Deadly Deceit (38 page)

She had absolutely nothing to lose now.

As soon as the magistrates had adjourned the case, she doubled up in the dock, retching as if she was going to vomit, a little show of contrition perhaps for those who gave a damn about a
Cypriot fugitive, an old lady with one foot in the grave and a good man who’d had the misfortune to fall in love with her –
and Jamie
.

Laidlaw swallowed down her shame. Her life had been one long list of regrets, not least of which was losing Mark and his child. He’d come so close to her ideal, almost made her believe
that an ordinary life was possible. Or was that another pipe-dream? Daniels was right, though: father and son were never part of the plan. But what was done couldn’t be undone.

With her head bent low, she watched out of the corner of her eye as the magistrates got to their feet and left the court via the back door. The guy from the press and the probation officer
walked out through another door. Both solicitors followed. But as Beatrice Parks reached the door she turned around, a concerned expression on her face as she looked back at her client. She pointed
at the floor, held up a hand and spread her fingers, gesturing that she’d see her in the cells in five minutes. Then she too disappeared. Only the young DC remained, making absolutely sure
she wasn’t going to leap over the barrier and make good her escape, which would have been possible had it not been for the funny suit she happened to have on. It had a thick, starchy feel to
it and was degrading to wear. She could hardly flee looking like a walking talking fucking J-Cloth.
People might notice.
The sooner it was off, the better . . .

Her heart was thumping out of her chest. Five minutes wasn’t very long. Was it long enough? Her arm was yanked upwards by the security escort. She didn’t struggle. She just stood up
straight and was led back to the cells like a lamb. They were out of Carmichael’s sight now and heading back down the narrow, winding stairs to the cell block below.

Her eyes scanned the corridor –
no one in sight
– but Laidlaw could hear voices and laughter coming from an office at the very far end.

It was now or never.

She had one shot.

One shot.

Groaning as if she were in pain, she doubled up again. Before the guard could call for assistance, Laidlaw picked up the fire extinguisher and smashed it into her face, knocking her out
instantaneously. Catching the guard as she fell, Laidlaw replaced the fire extinguisher exactly where she’d found it, lifted the escort over her shoulder and carried her into cell number
three, the door of which stood open ready for the next poor sod the coppers happened to drag off the streets.

Laidlaw grinned as she laid the unconscious woman on the floor. She knew all that training wouldn’t go to waste. There was no time to lose: Parks would be ringing the bell any minute,
demanding to see her client. Ripping off the paper suit, she undressed the escort and put on her uniform. It was a good fit too. She’d always been able to carry a uniform. Then she took a
deep breath, grabbed a cap off a peg on the wall and walked calmly along the corridor, back up the narrow staircase and out through the remand court as large as life to freedom, keys jangling from
the uniform belt as she strolled away unperturbed.

W
ith no rush to get into the office, Daniels called a cab and headed home to get changed. On her way she tried to contact Jo several times, but the phone rang out unanswered.
Asking the driver to keep the meter running, telling him she wouldn’t be long, she unlocked her front door and let herself in. There was a handwritten note from Jo on the hall carpet:
I
guess I have my answer
was all it said.

Daniels’ heart sank.

At some point during the night – the only night she’d stayed out since they’d split – Jo had come round to find the house in darkness and no sign of her. She reread the
note, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She was about to call Jo again when, right on cue, the house phone rang: the MIR.

What the fuck?!

Was this a conspiracy to keep them apart?

Carmichael sounded cheerful: Laidlaw’s case had been adjourned with no application for bail, as Daniels had anticipated.

‘Any problems?’ she asked.

‘None. You never said what an evil shit she is close up.’ Carmichael paused. ‘Cocky, too, until she was remanded in custody. Almost threw up then. But those eyes . .
.’

Carmichael’s voice trailed off.

Daniels could tell she’d turned her head away from the speaker. Not surprising given the raised voices in the background. There was a lot of swearing and blasphemy going on. Naylor
wasn’t a happy bunny by the sounds of it. He was yelling instructions that Daniels only heard snippets of. Something about getting a team together . . . full forensics . . . the whole works.
Another murder incident? Then why the rush? Dead bodies were usually pretty patient souls.

