by Mari Hannah
Kate didn’t understand.
‘Repetition,’ the sergeant explained. ‘Then the gloves are off. Agreed?’
Kate nodded. They later signed, timed and dated the notes and said no more about it.
‘That wasn’t the end of it,’ Kate said. ‘Atkins began a vendetta, making life impossible for me. My shift got suspicious. They questioned me. I never said a word. My best ally on the shift was David Reynolds.’ Hank knew him well. He was a good man, an excellent colleague. ‘He pressed me on it, took me to one side, asked what was going on. I lied. The words were out of my mouth before I had time to breathe. What else could I say? Atkins had threatened to reveal what he called my “dirty little secret” if I said a word. I had no inkling that it wouldn’t be the only head-to-head we were destined to have.’
‘The domestic at his house?’
Kate nodded. ‘You know the rest.’
Hank put a hand on hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Kate wasn’t: she’d finally been straight with him.
‘The old sergeant I told you about is dead now,’ she said. ‘Atkins probably thinks he’s home and hosed, that he’s got away with it. I can think of no other reason why he went for me in the incident room. What he doesn’t know is, my fairy godmother gave the notes to me when she retired. I could have used them on the night I was called out to his home, but Diane begged me not to report him. I’m going to use them now, though. He has to be stopped.’
56
Kate couldn’t remember resting her head in the crook of her arm and shutting her eyes. She must’ve dropped off in seconds and would have remained asleep, had it not been for footfall on the other side of her office door echoing from the empty incident room beyond. It seemed vague and far away. Try as she might to lift her head from the desk, she couldn’t. Her eyelids felt like lead, the need for sleep dragging her down to a warm safe place where murder couldn’t reach her and relationships were simple. It was the tap-tapping on her office door that startled her, a familiar voice jolting her awake.
‘Good evening!’ it said.
The voice was female. Loud and boisterous. It had come from someone who had no business sounding so energetic after the shift she’d put in. Kate raised her head, blinking her eyes open, picking sweaty strands of hair from her forehead.
Pathologist Su Morrissey was standing on the other side of her desk, slightly ill at ease, a manila folder in her hand. She looked for all the world as if she was on her way to work, not on the way home. Kate, on the other hand, found that five minutes’ shut-eye had done little to refresh her or improve on her mood.
‘I have a raging headache,’ she said, apologizing for having nodded off. ‘I’ve been getting a lot of them lately.’
‘Well, don’t let them go on too long before you see a physician.’
‘Thanks for the advice. A bit of stress, that’s all.’
‘Ah, the silent killer.’ Su raised one eyebrow. ‘That’s tricky for someone like me. Give me stab wounds, blunt-force trauma, matted blood anytime. I was on my way home and took a short detour to drop this off. One post-mortem report, as requested – signed off by Tim. Sorry it’s late.’
The report hit Kate’s desk with a solid thump.
‘Thanks for the hand-delivery,’ she said. ‘I might have been here when the cleaner arrived in the morning had you not called in.’ She nodded towards the report. ‘Does it contain anything I don’t already know?’
‘See for yourself.’ Su pointed at the chair. ‘Can I sit? I’m not as tired as you, but I’ve been on my feet all day and they’re killing me.’
‘Be my guest. You want coffee?’
‘At this hour?’ The pathologist’s eyes found the wall clock. ‘You detectives never learn. I’ll pass, thanks. Never drink the stuff after midday. Don’t let me stop you though.’
‘Water?’
She shook her head.
Kate grabbed a bottle from her bottom drawer. Taking the top off, she tipped the liquid into her mouth, wiping a dribble from her chin with her fingertips.
Su Morrissey was shaking her head like a disapproving head teacher. ‘You need educating, DCI Daniels. You should never leave water in your desk or carry it in the car.’
‘Why?’
‘It warms up and cools down. Plastic water bottles are made from polyethylene terephthalate,’ she said. ‘When heated, they release harmful chemicals.’ She listed them. ‘Not good for you.’
