This close to Jo, Daniels felt both uncomfortable and stimulated at the same time. She valued her opinion and, what’s more, Jo had a point. Most murders were domestics, offences carried
out on the spur of the moment: people losing their rag or getting pissed. There were some notable exceptions: one or two cases Daniels had been involved with that had been underworld or
gangster-related, where an element of planning was involved; another where a serial killer had tracked down a long list of victims in order to get back at his mother. But as far as the modus
operandi was concerned, the case she was now dealing with was definitely out there on its own.
A
t High Shaw, spring sunshine flooded the room and fresh country air wafted in through the open front door. But the ambience of the place wasn’t lifting DS Robson’s
foul mood. Daniels had left him alone there with a huge pile of statements to read – meaningless statements at that. He looked up as a dark shadow crossed his face. PC Hook was on the
threshold with a farm labourer in tow.
‘This is Ronnie Raine, Sarge. Says he has something important to tell you. Is it OK if I leave him with you?’
Robson nodded.
Hook set off for the mobile unit, leaving Raine alone in the doorway. Casting his eye over the lad, Robson beckoned him inside. He was a giant, six four at least, with sandy-coloured hair, a
ruddy complexion and bright eyes. At a guess, the DS figured he was around twenty years old and yet he looked as though he’d worked on the land for years. Unlike the detective, who was
longing to get back to the city, he seemed entirely comfortable in his surroundings.
Raine stepped forward, stooping to get through the door. Robson offered him a seat but he declined, pointing down at mucky boots that smelled markedly of horse manure.
‘Suit yourself,’ Robson said. ‘What was it you thought I should know?’
‘It might not mean anything, sir.’
‘True. But I won’t know ’til you tell me, right?’
‘My cousin Billy is the local constable.’ Raine waited for some recognition from the detective but none was forthcoming. ‘He asked me and some other young farmers if we’d
seen anything, anything out of the ordinary in the last few weeks.’
‘And have you?’
‘Maybe.’ Remembering his manners, Raine took off his cap. Crushing it in huge, dirty hands he continued. ‘Very early one morning – I mean
really
early –
before the tourists usually arrive, I seen this car parked up at Housesteads with nobody in it.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘’Bout three weeks.’
‘What were you doing up there?’
‘Going for the sheep, like I do every day. When I came down from the pasture I saw a man and a young blonde lass arguing. When they saw me, they hurried back to the car. This was very
close to where Billy said you found the young girl’s body.’
‘Who’s Billy?’
‘My cousin, the polis!’ Raine frowned. ‘You listening to me?’
‘Last name?’
‘Raine! Same as me. Cousins, aren’t we?’
‘Of course, how stupid of me.’
‘You taking the piss? Cos if you are, I’ve got better things to do.’
Robson felt guilty and dropped the attitude. It wasn’t Raine’s fault that his police career was on a downward spiral, and he certainly couldn’t afford a complaint against him
– especially now. Already mired in the kind of trouble that could cost him his job, the odds of him rescuing his good reputation were slim to say the least.
‘Sorry, it’s been a long day. No offence meant.’
Raine accepted the half-hearted apology and carried on. ‘I seen them again on Tuesday. Same pair. I think she must’ve hurt herself because he was helping her across the field. I was
going to give them a hand, but the man waved me away so I left them to it. Didn’t want to stick my nose in. Wasn’t my business, was it?’
‘S’pose not,’ Robson said. ‘You sure it was Tuesday?’
‘Aye, it’s market day in Hexham. I was sellin’ stock at the mart later.’ Raine seemed in no doubt. ‘Like I said, it might be nothing. But Billy said I should let
you know about it just in case. He said people should come forward and help in any way they can.’
‘He was right. I’ll need your address and a contact number.’
Robson picked up his pen. As Raine reeled off his details, he began writing them down, hoping he hadn’t sounded as hacked off as he felt. Being left alone at High Shaw when there was very
little going on was not his idea of fun. One local smelling of horse shit was the only person he’d seen all day, apart from PC Hook, who was manning the caravan next door.
