavy.’

  Susan Makepeace didn’t resist. She let it slip easily from her grasp.

  As the bag was searched, Daniels made a quiet plea for information as to Jessica’s whereabouts, playing the sympathy card at the same time. But her efforts were in vain; Susan Makepeace wasn’t listening. Carmichael found what she was looking for: the framed photograph the DCI had first seen in the kitchen of the Mansion House just six days earlier whilst her young DC was cramming her face full of home-made scones.

  Delving into her pocket, Daniels pulled out a second photograph, the one of Sally Makepeace and her father that she’d found a couple of hours ago in his psychiatric file. Placing the two side by side for comparison, she saw that they were identical, the only difference being that on Susan’s copy, the photo had been trimmed so that Jimmy Makepeace didn’t feature.

  A small group of inquisitive onlookers were now staring over in their direction from the market square. Daniels put Susan Makepeace in the rear of the BMW and climbed in next to her. The woman began to sob. Handing her a tissue to dry her eyes, Daniels nodded to Carmichael, who started the car and drove off at speed.

  ‘It’s over, Susan,’ Daniels said gently. ‘Jessica will die if we don’t find her soon. If you ever cared for her, you must tell us where she is.’

  ‘I don’t know, I swear. I’d tell you if I did. It can’t have been Jimmy. I’ve not seen or heard of him for years, but I know he’d never harm a child. He loved our Sally so much. He was a good man, a brilliant partner, in spite of his problems.’

  ‘He was, Susan. But he changed after Sally died, didn’t he?’

  The woman nodded.

  ‘He was ill. We all understand that,’ Daniels said softly.

  Susan Makepeace let out a heartbroken sob. ‘He was so unhappy. In the end, I couldn’t live with him any more. I changed my name so he wouldn’t find me. I know how it looks, but I had nothing to do with Jessica’s disappearance, you must believe me. We were so close. As I told you, she was like a daughter to me.’

  Gormley’s phone rang loud in the car.

  As he took the call, Susan Makepeace carried on talking.

  ‘My daughter died in my arms, Inspector. One minute she had a mild headache, the next she’d turned into a medical emergency. She didn’t have a chance. I know Jimmy blamed Mr Finch for not allowing him home, but it wasn’t his fault, really it wasn’t.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘As it turned out, he’d have been too late anyway. It was that quick.’

  A tale so desperate would normally have brought a lump to Daniels’ throat, except that the woman was lying through her back teeth. Or if she wasn’t now, she soon would be.

  The DCI played along. ‘It must’ve been a very difficult time for you both.’

  ‘When Sally was little, Jimmy was never there. He was down the pub with his mates. That’s the truth of it. And afterwards, well, let’s just say he projected his guilt on to Mr Finch because he couldn’t bear to live with it.’Susan Makepeace sighed loudly, seemingly a little calmer now. ‘No, Inspector. Mr Finch didn’t make him turn to drink. Jimmy had done that long before Sally got ill. He’ll never change.’

  ‘So why were you running away?’ There was no compassion in Daniels’ tone.

  ‘Brian told me what he’d told you, more or less confirmed what I’d been thinking for this past week or so. I couldn’t face Mr Finch after that. I’m sure you understand.’

  Clever answer. ‘Townsend knew who you were?’

  Susan Makepeace shook her head. ‘Nobody did.’

  ‘He was good mates with your husband, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Army buddies yes. We never saw them socially. At least, I didn’t.’

  Gormley twisted in his seat. ‘Boss, you need to hear this. It’s Robbo.’

  There was a message in Gormley’s eyes as he held the phone out to her: This is really important. Daniels apologized to Susan Makepeace. But the woman had already turned away and was staring blankly out of the side window as the countryside flashed by.

  Daniels lifted the phone to her ear.

  Robson sounded excited. ‘Someone rang Makepeace’s phone at around two a.m. I only discovered that ten minutes ago when I was taking possession of his property. It’s a number he calls regular.’

  ‘Do we know who?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s not on the system?’

  ‘Not registered either.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Daniels clicked her fingers. ‘Pen, please, Hank. On the dash.’

  Gormley grabbed the pen she was pointing at and handed it to her along with a scrap of paper he took from his pocket. Daniels went back to her call, writing down the number as Robson re
eled it off. She thanked him and hung up. Looking sideways, she stared at the back of Susan Makepeace’s head, wondering if she was on the level, almost sure she was not. The woman had her face pressed up against the window, looking out, and didn’t turn around when the phone call ended.

