Deadly Deceit (10 page)

Wanker.

Chantelle sighed. It was her day off tomorrow and she planned to go to Whitley Bay, check out the beach and top up her tan. She deserved a little fun after the mayhem of the last thirty-six
hours, what with the press and all.

The boss stuck his head out of his office, checking they were all getting on with their work. Omar was sniggering in the corner, pretending to dust the phones, Chaz on window-cleaning duty
making a right mess.

And still Chantelle waited behind the counter. Had everyone died? Where the fuck were the customers? She waited some more and then checked her phone. No messages. Keeping one eye on the office
door, she texted a couple of mates:

wot u up 2 the morra? metro to coast ok? got hods of nwz’ll blow yr mind.

Seconds later, she received a reply from Tracy, her best mate from school:
oh yeah?

And another from Karin:
like wot Shell?

pure gold! meet us at mine – not 2 urly – tell u then. Xx

Chantelle enjoyed being a tease.

Staring through the open door, she pocketed her phone. The sex shop opposite was doing a roaring trade. A sign in the window said:
70 per cent off – Midsummer Sale
. She might pop
over at lunchtime if Baldy went out. It wasn’t Harrods or Harvey Nicks, but they had some good lingerie in there for very special occasions. The way she figured it, she’d be celebrating
soon.

‘How much is this one?’ Omar’s voice interrupted her daydream.

He was holding up a Motorola at least ten years old.
Bless
. Chantelle walked round the counter and dropped her voice, telling him not to waste his money. If he really wanted it, he
should nick it tonight before they closed and she’d look the other way. She’d done it hundreds of times and never been caught. But he looked at her affronted, dubious about her plan.
Problem was, he’d been brought up, not dragged up, and he was far too nice.

‘Just call it staff discount!’ she whispered.

Omar backed away.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ she said. ‘Shy bairns get nowt!’

Still he wasn’t convinced.

Chantelle made a face. ‘Doh . . . you’re on the minimum wage!’ Then she went back to her dreams, annoyed by his hacky look. Give a person advice, the very least they could do
was take it. She was pleased she didn’t have his scruples. He was too honest to be trusted, that was his problem. No way would she share her secrets with him. Having an appetite to better
yersel’ wasn’t a crime, was it?

Chantelle thought about this for a moment. Her father didn’t think so. He’d taught her never to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was a good dad really, when he was around. Always
gave her the benefit of his advice. She could practically hear him from the grave:
As one door closes, another slams in your face!

Well, not this time . . .

Chantelle had plans and couldn’t wait to execute them. She’d stumbled upon an opportunity and was hell-bent on making the most of it. Catching her reflection in the glass cabinet to
her left, a tingle of excitement ran down her spine as she imagined herself transformed. In a few weeks’ time she’d have new clothes, new hairdo, totally new image. New identity? Nah.
Well, maybe. Nah. She liked the name Chantelle. It had a certain amount of je-ne-sais-quoi, as her French teacher used to say. She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded posh.

God is good
, Chantelle thought, a
nd the Devil’s not bad either.

T
heir new guv’nor, Detective Superintendent Ron Naylor, ordered them to sit. He was angry. Not quite as much as Gormley, but angry nevertheless. And who could blame him?
It wasn’t even coffee time and Daniels had briefed him on yet another suspicious death, the circumstances of which were unimaginable. And that was only the half of it. There were numerous
suspects but no bloody crime scene. If there was one thing they didn’t need right now it was another public relations nightmare.

‘Let me get this straight.’ He was almost yelling. ‘There was little evidence recovered at the scene of the crash and – because it wasn’t a murder from the outset
– we’re left scratching around in the dark for any tangible leads as to the identification of the person or persons responsible for Ivy Kerr’s death.’

Daniels nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘Was she DOA at the hospital or declared dead at the scene?’ he asked.

‘A paramedic pronounced her dead at the scene at four-fifty a.m. I’m seeing him later this morning.’ Daniels looked down at sketchy notes she’d cobbled together thus far,
so little intelligence she’d managed to scribble it all on half of an A4 sheet. ‘It might be an idea to have someone from the accident investigation team attached to the squad during
the enquiry, don’t you think, guv?’

