Picking one out, she casually slipped it into her pocket.
There was a storyboard on the wall, a photographic record of Cole’s exploits over the past ten years. Crossing the room to view it more closely, she observed that the images had been shot
at recognizable landmarks all over the world: Ayers Rock, Great Wall of China, the Grand Canyon, to name but a few. Inevitably, a lot of the photographs featured the cockpits of aircraft, both
fixed-wing and helicopter. In others, Cole stood beside various aircraft with his arm round the shoulders of other pilots, posing for the camera with a smile on his handsome face. And it was these
that sent her heart rate up as she noted four men in total, one of them too old to have been Makepeace.
But the other?
Shit!
The door behind squeaked as it opened.
‘Come and have a look at this, Hank,’ she said, without turning round.
In the absence of further movement behind her, she turned. Stewart Cole was standing in the doorway, his hands and one cheek covered in engine oil, his flying suit a little grubbier than when
they’d first met.
He pointed at the storyboard. ‘That’s the best part of being a pilot, we tend to get around. I’ve had some amazing adventures in my time.’
He was being friendly, not conceited. The fact that she was a police officer who might regard him with a certain amount of suspicion because of his past didn’t seem to affect his attitude
towards her. Daniels didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to the man. All morning she’d found herself mulling over his question about rehabilitation, unable to shake it off.
‘Who’s this?’ Turning her back on Cole, she pointed to the older man in the photographs, a man with white hair and a winning smile, his eyes covered with wrap-around
sunglasses, a man she estimated to be mid-to-late sixties.
‘That’s Mac,’ Cole made his way towards her. ‘Don’s father-in-law. The guy who founded the company. Sadly he’s no longer with us.’
‘And this?’ Daniels pointed at the fourth man.
‘Ex-army buddy of mine. He used to be one of our freelance instructors.’
Daniels turned to face him. ‘Used to be?’
‘He left us around a month ago.’ Cole’s face grew serious as he picked up on her tension. ‘He hasn’t gone and done anything stupid, has he?’
I
t was gone five, later than expected, when they arrived back at the MIR. Bright and Naylor were both there waiting for news, ready to swing into action with a full murder
investigation team and the promise of more resources if required. The atmosphere in the room was one of real hope and expectation: Carmichael, Brown, Robson, Maxwell, all keen to do their bit.
‘No Jo Soulsby?’ Daniels said, looking round.
‘Ladies’ room.’ Carmichael’s eyes looked past her. ‘Oh, speak of the devil.’
Daniels turned round.
Watching her former lover walk into her place of work had always been a little awkward, more so in the past few months because both Gormley and Bright had knowledge of their relationship. Even
though they were now just colleagues, Daniels felt her temperature rise. She waited for Jo to take a seat, then turned her attention to the task in hand, the hastily arranged briefing.
Cole had cooperated fully, providing vital background information on Jimmy Makepeace, his ex-army pal. Makepeace was a first-class pilot with special operations training who’d taught
survival techniques in the military. Daniels was at pains to point out that he also fitted the profile Jo had given them: organized, methodical, a risk-taker . . .
‘. . . a good man, but highly volatile. Not switched right, according to Cole.’
‘Then that makes him very dangerous,’ Jo said.
Robson said, ‘I guess that means we’re ruling out Cole.’
‘We’re ruling out no one,’ Daniels corrected him, although she didn’t really believe Cole had any direct connection to the murder case. ‘But Jimmy Makepeace has
history with Finch and that gives
him
clear motive. The thing is . . .’ she hesitated, her eyes finding Jo, ‘. . . it’s been several years since he lost his daughter to
meningitis. I’d have thought that was too long, if we’re talking revenge here.’
‘I’d have thought so too,’ Jo said. ‘But it’s not entirely beyond the bounds of possibility. The criminal mind isn’t that easy to predict.’
‘It wasn’t too long for Forster,’ Gormley reminded them. ‘Twisted bastard waited twenty years to exact
his
revenge.’
Daniels felt an ache in her shoulder. She yearned for the day she could rid herself of the connection with the notorious serial killer. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Jonathan Forster’s name and hers were inextricably linked now, whether she liked it or not. Everyone she met, in and out of the job, wanted her to tell them what he was really like.