‘OK, I promise.’ Kate took another sip.
Picking up the post-mortem report, she read the contents carefully, stifling another yawn. She felt unpleasantly warm as she read on. Then she looked up, meeting the surgeon’s eyes across the desk. ‘Let me get this straight, the blow that killed Elliott isn’t the one to the back of his head?’
‘Correct. Take a look at the appendix: SM18.’
Kate scanned the attached photographs until she found the one Su Morrissey was referring to. She stared at it for a long while, unable to make out exactly what part of the anatomy she was looking at.
‘What is that?’ she grimaced. ‘Or do I not want to know?’
‘That,’ Su said, ‘is the inside of the victim’s head. The impact of the kick was severe. The nasal bone is completely shattered. Of itself, it’s a devastating injury. If it had travelled up through the skull and into the brain, it would certainly have killed him.’
‘It didn’t?’
The pathologist gave an unequivocal shake of the head.
Kate sat back in her chair, elbows on the armrest, hands clasped loosely in her lap. ‘That makes sense to me,’ she said. ‘Witnesses swear that Elliott got up after he was kicked. Is that possible with the injuries he sustained?’
‘Yes,’ Morrissey said. ‘He wouldn’t have stayed on his feet for long, mind. That kick would have hurt and caused internal bleeding. Ditto the injury to the back of his head, probably the result of hitting the churchyard wall. There’s evidence of sandstone in the wound.’
There was more. Kate sensed it. Her intuition was spot on.
Su raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, I see you want the even more important news.’
‘And I can see you’re dying to tell me.’
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘I already don’t.’ Kate braced herself.
‘Elliott wasn’t kicked to death,’ the pathologist said. ‘He died of asphyxiation. He was alive when strung up.’
57
There was a negative reaction to the post-mortem findings within the Murder Investigation Team. The atmosphere in the incident room was grim. No one had yet uttered the words ‘back to square one’, but they would. Knowing she’d have her work cut out lifting morale, Kate called for order.
‘Can I have everyone’s attention please?’ She paused momentarily, waiting for the team to settle down. ‘You’ll all have seen from the murder wall that I’ve bailed Collins and charged Gardner and his mates with Section 18 Wounding. They will remain in the cells until they appear in the remand court first thing tomorrow morning. The CPS will oppose bail and, with any luck, the five accused will be remanded in custody to await trial. A Crown Court listing could be months away, so they’ll all be seeing Santa in Durham jail.’
‘Even so,’ Maxwell muttered under his breath, ‘feels like the tossers got away with it.’
‘Prove their guilt then, Neil. Then we can all go home.’ Kate scanned the room, a dozen pairs of disillusioned eyes focused on her. ‘Look, I can see you’re all disappointed, but you can’t let your heads go down. We may only be in a position to prove Section 18 at the moment but it’s a dead-cert conviction carrying a hefty sentence and we have a cast-iron case. In the meantime, we have serious work to do. Someone is guilty of murder and we will find them.’
The chatter that followed was more like an open argument, a free-for-all with no holds barred. Kate let them gripe and share ideas. After the euphoria of thinking they had cracked the case, they deserved time to reflect and let off steam. As alway
s, they would have a moan and then give it their all.
She’d accept nothing less.
‘If not Gardner, then who?’ Maxwell was asking.
Grant was shaking his head. ‘It’s him, it has to be—’
‘Or one of the others,’ Brown suggested.
‘No,’ Robson chipped in. ‘Gardner would have dropped them in it from a great height if that were the case. If it’s not him, my money’s on Collins. He’s a meat processor with serious convictions for violent conduct. I don’t like the sound of that, do you? Atkins said he works on a farm. That means he has access to rope. Problem is—’
‘Problem is, Sarge, we’re pissing in the wind trying to find any missing rope and Collins denies any casual labour,’ Brown reminded him. ‘Despite extensive enquiries, no one has verified where he works or even if he works outside of his proper job. Atkins said he did, but I for one am not prepared to take his word on anything.’
