Gallows Drop

by Mari Hannah

  ‘It wasn’t reported?’ Carmichael asked, and then apologized for interrupting.

  ‘Round of applause for Lisa,’ Kate said. ‘Last night, Beth Casey alleged that Gardner attacked and attempted to rape her. Fortunately, someone saw it happen and intervened. That someone was Elliott Foster.’

  ‘There’s your motive then,’ Maxwell said.

  Kate was nodding. ‘Beth told me that Elliott fought Gardner off while she made a run for it. Although she didn’t see it happen, she claims that Elliott hit him with a fence post in order to make good his own escape, something the poor bastard will never be able to corroborate one way or the other. It’s my opinion that the girl is too traumatized to have made it up. Are we clear so far?’

  Heads were nodding.

  ‘I have good reason to believe her.’ Kate said. ‘For those who haven’t seen Gardner in the flesh, there is a scar on his forehead that has been poorly stitched – unprofessionally, in my opinion. Let’s put it this way: I don’t think you’ll find any trace of him having been treated in hospital for the injury. Now we all know why.’

  ‘What happened to the fence post?’ Brown asked.

  ‘Good question,’ Kate said. ‘And the answer is, I don’t know. Forensics are on it. If we’re lucky enough to find it, I’m very much hoping it’ll be possible to extract forensic evidence from it. It was a deep cut. Any DNA will be used to support an attempted rape charge.’

  ‘Is Beth happy with that?’ Carmichael again.

  ‘Unless she changes her mind,’ Kate replied. ‘Given what happened to Elliott, I don’t think she will. And now for the even more exciting news.’

  Kate noticed Hank’s brow crease. He didn’t know there was more to come and knew nothing of what she was about to say. She simply hadn’t had the time to confer with him before the meeting.

  ‘Robert Pearce, one of Gardner’s so-called mates, got me out of bed in the small hours. He claims they both took part in a cross-country safari on quad bikes earlier this year on land adjacent to the Otterburn army ranges. And if that isn’t enough – I saved the best ’til last – Pearce claims that Gardner brags that he is the descendant of a man named William Gardner.’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ Maxwell said.

  ‘Who is he?’ one of the civilians asked.

  ‘He’s the man who executed William Winter in 1792 on behalf of the Crown.’ It was Lisa Carmichael who’d made the connection. ‘Jesus! Boss, I never thought—’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ Kate could see that one or two weren’t so quick off the mark. ‘For those of you who are still asleep, let me fill you in. Winter had a gibbet named after him, one that remains to the present day as a monument to murder.’

  The team were attentive as she delivered the news of this bizarre, self-fulfilling prophesy. Kate saw attitudes changing, but not everyone was excited. There was more than one sceptic in the room. It was all too perfect. Too pat. She waited for someone to verbalize what the others were thinking.

  The team remained silent.

  They needed a nudge.

  ‘None of what I’ve said necessarily proves that Gardner killed Elliott. Pearce insists that the tale has been passed down through the generations, cemented in history, perpetuating a myth until it reached our numpty who bought it hook, line and sinker.’ Kate scanned the room. ‘What worries me is, if Pearce knew this, then who else did?’

  ‘C’mon!’ Robson was shaking his head. ‘You might fantasize over your dodgy forefather, but you’d hardly go out and hang someone, would you? It would be a bit obvious.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ Kate said. ‘So who else is prepared to accept the possibility that someone is deliberately pointing us in Gardner’s direction?’ She asked for a show of hands. The team was split, more hands up than down. ‘That’s what I thought. Looks like we have work to do. Neil, get your coat on. You’re outward bound this morning. Get over to Quad Squad. I want to know if Liam Gardner and Robert Pearce were booked on the same quad-biking course in February last year. Be sure to ask them if they’ve had any bikes stolen. Feed anything suspicious to me.’

  She looked for DC Brown.

