Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (22 page)

Jackie Hitchins looked down at Halshaw’s notebook. “Seven?”
she frowned. “What does that mean?”

Halshaw shrugged and looked back at Darren. “I don’t
understand,” she said. “Do you mean that Dmitri had seven people helping him?”

Two weary blinks.

“Sorry, he only had one person with him. You told us that
already, didn’t you?”

Blink.

“Then what? Help me, Darren, please.”

Darren’s eyelids drooped. A few seconds later, they opened
again, reluctantly.

“He needs to sleep, officer,” implored his mother. “Can’t
you stop now?”

“But we’re so close.”

“Please, officer.”

Halshaw wavered. “OK, Darren,” she sighed, eventually.
“Let’s leave it there for the moment. But can I come and see you again soon,
please?”

Blink.

Halshaw stowed her notebook and pen in her handbag, then
stood and extended a hand to Jackie Hitchins, who took it grudgingly, like
someone receiving a wet fish.

“Goodbye, Mrs Hitchins,” smiled Halshaw. “Bye, Darren. Take
it easy, OK?”

At the door an idea struck her. “His name wasn’t Steven, was
it, Darren?” she asked.

“Yeah, that must be it,” added Jackie. “Ain’t that right,
darlin’?”

But Darren’s eyelids had drooped for the last time.

Anna Birkdale answered the door wearing a thick white terry
dressing gown. She stared at Chase stonily and said nothing.

He looked back at her, wrung by an unexpected mix of intense
emotions he couldn’t identify. “Er, hello, Anna,” he mumbled.

“What do you want, Al?” she demanded, flatly.

“To talk. To apologise.”

“What for?”

“Last night.”

She looked at him impassively.

“Can I come in for a moment?”

No reply.

“Please?”

She took a step back, and opened the front door a fraction
further. “If you must,” she murmured.

Once in the lounge, she settled herself in her armchair, her
arms crossed, and pointedly failed to offer him a seat. “I’m listening,” she
said.

“I’m no good at this,” he began. “There’s so much I want to
say, but I don’t really know how, or where to start.”

“Then perhaps you should go,” she replied, unfolding her arms
and beginning to stand.

“No! No, Anna, please.”

She resumed her seat and took a sip from the glass at her
elbow.

Chase rehearsed the words he had turned over and over in his
mind during the fifteen minutes he had spent staring at her front door before
plucking up the courage to ring the doorbell. Then he decided to abandon them
all. “Listen, Anna,” he said instead. “I just want to say how sorry I am about
last night. I don’t know what I did to cause such offence. But I really enjoyed
being with you. And I want nothing, nothing at all, except to try and make
amends. I don’t expect anything. But I’d love to try again. If you can bring
yourself to, that is.”

She looked back at him coolly.

He shook his head. “That’s it, Anna. I don’t have anything
more to say.”

Chase thought he saw a hint of a smile flicker across her
lips. “I’d better go, then,” he sighed.

She stood, and held the living room door open for him. As he
passed her, his hand brushed against her arm.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Chase turned and looked at her, a surge of hope mingled with
perplexity.

“I’m so sorry, Al,” she sighed. She took one of his hands in
both of hers. “Come and sit down again. Please.” She looked up at him beseechingly.
“God! What happened to your face...?”

*

“Is that OK?” she fussed.

“Pardon?”

“Your drink, I mean.”

Chase sipped his whisky. “Just right,” he replied.

She settled herself next to him on the cream leather sofa
and eyed him anxiously over the top of her tumbler. “Before we go any further,
I need to explain about what happened at the restaurant.”

He looked back at her and smiled reassuringly. “You don’t
need to explain anything, Anna...”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I want to tell you. I don’t want
you to think I’m a totally unreasonable pain in the neck.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Go on
then,” he whispered.

“OK. It was a year or two ago. Not long after Chris finally
left me. I was pretty low, pretty vulnerable, as you can probably imagine.”

Chase smiled encouragingly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“One day, a man from Amy’s office gave her a lift here, and
I invited him in for a cuppa. He was an older man, really nice, very charming,
all that kind of thing. We went out for drinks a couple of times, then dinner.
Before long, one thing kind of led to another, I’m afraid.”

Not that that matters, Chase realised. “Go on.”

“OK. Amy had already warned me that he was married. He told
me his marriage was over, more or less, and I believed him. Well, I wanted to
believe him, more to the point. But that wasn’t the real problem. The thing was
this. I gradually realised that he wasn’t really interested in me. It was Amy
he wanted. That was what he was up to all along, you see.”

