The Murder Wall

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Have I, sir?’

  He sat back, hands behind his head, looking her up and down. ‘Weren’t you telling me that a relationship with a suspect in a murder enquiry is against the rules? What was it you said? A neglect of duty? An attempt to pervert the course of justice?’

  A flicker of a smile crossed Daniels’ lips.

  Martin glared at her.

  Bright shook his head – almost imperceptibly – warning her not to push it.

  ‘I’d like to help you out here, Daniels. I really would. But you seem to have an attitude problem bordering on insubordination . . .’ The ACC locked eyes with her. ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think, sir. I know,’ Daniels said. ‘You see, I actually have proof, whereas you have nothing more than a flimsy piece of paper from an anonymous source. I wouldn’t get the blue forms out just yet, because if I’m going down, then so are you.’

  He spent the next half-hour haranguing her, baiting her, trying to trip her up. Daniels stood her ground until he ran out of steam, incensed by her resolve. And in all the time she stood there taking it, Bright never said a word either for or against. But she felt his support, didn’t need telling whose side he was on.

  ‘Get her out of here!’ Martin yelled.

  Bright led Daniels out of the office, down the corridor and out into the fresh air.

  ‘You better get your shit together, Kate. He’s not finished with you yet – not by a long chalk.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less!’ Daniels kept walking.

  ‘That’s not true and you know it.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Jo went to prison because he wanted the enquiry to go away, and that’s the truth of it. What I’d like to know is, what’s he got on you?’

  Bright went quiet. As they reached her Toyota, the doors clunked open. They got in. Daniels started the car and drove off, stopping at the main entrance to enable the gate officer to check her vehicle’s security disc, then drove on as the barrier lifted and he waved her through.

  ‘I’m still angry with you for charging Jo without consulting me first,’ she said.

  ‘If you hadn’t gone AWOL—’

  ‘Yeah, well, now you know the reason for that. A: I never thought there was sufficient evidence. And B: Well, how could I interview her, guv? You can see my problem. And what Robson was doing during the enquiry, God only knows!’

  She turned right, heading towards Ponteland village, intending to pick up the A696, the fastest route back to the city.

  Bright tried to make amends. ‘Look, none of us can turn the clock back, so the best we can do is find Stephens’ killer—’

  ‘I think you should apologize to Jo first, don’t you?’

  ‘OK, I will. But she still lied about being in his flat!’

  ‘There’ll be an explanation for that, I’m sure.’

  At least, Daniels hoped there would . . .

  77

  They made good time and twenty-five minutes later Daniels parked the Toyota in her usual spot. On a mission to prove her point, she bypassed the incident room and went straight downstairs. She had one aim in mind as she pressed the bell for attention.

  The exhibits officer appeared at the counter almost immediately.

  ‘I need the evidence box for the Stephens enquiry, right away,’ Daniels said.

  He disappeared. Seconds later, he was back carrying a large box. He waited as she signed for the item, then he turned away.

  ‘No, can you stay? I want you to witness this.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Trust me,’ Daniels said. ‘I’m a detective.’

  The officer smiled, retraced his steps and leaned on the counter as she put on latex gloves. Taking an evidence bag from the box, she checked the reference number on the side before breaking the seal, then lifted an item free: an unremarkable, commonplace frame with a mounted photograph of Alan and Monica Stephens inside.

  Alan James Stephens. D’you know him?

  Gormley’s words reverberated round Daniels’ head. It was then she realized she’d seen the picture before, had looked at it in Stephens’ flat on the night he died, the photograph that had set off a chain of events too terrible to contemplate back then. Laying the frame face down on the counter, she opened up the back, discovering almost immediately that there was more than one photograph inside. With the officer looking over her shoulder, she used the very tips of her fingers to lift them out. There were two photographs, stuck together in one corner. She carefully teased them apart.

  The exhibits officer moved in even closer, intrigued at what they were about to find. Discarding the photograph of Alan and Monica, Daniels discovered another underneath, a pristine photograph of two little boys, most definitely Tom and James Stephens.