Naylor answered with a nod. ‘I’ll sort that for you.’

‘I’ve instigated enquiries with all of the emergency services. There’s quite a bit of friction because of the implied suggestion that one of them is a vicious murderer. And
lots of speculation I’d like to nip in the bud. The cause of the accident was a lorry losing control. At this stage there doesn’t appear to be a link between the RTA and the murder of
Ivy Kerr. It was entirely opportunistic, I’m sure of it. A case of wrong time, wrong place.’

Naylor placed his elbows on his desk and cradled his hands. ‘What day is pension day?’

‘Wasn’t that obvious, guv,’ Daniels said. ‘Ivy’s bag was recovered at the scene: pension book, credit cards and over three hundred pounds in cash that it would
appear she’d recently withdrawn from a hole in the wall near her home. I understand that the receipt was still in her bag.’

‘That doesn’t make sense! If theft wasn’t the motive, what the hell was? She wasn’t alone, you say—’

‘No, guv. But her husband didn’t make it—’

‘You sure his injuries were caused by the crash?’

Daniels nodded. ‘He had massive internal damage, according to Tim.’

‘What were they
doing
out at that time of night?’ Gormley said to no one in particular. ‘I mean, they were a bit old to be tripping the light fantastic until dawn
weren’t they?’

‘I was wondering the same thing.’ Daniels wafted a fly away from her face and watched it drift out of the window. ‘I assume they were either headed somewhere special or
returning from holiday. My guess would be the former.’

Naylor looked at her. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Their house is north of the accident and they were travelling on the southbound carriageway. But, hey, we both saw the road, guv. It was impossible to tell which way was up, wasn’t
it, Hank?’

Gormley nodded soberly. He rose to his feet, itching to get going. ‘Mind if I start the ball rolling, guv? I’d like to speak to Ivy’s neighbours, her family, see if I can get a
starter for ten. Unless either of you want me for anything else?’

Naylor and Daniels both shook their heads.

Gormley made for the door, stopping short when Daniels called him back.

‘You don’t have to do this, Hank,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I send—’

‘No, I need to do this. Someone must know where they were heading, what they were doing out at that time of night.’ He hesitated, his hand on the door, his focus on Naylor.
‘Guv, you need to reassure the public that we’re working round the clock to sort this one. When it gets out that Kate and I were actually there, we’re going to be in for a lot of
stick.’

‘It wasn’t our fault, Hank,’ said Daniels. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’

‘Yeah, well, you never looked into her eyes, did you?’

As the door closed behind him, Naylor sighed. ‘Anything I should know about?’

‘No, guv. He’s fine. You want me to update you on Ralph Street?’

‘If you must. But stick to Ron when it’s me and you, OK?’

Daniels nodded, an idea popping into her head. Since Naylor’s transfer from Durham Constabulary he’d been complaining about being chained to his desk. Same job. Different force. But
infinitely bigger area geographically, which meant more time spent in the office, a situation he wasn’t entirely happy with.

‘You want to get out of here for an hour, guv?’

‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘Whatever it is you’re cooking up in that head of yours.’

‘Your management style is similar to mine, guv.’ She grinned. ‘I thought it was time you got your hands dirty for a change.’

His face lit up. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘If you could drag yourself away from that desk, I’d appreciate your input at the crime scene – I can update you on the way.’

T
hey left the station and headed out to Daniels’ Toyota. Naylor was very quiet as they drove off. She wondered if the press conference scheduled for later was bothering
him, an appeal for witnesses to the A1 crash. Or maybe the possible amalgamation of the Durham and Northumbria forces, a report on which had landed in her in-tray that morning.

What bright spark thought that one up?

If implemented, it would affect them both, scuppering his plans to return to the Durham force as Chief Constable one day, the reason he’d made the sideways move to Northumbria in the first
place. It would diminish her own chances of promotion too. Right now, though, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to indulge that thought.

‘You’re not going to like this, Kate.’ He turned in his seat to face her. ‘I’m having second thoughts about you running the A1 incident. I think you should step
away from it, you and Hank both. I vote we split the squad up. You two stay on the arson with Robson. I’ll act as SIO on the A1 incident with Carmichael, Maxwell and Brown.’