‘Lisa? Lisa, what’s going on?’

‘Not sure, but it sounds serious. Call you back.’ She hung up.

Seconds later, although it seemed like hours, the phone rang again. ‘Boss, you’re not going to like this. Laidlaw escaped, seriously injuring one of the court security guards.
She’s in a really bad way, she might not make it. All units have been alerted and are looking for Laidlaw.’

Jo’s words echoed around Daniels’ head:
She walks and she’ll kill again, there’s no doubt about it.
‘Put Hank on, Lisa,’ she said calmly.

C
hantelle left the General Hospital after an early out-patients appointment to have her dressing changed. The number 684 bus was already at the stop when she arrived, so she
hopped on board for the short ride home, paid her fare, and threw herself down on a seat near the front. When she got off, a few minutes later, she had the distinct impression that she was being
followed. It was a strange sensation, like heat burning a hole in the back of her head. She looked around, searching the faces of those who’d got off the bus with her.

But there was no one she knew.

She walked on for a bit, glancing over her shoulder before turning the corner.
Daft cow.
It wasn’t like her to let her imagination run wild like that. But since Laidlaw had done
her over, she couldn’t be too careful. As she reached her front door, she swung round again, expecting to see someone for defo this time, but the street was deserted, except for a few idiots
riding their bikes up and down trying to impress her by doing wheelies.

Chantelle ignored them. She was too busy scanning the cars lining the pavement. With the sun glinting off windscreens it was hard to tell if anyone was sitting there or not, watching, waiting to
jump her. Then a thought suddenly occurred. Maybe the bizzies were keeping an eye on her. Unless . . . were they following her? Was Daniels?

Nah, Daniels was a top bird under all that authority.

She hadn’t condoned what Chantelle had done but neither had she made too big a deal out of it. She’d rescued her, sent a cop to guard her, made sure she was treated as an emergency
at the hospital. There was no waiting in the queue like the rest of the divvis in A & E – not with Daniels on her side. That didn’t mean some other stupid fucker wasn’t still
barking up the wrong tree though, did it?

Chantelle could tell all along the police didn’t believe her about George Milburn’s money. She wouldn’t deny she knew he
had
some, or that she’d have nicked it
had she known where it was hidden. Now she came to think of it, his grandson had given her a hacky look on Monday morning when she left for work. He was round at George’s gaff, clearing it
out, although what the fuck for was anyone’s guess – his possessions weren’t good enough for the charity shop. Elliot was probably the one who accused her in the first place. What
an absolute tit he was.

‘I
want two teams, Hank. You take one, Robbo the other. Chantelle is your priority, Laidlaw his. Her phone is constantly engaged so I’ll head over there now.
She’ll be milking all the attention, no doubt. Some things never change. Before you join me, have Lisa dig off the system every possible location those two girls could be.’ A car horn
blasted outside. Daniels looked out of the window and held up a thumb to her driver. ‘Tell her I want those jobs actioned immediately and put out to the relevant team. No duplication,
obviously, we don’t want people turfing up at the same place. It’s imperative we find them quickly.’

‘You think Laidlaw will go after Chantelle?’ Gormley asked.

‘Don’t you? Chantelle is a prime mover in her downfall. If I’m any judge of character, she won’t let that lie. By the way, forensic results are in. That the fag in the
wall sample is definitely Chantelle’s—’

‘So?’ Gormley shrugged. ‘We already knew that, didn’t we?’

‘Yes, but what we didn’t know is – and this has been checked and verified by Matt West – the hair we lifted from Laidlaw’s drop address was genetically very similar
to Chantelle’s—’

‘She’d been there, at Laidlaw’s place?’

‘No, I queried that possibility with Matt. Although the samples are close, he’s confident that they are from two different people. It’s familial DNA: the two girls are related,
probably sisters. Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

Gormley stared at the floor, trying to get his head around what he’d been told, his detective brain working overtime. When he looked up, his eyes were wide open. ‘Jesus Christ!
You’re not telling me Chantelle’s been playing us all along? That she and Laidlaw are in this together?’