“You mean he was trying to get to her through you?”

“Yes, the creep. He was coming on to her in the office,
taking advantage of things I’d told him in private.”

“What did you do?”

“Amy tackled him about it in the end. Said she’d report him
for sexual harassment if he didn’t leave her alone. And me.”

“Did it work?”

“Like a charm. Last thing I heard, he’d managed to patch
things up with his wife. So you see, when you kept asking me about Amy, I
thought you were trying the same trick.”

“I wasn’t at all. I was just trying to keep the conversation
going.”

“Was it that hard?”

“It was, a bit. I was nervous, you were nervous, the meal
was a bloody disaster...”

She chuckled softly. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”

“Sorry. My fault entirely.”

“No it wasn’t. It was just one of those things. I’m the one
with something to apologise for.”

“No you’re not. You’ve got nothing to apologise for, Anna.
Nothing at all.”

“Sure?”

“Quite sure.”

She sat back in her seat and smiled broadly. “You’re a good
liar, Al,” she breathed.

Chase sipped his whisky and said nothing.

Her smile took on a mischievous quality. “OK. Now it’s your
turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me something terrible that you’ve done.”

Chase hesitated. “I can’t think of anything,” he replied,
eventually

“Oh come on,” she retorted. “You must have done something.”

He shook his head.

“Did you ever cheat on your wife, for instance?”

“Why? Did you ever cheat on your husband?”

Her smile faded. “No, as it happens. He did enough cheating
for the both of us.” She drained the last of her whisky and looked at him
intently. “So come on, Al. Out with it. Did you ever cheat on your wife?”

“OK. Yes, I did, I’m ashamed to say. Only once, a long time
ago.”

“Who was it?”

He shrugged. “Oh, just some woman at a conference.”

“Did your wife ever find out?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“No,” he smiled. “I never could tell what Miriam was
thinking.”

She laughed merrily, and then stood, swaying very slightly.
She waved her empty tumbler at him. “Want another?” she asked.

He looked down at his glass and saw, to his surprise, that
it was empty. “I’d love one,” he answered.

Beaming, she bent forward to pick up his glass.

“But I’d better not,” he went on. “I’ve probably had too
much to drink already this evening, so I’d better go while I still can.”

She stood up, her face a picture of deep disappointment. “If
you’re sure you want to go...”

“I’m not sure at all, to be honest,” he heard himself say.

She smiled hopefully. “Then don’t,” she replied.

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum
shows that faith does not prove anything.

Friedrich Nietzsche

The IT Director’s Conference Room was a simple rectangle,
with presentation screens at the far end and tall plate glass windows along one
wall, protected by slightly lopsided venetian blinds. The opposite wall was
lined with chairs. In the centre was a rectangular oak table, with seven chairs
arranged around it on three sides. On one side of the table, Amy was deep in
conversation with Justin Hargreaves. Opposite, Frank Usher was showing Paul McKinley
something on the screen of his iPad.

“Morning, everyone,” boomed Bryn Lewis, as he entered the
room. He settled himself next to Amy and spread his possessions out on the
table in front of him. “Any sign of the police yet?” he whispered.

She looked round and shook her head.

Lewis frowned at his watch. “Where on earth are Lorna and
Les?”

Before Amy could answer, the door swung open and Lorna
Hilton bustled in. “Les is just on his way,” she announced. She sat next to
Lewis, and the two of them immediately began conversing in low voices.

Usher and McKinley nudged each other. McKinley took his
laptop bag off the floor and put it on the last available chair.

A moment later, the door opened again and Les Salter
reversed into the room, with an A4 notebook tucked under one arm and carrying a
china cup with a saucer balanced on top in both hands. He headed for the table,
but stopped when he saw the laptop bag on the chair. He looked imploringly at
Usher, then at McKinley, who both stared back at him with wide-eyed innocence.
After a few seconds he shrugged, and settled himself at one of the chairs by
the wall, spilling his tea slightly as he did so.

Lewis took a Cross ballpoint from an inside pocket of his
bespoke pinstripe suit jacket and rapped his glass sharply.

“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, in a
conversational tone. “Now we’re all here at last,” he glared at Les Salter for
a moment, “let’s make a start, shall we?”

The hubbub gradually faded as five pairs of eyes turned to
face the chairman. Frank Usher’s remained fixed on his iPad.