  ‘Andy, liaise with crime scene investigators. See how they’re getting on with their search of the bridle path. I want a report every hour until they find that fence post. When, or should I say if they manage to locate it, I want you to contact Matt at the forensic science lab. Ask him to fast-track it for me. Remind him he owes me a favour.’

  ‘I seem to think he already paid you back,’ Andy said.

  ‘Well, ask nicely, it always works for me.’ Kate pointed at Carmichael. ‘Lisa: in-depth interview with Gardner’s parents, quick as you can. Let’s see if there is any truth in the bullshit Pearce gave us last night.’

  ‘His mum is dead,’ Carmichael said. ‘Massive cardiac arrest six months ago.’ She pulled up abruptly, eyes on Kate. ‘Boss, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. How is your dad?’

  ‘He’s doing fine,’ Kate lied.

  ‘Do you think Pearce is playing games?’ Carmichael asked.

  ‘I think it’s a load of bollocks but we need to check it out. Hank, go with Lisa please. Gardner’s old man might not be too happy with the police. Like his son, he’s a nasty piece of work. That’s it. There’ll be another briefing later.’

  67

  Kate settled in her office for a couple of hours, a never-ending list of administrative duties to perform. She had a million calls to return while the team carried out her instructions. Liam Gardner occupied the majority of conscious thought as she went about her business. Without doubt he was guilty of wounding Elliott Foster and attempting to rape Beth Casey, whether or not a case against him for the latter could be proved in a court of law. As regards a murder charge, Kate had the distinct impression he was being set up somewhere along the line.

  At ten to ten, her mobile rang: DC Brown.

  She scooped it up off the desk. ‘Andy, tell me Forensics found the fence post.’

  ‘They found two, as it happens. Either one could fit the bill. Both are en route to the lab as we speak. Too early to say if we’ll find the evidence we’re looking for. Anyway, that’s not all. Your journalist friend Gillian Garvey is sniffing around. Trying to get in via the back door. She wants the lowdown on Gardner and his mates.’

  ‘I hope you sent her packing.’

  ‘I did, but not before she told me that they were all remanded in custody for three weeks. She had one of her minions covering the case. Anything happening at base?’

  ‘There is some truth in the rumour Pearce was spouting. Hank and Lisa say that Gardner senior is almost as flaky as his son. He’s adamant that they are related to William Gardner, executioner.’

  ‘Daft sods.’

  ‘I reckon it’s a fabrication used by the family as a scare tactic. I guess it worked to reinforce the hype. Their associates are wary of them for sure. Shows how bright they are. Only someone with the brain of an amoeba would believe it.’

  Brown chuckled.

  A ‘call waiting’ alert drew Kate’s attention. ‘Gotta go, Andy. Someone else is trying to get through.’ She thanked him and hung up, glancing at the handset. Whoever was calling, the screen showed: Number unknown.

  Pressing to receive, she lifted the device to her ear. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Ms Daniels, my name is Claudia de Jong. I’m calling from the Freeman Hospital. Your father has been transferred to us from Wansbeck as an emergency admission. His condition deteriorated in the past hour or so. He’s scheduled for surgery at noon.’

  Kate felt her scalp tighten, a quickening pulse. The room began to swim, walls closing in, reducing in size until her only focus was the glass panel in her office door. Beyond it, detectives went about their business – seemingly in slow motion – unaware of the drama taking place elsewhere, mostly in her head. She wanted to bolt in there and scream at them to stop.

  My father is ill . . .

  He might die . . .

  He can’t di
e.

  Imagination in overdrive, Kate saw green scrubs, mask-covered faces, surgical loupes, head torches and bloody gloves. Her father’s chest clamped open, electrodes attached to an electrocardiograph machine, a respirator tube in his mouth, a bleeping monitor nearby, a team of surgeons and nurses huddled over his beating heart to perform a bypass. She shook violently, unable to control the stress she was under.

  Breathe!

  Focus!

  ‘Ms Daniels?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here.’

  Kate cleared the frog from her throat and stood up.

