by Mari Hannah
‘Have it your own way,’ she said. ‘Hank and I will assist until my leave starts. If you like I could interview our finder, Tom Orde—’
‘I don’t think so.’ Atkins cut across her.
‘You have another suggestion?’ she asked.
‘I’m not working with you. Period. I pick my own team.’
‘Eh?’ Hank took a step forward. ‘This is a joke, right?’
Without moving his head, Atkins’ eyes shifted to Hank. ‘Was I talking to you?’
Kate kept her expression inscrutable.
Hank was incensed. There was nothing she could do or say that would stop him speaking out. ‘Do you have any idea how much experience we have in murder investigation, sir?’ He made his last word sound like an insult. ‘Because if you have a problem with my DCI, I think we should get it out in the open, so we all know where we stand. Don’t you?’
Atkins didn’t answer.
He didn’t give a shit what Hank thought.
Grant didn’t know where to put himself. He was staring at Kate, expecting her to explode. It would be hard to miss the simmering hatred passing between the two senior officers. For her part, Kate had known perfectly well what was coming. It was useless trying to reason with an illogical man. The stand-off didn’t last long. Turning her attention to the two detective sergeants, she asked them politely to leave the room.
4
Seconds out, round two.
Kate waited until the door closed before turning to face her adversary. ‘I know respect for women isn’t high on your agenda, but I’d be careful if I were you, Atkins. Whatever your personal feelings for me, I don’t appreciate being undermined in front of my DS, not by you or anyone. As you witnessed, Hank has a tendency to take insults personally. He’s very protective. Gallant even. Things might get out of hand.’
‘That would be a real shame—’
‘For you maybe. I’m afraid I couldn’t guarantee your safety.’
‘Assaulting a senior officer is a serious breach of regulations—’
‘Well, when it comes to violence, you’d know.’
He laughed in her face. ‘I’m quaking in my boots.’
It had been a long time since they last worked together, but she’d never forget the way he’d made her life impossible. As her immediate boss, he’d sent all the shit her way. Every detail no one volunteered for landed in her lap. He’d shafted her at every turn. Made sure she was dispatched to all the dangerous areas when, spookily, the crew was under strength and there was no one available to double up.
Do it, or I’ll get a man to do it for you!
His sickening mantra had been the thing that drove her on. Working alone, she’d kept her wits about her, ensuring that his actions had the opposite effect to the one he was seeking. The tighter he turned the screw, the more fine-tuned her senses became to danger. His unjust treatment of her only served to earn her extra respect – it galvanized her colleagues into supporting her. Atkins was openly prejudicial. There was no subtlety in his malice. Everyone could see what he was doing.
It didn’t break her then . . .
It wouldn’t now.
Kate glanced at her watch. ‘I haven’t got time for your stupid games. Take my advice and pick fights you can win. Your secondment to MIT is temporary. It won’t be made permanent if I have my way. We’re a close-knit crew. We work as one or not at all.’
‘How will I sleep?’
‘How do you sleep?’
‘Perfectly well, actually.’ He was still grinning.
‘I’m warning you, Atkins: unlike your long-suffering ex-wife, I won’t tolerate your bullshit. I’ve got news for you: 1993 was a long time ago. I’m not a kid any more.’
‘Is there a point to this?’
‘There is and you’d better take note of it. You’re already a pariah in this force. It wouldn’t do your career any good if a certain item was to fall into the wrong hands now, would it?’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘You sure of that?’
He wasn’t or he’d have come up with a response.
Kate savoured her advantage. ‘Even without that happening, there’s not much further to drop before you hit rock bottom. Oh, I forgot: you reached the basement years ago. How is it down there?’
He pointed an index finger at her. ‘When I decide to come for you, Daniels – and I will – you won’t know what hit you.’
‘And to think I once looked up to you.’ As he glared at her, she turned on her heel, sauntered to the door and calmly let herself out.
In the incident room, the team was waiting – with bated breath – to hear the result of her battle with Atkins. As Kate entered the room, Hank got up and walked towards her, his face a picture of indignation. Never in his career had he been so close to lamping a senior officer.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Are you?’ Kate’s smile reached her eyes, pushing away her distress. She acted calm, but her stomach was in knots as a result of the exchange. She’d thought, wrongly, that her days of having to deal with Atkins were over. Some years ago her former boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright – currently head of CID – had assured her that their paths would never cross again. And, so far, they hadn’t. He’d approved Atkins’ attachment to the department as a last resort, giving her the heads up that he wouldn’t arrive until she’d gone on leave. Wise to that fact, Atkins obviously had other ideas. Checking his roster as soon as she got back to the office, she’d found out, via friends in admin, that he’d cancelled his own days off at short notice. There was no doubt in her mind. He’d done it to ensure that her last few days at work were unpleasant, if not intolerable.
Another smile directed at her loyal DS. ‘You’re such a softie, Hank.’
‘The guy’s a complete prick!’ he said. ‘Did you challenge him?’
‘And say what? You heard him. It’s his case. Let him get on with it.’ Picking up her coat, she slung it over her arm and turned to face the squad. ‘Keep up the good work, everyone. Hank and I will be out of touch for a couple of hours. We’ll review progress when we return – whether the SIO likes it or not.’