Scum, that’s what.
‘Forster had no choice but to wait that long,’ Jo said. ‘He was incarcerated, don’t forget. He passed away his years inside planning his revenge on his mother.’
Naylor was looking directly at Jo now, putting her right on the spot. ‘Is it possible that a traumatic event so far in the past could trigger violence in the here and now?’
‘Yes, but there has to be a flashpoint, something catastrophic that would send a sane person over the top.’
‘Like what?’
As Jo began to explain, Daniels glanced at Bright. In the past he’d not seen eye to eye with Jo, despite her reputation as an exceptionally talented criminal profiler. His attitude to her
job was belittling and Daniels was pleased to see that Naylor was including Jo in his plans as a full and valued member of the team.
It boded well for the future.
Carmichael raised her hand, apologizing for interrupting Jo mid-flow. ‘Makepeace lost his daughter – that sounds pretty catastrophic to me.’
‘Yes, but that was years ago.’
‘No it wasn’t! It was just last month.’
The room descended into silence.
‘What do you mean, last month?’ Daniels said. ‘Sally Makepeace died in ’95!’
‘Different daughter,’ Carmichael said. ‘I spoke to neighbours at his last known address. Soon after they lost Sally, Makepeace split from his first wife, Susan. I’m still
trying to trace her. The woman I spoke to said Susan stayed for a while but he left without saying goodbye to anyone. No one had an inkling he’d gone until months afterwards, not even his
closest friends and neighbours. Then she ups and leaves the very same way, there one minute, gone the next . . .’
Daniels opened her mouth to speak, but Carmichael was on a roll.
‘Since Makepeace wasn’t high-ranking ex-army like Finch, I figured he wouldn’t be particularly well off. In order to live he’d need money: social security if he was
unemployed, a national insurance number if he wasn’t. Anyway, I tracked him down to an address in Sunderland and found out he remarried three years ago and had a child, Hattie. Sadly, she
also died.’
‘Died how?’ Naylor asked.
‘Also of meningitis, believe it or not.’
‘There’s your trauma trigger,’ Jo said.
‘Brilliant work, Lisa!’
The comment had come from Bright. He’d always had a soft spot for Carmichael and had taken a personal interest in her career. She was dependable and industrious and he’d make it his
business to see that she progressed through the ranks.
Daniels agreed with him.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Drop
everything.
I want a concerted effort to bring Makepeace in. Run a full background check: houses, haunts, vehicles, friends, family –
whatever it takes. And I want it
yesterday
. I also want covert obs of the North Pennines search area overnight in case he turns up to move Jess again. I want a doctor standing by, briefed on
her possible condition, should we find her, with full access to her med history, blood group, et cetera.’ Daniels paused, wondering if it was possible to requisition the police helicopter.
‘Can you sanction India 99 for our sole use, guv?’
Bright and Naylor looked at each other in a moment of confusion.
Everybody laughed, including the two of them.
‘She doesn’t want much, does she?’ Bright said, just as his mobile rang.
There was a brief hiatus as he took the call.
Pocketing the phone, he nodded to Daniels.
‘Adam’s here,’ he said.
T
hey left the others and went downstairs to meet with Adam Finch, making polite conversation on the way, mainly about the enquiry but also about Bright’s recent health
scare. The MRI had found no tumour or anything else that could have caused his violent headaches. He was no longer undergoing tests and his neurologist had signed him off, ordering him to take it
easy.
‘Fat chance, eh?’ he said.
It was the news Daniels had been praying for. Not that there was any chance of Bright heeding the consultant’s advice. He picked up the pace, asking her to do the same, not wanting to keep
his friend waiting. She caught up with him as he turned the corner, heading for reception.
Her wry smile was beginning to irritate him.
‘OK, so you were right.
Again.
Christ Almighty, are you ever wrong?’
It was nice to see the return of the grumpy bugger Daniels knew and loved. She was relieved that they’d faced one another after that awful row. They needed to pull together, now more than
ever. Opening the door to a quiet room off reception, she stood back, allowing him to enter first.