  Opening her window, she took in a huge gulp of air and then sat down again. In a matter of seconds, the room had returned to normal. The dutiful daughter morphed into unflappable professional investigator.

  She checked her watch: 10.05. ‘Noon is a bit short notice, isn’t it?’

  The woman’s hesitation filled in the blanks.

  ‘I get it.’ Kate was ever the pragmatist. ‘Someone on your list was unable to make it?’ She meant dead.

  ‘Yes, sadly.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Your father is a priority for us. We can’t afford to wait. I gather you’re in the middle of a major investigation, however, the surgeon would like to see you beforehand, if that’s possible, so he can explain the procedure and answer any questions you may have. Is that doable for you?’

  ‘Yes, what time?’

  ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘On my way.’ Kate put down the phone and blew out her cheeks, her stomach heaving once more. It was time to build bridges before it was too late.

  She was taken into a small office where the cardiologist briefed to perform her father’s operation was waiting. The surgeon was an Asian man, slim-built, not much older than her. He had a kind face and the most penetrating eyes she’d ever seen.

  They were trained on her.

  ‘Take a seat, Ms Daniels.’ He waited for her to sit. ‘My name is Mr Rai. Your father tells me that you are his next of kin, his only kin in fact.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘I wanted to introduce myself before I carry out the procedure.’

  What he meant was: I’d rather meet you now in case he doesn’t make it.

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that there are risks associated with any major heart surgery. The operation itself can last anything between six and eight, sometimes even ten hours, so you need to prepare for that.’ The statement was delivered with Buddha-like calm.

  Kate knew all this, of course; he was underlining it for her, as he was duty bound to do. She could feel her own heart pumping faster as he elaborated on the procedure. She was in awe of this man, of all men and women skilled enough to open up a patient’s chest and perform surgery on their most vital organ outside of their brains.

  The cardiologist’s voice faded out as her stress levels rose again. She was in meltdown, suffering an out-of-body experience, as if she were floating on the ceiling, looking down on herself from above. She was scared. Small. Terrified of what came next.

  ‘On the plus side,’ the surgeon said, ‘the operation is one with a high success rate. However, your father’s condition is unstable, so the risks of survival are difficult to assess.’

  Her father was awake but drowsy, having been prepped with drugs to sedate him. He didn’t look scared – a little apprehensive, perhaps – and incredibly relieved to see her as she approached his bedside doing her very best to hide anxiety and show certainty.

  ‘How are you, Dad?’

  ‘Not too bad.’ The squeeze of her hand was weak, like a child’s, and cold to the touch.

  The smile on her father’s face looked forced. Kate recognized that look. She’d seen it a hundred times before. It was the smile on the lips of every victim’s family she’d ever known if she happened upon them after the event, either by accident or design, no matter how long had elapsed since their loved ones had suffered a violent death, crippling assault or rape. Weeks, months or years later, it was there . . . The polite smile . . . The embarrassed smile . . . The haunted smile . . . It appeared every time she asked the same stupid question she’d asked her old man.

  She bent over and kissed his clammy forehead, drew up a chair and sat down. ‘You look great,’ she lied. ‘It’ll all be over soon and you can go home.’ Except it wouldn’t be soon. Six to ten hours in a life-and-death situation was a bloody long time. What if Rai got tired halfway through? Kate knew only too well what happened to a person’s concentration after such a prolonged period of time. It would surely wane.

  ‘Who told you I was here?’ her father asked.

  ‘The admissions secretary rang to let me know you’d been transferred and why.’ She tried to keep her voice level. It sounded shaky to her. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. ‘I understand they’ve been putting you through your paces since you arrived.’

  He nodded. ‘ECG, chest X-ray, blood tests, a proper bath.’

  ‘I bet that was heaven.’

  ‘It was – but also exhausting.’

  How could a bath be exhausting? He’d always been so strong. He was breathing heavily. Maybe she should seek out the anaesthetist to inform him of that in case no one had clocked it. It might have been missed. The ward was busy. Staff rushed off their feet. Her father was new. They might think it was normal. It wasn’t.

