Deadly Deceit (16 page)

‘Good idea . . .’ Gormley put his head on one side. For Daniels’ benefit, he pointed at something on the floor beside Stella’s feet. ‘If you’re going to kick
a hypodermic under the couch, you should make sure you do it properly.’

Drew’s face paled but still she kept shtum.

Daniels glanced at Gormley. ‘Make the call, Hank.’

‘No, listen—’ The end of Drew’s Marlborough dropped on to the greasy armrest of her chair as she spoke. Brushing it away, she stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and
stood up to face them, her eyes flitting to each of her kids before finally coming to rest on Daniels. ‘Whatever you think of me, my kids are all I’ve got. They mean everything to me.
I’m trying to get clean, I swear to you. I’ll tell you all I know if you don’t tell the Social.’

‘I want to believe that . . .’ Daniels made a mental note to phone Social Services as soon as she got back to the office. The kids were at risk, whatever their mother might say. You
could tell that by looking at them. ‘If you cared that much you’d put them first and get rid of the gear for good.’

The
Scotswood stare
is a colloquialism for an intimidating glare: an angry look, a glower, hard eyes. Whatever description a person cared to use, it was impossible not to know when
you’d received one. Stella Drew’s were degree standard, a mixture of hatred and despair thrown in for good measure.

Her eyes fixed on to Daniels’ like lasers. ‘What would you know?’ she said.

‘Very perceptive . . .’ Daniels gave a half smile. ‘You’re right, I’m not a mother. But even I can see when kids are being neglected. These little ones deserve more
than you’re prepared to give, Stella. But that’s not why we’re here. Tell us what’s going on. We’re going to find out anyway.’

‘No Social? Promise me . . .’ Drew pleaded. Her eyes misted up when Daniels didn’t answer. ‘I agreed to cover for Maggie, right? But I don’t want to get involved
now that . . . now that her kid . . .’ She broke off, wiping snot from her nose with the back of her hand. ‘We weren’t together that night. She asked me to lie ’cause
she’s got a boyfriend, a married one. Lives local. But I don’t know who he is, I swear. She wouldn’t tell me. I think she’s scared of him.’

Daniels had what she came for. Stella Drew would cough sooner or later, but for now she refused to be drawn any further. At least they knew Maggie Reid was lying about being out with her on the
night of the fire. And if she hadn’t been clubbing, then where the hell had she been? Maybe the boyfriend wasn’t the only thing she’d lied about, Daniels mused on the way back to
the MIR. Maybe the child wasn’t Mark Reid’s at all. Maybe the mystery boyfriend was the father, but not quite ready for fatherhood. There were always a million maybes.

When they pulled into the station, Gormley seemed preoccupied. Daniels followed his gaze to the perimeter fence. The low-loader was gone, Ivy’s car nowhere to be seen. She got out and
looked at him across the roof of the car, the postcode she’d lifted from Ivy’s satnav pushing its way into her thoughts.

‘That postcode I gave you? You got it with you?’

Gormley stuck a hand in his pocket, pulled out a bit of paper and waved it in the air. Daniels took it from him, got out her phone and keyed it into BlackBerry maps. Her eyes were like saucers
as the result popped up on the tiny screen. Raising her head, she looked at Gormley for a long moment, her heart banging in her chest, her hands shaking as she pocketed the phone.

‘Get on to the search coordinator,’ she said. ‘Tell him I want to see him right away.’

Gormley frowned. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just do it!’ Daniels yelled.

T
he search coordinator shook his head, a concerned expression crossing his face. He leaned on a pool cue, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. They were in the
recreation room surrounded by officers making the most of their tea break. By the looks of them, they weren’t too happy about the interruption.

‘You going to be long, boss?’ one of them asked, impatient to resume his game.

Daniels shot him a dirty look. She eyeballed the search coordinator, a man she trusted implicitly to tell her the truth. ‘You’re absolutely certain that no lottery ticket was found
on either body or in the car?’

‘One hundred per cent, boss,’ he answered confidently. ‘Searched it myself.’

Gormley and Daniels exchanged a look.

‘Is there a problem?’ he queried.

‘No, no problem,’ Gormley said. ‘Sorry for holding up your game.’

Daniels pulled a fifty-pence piece from her pocket and placed it under the pile of coins already there. ‘Next game’s on me,’ she said, then walked away with Gormley following
close behind.

