Authors: Mari Hannah
Carmichael did likewise, arranging to have the Audi collected immediately. As she hung up, Daniels and Gormley arrived, separating as soon as they walked through the door, their eyes scanning
the cavernous terminal building for any sign of Laidlaw. The departure hall was crammed with tourists, business travellers and families saying goodbye. At the check-in desks people queued, cases
were dumped, tickets checked, hopes raised that flights would leave on time. Carmichael caught Daniels’ eye and met her halfway in, hurriedly explaining what she’d managed to learn so
far. The DCI was too busy studying the departures boards to congratulate her on a job well done. That would come later: Carmichael was sure of it.
‘Any idea which flight she’s heading for?’ Daniels asked.
‘None.’ Carmichael’s shoulders went down.
Daniels cursed. ‘Then you and I have a decision to make.’
T
hey headed straight for airport security and couldn’t get there quick enough. They were met by several official-looking figures and soon learned that no one by the name
of Marianne Spencer had booked in for any flight. Gormley made the rendezvous minutes later. He didn’t need to say anything for Daniels to know he’d lucked out too. It was writ large
across his face the minute he was shown into the room.
Scanning the panel of monitors, he shook his head, muttering something about needles in haystacks. He wasn’t wrong. The airport was approaching its busiest period in the calendar, a rush
to get away and back before the schools turfed out and prices soared. The terminal was full, a constant flow of pedestrian traffic making it difficult to pick out any one person in particular.
‘What next?’ Carmichael asked. ‘Do we flood the place with uniforms or what?
‘No time,’ Daniels said. ‘We’ll have to do this covertly.’
‘What does she look like?’ a security officer asked.
‘Approximately five-ten, last seen with short, dark hair: I think she’s wearing a light, possibly linen, beige dress and jacket,’ Carmichael said. ‘That’s if the
Hertz clerk has a good memory.’
‘Nowt gets past Ann Chow,’ an airport policeman said.
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ Gormley said. ‘Laidlaw is a clever con woman and master of disguise. She could’ve changed clothes a dozen times since she got
here.’
‘Not possible,’ Carmichael countered. ‘The Hertz woman told me she had no luggage, just a small brown handbag.’
Daniels hoped Carmichael was right.
Her eyes were back on the monitors, but it was useless. There was no way they were going to ID Laidlaw in time to prevent her escape. Unless . . . the idea came to her in a flash. Reaching into
her pocket, she drew out her phone, asking the person in charge if it was possible to upload an image directly on to the airport system.
Gormley and Carmichael both looked puzzled. But all became clear as a good likeness of Laidlaw appeared on the screen in front of them, an image Daniels imagined that scores of eyes would now be
viewing on their monitors as a level one security alert. She had no time to explain about the sketch Fiona Fielding had done – or why she’d felt compelled to capture the image on her
phone – but it was clear from Gormley’s expression that he’d made the leap as they waited for airport staff to respond.
Seconds later, the phone rang in the control room. The receiver was knocked off its station as a member of staff rushed to answer it. Daniels glanced nervously at Gormley and Carmichael as they
waited, counting the seconds. The security officer wrote something down, ended the call and turned back to face them, his expression buoyant, his tired eyes filled with hope and expectation.
‘A guy working the Thomas Cook check-in desk booked a woman calling herself Penelope Clark on to a flight to Dalaman about a half hour ago as he was about to shut up shop. She was running
late but managed to catch him before her flight was called for departure. She was wearing a headscarf as he rushed her through, but he’s fairly certain it was her.’
‘Dalaman?’ Carmichael had never heard of it.
‘It’s in Turkey,’ Gormley replied.
‘Fuck!’ Daniels’ troubled expression darkened as her brain made an obvious connection. The body she’d found at the Turnbull Building had yet to be identified, but credit
cards in his wallet suggested he may be of Greek origin, possibly Cypriot. ‘She’s fleeing out of harm’s way!’ Daniels said. ‘From Dalaman she can easily get to
Northern Cyprus, where there’s no extradition treaty. If she achieves that, she knows we can’t touch her. We need to stop that plane!’ Daniels looked at the security man.
‘Well, don’t stand there, do something!’
L
ucy Laidlaw took a long deep breath. Linking her hands loosely in her lap, she relaxed back against the head rest as the Airbus A320 pushed back from the stand ready for
takeoff. She was home and hosed.