Adam Finch got to his feet and shook hands with them both. He was immaculately dressed in a charcoal-grey suit and a black tie as if he’d come from a funeral.
A bad omen?
Daniels hoped not.
Finch looked tired and drawn, his dark clothing accentuating this. His hopeful expression faded as she shook her head slowly. As Senior Investigating Officer, it was down to her to take the
lead. She asked him to sit down and took the only other available seat in the room, leaving the guv’nor standing.
‘We still haven’t found Jessica but we’ve made some huge strides forward today. Why didn’t you tell us about Jimmy Makepeace?’
Finch went a ghostly white when he heard the name. He hung his head, struggling for composure and for words with which to respond. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. He said
nothing.
‘That’s ex-Army Air Corps, Captain James Makepeace, in case you’re in any doubt.’ Daniels’ tone was deliberately harsh. ‘You
were
aware that his young
daughter died?’
It was more a statement than a question.
Finch nodded. ‘He was like a man possessed when I refused his application for repatriation. The man was desperate. Now I know how he felt. But under the circumstances—’
‘I’m not interested in your justification, Mr Finch. I have only one goal and that is to find your daughter. Why didn’t you tell us this before?’
‘After all this time?’
‘I specifically asked you who might have a grudge against you.’
‘I know—’
‘Kate!’ Bright’s eyes sent a clear message:
What the fuck do you think you are doing?
‘I think Adam’s been through enough, don’t you?’
‘Yes – and so has Jessica!’ Daniels carried on. She was far too angry to show compassion. ‘We’ve wasted precious time!’
Bright raised his voice. ‘I said, back off!’
Daniels met his gaze stubbornly. ‘Fine,’ she said, getting to her feet.
‘No. Please . . .’ Finch turned to face Detective Chief Superintendent Bright. ‘She’s right, Phillip. We’ve wasted time and any delay is down to me, not your DCI.
To be honest, it really never occurred to me, until . . . and afterwards . . .’ He broke down, unable to finish his sentence. His words hung in the air as he choked back the tears, his face
wracked with regret, his eyes pleading with them. Finally he said, ‘All I ask is that you find her.’
It was difficult to watch a grown man beg. Daniels looked away, giving Finch a moment to compose himself. She felt guilty now for having badgered him, couldn’t imagine what the man was
going through or how he’d coped in the past nine days. She wanted, needed, to find his daughter. Take his pain away. Make things right for him and for Jessica.
It was too late to help poor Amy Grainger.
Finch cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts.
What he said made Daniels shudder.
‘If it
is
Makepeace after all these years, Jessica’s never coming home.’
B
y the time they reconvened in the briefing room, Carmichael had made further headway, discovering that Makepeace had experienced a complete mental breakdown after his
daughter’s death, another after his marriage collapsed. At one time, he’d been found wandering the streets and was sectioned under the terms of the Mental Health Act.
‘He was discharged into the care of the local authority in September ’97,’ Carmichael said. ‘Disappeared soon after.’
‘Any psychiatric records available?’ Daniels asked.
‘Already requested.’
‘Good work, Lisa. When they arrive, have Jo take a look. I’m not saying it’ll make any difference, but it might provide useful insight into his mental state. I’ll give Jo
the heads up.’
Back in her office, Daniels sat down at her desk, lifting the phone from its cradle intending to call Jo, aborting the call when someone knocked gently on her door. At the height of any enquiry
her office was like Kings Cross at rush hour. It was something she’d had to get used to, work round, and sometimes just ignore.
Robson stuck his head in. ‘Got a mo’, boss?’
‘Is it about the case?’
Gormley pushed past him into the room.
Robson clammed up.
‘Then there’s your answer,’ Gormley said. ‘I take priority, now clear off.’
He closed the door, shutting Robson out.
‘That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it?’ Daniels said.
Gormley gave a little
do-I-give-a-shit?
shrug. He made a big smiley face, his eyes like saucers, his teeth exposed like a toothpaste advert. Daniels grinned. She hadn’t seen him
this excited in a long time and that only meant one thing. He knew something she didn’t. Something big, by the look of it.