The Murder Wall (24 page)

‘Any progress on Monica Stephens’ alibi?’ she asked.

‘Airport CCTV caught her and her mate arriving around nine twenty-five; Monica leaving alone at eleven forty-seven; Teresa Branson boarding a plane around the same time. Her trip was a
round robin by the way, Helsinki, London and back to Newcastle. They’re both in the clear . . .’ Gormley sat down. ‘You OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look fine.’

She sighed – and spent the next few minutes sounding off about Bright and his blinkered approach to the case. ‘He’s being bloody ridiculous! Why can’t he see it?’
Then, realizing how inappropriate it was to rubbish her boss, even to Gormley, she clammed up. ‘I’m sorry, Hank. This is
my
problem, not yours. Forget I said anything.’

He was quiet for a moment, then he tried placating her, telling her he completely understood how tough it was, living in Bright’s shadow while having overall responsibility for the case,
adding the obvious reminder that she didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. She felt bad about burdening him, even though she knew she could count on his discretion. She could trust
Gormley with anything, even her life, but it wasn’t
her
life that nagged at Daniels’ thoughts at that moment. One by one, suspects were being eliminated and there was now a real
possibility that Jo, or her youngest son, could end up charged with murder.

Jo would never get over that.

‘His opinions have certainly divided the squad,’ Gormley said, his voice interrupting her chain of thought. ‘Ask around. Some are starting to think she’s guilty, others
are just as sure she’s not. But I warn you, whether you like it or not, the balance is starting to tip.’

‘It has to be someone with a grudge,’ Daniels said, her thoughts turning to James.

‘Yeah, well, who’d bear more of a grudge than an ex-wife!’ Gormley said, picking city muck from his fingernails.

Reaching into her drawer, Daniels pulled out her make-up bag, producing a nail file that she slid across the desk. ‘Here, these are so good you can buy them in the shops.’

Gormley laughed, began filing harshly as if he were sawing wood.

‘We’re looking for a psychopath,’ Daniels said. ‘That hardly fits Jo, now, does it?’

A grin crept on to Gormley’s face. He waggled his right hand from side to side as if it were touch and go. ‘Psychopath, psychotherapist . . . Is there a difference? As I said, the
evidence is stacking up.’

‘Circumstantial. It has no substance. I’m worried, Hank. James—’ Her phone rang loudly, startling her. She lifted the receiver. ‘Daniels . . . what? . . . when? Any
idea where it was taken? OK, Vic. Thanks for letting me know.’

Daniels hung up, momentarily lost in thought.

‘Problem?’

‘Probably . . .’ Her eyes shifted to the phone. ‘That was DCI Nichol, West Mids. A member of Jamil Malik’s family has positively identified the photograph delivered to me
here at the station. He’s no idea when or where it was taken, even less idea of anyone who might have held a grudge against his cousin – who, incidentally, he described as a good man, a
man of religious integrity.’

‘Christ!’

‘No, not Christ, Hank. Just a man of religious integrity . . .’ She mimicked Gormley’s funny face and then got serious again. ‘Raise an action to trace the source document of that photograph, date, place and any other info.’

It was a tall order, but one Daniels hoped would bear fruit. A light tap on the door made them look up. Robson entered looking pleased with himself. He pulled up a chair and sat down.

‘We’ve had a positive result from the ballistics lab on the weapon,’ he said.

‘Was it our gun?’ Gormley asked.

‘Yeah, but it’s clean.’

Daniels wanted more. ‘As in, it has no prints, or hasn’t been used before?’

‘Both. By the way, did you see Maxwell before he went out?’

Daniels shook her head. ‘Why?’

Gormley’s sawing began irritating her. She leaned across the desk and grabbed the file back before he ruined it completely. He pulled a face, took a box of matches from his pocket and
carried on sawing his nails. He didn’t look up as he spoke.

‘Maxwell came up trumps for once?’ he asked.

Robson grinned. ‘As a matter of fact, he did. I didn’t want to believe it, but CCTV doesn’t lie. Jo Soulsby
was
on the Quayside at a little after twelve
fifteen.’

‘We already knew that,’ Daniels said. ‘Kirsten Edwards—’

‘Running?’ Robson cut her off.