And he was an irritating prick!
Robson was a team player, not a one-man band. He’d been stewing all morning, aware that he alone was to blame for his predicament, for slipping spectacularly to the bottom of the pecking
order in the murder investigation team. He’d made mistakes on their last enquiry. And when Daniels had given him a second chance, then a third, what had he done? Fucked her over good and
proper, that’s what!
A one-time loyal member of her team, he’d disgraced himself by passing insider information to Assistant Chief Constable Martin, a hate figure within the Northumbria force. In return for
very little – or so it seemed at the time – Martin had promised him the recognition he deserved both within the squad and beyond. Robson had only agreed to talk because his wife and new
baby son deserved a bigger house, a new car, a holiday, none of which he could possibly provide having got into debt playing online poker. So when Martin offered ‘fast-track promotion’
he’d grabbed it with both hands.
Doddle.
End of problem.
Except Martin was now history, leaving Robson out on a limb, having to explain his behaviour, distrusted by his mates and the one boss he had any time for. His colleagues were good people. They
didn’t deserve a grass in their midst, making their difficult job even more so. No matter how he dressed it up, he had to admit he’d made a complete mess of things. Borrowing heavily
against his house in order to keep his wife from finding out had been the worst decision he’d ever made. And now it was payback time.
Daniels had every reason to be pissed off, but she’d taken it really well.
Jesus! She’d even offered to help.
‘When you’re on the bottom,’ she’d said, ‘the only way is up.’
Wasn’t that the truth?
Checking the statement over, Robson pushed it across his desk, asking Raine to read it through and sign the caption at the bottom certifying its accuracy. But the lad hadn’t heard him, or
if he had he was too preoccupied with goings on outside the cottage to respond. Robson looked out of the window too. He could see nothing of interest, just miles and miles of boring bloody
countryside and an angry grey sky to the south.
‘Mr Raine?’
Raine gave his attention.
Robson pointed at the statement. The big lad leaned over the desk. After a moment of scanning the document, he scribbled his name on a line marked with a blue cross. Then he stood up and asked
if he could go; the beast in the field beyond required his attention.
‘We might need to talk to you again, sir.’ Robson thanked the lad for coming forward and smiled at him for the first time since he’d entered the room. ‘You’re not
planning on going away on a holiday anytime soon, are you?’
The lad seemed baffled by the question.
Robson tapped the statement. ‘This could be very important or entirely innocent, but we’ll definitely check it out. You did right coming in.’
Raine put on his cap and turned to go.
‘Just one more thing,’ Robson said before the witness reached the door. ‘The man you saw? He was definitely helping the girl, not dragging her?’
‘Could’ve been doing either.’ Raine thought for a moment. ‘It was hard to tell. I was a good way off, wouldn’t like to say for sure.’
D
r Matthew West swivelled his chair round so he was facing the window, his phone held between cheek and shoulder as he waited for Daniels to pick up. His office was on the
second floor of the forensic science laboratory where he’d worked as a Civil Servant for the past twenty-three years. He’d never had any other job since leaving university with a
first-class Honours in Chemistry. Hadn’t wanted one either. He was happy doing exactly what he was good at: crime-scene examination and analysis. Trace evidence cases, to be more precise.
He’d already worked his way up to department head and was now so respected in his field of expertise he’d even published articles and books on the subject.
He had ambitions to go further.
Matt looked round his laboratory. Colleagues in white coats, some with masks on, some not, sat pensively at their stations poring over microscopic particles of glass, paint and explosives,
pausing occasionally to detail physical and chemical properties, or to consult one of several databases when identification proved difficult. The report on Matt’s computer screen was but one
page long, a detailed analysis of trace evidence taken from the heel of a shoe worn by Amy Grainger on the day she died. Analysis he fully expected to present at court at a later date, to defend
orally under cross-examination no doubt.
He was proud to be an expert witness.
The ringing tone ceased in Matt’s ear.
‘Daniels.’
Matt smiled. She was out of breath. ‘Someone’s busy,’ he said.