  Thanking the exhibits officer, she handed back the evidence and headed straight upstairs to Bright’s office. He was standing by the window looking rather sombre as she entered without knocking. He turned at the sound of the door opening and glanced at his watch.

  ‘Be quick, Kate,’ he said. ‘I only have a few minutes – Martin’s been inundated with calls and wants me back at headquarters.’

  She sat down. ‘Just so we’re clear, the exhibit you were so concerned about – the photograph with Jo’s prints on – is unsafe.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Forensics lifted a partial fingerprint from the back of the frame but found no corresponding thumb print on the front. Doesn’t that strike you as odd, if Jo had handled it?’ She glanced at Stella’s photograph on his desk. ‘May I, guv?’

  He nodded.

  Daniels leaned forward and feigned picking it up with her right hand without actually touching his most prized possession. ‘See what I’m getting at? I can’t prove it, but the way I figure it is this: Stephens took the frame from the marital home when he and Jo separated. When he lost touch with his sons, he reused the frame to hold a picture of Monica instead. You clean the glass, right? Who cleans the back?’ She paused – half expected him to rubbish her theory outright – but he just looked at her, coolly considering what she’d just told him. ‘He was a twat, guv. He was too tight to buy a new frame. He just put his new life on top of his old one.’

  ‘Faaantastic!’ Bright exhaled loudly. ‘That’s the one bit of hard evidence we have, the only reason I get to keep my job and my pension.’

  Despite his interference in her case, Daniels almost felt sorry for him then. Since Stella’s death he’d been looking rather ropey. He’d been drinking too much and she knew he was struggling to cope.

  ‘I appreciate that makes it difficult for you,’ she said. ‘But it might help your situation in the long run. Martin knows why you decided to charge Jo. But now he needs to placate her.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Bright noticed his car arriving outside. He held up a hand to his driver, letting him know he’d seen him, then turned his attention back to Daniels. ‘Even if you’re right, I’d like to know just how you think that helps my case with Martin. He’s just looking for an excuse to throw the book at me.’

  ‘Then admit we made a genuine mistake.’

  ‘We? Don’t you mean—’

  ‘This is no time to apportion blame, guv. I know Jo better than you do. If she sees we’re being transparent, she won’t make a fuss. Martin will be expecting a complaint as well as a long and protracted enquiry. If he sees you making an effort to avoid one, well, let’s put it this way, it can’t do you any harm. My guess is, Jo will want to move on with her life, just as you do, just as Martin does. I take it you won’t be opposing her return to work?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it, but no,’ Bright said. ‘It’s more a question of whether she still wants to collaborate with us, isn’t it?’

  78

  Bright was a proud man; man enough to do his own dirty work. His meeting with Martin had gone reasonably well. He knew that, because his warrant card was still in his pocket and the egg on his face felt a little less obvious.

  Dan
iels’ ploy had worked. The ACC had responded well to her damage-limitation strategy. Now all Bright had to do was to put things right with Jo. Pulling his notebook from his briefcase, he checked the address twice – 45 Kings Gate – and tapped gently on the door.

  At eye height, he was facing a tiny spyhole. He stood up straight, pushing back his shoulders in case anyone on the inside was checking him out. Seconds later, a dishevelled young man opened the door and leaned against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other. Despite the time of year, he was wearing just a T-shirt, ripped jeans and flip-flops. He had long unkempt hair and a lit cigarette hung from his mouth.

  Bright felt conspicuously disadvantaged. He had no way of knowing which one of Jo Soulsby’s sons he was looking at. He’d interviewed neither. He reached for his ID.

  ‘Mr Stephens?’

  A male voice yelled from inside the house. ‘Who is it?’