They headed straight for the MIR, excitement giving way to anxiety as they reached the second floor. Stopping at the head of the stairs, Gormley was breathing heavily as usual, chuntering about
losing weight again.

‘So greed is the motive for Ivy’s murder,’ he said.

‘Looks like it.’ Daniels sighed. ‘That’s assuming she bought a ticket.’

‘Of course she bought a ticket! Their satnav was—’

‘Programmed for Lottery HQ, I know. But without the ticket we have no proof. We need to talk to Ivy’s family, Hank. Find out if she was in the habit of buying tickets and, if so,
when and where from. If we can pin down a particular retailer, maybe we have a chance. Right now we need to spill the beans to Naylor. He’s not going like it that we’ve been meddling in
his case.’

Gormley stared along the corridor towards the MIR. ‘OK, here’s what we do,’ he said. ‘Just blame me, like it was all my idea—’

‘Ahm, it
was
your idea.’

‘Don’t split hairs! Anyway, what’s he going to do, sack me?’

‘I’ve seen him can people for less.’

‘Nah. He’s one of the good guys! That’s never going to happen.’

Daniels wasn’t too sure.

‘You think?’ Gormley made a crazy face. ‘So we took a peek at Ivy’s car, so what?’

Daniels wasn’t really listening.

‘It’s hardly a hanging offence!’ Gormley added when she looked back at him. ‘Just tell him it was—’

‘He expressly told us not to involve ourselves, Hank. That’s direct insubordination in anyone’s book. Maybe sacking’s a bit strong. But think of it from his point of
view. He’s relatively new in post and one of the first orders he gives is ignored. You can’t expect him to be happy about—’

‘You got a better idea?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Didn’t think so . . .’ Gormley stroked his chin, searched his brain for inspiration, not finding any. ‘Well, we can’t sit on what we know. Someone needs to follow
it up with Ivy’s family right now, not when the B Team get their arses into gear.’

‘Hope that wasn’t for my benefit, Hank.’

Detective Inspector Roger Wallace had reached them on the stairwell, a big man with eyes too close together and really thin lips that made him appear bad tempered even thought he was actually
quite jolly. Gormley glowered at him. For some reason these two gentle giants had never got along.

‘You shouldn’t creep up on people,’ Gormley growled.

‘Sorreee!’ The DI feigned surrender, both hands in the air. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt. You two sound like you’re having a domestic. Like me and my lass . . . on a
good day. I give her grief. She gives me earache. It’s what the guv’nor calls a lively exchange of views. If I were you, I’d kiss and make up.’

‘If I were you, I’d piss right off,’ Gormley said.

The DI walked away grinning.

T
he saying ‘walls have ears’ is true of all police stations. Detectives worldwide earwig other people’s conversations and take an interest in their business,
invited or not. It’s all intelligence gathering, after all – a skill drummed into them at training school. Once Wallace was out of earshot, Daniels checked the stairwell to make sure
others weren’t listening in. Two officers lurking on the floor below looked up. Seeing her peering over the top of the handrail, they scurried off, and she turned back to Gormley in time to
catch his dumb idea.

‘Why don’t you suggest to the guv’nor that he treat Ivy’s car as an absolute priority?’ he said.

‘Oh, that’ll work!’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Come on.’

Entering the MIR ahead of him, she did a double take as she passed over the threshold. Naylor had completely reorganized the place. Because she had wanted to stay in touch with the A1 murder
case, the idea of sharing the incident room sounded great when he had suggested it. But in reality she could see it was going to be a total nightmare: desks pushed together haphazardly, filing
cabinets moved, no rhyme or reason to the arrangement. Clearly, aesthetics were not his strong point.

Carmichael flashed them a dubious look. Swivelling her chair round to face them, she asked what they thought of their new home. It was obvious she didn’t like it. Daniels didn’t
either, but she ignored the question.

‘Is the guv’nor in, Lisa?’

‘He was a moment ago.’

‘Alone?’

‘Last time I looked. Something wrong?’

‘A bit of Feng Shui wouldn’t go amiss.’

Lisa burst out laughing. ‘Reminds me of the old room downstairs—’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Gormley interrupted. ‘It’s not supposed to be cosy. It’s an office!’

‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said the DCI. ‘Hank, you’d better make yourself scarce. I’ll let you know when you can come back out to play.’

Carmichael gave them an odd look.

‘Don’t ask,’ Daniels said.