  Daniels still had Gormley’s phone. Catching his eye in the rear-view mirror she keyed the number she’d just written down and waited . . . Seconds later a phone rang in the car. Now Susan Makepeace turned around, her expression stone cold.

  She knew she’d been rumbled.

  81

  Contemplating her next move as the BMW sped northwards, Daniels felt bereft of energy. Another ‘no comment’ interview back at the station was more than she could bear to think about. Susan Makepeace sat quietly beside her, no longer the unassuming housekeeper. Something in her head had switched the minute she knew they were on to her, a malevolent smirk appearing on her lips that led the detectives to believe she would follow her ex-husband’s example and refuse to cooperate.

  Think, Kate! Get your act together.

  It was time to press some buttons, provoke a reaction. Daniels didn’t care how she got the information from Susan Makepeace, so long as she got it. Just then the car passed a sign – motorway service station, half a mile – which gave her an idea. Leaning forward in her seat, she tapped Carmichael on the shoulder.

  ‘Pull into the garage, will you, Lisa? Get me some water and twenty tabs.’

  Carmichael indicated her intention to exit the A1M. ‘The usual, boss?’

  ‘Please, I’m gagging for a smoke.’

  Feigning a yawn, Gormley looked at Carmichael. ‘I’ll come with you, I could do with some air and I need the cashpoint. My lass is going out on the hoy tonight with some lasses she went to school with. She’ll have my guts for garters if I come home empty-handed.’

  Daniels stifled the urge to grin, grateful that she had such an alert couple of detectives with her. Both Gormley and Carmichael had picked up on her ploy to get them out of the car. She hadn’t smoked in a long time and just wanted a private chat with the former Mrs Makepeace.

  Having cautioned and arrested her on suspicion of aiding and abetting an abduction, to question her before she was properly represented would constitute a technical breach of protocol. But it was a judgement call. Daniels was acting on instinct. Any court in the land would forgive such a small indiscretion. Her primary duty was and had always been to preserve life, protect the public, and keep the Queen’s peace. If she were being honest, right now it wasn’t the sovereign’s peace on her mind. It was the nasty piece of work sitting right next to her in the car.

  Carmichael slowed as she passed the familiar blue countdown markers to the start of the deceleration lane: three slashes . . . two . . . one. She left the motorway on the slip road. The service station was busy, parking at a premium, no spaces close to the shop and restaurant. There were fewer cars parked near the perimeter fence in a quiet spot overlooking open fields.

  Carmichael used her initiative and drove in that direction.

  Stopping the car, she killed the ignition and got out, taking her keys with her. Gormley followed, telling Daniels they wouldn’t be long. Susan Makepeace watched them go and then met the DCI’s gaze with a look of defiance. There it was again. That same malicious, mocking smirk that said: Can’t fool me, I know what you’re up to.

  ‘Where is she, Susan?’ Daniels saw no point in wasting precious time. ‘We know you’re involved now, so you may as well tell us. It’ll save us all a lot of aggravation back at the station. Your ex didn’t like it much last night, that’s for sure.’

  Susan Makepeace didn’t even flinch. Just sat there tight-lipped. She’d been a good-looking woman in her time. But the years had taken their toll, adding fine lines to her face, particularly around her mouth. She looked away as a car drew up alongside with a couple of kids in the back, a boy and a girl. The little girl smiled at her and received a weak smile in return. The chance encounter came at exactly the right time and was like manna from heaven to the DCI. She’d been due some luck. The girl was of similar age to Sally Makepeace at the time of her death.

  Daniels seized the moment. ‘Was it the stress of losing Sally that turned him, Susan?’

  Makepeace swung round. ‘Off the record?’

  ‘Of course,’ Daniels lied.

  ‘Do you believe in fate, Inspector?’

  ‘I think certain things happen for a reason, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘When I went to work for Finch I had absolutely no idea who he was.’ She hesitated. ‘I can see you don’t believe me, but it’s true all the same. In fact, everything I told you earlier was true. Finch wasn’t to blame for my daughter’s death and my Jimmy was a big drinker who couldn’t reconcile himself with his . . . his lack of interest in Sally when she was alive. By the way, I’ll deny everything if you repeat it. I won’t be saying anything in a formal interview. I know my rights. You can’t question me without a solicitor present, if I choose to have one. And I will have one. You can be sure of that.’