‘Hank won’t like that.’

Daniels meant she wouldn’t. She’d like to run both incidents herself. Already she was beginning to regret involving him. If he got a feel for the hands-on approach, knowing Naylor,
he’d get used to it. Friends or not, she didn’t want him to cramp her style.

As she glanced sideways, he turned his head away.

He knew she was rattled.

‘I’m afraid Hank will have to lump it, Kate.’ He stared out of the side window, avoiding her eyes. ‘We need to be above reproach on this one and you were both present at
the scene. Potentially, you could end up as suspects, as ridiculous as that sounds. At the very least, you’re material witnesses. Hank is, anyway. He actually saw the woman alive, you said so
yourself.’

Something outside of the car caught Daniels’ attention. She jabbed the heel of her hand on the horn.

In front of Ken’s Motorcycles on Westgate Road a couple of petrol-heads they both knew were chewing the fat over a fag and a take-away snack. One was an off-duty motorcyclist from Traffic,
someone they often rode with in the Cumbrian countryside at weekends. He waved at Daniels, delighted
he
wasn’t on duty. But all she managed was a slight nod in return.

Naylor waved as they drove by and then swivelled in his seat to face her. ‘Come on, Kate. You know it makes sense. We can run both incidents from the same MIR. I have no problem with that.
All the other rooms are busy anyway and the one downstairs is still in the throes of redecoration. We need some demarcation, obviously, but we can handle that.’

‘You’re the boss.’ Her tone was chilly.

She drove past the bowling alley and the West End nick. Naylor was about to say something more but his voice was drowned out as an ambulance passed them travelling in the opposite direction, its
lights and siren engaged. She watched it disappear through her rear-view mirror, noticing that it was the very same vehicle that had taken poor Bridget away from the scene of the RTA. The siren
faded to nothing as the ambulance cleared the traffic lights and turned left into the General Hospital heading for Accident and Emergency.

‘Kate?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I asked you about the arson?’ he said pointedly. ‘We any further forward?’

‘Maybe . . . fire investigators found a small fragment of yellow rubber glove caught on a nail in the kitchen cupboard at Maggie Reid’s house, the area least affected by the blaze.
It’s identical to the one the search team recovered from a bin a few streets away. I’m waiting for a match report from Forensics. It’s too early to tell if it was an inside job or
not. Can’t see it myself. Maggie Reid is too badly traumatized and I don’t think she’s faking it. Hank would have you believe otherwise. He’s convinced she lied about where
she was and who she was with at the time the fire started.’

‘You talk to her alibi yet? The woman she claims she was with.’

Daniels shook her head. ‘Stella Drew is keeping a low profile. I have people out looking for her.’ She glanced at Naylor. ‘It bothers me that Maggie was the one who called the
Fire Brigade, of course it does, especially in light of the party going on across the road. She claims she had better things to do, but that in itself was unusual.’

‘How so?’

‘A neighbour three doors down told the house-to-house team it was unheard of for Maggie to miss out on a big do, let alone a full-blown street party. She’s the life and soul
apparently, into karaoke, footie too, I believe, both of which were on offer that night.’

At a zebra crossing, two Asian women in traditional dress hurried across in front of the car. Their saris looked colourful and cool on such a baking hot day. Daniels watched them safely to the
other side and then set off again. She took a sharp left, narrowly missing a scrawny kid who’d rushed out into the road after a ball. When she tooted her horn to let him know she was there,
he pulled up sharply, dropping his head as they drove by.

‘You watching the footie tonight?’ she asked.

‘Why don’t you join me? I could rustle up a few beers at my place.’

‘Think I’ll pass. I’m going to work late.’

He didn’t take offence, just suggested they must do something together soon. Daniels suddenly felt guilty. She’d not seen much of him socially since he’d moved to Newcastle.
He’d bought a house near Heddon-on-the-Wall, a dilapidated farm cottage he planned to upgrade, and had recently invited the whole squad to christen it in the adjoining barn, a celebration
she’d missed.