The team accepted that as a victory speech.
Hank still wouldn’t let it go. Yanking his jacket from his chair, he put it on and ran to catch up with her as she strode towards the exit. ‘Who the hell does he think he is?’ he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. ‘Naylor will go spare.’
‘No.’ Kate stopped walking and turned towards him. ‘Put that away and leave the guv’nor out of this.’
‘And let the tosser get away with it?’
‘Did you hear a word I said?’ Her tone was harder than before. She lowered her voice a touch. ‘I can fight my own corner, Hank. I don’t need – or want – your interference. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal.’ Backing off, he put his phone away.
‘Thank you. Now stop sulking and come with me. We’ve work to do.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Alwinton.’
His smile was a thin disguise. Kate hadn’t heard the last word on the subject of Atkins. Not by a long chalk. Hank saw himself as her minder. He’d do anything she asked except lie down and let Atkins walk all over her. Not a chance. Trouble was brewing.
They used her car. His was an old banger, unreliable. Kate preferred to ride in comfort, with the benefit of technology, all-weather tyres and windscreen wipers that actually worked. Now autumn was here, conditions could turn nasty in seconds where they were going.
You won’t know what hit you.
The threat played on her mind as she drove out of the station. Until she went on leave, she’d have to watch her back. Like a lot of angry men, Atkins was an unknown quantity, unpredictable in the extreme. All the more worrying to think that he was in a position of authority.
To hell with him.
Kate pushed the thought away as something even more worrying edged its way into her head. She’d noticed Hank rubbing h
is healing chest wound with the palm of his right hand.
‘When were you going to tell me?’ she asked.
‘Eh?’ He swivelled in his seat to face her. ‘Tell you what?’
‘That you’re still having problems.’
‘Am I?’ Butter wouldn’t melt.
‘Do I look like a fool to you?’ She nodded at his chest region. ‘Still giving you gyp, is it?’
Taking his hand away, he shoved it deep into his trouser pocket. ‘It’s temporary. Residual stiffness in my shoulder. Nowt to worry about . . . and no need to go off on one.’
‘It’s my job to go off on one. You’re my responsibility. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t take care of you? I could—’ She stopped talking as a car came round the bend in the middle of the road. Checking her rear-view mirror, she maintained her position, making the driver slow down.
‘You could what?’ Hank asked as the two cars passed each other.
‘I could make a call and tell the powers that be that you’re unfit for duty.’
‘Fill your boots,’ he said. ‘Can I see the nice nurse at HQ – the one with the great legs?’
Kate laughed.
Hank had a penchant for a pretty face, especially, though not exclusively, when the rest of the body was wearing a nurse’s uniform. His wife was a theatre sister at the RVI. ‘That sounded really pervy,’ she said. ‘Like a Maxwell comment.’ Hank gave a pantomime wince at being compared to the office Lothario. ‘I’m serious, Hank. You need to take care—’
‘I’m fine!’
‘Would you tell me if you weren’t?’
‘I’m not sleeping well, that’s all.’
‘They’re called night terrors.’
‘What?’ It came out like an exclamation. Hank shook his head, irked by the suggestion that he wasn’t coping. ‘“Night terrors?”’ he repeated. ‘Is that what Jo calls them? I call them wank words. Pardon the expression.’
Kate wasn’t allowing him to laugh it off. ‘They’re perfectly normal after what you’ve been through.’
‘Bollocks. I’m just a bit restless.’
She sang her riposte. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
He followed suit: ‘It doesn’t deserve an answer.’
Dropping the subject, Kate drove on. She didn’t want to pry and was hoping he’d confide in her eventually. Next time she looked, he’d shut his eyes. He wasn’t asleep. Unusual for him. His ability to drop off in the car, no matter what sort of crime they were dealing with, was common knowledge. Nothing separated him from forty winks. A few miles on and he could bear the silence no longer.
‘My problems are nothing to do with work,’ he protested. ‘If you must know, Ryan failed his exams. Ring Julie if you don’t believe me. The upshot is, our highly intelligent son doesn’t have the grades to get him into the University of St Andrews or anywhere else decent. He’s blown it, Kate.’
Whatever Hank was hiding was prompting him to share family matters he’d ordinarily keep to himself. It was possible that he was telling the truth about Ryan, but Kate sensed there was more to it. For now, and for reasons known only to him, he was unwilling to share the extent of his problems. She’d have to wait it out.
She indulged him by playing along. ‘Did you try clearing?’
‘There’s nothing there for him. He left it too bloody late to do the hard yards. Now the daft sod is sulking for England and upsetting his mum. I’ve been laying the law down, that’s all.’
‘And he doesn’t like it.’