  She must tell them.

  ‘I’m told you’re in pretty good shape for your age,’ Kate said. ‘You’ll be back on your bike in no time. Maybe we could ride out together to Hartside Pass . . . it’s been a while.’

  ‘You still go up there?’

  ‘I do,’ Kate said.

  There was a faint twinkle in his eye. Enough to show her he remembered the good times. It brought a lump to her throat the size of Texas.

  ‘I’d like that.’ His attention strayed to an earlier visitor. ‘Did Jo ever tell you she doesn’t like you riding? She blamed me. Said I should never have taught you. I like her, Kate . . . a lot.’

  Too fucking late.

  Kate’s heart was breaking.

  She allowed her eyes to drift to another bed while she regained her composure. A male patient had arrived from a stint in intensive care. He looked ghostly white, his wife even more so. Kate had seen healthier-looking corpses. The man looked so ill, she wondered if he was ready for a general ward.

  She didn’t tell her father that she and Jo had split up. That it would never have worked. That it wasn’t all her fault. It was his too. That Jo found his overt condemnation as hurtful and incomprehensible as she did but was too polite to say. That he was part of a much bigger problem. That he was as guilty as Atkins, the reason Kate had screwed up her life and denied herself openness.

  ‘Is she here?’ he asked.

  Kate shook her head, unable to answer.

  ‘We’re ready for you, Mr Daniels.’

  The voice had come from over Kate’s left shoulder.

  No! She began to panic. I need more time . . .

  I haven’t mentioned that he’s in good hands, or told him that his surgeon looks like a winner, not a quitter. That HE is MY dad. That he’ll survive the operation, if only to take that motorcycle ride. That I have regrets; that his approval matters; that we’ve wasted so much time; that if it was in my power to turn the clock back, I would . . . or that I love him.

  I need time . . .

  Kate felt excluded as porters took over. Not in a physical sense. They were kind enough to allow her to accompany them on the long journey along the corridor to the operating suite, all the time holding his hand. ‘You’re going to be fine, Dad. I’ll be in later.’ She kissed him goodbye and somehow managed to keep a smile on her face until the operating theatre doors crashed shut. In the corridor she wept.

  68

  Half an hour into her father’s surgery and all Kate could think of was the No Admittance sign on the theatre doors and whether she’d ever see him agai
n. His life was in the hands of Mr Rai and his team. No matter how many times she told herself that they were highly skilled and dedicated professionals with a great success rate – that the Freeman Hospital was one of the best heart units in the world – her father’s unstable condition dragged her down.

  ‘Cuppa tea, boss?’ Carmichael lowered the tray she was carrying.

  Kate chose the mug with the stronger-looking brew.

  ‘Lemon drizzle?’ Lisa asked. She was famous for supplying the team with the delicious cake, made from a secret family recipe handed down through the generations.

  ‘Not for me, Lisa.’ Ordinarily Kate would have jumped at the chance. She felt sick and couldn’t face it.

  ‘I’ll have yours.’ Grabbing two slices, Hank put one in his mouth, devouring it in seconds. ‘Mm . . . this is great!’ He pointed at the second slice lying in the palm of his shovel-sized hand and looked at Kate. ‘Sure you don’t want it?’

  She smiled. ‘You’d only sulk if I said yes.’

  They all looked round as the door to the incident room opened. Atkins appeared in the doorway, drawing the attention of everyone there. It had completely slipped Kate’s mind that he was coming in. My office. Tomorrow. If you don’t arrive I’ll come and find you. That had been her parting shot when she had left his apartment to drive Beth home. Hank had left by then. It seemed like months ago.

  So much had happened since.

  Sensing trouble, Hank handed his cake to Lisa and approached Atkins. Kate let him handle it. She didn’t have the energy, much less the inclination to deal with the Angry Man herself. Another altercation with him would be unwise in her current mood.