‘Who would?’ Carmichael threw Kate a smile.
‘The fact that we can’t yet confirm it means nowt,’ Hank argued. ‘Collins is cheap labour. It’ll be under the counter. Cash in hand. Rates of pay that fall woefully below the minimum wage. No farmer is going to admit to employing him on that basis, even if it’s true. It’s exploitation.’
‘Happens all the time,’ Grant said to no one in particular. ‘And if he works on a farm, he has access to rope and machinery.’
‘Even so,’ Maxwell interrupted. ‘If Elliott was alive when he was hung, Collins would be hard pressed to handle him on his own. I imagine it would be difficult to put a rope around the lad’s neck and hoist him up there while he was kicking and screaming.’
‘He was badly injured in the fight, Neil,’ Carmichael jumped in. ‘If not comatose, then not far off. Have you even read the post-mortem report? If not, you should. His injuries were severe. That suggests to me that the poor sod wouldn’t be in any fit condition to either kick or scream. The fact that he was breathing doesn’t mean he could put up any kind of fight. I wouldn’t rule out Gardner’s lot yet.’
‘OK, you’ve had your say, now wrap it up.’ Hank had to raise his voice to be heard over theirs, exchanging an optimistic smile with Kate. The team was back in the saddle . . . almost. There was no room for infighting. ‘As you’ve just demonstrated, our case is far from over. So, ladies and gents, you’re going to have to suck it up and move on.’
‘He’s right,’ Kate said. ‘I know you all want to level a murder charge, but we have no proof. Not a shred of evidence as to who is responsible for murder. Not one of Gardner’s mates so much as hinted at his guilt. That doesn’t mean he’s innocent. You know as well as I do that when faced with life imprisonment, friendships collapse and people start talking.’
‘I agree,’ Hank said. ‘If they even suspected he did it, they would have turned on him, no doubt about it.’
‘So,’ Kate said. ‘We’re not ruling anyone out. Keep Gardner in your minds, by all means, but keep going. We regroup, perform a thorough review of where we’re at and carry on.’
A groan reverberated around the room. There was a lot of eye contact between team members. The case hadn’t exactly ended in failure, but they were nowhere near resolving it. They were baying for justice, for Elliott Foster and his grandmother, Jane Gibson. Yesterday was market day in Morpeth. Even in her darkest hour, the old lady had baked a cake and had it delivered to the station by a kindly neighbour, along with a thank you card for all their hard work.
They felt unworthy.
Kate knew the feeling.
‘The important thing to consider here is why the gibbet was used,’ she said. ‘The area around Elsdon is rugged and desolate in places. There are literally hundreds of square miles where Elliott’s body might have lain undiscovered for years had the killer chosen to dump or bury it. He didn’t. There must be a reason.’
The noise level died down as the team chewed on it.
‘We know the fight happened,’ Kate said. ‘That’s already in the bag and there’ll be no dispute when the case gets to court. I want you all to think laterally. Consider things that you may have discounted. Everything is in the mix until I say otherwise. I’d like a volunteer to concentrate on the relationship between Gardner and Collins.’ Carmichael’s hand shot up. ‘Thanks, Lisa. I don’t like what’s going on between those two. I’d like to know if they have ever been locked up together. The rest of you have a job to do. I know, it’s a bummer, but you should think yourself lucky. Hank and I will have to analyse every action to see where we go next. If we all dig deep, we will find answers. We always do.’ Catching Hank’s eye, she gestured towards the door, indicating that he should follow, then stood up and left the room.
58
Kate hadn’t even made it to her desk when the phone rang: Atkins. She very nearly didn’t pick up, but since she’d left the hospital after that awful meeting with her father, Beth Casey had remained on her radar.
Desperate for an update, Kate lifted the receiver. ‘Daniels.’
Nothing.