Gormley stopped admiring his manicure as Daniels exploded in a fit of frustration. ‘Is
anybody
observing the chain of command around here? Why wasn’t I told straight
away?’

Robson went red. He pointed to the ACTION tray on her desk. She pulled it towards her and found Maxwell’s report on top – right where it should’ve been – along with a
CD-rom in a plastic case.

‘Hasn’t that numpty ever heard of the telephone?’ she said.

Robson made his excuses and left the room.

‘It’s not like you to shoot the messenger,’ Gormley said, his voice full of concern. ‘You sure you’re OK, Kate?’

Daniels looked up from the report. ‘I told you, I’m fine!’

‘Your hands are trembling.’

‘I skipped breakfast. Don’t worry about it.’

Aware that he was examining her closely, Daniels continued reading Maxwell’s report until her eyes spotted something that lifted her spirits. She took the disk out of its box and put it
into her computer. Intrigued by her upbeat demeanour, Gormley got up and walked round the desk so that he could see what she was finding so interesting. He watched her run the disk on to a specific
time, zooming in on Jo’s face.

She was scared to death.

Gormley glanced sideways, a puzzled look on his face. Daniels ignored him, running the tape again until ACC Martin walked into shot. Then she looked at him, as animated as he’d seen her in
days.

‘It’s enough to make you born again,’ she said.

61

‘I
have no intention of answering your ridiculous questions!’ ACC Martin walked round his desk and sat down in a high-backed leather chair. He didn’t invite
Daniels to sit. ‘I suggest you get back to work.’

Daniels stood her ground. ‘With the greatest of respect—’

‘Which, in my book, means the exact opposite!’ Martin cut her off.

She was unable to hide her amusement – unwise, given his vindictive reputation. The ACC was right of course, she had no respect for him – not one ounce.

‘Are you deaf? I said, get out of my office!’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Unless you’d prefer to answer to an internal enquiry. That would be a bit awkward, though, don’t you think?’

‘I’d be careful, if I were you, Daniels. Carry on like this and I shall be looking for your replacement.’

‘Is that a threat, sir?’

‘It’s a promise!’ Martin pushed out his chest, sat back and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘If you can’t do your job properly, I know plenty of men who can do
it for you.’

Daniels resisted the temptation to walk round the desk and kick the sexist pig in the balls. The ACC was sweating profusely, his face almost as red as the tie he was wearing. He was old school:
a bully who thought he could do and say whatever he liked and get away with it. He’d once thrown a telephone directory at her, followed by the phone itself.

‘You’ve never been able to cope with strong women, have you, sir?’ Daniels enjoyed watching him squirm. He might be a bastard at work, but she knew that his wife ruled the
roost at home. Muriel Martin had a reputation for becoming verbally abusive under the influence of alcohol and had caused him deep embarrassment at police functions in the past. ‘Or any
women, come to think of it. Right now I’m guessing I represent all you dislike about my gender. But sexual discrimination is against regulations in the modern police service. Comments like
that could land in you in an awful lot of trouble these days.’

Bulging veins pulsed at his temples. For a moment, Daniels thought she’d have to duck. But on this occasion he didn’t lose his cool altogether. He just sat there, glaring at her,
trying to psyche her out.

‘I’m warning you, Daniels. Repeat that allegation and you’ll be sorry—’ He broke off, looking her up and down. ‘Might I remind you that it would be your word
against mine and, in case you hadn’t noticed, I outrank you by some considerable degree.’

Daniels was undeterred. ‘At the moment, you do. But keeping quiet would be a neglect of duty, sir. Some would see it as an attempt to pervert the course of justice. It might not go down
too well with the Crown Court – or the disciplinary board, for that matter – when they hear of your failure to cooperate in a murder investigation. Why
were
you on the Quayside
on the night Stephens died?’

‘That’s none of your damn business!’

He got up, walked to the door and held it open. Daniels stayed right where she was, holding an envelope aloft. Intrigued as to what it contained, Martin retraced his steps and snatched it out of
her hand.

‘This had better be your resignation!’ He opened the envelope, sifted through photographic stills of his clandestine meeting with Felicity Wood in Exhibition Park, then looked back
at her. ‘Is this supposed to scare me?’