Lewis steepled his pudgy fingers and looked around the room,
savouring the expectant hush. “Right,” he continued. “This is the first
Steering Group for Project Goldmine. I’d hoped we’d have the police here this
morning too,” at this even Frank Usher looked up, “but they haven’t appeared
yet.” A grin. “Maybe they’re making an arrest even as we speak.”

Everyone chuckled politely.

“Amy’s already given me her status update...”

“And I’ll bet that’s not all she’s given him, either,”
McKinley whispered to Usher.

“...so I’ll leave you in her capable hands...”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Usher replied,
sotto voce
.

“...while I go and see where the police have got to,” Lewis
continued. He sipped his water. “Over to you, Amy.”

Amy got to her feet, and smoothed her charcoal grey shift
dress down over her black tights.

“Couldn’t she find a shorter skirt?” McKinley whispered to
Usher.

“Thanks,” she began, clicking her cordless mouse. “First of
all, I’ll take you through this week’s status report for Project Goldmine...”

*

Halshaw paced up and down outside the IT Conference Room.
For the twentieth time she took out her mobile and dialled Chase’s number, and
for the twentieth time it went straight to voicemail.

“Where the bloody hell is he?” she muttered, angrily.

Bryn Lewis emerged from the doors behind her. “Ready when
you are, officer,” he smiled. “I can’t keep these good people waiting all
morning.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Come on, she told
herself. You can do it. You know you can. She took another deep breath. “OK,”
she sighed.

Lewis gave her an encouraging smile. Then he opened the door
and ushered her into the conference room. She looked around and saw faces
turning to look at her, their expressions indifferent. Amy stopped in
mid-sentence and stared at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“Right,” said Lewis, resuming his seat. “As Amy has done
such a marvellous job corralling you all this morning, I thought we should take
the opportunity to get an update from the police on their investigations.
Detective Inspector Chase can’t be with us this morning, but some of us have
already had the pleasure of being interrogated by his assistant, Detective
Constable Lauren Halshaw. Over to you, officer.”

Amy shrugged and returned to her seat, as Halshaw walked
slowly to the front of the room. She thrust her fists into the pockets of her
boxy jacket, then forced herself to unclench her hands and loosen her
shoulders, before taking her hands out of her pockets and letting them hang
loose at her sides. She cleared her throat once, then twice. “Good morning,
everyone,” she began, forcing her voice not to waver. “I’m sure DI Chase would
have given you a fuller briefing, had he not been unavoidably detained...”

“Betcha Bryn’s been poking our Amy again,” Frank Usher
whispered to Paul McKinley. “Look at her smiling.”

McKinley stared grimly at Halshaw and said nothing.

“Mind you, I think she might have some competition, from the
way he’s eyeing up that copper,” Usher added.

“So I’m just going to give you a brief update on the
situation,” Halshaw continued. She cleared her throat again. “We haven’t made
an arrest yet, I’m sorry to say, but we do have a shrewd idea who was behind
the break-in at Ms Birkdale’s flat. And, just as importantly, why.”

Everyone in the room seemed to talk at once. Everyone, that
is, except Paul McKinley, who continued to stare forlornly at Halshaw.
Eventually, Lewis rapped his glass again.

“Thank you, people, thank you,” he said. The hubbub
gradually faded. He turned to Halshaw. “Come on, officer,” he pleaded. “You
can’t leave us dangling like that.”

“OK,” she said, the adrenaline beginning to overcome her
anxiety. “I can tell you this much. We believe that whoever did this was trying
to undermine Amy, personally and professionally.”

“Why?” several people asked.

“We haven’t managed to establish that definitively yet,”
Halshaw replied. “It may have been to disrupt Project, er, Goldmine, I think
you call it. It may have been a personal grudge.” She stared pointedly at Paul
McKinley. “It may have been a bit of both. We’ll be doing more work on this
particular aspect later in the day… oh, hello Sir!”

The door at the back of the conference room opened and Chase
appeared, ushered in by Dinah
Rodway
. “Apologies,
apologies,” he grinned. “Good morning, everyone. Carry on, please, Constable
Halshaw.”

Halshaw noticed Amy shoot an enquiring glance at Chase as he
headed for the chairs where Les Salter was sitting. She couldn’t see his
response, but Amy’s face lit up with a smile. What the hell’s going on, she
wondered.