  ‘I’m not asking you anything, Susan.You’re telling me, aren’t you?’ The car next to them moved off again. The little girl in the back seat waved. Susan Makepeace didn’t wave back so Daniels did it for her, prompting further conversation, trying not to sound confrontational. ‘You were saying, Susan?’

  Makepeace studied her hands. ‘All the time we were separated, I still wore Jimmy’s rings. That was one of the first things he noticed when I bumped into him in Kirby Ayden about a month ago, quite by chance. He was very unhappy, said he wanted me back. Shortly afterwards he told me who Finch was. He asked me to help him teach the bastard a lesson. No, I’m wrong there. He begged me. Got down on his hands and knees and cried like a baby, he did. He promised not to harm Jess, though—’

  ‘That’s total bollocks and you know it. Jimmy left nothing to chance. He’d been watching Finch and planning his revenge down to the very last detail.’ Daniels ran a hand through her hair. ‘Jesus, he must’ve thought all his birthdays had come at once when he saw you! Make no mistake, he has harmed Jess, and killed another girl – all so he could have his revenge on your employer.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe what you like, it’s true. He used you, Susan. Played you like a fiddle, can’t you see that?’

  ‘He loved me.’

  Daniels thought for a moment. ‘He never told you he’d remarried, did he?’

  That one hit her hard, Daniels could see it in her eyes. Only the faintest flicker of emotion, but it was there nevertheless. And when vindictive people get hurt, their first reaction is to hurt back.

  ‘That’s clever, Detective Inspector, but it won’t work.’ The smirk returned. ‘I won’t tell you where he’s keeping her or where he’s living.’

  ‘He’s not.’ Daniels stuck the knife in, oh so gently. ‘Living, I mean.’

  Absolute silence.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I mention? Jimmy poisoned himself in the cells last night.’ Daniels waited for a reaction. None came. So she turned the knife, a little further this time, twisted it as it reached the woman’s heart. ‘He’s dead, Susan. That’s how much he cared about you. So, if you know where Jessica is, now’s the time to tell me. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in Durham’s notorious She Wing. That’s where they send all the pathetic women like you. Myra Hindley. Rose West. They were besotted with men too, for all the good it did them.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ Anger had taken over now.

  Daniels reached into her pocket and withdrew a photograph of Jimmy Makepeace, the official one taken in the cells following his suicide: vomit, snot ’n’ all. She handed it over and braced herself for the woman’s rage. Only she wasn’t quite quick enough. Screaming like a woman possessed, Susan Makepeace swung her left arm across the back seat, catching Daniels full in the face with the back of her hand, her diamond engagement ring embedding itself in her lip, splitting it wide open.

  It
stung like hell.

  Momentarily stunned, Daniels lifted her arm to fend off a second attempt. It never came. Susan Makepeace was struggling with the door now, trying to get out of the car. But Carmichael had been one step ahead; she’d had the good sense to put the child locks on. Daniels leapt across the seat, restrained the woman, forcing the snips on, making sure they were good and tight. She slumped back into her own seat just as the front passenger door opened and Gormley’s head appeared through it.

  ‘OK, boss?’ He pointed to the blood on her lip. ‘Been at the Jammy Dodgers again?’

  ‘Where’s the fucking fags?’ Daniels yelled.

  82

  Susan Makepeace refused to cooperate with Daniels after their tête-à-tête in the car, so Gormley and Carmichael were interviewing her instead. Not that it would do much good. She’d said fuck-all since arriving at the station and that’s the way it would stay, if DCI was any judge of character.

  Naylor ordered her to get herself checked out at the hospital then go home and get some rest. Well, she’d see about that. Sliding her arms into the shoulder straps of her back protector, fastening it with a belt around her waist, Daniels pulled on her leathers and went in search of her motorcycle with no intention whatsoever of stopping at A&E on the way home.

  Thankfully the seat wasn’t wet despite leaving her bike exposed to the elements all day. Pulling on her helmet, she winced as it squashed her cheeks together, pushing her fat lip forward and jamming it between the soft inner lining and the teeth she was grateful she still had. Then she pulled on her gloves, mounted the Yamaha, flipped her visor down and rode off out of the car park.

  As she turned on to the main road, she smiled to herself and waved at Naylor, who was, or so he thought, surreptitiously gazing down from his office window on the second floor making absolutely sure she’d left the station.