‘Sorry, Matt. It’s crazy here. Tell me you have good news.’
‘Put it this way, you owe me one.’
‘Really? I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Was it any wonder she sounded over the moon? Matt’s work usually began after the event, usually in cases involving sudden or violent death at the hands of another. So far as Amy Grainger
was concerned, the only use for his microscopes and scientific knowledge would be in assisting the police to compile evidence that might lead to the apprehension of an offender. In other words,
bring him or her to justice with good old-fashioned proof. But this current case was different: it involved a second missing girl. His identification of the sample could pinpoint a search area with
accuracy. It might help Daniels find her before it was too late.
A living victim not a dead one.
He willed it to be true.
‘The mineral deposit I found on Amy Grainger’s shoe is definitely green fluorspar,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely no doubt about it.’
‘In layman’s terms, what does that mean exactly?’
‘It means you just got lucky.’
There was an intake of breath at the other end of the line. Daniels stayed silent, waiting for him to tell her more. Despite their physical distance, he could feel her excitement down the
line.
‘Green fluorspar is unique to the North Pennines area. It isn’t found anywhere else.’
‘G
uv, I need a word.’
Bright was looking out of his office window, deep in thought.
He looked at his watch. ‘I’m late for an appointment, Kate. Can it wait?’
‘It could, but there have been developments I think you should know about.’
‘Concerning . . .?’
‘Several things. First, I need your authorization for a press release to trace a couple of potential witnesses seen around Housesteads in the past few days and weeks.’
‘Knock yourself out.You’re the SIO. As far as I’m concerned, until they find my replacement you can do what the hell you want, within reason.’
‘Good. Then that solves my next problem.’
‘Which is?’
‘I meant to tell you this last night. I’ve decided to leave Robbo up at High Shaw and move the rest of the squad back to town first thing in the morning. As soon as enquiries dry up
at Housesteads, we’ll pull out altogether and haul him back here too.’
‘This got anything to do with him serving a penance?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
‘He seems to have drawn the short straw, that’s all.’
‘Better than no straw at all.’ Daniels meant it.
‘You pulled him?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And he coughed?’
Daniels nodded soberly, remembering how angry she’d been with Robson for letting the team down. But since having it out with him she’d mellowed. The man clearly had his problems and,
as his direct supervisor, she saw it as her duty to help him solve them.
Bright was waiting. ‘Well! What did the bastard say?’
‘It’s complicated, guv.’ She didn’t want to get into it with Bright. They were bound to end up arguing. He’d tell her she was an SIO, not a bloody social worker.
Then he’d have words with Robson himself. And he wouldn’t hold back. ‘Let’s just say I’m handling it, shall we? We came to an understanding. Robbo has renewed his
commitment to the team and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it. I’ve got more important things on my mind.’
‘Such as?’
‘Matt West called to say—’ She stopped talking as Bright lost his balance momentarily, the blood draining from his face, sweat pouring from him. She went to his aid but he
fended her off using his desk to steady himself. She got him a beaker of water and made him sit down. ‘Guv, what’s wrong?’
‘Bit of a migraine that’s all.’
Daniels wondered what kind of a migraine had him plaiting his legs. He’d been drinking heavily since Stella’s death but last night, up at High Shaw, she’d noticed he’d
refrained from alcohol, apart from a half-glass of bubbly to toast her birthday.
Unheard of.
The door opened and Ellen walked in. Odd that she too was working on a Sunday. Now Daniels knew
something was up.
‘Your car’s on its way, Phil.’ Ellen set a printed note down on his desk. ‘And your appointment at the Conrad Clinic has been confirmed.’
Bright glared at her.
Daniels eyeballed their boss. Ellen had dropped him in it on purpose and now he had some explaining to do. A weekend appointment at the prestigious private clinic, especially in the evening,
would not only cost a bomb but it would suggest something really quite serious. That assumption was confirmed by the worried look on Ellen’s face. She made a quick exit, leaving them alone to
talk. A few minutes later, the DCI walked Bright to his car, telling him off for having kept her in the dark.