“I don’t have anything else to tell you at the moment,” she
said, trying to recover her poise. “We’d like to thank you all for your help
and patience so far. For those of you we need to see again, please bear with
us. We’ll keep you posted. Does anyone have any questions?”

Chase’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it with annoyance,
but his frown soon turned to a smile when he saw who the sender was.

Fancy something hot and spicy at yours tonight?
Anna
had asked.

Sounds good to me
, he replied.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.
And then I’ll
cook dinner !-)
, she added.

Can’t wait,
he answered, trying and failing not to
beam too broadly.

“… I’m not sure I can answer that,” Halshaw was saying. “Can
you shed any light on it, Sir?”

“Sorry,” he said, trying to assume a professionally serious
demeanour. “What was the question again?”

“Do you expect any more similar break-ins?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied. He was about to say more when his
phone buzzed again. I’m going to have to have a word with Anna about this, he
said to himself, as he opened the text.

What the hell are you grinning at? You haven’t got a clue!

Chase raised both hands, as if in surrender. “Sorry, Ladies
and Gents. We’ll have to stop there,” he proclaimed, trying to keep his voice
calm. “Let’s go, DC Halshaw. Ms Birkdale, please come with us. Now!”

Before anyone could stop him, he had turned on his heel and
stormed out of the door. The two young women exchanged puzzled looks before
hurrying after him.

“Blimey,” Frank Usher whispered to Paul McKinley. “Bet Bryn
wishes he could have the birds running after him like that. Particularly those
two.”

*

Dinah
Rodway
was on the phone
when they reached her desk, a touch of colour highlighting her sharp
cheekbones. She caught sight of Chase bearing down on her and smiled
pleasantly.

“Hold on a moment, Dora,” she said into the phone, before
putting a hand over the mouthpiece and looking up. “Anything wrong, Inspector?”

“Have you seen anyone at Ms Birkdale’s desk in the last ten
minutes or so?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she replied. “I did pop
to the Ladies for a minute, though. I’ve just got back.” A rueful smile. “The
phone was going so I had to run.”

Chase turned to Amy Birkdale. “Can you open your bag for me,
please?” he said.

She reached under her desk and produced a large studded
handbag in soft black leather. She laid it on top of the desk, turned the flap
back, and tugged at the industrial strength zip.

“Thank you. Please can you tell me if your phone is still in
there. Without touching anything!” he snapped, as Amy began to reach inside.

She looked around, startled. “Why, what’s the matter?” she
asked.

Chase ignored her question, but stepped forward, snapped on
a pair of latex gloves, and reached inside the bag. A moment later his hand
re-emerged, holding Amy’s iPhone between thumb and forefinger.

Halshaw produced an evidence bag from a jacket pocket, held
it open for Chase to drop the phone into, and sealed it deftly.

“Thanks,” Chase said, with a grim smile. “Can you phone for
Scene of Crime, please? I want that phone fingerprinted and DNA tested. Top
priority.”

“OK.” She took out her mobile phone and wandered away to
make the call.

“Why?” repeated Amy, although she already knew the answer.

“Because I’ve just had another text from our friend, whoever
he may be. Or she, of course.” He turned to Dinah
Rodway
and smiled amiably. “Ms
Rodway
, we’ll need to take
your fingerprints as well. Purely for purposes of elimination, of course.”

“That’s fine, Inspector,” she replied evenly. “I quite
understand.”

*

“So how did it go last night?” asked Amy, as Halshaw dealt
with the forensics team. “With Mum, you know?”

Chase took Amy by the elbow and let her a few steps away
from her desk. “Fantastic,” he smiled. “In the end.”

“What do you mean, ‘in the end’?”

“We had to clear the air a bit first. It was touch and go
for a while.”

She nodded understandingly. “Did you stay over?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “And how was Mum when you left her?”

“Happy. Smiling, you know.” Agonisingly, heartbreakingly
beautiful would be a more accurate description, he thought. Coming to work has
never been so difficult.

 “That’s good,” Amy said. “She sent me a text but it
was just a line of smileys. So, come on, spill the beans. What happened?”

“I’m not going to tell you, Amy. You’ll have to ask your
mother.”

She pouted playfully. “And she’ll say exactly the same, I
bet. OK. Let me ask you this. Are you planning to see her again?”

“Definitely. This evening, I hope.”

“Great!” Amy smiled, and then leant in confidentially. “Look
after Mum, won’t you, Inspector?” she said, in little more than a whisper.
“She’s nowhere near as tough as she makes out.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I will.”