  James Stephens shouted over his shoulder. ‘Police!’ He turned to face Bright, sweeping hair from his handsome face. His voice hardened. ‘I assume that’s who you are?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Detective Superintendent Bright.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  James flicked what was left of his cigarette out into the street in an act of defiance. It flew right past Bright’s left ear before hitting the pavement beyond, sending sparks flying. A second man came to the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with the first. There was no doubting that they were brothers. All the same, Bright had to be sure. He couldn’t chance another cock-up.

  ‘You are James and Thomas Stephens?’ he asked.

  The two men glanced at one another.

  ‘Come to arrest someone who’s actually done something wrong?’ Tom mocked. ‘Or maybe you came to tell us the good news this time? Don’t bother, we already heard.’

  ‘Is your mother home?’ Bright asked.

  James snapped: ‘You’ve got a nerve!’

  He was about to shut the door when Jo Soulsby appeared behind him. She bristled when she saw who was standing on the threshold and quickly pulled her sons inside. Tom walked away without another word, but James stood his ground.

  ‘It’s OK, James,’ she said. Her son withdrew and went back inside. Then she turned her attention to Bright. ‘Something I can do for you, Superintendent?’

  ‘It seems I owe you an apology.’

  ‘I think that’s an understatement, don’t you?’

  Bright pulled a bottle of wine from his briefcase. ‘Peace offering. Can we talk?’

  They went inside. Bright sat down in the living room, his DCI’s suggestion to front up and take what was coming ringing in his ears. From the look on Jo Soulsby’s face, he doubted that even the most profound apology would put things right between them. He was prepared for a blasting, and it didn’t take long to arrive . . .

  ‘I don’t like you, Bright. You’re a bully.’

  ‘So you keep telling me.’

  ‘I detest bullies, even ones with their hearts in the right place.’

  He sensed that all was not lost. ‘If it’s any consolation, I understand how you must feel.’ He broke off as Jo’s eyebrows arched in amazement. The softly, softly approach clearly wasn’t working. ‘You’ve every justification—’

  ‘To complain? Damn right, I have.’

  ‘Oh, fuck it!’ Bright leaned forward, pulled an official-looking document from his briefcase and handed it over. He felt strangely relieved, having faced up to her, even though he suspected that the complaint form he’d just given her would be winging its way to the Chief Constable within the next twenty-four hours. ‘I never was any good at grovelling. Whatever action you decide to take is fine with me. But I want you to know, it wasn’t personal.’

  ‘Oh, it was personal, all right! Why don’t you have the balls to admit it?’ Jo glanced at the form and set it down on the table between them. ‘You’ve always resented my involvement in what you see as police business.’

  There seemed little hope of reconciliation now. Maybe too much water had gone under the bridge. Bright looked at the floor, suddenly gripped by mixed emotions. He wanted to hit back at her, yell at her, tell her he now had another reason to resent her. Finding out that she’d been where he wanted to be had knocked him sideways. How could he compete with a woman, for Christ’s sake? A relationship with Daniels was no longer an option for him and he was gutted by that thought. So much so, he was finding it hard to hide his hostility.

  Picking up on this, but not the underlying cause, Jo damn near bit his head off. ‘Trouble with you is, you’re blinkered, a dinosaur in the modern-day police service. If you woke up, you might realize that we, I, have a contribution to make. Together, we might even make a good team.’

  She had a point. Bright took her comments on the chin. She had every right to express her opinion and wasn’t the first to tell him he was territorial, set in his ways, resistant to change. Other formidable women had said as much, more than once, as he recalled – including Stella and Daniels. Sensing Jo’s anger subsiding, he chose his words carefully.

  ‘Well, now we’ve cleared the air, can we bury the hatchet and start again?’

  Jo sighed.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Bright wanted to explain away his negativity as healthy cynicism, but was worried he might antagonize her even further. ‘I hear what you say and I accept that I’m old school. Will you at least meet me halfway and accept that I was just doing my job?’

  ‘I know that.’ Jo sat back in her armchair, crossed her legs and met his gaze head-on. ‘I also know you’ve put away some evil bastards over the years. Kate Daniels says she owes . . . well, let’s just say she has a lot of time for you.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual,’ Bright said.