‘It should. It’s inappropriate to discuss a live case with a witness.’

Martin tore the stills in half and flung the pieces at her. ‘They prove fuck all!’

‘No. But the transcript of your conversation with Ms Wood is quite illuminating. It looks to me like you’re screwed.’ She held his gaze for just a second longer. ‘By the
way, so was your girlfriend – by Stephens at the Weston Hotel, a hastily arranged quickie, apparently. Thank you for your time, sir.’

Martin was practically apoplectic as she left the room, slamming the door behind her. He walked back to his seat, picked up the phone, dialled a number and sat tapping his fingers on the desk as
he waited for an answer. He didn’t bother to introduce himself or keep his voice down.

‘What the fuck is going on? I’ve just had that bitch Daniels over here asking stupid bloody questions.’

The voice on the other end of the line was quaking.

‘You were seen on CCTV near Stephens’ flat, sir . . .’

‘Why the hell didn’t you let me know, you useless piece of shit!’ he barked.

Maxwell?

It didn’t please her to think that Martin had a member of MIT in his pocket. But Daniels couldn’t resist a little smile. She waited for him to slam down the phone before taking a
small recording device from her pocket. She switched it off and left the building through a side door.
Every cloud . . .

62

P
uzzled, Gormley put down the office phone. He watched Daniels closely as she marched back into the incident room, her face set in a scowl. He picked up the mobile lying on the
desk in front of him, contemplating whether or not to make another call. Mind made up, he keyed in a number, then got up and followed her to her office, pocketing the phone as he walked through the
door.

Daniels ignored the muffled sound of a mobile ringing in her desk.

‘Problem?’ she asked.

‘The receipt I found in Jo’s desk drawer matches the phone found in her car. It isn’t registered with a service provider and it’s only been used to call one number, which
isn’t registered either. Tell me that isn’t suspicious.’ Gormley pointed at her desk. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’

Daniels looked at the desk drawer, then back at Gormley.

Just then, the phone stopped ringing.

‘Tcht . . .’ Gormley gave a shrug. ‘I’d better get on.’

Returning to the incident room, he didn’t go directly to his work station. Instead, he lingered a moment outside her office and made another call, watching as she opened her desk drawer to
remove a mobile phone which began to ring in her hand. She looked up guiltily, meeting his gaze through the glass panel of her door. He glared at her, shaking his head as he returned to his desk
and yanked his coat off the back of his chair, feeling absolutely gutted. Her ‘thing’ with Jo Soulsby hadn’t reached his radar until Mrs Collins raised his suspicions a couple of
days ago when she mentioned the mystery motorcyclist turning up at Jo’s house.

Daniels could’ve confided in him then, but she had chosen not to.

Gormley felt utterly betrayed.

‘Thanks for trusting me,’ he mumbled as she arrived by his side.

The frosty atmosphere between them was drawing the attention of others in the incident room. Conscious that half of MIT were listening in, Daniels apologized with her eyes and dropped her voice
to a whisper.

‘Please come back to my office, Hank. Let me explain, it’s the least I can do.’

Gormley turned on his heels and walked away without another word.

‘Hank?’ Daniels sighed. ‘Hank, where are you going?’

Gormley spoke over his shoulder. ‘No idea.’

Daniels wound down her window. ‘Hank, stop!’

He kept walking.

‘Hank, I’m sorry.’

He ignored her.

Frustrated, Daniels put her foot first on the accelerator and then braked sharply, pulling up a few yards in front of him. She jumped out of the car and leapt on to the pavement in order to
block his way.

‘I’m ordering you!’ she yelled. ‘GET IN THE DAMN CAR!’

Within minutes they were face to face in a busy underpass, cars and lorries flashing past in both directions. Traffic noise. Exhaust fumes. Road rage. A distant siren. The odd blast of a horn as
drivers made fun of their childish argument.

‘Take your head out of your arse, why don’t you?’ Gormley yelled above the deafening din. ‘Just think about what you’re doing. You stuffed up – and for what?
You’re always banging on about professional integrity bollocks, loyalty to colleagues—’