‘Any more than I do.’ He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. ‘He’ll get over it and so will I. Julie, on the other hand . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
Kate let it go, positive in her own mind that he wasn’t being straight with her. Earlier that morning, shortly after she arrived at the crime scene, someone had discharged a firearm nearby. The shot came out of the mist, echoing all around them. It was most likely just a farmer out rabbiting, but Hank had practically fallen to the ground in shock. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid; the fact it had shaken him up worried her. In a moment of madness she’d threatened to cancel her leave, only agreeing to go when he promised to take it easy. There was as much chance of that as there was of her making chief in a culture where less than 3 per cent of officers above the rank of superintendent were women.
Hank was still mumbling to himself, denying any health problems, making out he was as fit as a flea. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Jules to give me a rub down when I get home. How’s that?’
‘Sounds like it’ll have to do.’
‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘I might be under par but I could still give Atkins a poke if he gets out of hand. Say the word and I’m on it.’
She turned her head. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
They fell silent.
As miles and miles of stunning countryside rolled by, Kate felt his agitation grow. Not one to forgive or forget if anyone upset her, she knew he was going to hate working under a new SIO, especially one as objectionable as Atkins. Hank was close to Kate. Gunshot injury or not, Atkins would make it his business to pile on the pressure, just to make a point. The man was an arse.
As if he’d read her mind, Hank cut into her thoughts:
‘Why do I get the impression that you’re holding back on Atkins?’
She glanced sideways. ‘So you can keep secrets and I have to tell all? That’s not how it works.’
‘I’m serious, what the hell is eating you?’
‘How long have we known each other?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘You should know that I only ever discuss individuals who are important to me. Atkins isn’t one of them. Take my advice and let the matter drop.’ She indicated, turning off the A696 towards the Northumberland National Park. Sensing that Hank was about to ignore the warning, Kate changed the subject with a comment that stopped him in his tracks: ‘By the way, I was at Alwinton Show yesterday . . . and so was the victim.’
‘What? Why didn’t you tell Atkins?’
‘He didn’t ask.’
5
Beth Casey was hyperventilating as she drove her Fiat 500 deep into Border Reivers country. In such a vast area, even kids her age needed cars to get about. Like mobile phone signals, public transport was patchy and unreliable. She’d taken her driving test within weeks of her seventeenth birthday, passing with flying colours at the first time of asking, an achievement she was immensely proud of.
Not so her father . . .
Firmly of the opinion that she was too young and vulnerable to be driving on country lanes at night, it gave him another reason to moan. Was he mad? Her new-found mobility had made everything so much easier for everyone. Now she was no longer dependent on him for lifts, they saw less of each other and that suited her fine.
Three quarters of an hour later, she pulled gently to the kerb and sat in the car, staring up at the windows of Wansbeck General Hospital, the pictures on her dad’s computer forcing their way into her head. Was Elliott here, she wondered, lying on a slab, being cut to pieces, having his organs weighed?
She shivered at the thought, a wave of nausea hitting her again.
She hadn’t questioned her father about the photographs on his computer because he’d forbidden her to touch it. Even if she’d tried to explain that she’d only done so in order to put the bloody thing to sleep and save his battery, he’d have made an issue of it. How could she have known that the email would open up in front of her?
The pictures were hideous . . . It couldn’t be Elliott . . .
It couldn’t . . .
It was.
Climbing from the car, Beth didn’t bother to pay at the machine. She’d left her dad’s house in such a hurry she’d forgotten to put her purse in her pocket. A parking ticket was the least of her concerns. In any case, any fine would be sent to her mum’s address. He’d never see it.
The oncolo
gy unit was heaving, as usual. The stench of disinfectant, chemicals and death seemed to permeate her clothes the minute she stepped through the door. Even though she’d wash as soon as she got home, Beth knew it would stick to her skin for days. It always did.
Visitors hurried down corridors, pale and concerned – like her. Patients shuffled along, hanging onto mobile drips, limbs stick thin, skin all dry and scaly, eyes hollow, expressions haunted. It seemed as if everyone in the world had cancer in some form or another. If she was ever unfortunate enough to contract the disease – she’d been advised that she had increased risk – she’d rock herself off rather than rot away slowly with family standing around making ridiculous statements: You’re going to beat this, you are, you’ll be out of here in no time.
Gimme the means and I’ll finish it. That’s what she’d be saying. Even without cancer, the thought had crossed her mind. Guiltily, she thought about the pills in her bag.
‘Hi, Mum, how are you today?’
‘Better.’ Diane Casey smiled.
Liar.
Beth hated the pretence. She offered some in return, keeping her tone upbeat. A BAFTA performance that was killing her. ‘I’m an idiot,’ she said. ‘Forgot your orange juice. It’s in dad’s fridge. If you have any cash I’ll go to the shop and get some, a newspaper too if you’d like one. Some fruit maybe?’
Any excuse to get out of there.
Beth stopped talking as her mum’s eyes strayed past her, searching the nurses’ station beyond to see if her dad was following on behind. Why she still cared was beyond Beth. They hadn’t been an item for years. Apart from an odd flashback here and there, she couldn’t remember the three of them living together as a family. Her father only began to take notice at the point of diagnosis, a good dose of Catholic guilt compelling him to visit now and then when he was kicking his heels with nothing better to do.
‘What’s wrong?’ The question jolted Beth from her trance.
She looked at her mum. ‘Sorry?’