  79

  Daniels heard their murmurs before they realized she was there. Rumour has it heads are going to roll, I heard the guv’nor got a right bollocking from Martin . . . Bet the boss is bloody furious . . . Yeah, well watch out. What goes up usually comes down – and we all know what that means. Rather than alert them to her presence, she remained on the threshold of the MIR, watching her team getting ready for potentially the most serious case any of them had ever been involved in.

  Gormley was standing by the murder wall, carrying out her instructions to reinstate the Stephens enquiry so they could go back to the beginning and start the case afresh. Carmichael was diligently working away at her computer and Robson had his head down too, probably trying to blend into the background, given his spectacular and very public recent blunder. But Maxwell had his feet up, a mug of coffee in one hand, the Sun newspaper open on the desk in front of him – happy to carry on collecting the Queen’s shilling for as little work as possible. Infuriated, Daniels stormed over to him and ripped the paper away.

  ‘Right, I’ve had enough. Clear your desk!’ she said.

  ‘What?’ He didn’t think she was being serious, but it soon became apparent she was. Maxwell flushed, looking round the room for support. Found none. The rest of the squad simply turned their backs and got on with their work.

  ‘You heard. You’re off the squad, as of now. I can’t afford any passengers on my team, and you’ve been warned about your conduct often enough.’

  ‘I was having my bait!’

  ‘Do you see anyone else taking a break?’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ Maxwell protested.

  ‘I just did,’ Daniels said. ‘Now get your kit together and piss off.’

  ‘Boss, I—’

  ‘OUT!’

  As Maxwell scurried off, the eyes of MIT were on Daniels, wondering who would be next to feel the lash.

  ‘Lisa, I need that coat. Don’t come back until you find it.’

  Carmichael logged off, gathered her belongings and made a quick exit.

  ‘The rest of you, get back to work. And this time, do your jobs properly!’ She held a piece of paper aloft. ‘This is a list of urgent actions. Nobody goes home until they’re complete, understood?’ She scanned the room, fin
ding Robson. ‘Robbo, I’m replacing you as statement reader. I’d like to see you in my office as soon as you’ve finished whatever it is you’re doing.’

  Robson turned crimson, taken aback by the public humiliation. From the look on his face, he’d expected his dressing down to take place behind closed doors. Daniels scanned the room, could see that her decision was unpopular – the squad didn’t know where to look – but she had no intention of changing her mind. It was a hard lesson, but a vital one. It would act as a reminder to them all.

  ‘Well, what are you all waiting for?’ she yelled.

  She went back to her office and closed the door behind her. The euphoria she’d felt at Jo’s release had been short-lived. Jo had refused Daniels’ visit to the court cells while bail forms were being organized, and declined the offer of a lift home, opting instead to go with Oliver.

  Daniels was desperate to speak to her, but she still refused to take her calls.

  There was a gentle knock on the door and she beckoned Robson in. He looked anxious as he closed the door behind him and ‘assumed the position’ on the opposite side of her desk – hands behind his back, feet slightly apart.

  ‘I take it I don’t need to explain why I’m replacing you?’

  ‘No, boss. But if I could just say in my defence—’

  ‘Can I just stop you there? As far as I’m concerned, you have no defence.’ She glared at him. ‘How the hell could you miss such a vital piece of evidence, Robbo? It’s basic procedure! You wear a coat in the winter, don’t you?’

  Robson was perspiring badly: dark wet patches appearing around his armpits, a thin film of sweat visible on his brow. ‘Lots of lasses don’t, especially down the Quayside,’ he said lamely.

  ‘Don’t get flippant with me!’ Daniels snapped back. ‘This was a mature, affluent woman from Rotterdam, not some tart on the pull! You screwed up big style, and you know it!’

  ‘I understand why you’re angry—’

  ‘I very much doubt that.’