Fifty metres away, in the airport terminal, detectives Gormley and Carmichael were standing anxiously at the window of the departure lounge, a locked door preventing them from going airside.
They watched as the aircraft slowly began to move, fearful that Daniels’ intervention had come too late, and powerless to do anything about it. But on the flight deck of the Airbus, the
captain was receiving a vital call . . .
‘Kestrel seven-six-two-bravo, this is the tower. We’ve got a message for you. Ready to copy?’
‘Go ahead, Tower.’
‘Kestrel seven-six-two-bravo: go to discreet frequency one, two, seven decimal six.’
Captain Kjell Halvorsen looked at his first officer and said, ‘Take over talking to the ground on box one. Keep the push-back going. I’m going to box two to see what the tower
wants.’ He went to box two, dialled in the frequency and said, ‘Tower, this is Kestrel seven-six-two-bravo, go ahead.’
‘Kestrel seven-six-two-bravo, we’ve been advised by Northumbria Police that you’ve got a criminal on board travelling under a false passport, endeavouring to escape the
country. We’ll hand you over to the SIO, who has further instructions for you.’
Daniels’ voice: ‘Captain?’
Halvorsen again turned to his FO. ‘Tell them to hold the pushback.’ Then, to Daniels: ‘Yes, this is the captain. Go ahead.’
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels, Northumbria Police, Murder Investigation Team. It is imperative that we are allowed on board to extricate a passenger travelling by the name
of Penelope Clark. She is wanted in connection with very serious offences. Copy that?’
‘That’s received. What do you want us to do?’
Daniels could hear the FO relaying information to the tower:
Ground, this is the flight deck. Can you stop the push-back there please? We might have to go back on stand.
‘I’d like you to return to stand immediately,’ she said.
‘Stand by . . .’ Halvorsen looked out of his window. He could see two officers, one male, one female, waiting by the departure gate. ‘DCI Daniels, please advise if a remote
stand is required.’
Daniels thought for a moment. Before boarding, Laidlaw had gone through airport security. If she hadn’t been frisked, she and her bag would’ve been through a scanner. It was highly
unlikely that she was armed with anything that could do much damage, other than a thoroughly disagreeable personality, and the DCI took the view that a remote stand was unnecessary.
‘That’s a negative, Captain,’ she said finally. ‘She’s going nowhere. If we do this right, it’s unlikely that other passengers will be in danger.’
‘OK, if that’s the conversation complete, I’m returning to stand.’ Halvorsen advised his FO accordingly and then made an announcement to the passengers: ‘Ladies and
gentlemen, we’ve got a technical problem. I do apologize. Hopefully it won’t take very long to sort out, so when we get back on stand please remain in your seats and leave your seat
belts fastened. I will be opening the forward left door of the aircraft, but it’s nothing at all to worry about and we don’t anticipate a significant delay.’
As the Airbus pulled back on to stand, Halvorsen asked the FO to manage things on the ground while he spoke to the number one cabin crew on board. He pushed a call button twice and a female
voice came on the interphone.
‘Hello?’
‘June, it’s Kjell. Would you bring the passenger manifest to the flight deck, please?’ Halvorsen checked the video and saw his number one approach the door. He hit a switch,
allowing her in. ‘Shut the door behind you.’ She did as he asked. ‘Right, we’re going back on stand. You heard me tell the passengers it’s a technical problem.
It’s not. We’ve got a criminal on board. What we’re going to do is shut the aircraft down. I’ll open the window and talk to detectives on the ground and negotiate how they
want to play this.’
The number one nodded.
Having briefed her fully, Halvorsen asked her to go back to the cabin and await further instructions. He opened the window. Below him, Daniels and Gormley were approaching the aircraft.
‘What’s the sketch here, guys?’ he said.
‘Can you get the steps put on?’ Daniels asked. ‘Front or back, it’s your call.’
‘It’ll be forward, left. You come up to the steps. Just knock on the door. The number one will open it and you’re in. I’ve left the seatbelt signs on, so no one else will
be getting up. My number one tells me that the woman you’re looking for is in seat thirty-three D, on the right-hand side as you look towards the rear of the aircraft. Fortunately,
she’s the only person in that row. Soon as you get on board, it’s over to you.’
Daniels held up a thumb. ‘Works for us.’