She went straight to her office, shut the door, and logged on to her computer. She needed some quiet time to think things through; time to come up with a strategy before she told Naylor the ugly
truth that she’d gone behind his back. For once, she was delighted to see that her inbox was full of emails requiring an immediate reply. She dealt with those, then turned her attention to a
hastily scribbled Post-it note from Harry Graham, the receiver: I NEED AN URGENT WORD. IT REALLY CAN’T WAIT.

Thank you, God!

But when she phoned his office, Harry told her he’d already spoken to Hank and had his question answered. Sod it, she thought, looking at her watch. Six-fifteen. Her desk and in-tray were
clear of anything resembling work. With nothing else to distract her, she went to ’fess up.

She found Naylor in his office surrounded by files. On one side of his desk was a large white binder – the ACPO Murder Investigation Manual – the office bible. He’d been
brushing up, though she couldn’t imagine why. What he didn’t know about running a major incident she could write on a postage stamp. Propped up on one elbow, he was eating a salad from
a transparent plastic bowl.

‘This isn’t just food,’ he said. ‘It’s M and S food.’

Daniels smiled. His attempt at mimicking Dervla Kirwan, the voice of the Marks and Spencer ad campaign, was dreadful.

He held up the bowl. ‘You’re eyeing my grub. Want some?’

‘Not for me thanks, guv.’

‘No appetite for good food? You’d better sit down then. It must be serious.’

He knew her too well.

‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. Her stomach rumbled audibly.

‘Doesn’t sound like it.’ Chasing a cherry tomato around the salad bowl, he eventually managed to spike it with a white plastic fork and popped it into his mouth whole.
‘Is there something specific I can help you with? Pull up a perch.’

‘I was wondering how Ivy’s case is going.’ She remained standing, acting like she was just passing the time of day – normal office chat. ‘Got any definite leads
yet?’

‘Eh?’ Naylor carried on eating. ‘I know I’m good, Kate. But I’m no miracle worker. How did you get on?’

‘Maggie Reid’s alibi collapsed. I need to interview her again.’ She rubbed at the back of her neck, playing for time, feeling hot and hoping it didn’t show. Then she lost
her bottle altogether as guilt crept into the equation. Naylor wasn’t just her boss. He was a good mate too and had been for as long as she could remember. She smiled weakly. ‘I’d
. . . better get on.’

She hadn’t reached the door when his voice caught up with her. ‘This got anything to do with what you found in Ivy’s car?’ he asked.

With her back to him, she froze. Pressing her lips tightly together, she turned to face him. His eyes were smiling – a good sign, she thought – then they weren’t. She found she
couldn’t read him. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Out of the corner of her left eye, she caught movement in the office outside. Carmichael’s cheeky face popped up at the
internal window, then Brown’s, Maxwell’s and finally Robson’s, fanning out like cards. They were doubled up laughing.

Daniels blushed as they walked away. Anticipating a bollocking, she tried to find a reasonable explanation for involving herself in
his
case. Direct disobedience of an order was a
situation she’d been in before and one she’d vowed never to repeat. On the last occasion it had been a different boss, but all the same . . . Here she was again, keeping things from her
guv’nor, digging herself a bloody big hole. Why oh why couldn’t she play it straight for once?

‘Pull another stunt like that and I’ll be forced to put you on the naughty step,’ Naylor said.

‘I won’t, Ron. I promise.’ She sat down and pulled her chair closer to his desk. ‘You’re not going to believe what I found—’

Her attempt to leave Gormley out of it failed.

‘I know exactly what you found and who you were with when you found it. But don’t you worry. The B Team will sort it.’

Daniels cringed. That bastard Wallace had grassed them up. ‘We really
were
rumbled, weren’t we?’

‘Spectacularly.’

The guv’nor sat back in his chair, enjoying himself at her expense. Same old Naylor she’d known at training school: happy to roll with the punches and not averse to bending the rules
himself.

‘Where is the big man anyway?’ he asked.

‘Powdering his nose.’

‘Is that a euphemism for hiding?’

‘Something like that, but under my direction. Guv, please leave Hank out of this. I take full responsibility.’ Her plea brought no response. The result of the postcode search barged
its way into her head:
Camelot Group plc
, an address at Tolpits Lane, Watford, Hertfordshire. She was desperate that Naylor take immediate action. ‘You going to get on to Lottery HQ?
Winners are the only ones who make that trip.’