‘No, but I can see where you’re coming from. Besides, we have too much evidence on Laidlaw for it not to be her. I know Chantelle’s a wrong ’un, but I can’t see her
involving herself in murder, can you?’

‘You sure about that? Remember the cap in her hall? We’ve still to ID the petrol buyer.’

‘She’d hardly blackmail Laidlaw if she was involved, though, would she?’

‘She had the photos for insurance. Easy to pin the blame on her if we came calling.’

‘It would be more than her life was worth . . .’ With that worrying thought lingering in the back of her mind, Daniels checked outside. Her driver was still waiting with the engine
of his panda running, his arm lolling out the window, a fag-end held between two brown-stained fingers. She turned back to Gormley. ‘You know what? I find this whole episode quite sad. I
don’t believe Laidlaw and Chantelle know they’re related. Arthur Fox was a bastard to his women, Hank. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he has illegitimate children all
over the place. Anyway that’s not important. We’ve got to find Chantelle before Laidlaw does. Meet me there as soon as you’re done here.’

L
ucy Laidlaw stepped from the shadow of the upstairs hallway, the sound of a radio and running water reaching her as she crossed over the threshold and into the steamy
bathroom. The opaque shower curtain was drawn. Apart from the tips of swollen fingers holding on to the top of the curtain rail, Lucy couldn’t see Chantelle. She could hear her though. The
bitch was actually singing along to Lady Gaga’s ‘Telephone’
.

Not a bad voice either:
shame in a way to silence it.

Lucy had entered the house via the back kitchen, forcing the pathetic lock on the back door, lifting the phone off the hook as she passed through the empty living room. Sliding the bolt on the
front door in case Chantelle attempted to escape, she crept up the stairs and waited. No reason to rush. By now Northumbria Police would have flooded the city centre with uniforms. They would be
combing the area looking for her, not worried about Chantelle bloody Fox.

Lucy grinned. Never would they think she’d have the neck to return to Ralph Street, or that Chantelle would be stupid enough to return home with
her
on the run. Which meant only
one thing:
she didn’t know
.

On the other hand, Lucy knew exactly where Chantelle would be. The girl had no imagination. And no reason to hide, if she’d been led to believe that her nemesis was under lock and key.
Pathetic really. She was a sitting duck . . .

And she’d picked a fight with the wrong person this time
.

The sound of running water ceased.

A hand reached out from the behind the curtain, grabbing a towel from the top of the adjacent wash basin. Seconds later, the curtain was ripped open. Chantelle didn’t notice her standing
there at first. The steam was thick and her head was down, one corner of the towel held between her teeth as she struggled to wrap it round her body with her one arm. Her right arm was fucked,
encased in a plastic bag to save it from getting wet.

As Chantelle’s eyes fell on Laidlaw, her mouth dropped open and the towel slipped to the floor. Her face drained of what little colour she had following surgery. Lucy was impressed. She
didn’t scream or shout for help, just stepped calmly from the shower cubicle, eyeballing Lucy in the process. But beneath the bravado there was a mixture of terror and defeat, as if she was
somehow resigned to her fate.

Let’s face it, she didn’t have a whole lot to live for.

Lucy smiled. ‘Hello, Chantelle.’

F
uck!
The sight of Laidlaw produced a cold sweat all over Chantelle’s naked body. For a moment she was paralysed with fear. She made a sudden lunge for the door.
Lucy countered, grabbing for her arm, but her hands slid off wet skin and Chantelle managed to slip from her grasp. She only made it as far as the landing before being yanked back by her hair.
Shoving her hard against the bathroom wall, Lucy pinned her there with her right arm across her throat, blocking off her airway and making her choke.

In desperation, Chantelle fought for breath but none arrived. With her left hand, she tried prising Lucy’s arm from her neck but she was far too strong. Their faces were inches away from
each other. Lucy’s eyes flashed with hatred and Chantelle knew it was useless pleading with her. Kneeing her hard in the crotch with force sent her flying backwards, unbalancing her for long
enough for Chantelle to dash past her. Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran for her life. If she could get to the back door she had a weapon there.