‘Up the steps, two knocks and you’re in,’ Halvorsen repeated. ‘Everybody happy?’
‘Let’s do it,’ Daniels said.
T
he plan worked like clockwork. As soon as Daniels stepped through the aircraft door she’d clocked Laidlaw in an aisle seat about a third of the way down on the right
side. Her head was completely shaved and she was wearing a headscarf tied closely round it, like a cancer patient, her face made pale with the use of make-up. It was the eyes that did it:
pure
evil.
Eyes that Fielding had so expertly captured in the portrait she’d painted. Eyes that now looked through the senior investigating officer as she approached.
Not resigned or defeated – just ice cold.
As Daniels walked down the aisle, her professional persona on full show, passengers realized the problem wasn’t technical at all and craned their necks to see what was going on.
The DCI held up ID. ‘Madam, would you come with me, please?’
Daniels’ anger grew as she took in the exquisite seal ring on Laidlaw’s little finger.
The callous bitch . . . pound to a penny it was Bridget’s.
Laidlaw didn’t
move. She sat there, staring up, waiting for an explanation which wasn’t long in coming. There was no need to arrest her for murder, not yet anyway, that would come later. For now, the DCI
was content to use the assault on Chantelle as a way of getting her off the plane without causing distress to other passengers.
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Daniels. Lucy Laidlaw, I am arresting you on suspicion of Section 18 Wounding. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not
mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘I bloody love it!’ A man across the aisle said loudly. ‘I’ve always wanted to hear someone say that!’
Daniels glared at him. He was the epitome of the great unwashed: mid-thirties, grossly overweight, wearing a black-and-white nylon football shirt and no deodorant. His complexion was angry and
red, like he’d spent a fortnight in the sun with no protection, or been to a studio to top up the tan before his holiday began in earnest. He was half-cut too, she noticed, sun and booze, a
lethal mixture for the cabin crew to deal with.
The DCI was pleased to be getting off.
‘What’s she done, love?’ the man asked, his alcohol breath filling the cabin.
Ignoring him, Daniels turned back to Laidlaw. ‘Come on, Lucy. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, eh?’
‘I’m sorry, Detective, but there must be some mistake.’ Cool as you like, Laidlaw took her passport from her bag, opened it up and handed it to Daniels. ‘My name
isn’t Lucy, it’s Penelope Clark.’
‘You tell her, Miss Penelope!’ The fat drunk again. He was glaring at Daniels through bloodshot eyes ‘She’s ill man, can’t you tell? And it’s bloody
ridiculous keeping us waiting like this. We’ve got places to go, people to see, even if you don’t. Get the fucking trolley dollies out here. It’s time for a bevvy.’
‘Wind your neck in, pal,’ Gormley warned. ‘Or you’ll be next!’
The guy didn’t need telling twice. He sank into his seat, minding his own business.
Pocketing Laidlaw’s passport, Daniels produced a pair of rigid handcuffs from a clip behind her back. In deference to her, Laidlaw dropped her head and took a deep breath. She pointed at
the snips. ‘There’s no need for those, Detective Inspector. I’ll come quietly.’
Pleased to hear it, Daniels put them away.
Taking possession of Laidlaw’s bag, she handed it to Gormley for safekeeping, then stepped back to allow the woman out of her seat. Laidlaw unclipped her seatbelt. Placing her hands on the
armrests, she eased herself up, her trailing hand already reaching for the iPad she’d placed on the next seat. With full force, she swung her arm round, smashing the device across
Gormley’s cheek, knocking him unconscious and sending him crashing to the floor.
The DCI fought to get hold of her, but Laidlaw proved too strong and managed to struggle free. What happened next made Daniels’ day. The smelly drunk stuck out his leg, tripping Laidlaw up
as she tried to run for the open cabin door. Scrambling forward, Daniels made a lunge for Laidlaw. In one swift movement, the snips were on and she stopped struggling.
Relieved, Daniels remained on the floor, trying to get her breath back, high-fiving the drunk as she sat there. Further down the aisle, Gormley was on his feet, holding his head. Helping her up,
he winked at her.
Job done
. Taking an arm each, they escorted Laidlaw from the aircraft. As they walked down the stairs, a huge round of applause rang out from above their heads as Captain
Halvorsen asked for the cabin doors to be made secure and ready for take-off.