Kate could feel his hesitation down the line and wondered if he was drunk again. ‘C’mon, I haven’t got all day – is there something I can do for you?’
‘Beth’s coming home,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘And that concerns me how exactly? I thought I was the hard bitch who didn’t care.’ Kate waited for the ulterior motive.
‘I thought you might like to pop in on your way home.’
She was irked by the man’s cheek. ‘For . . . ?’
‘Hold on.’ The phone went down on a hard surface and the line fell silent. Kate scanned her desk, her eyes coming to rest on an old-fashioned message spike Jo had bought her one Christmas. It was full, almost to the top, with scrappy notes she hadn’t got round to dealing with yet, the desk itself piled high with paperwork awaiting her signature: overtime forms, a budget report she’d hurriedly dictated before going home last night, Maxwell’s yearly evaluation that had lain there for weeks.
She glanced out of the window, wishing she were in Crail with Jo. It was a beautiful day: clear blue sky, bright sunshine, not a breath of wind. Hank popped his head round the door. She beckoned him in.
He sat down, taking the weight off his feet.
Atkins’ voice hit her ear again. ‘Are you coming or not?’ There was no apology for keeping her waiting, no explanation either.
‘You’ve got a neck. You treat me like shit and expect me to help you out?’
‘OK, don’t—’
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t.’
Hank ran a critical eye over her. Realizing who she was talking to, he shook his head, his mouth turned down at the edges. The call was not one he’d ever sanction after hearing of the history that existed between them. When he opened his mouth to speak, she put a forefinger to her lips to silence him.
Now he was sulking.
‘What time would suit?’ Kate ignored the rolling eyes that seemed to send a silent message: You’re your own worst enemy sometimes. That was very true, but Kate wasn’t the important one here: Beth was.
‘Whenever you can get here.’
There was no gratitude from the Angry Man. No thanks offered. The selfish git’s attitude was as hostile as it had ever been. He expected her to do his bidding like she was still a rookie cop and he her sergeant. It must’ve been killing him to think that he could no longer boss her.
She looked at her watch. It would take a while to go through the actions with Hank. Their priority would overshadow all else, including Atkins. It had to. ‘I’ll be a couple of hours, maybe three,’ she said. ‘Do yourself a favour. When Beth gets home: she talks, you listen.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m sure you’ll work it out.’ She hung up.
Atkins put down the phone. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours in a drunken stupor and had a raging hangover. He simply couldn’t cope with the idea of facing his daughter alone. She seemed to get on wi
th Daniels. He understood why. As a young copper she’d come charging into Beth’s life like some friggin’ guardian angel, spouting feminist shit that turned Diane and his kid against him.
Bitch.
If anyone else had been available to help, he’d have left Daniels out of it. There wasn’t. He’d burned his bridges with almost every female he’d come across in recent years, including his mother, who wouldn’t talk to him any more. He only hoped the dyke wouldn’t contaminate Beth.
When told that she was being discharged from the hospital, he’d taken a breathalyser kit from his car to test himself – and then decided not to bother. Who was he kidding? He didn’t need the results to confirm that he was well over the legal limit to drive. Unable to risk picking her up, he’d sent a taxi – too bad if she was expecting him in person. Mired in the trouble he was in at work, assuming he still had a job, he wasn’t about to jeopardize it by losing his licence over a stupid kid with less sense than she was born with.
Bright would finish him for sure.
Beth arrived two hours later. She was wobbly coming in, extremely pale and sickly. Hospital staff had warned that it would take a few days before the drugs properly cleared her system, a few more before she felt completely well.
‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked.
She shook her head and slumped down on the sofa, avoiding eye contact. This was awkward. Heavy going. With Daniels’ words ringing in his ears, Atkins took a deep breath. He’d been so angry lately, he’d almost forgotten how to be nice.
‘You want some tea?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Look, Beth, since your mum and I split up, it hasn’t been easy for any of us. It’s time to put the past behind us. I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you decide to keep the baby, that’s all well and good—’