Deadly Deceit (3 page)

‘He hates the sight of blood,’ Ivy said, as if her rescuer had been party to her memories.

‘It’s a good job he’s taking a nap then. You’re doing
really
well, Ivy. I’ll have you out of there in no time.’

The wind had changed direction and rain was bleaching through the open window. Ivy felt cold.
So cold.
‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

‘Try not to worry, love. Let’s concentrate on you for now.’

Words of comfort couldn’t console Ivy in 1942. And today was no different. What was taking so long? Wasn’t anyone else coming? There were no trenches here but the place looked like a
war zone nevertheless.

What terrors must John have seen all those years ago?

‘We were arguing when he lost control . . .’ Ivy confessed, a pang of guilt niggling deep inside her – making her feel partly responsible. ‘I wanted to delay ’til
morning but he insisted there was no time like the present. Said we’d be in London by mid-morning. Our daughter doesn’t even know we’ve gone.’

‘I’ll take care of that, pet. Soon as you’re both out of here. Going on a trip, were you?’

Ivy nodded. Glancing at John, she began sharing the secret he’d insisted she keep to herself.

‘J
esus!’
DCI Daniels said, as they stepped from the Toyota.

Gormley linked his fingers and put his hands on his head. They had attended serious road traffic accidents before but this was something else. Body parts and cars were strewn across both lanes
for several hundred metres. There were dozens of vehicles involved. Two fatalities they could see as they walked towards the worst of it. Many serious injuries and lots of walking wounded. On the
periphery of the incident blue strobe lights converging from all directions as police, medical personnel and fire crews battled to reach the scene.

Smoke drifted from a tanker lying on its side and there were casualties everywhere they looked: sitting on barriers, shaking heads, crying and getting upset. Apart from the dead and injured,
there were upwards of twenty-five civilians running back and forth, some involved in the incident, others trying to administer aid – an investigative nightmare for the traffic department.

The police helicopter hovered overhead, sending vibrations through their feet. Suddenly they were in its spotlight. Daniels looked up, shielding her eyes from the rain, wondering if the pilot
was a mate of hers, a civilian witness in her last case who’d received a commendation for services to the police and had since been employed by them following a recommendation from her. The
spotlight blinked on and off letting her know Stew Cole was watching over her.

He’d heard her on the radio to Mr Cool.

A young man walked towards her. He had spiky hair and piercing blue eyes, was dressed in jeans and T-shirt with a film spotting logo on the front and blood – real blood – smeared
across it. He was wearing flip-flops. Sensible footwear for the surface water they were standing in, Daniels thought, her eyes homing in on the rainbow effect of spilt diesel on the road. A
biker’s nightmare, even after the rain stopped.

‘You police?’ The man was a little breathless.

Drenched, cold and thoroughly miserable, Gormley looked down at his high-viz jacket. Daniels thought he was about to say
What do you think?
So she nudged his arm and he restrained
himself.

‘You hurt, sir?’ he said instead.

‘Me? No. I wasn’t involved in the accident. I’m just doing my bit.’

Daniels didn’t think the man was injured. She noticed a heavy camera bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Name?’

‘Steven, with a v, not a p h.’ His eyes were like saucers. ‘I counted
three
fatalities so far. But the body count will rise, there’s no doubt about it. And
that’s just this side of the road. I haven’t been on the other side yet. Oh man! I’ve never seen anything like it! Who needs special effects?’

‘That’ll be Spielberg then, will it, Steven with a v?’ Gormley didn’t bother trying to hide his contempt. Flipping a pad open, he took a pen from his pocket. ‘Stop
pissing about, son. I need a surname. An address. Then you can sling your hook and go back to your movies. People are in pain here. Show some bloody respect, why don’t you?’

Gormley wrote his details down and then told him to move along.

They watched him slope off, his bag bumping against his thigh as he walked.

‘What a dick!’ Daniels rolled her eyes and lifted her radio to her mouth. ‘7824 to 7295. Now on scene. Your six o’clock. What d’you want us to do?’

The senior traffic officer turned towards her, calm in a crisis as she knew he would be.

‘Can you walk up the line, Kate? I need a rough sketch. Reg numbers. Position. Details of occupants where possible. Appreciate your help. See the bus?’

Daniels’ eyes scanned the scene. A single-decker was right side up but half its windows were out. Red-and-white flags flapped through gaping holes where the glass was missing. Its
passengers peering out from within, all of them ashen, some with superficial injuries, gawping at the chaos in disbelief.

‘Yeah, I see it.’

‘Thirty plus on board. En route to the airport, apparently. I’ve instructed the driver to keep the doors shut, but they’re whingeing to be off. They could use a little
encouragement to stay put, Kate. I need more casualties wandering round like a hole in the head.’

‘Consider it done.’

Daniels led Gormley away from the film buff, who was still hanging around enjoying the spectacle, behaving like an arse. She didn’t have time for him. They had serious work to do.

I
vy Kerr was much more comfortable now with less pressure on her pelvis. She thought she’d seen John move a minute ago. But maybe she was mistaken. As her eyes slid over
his face, she noticed, bizarrely, that the white hairs in his ears needed a trim. He would hate that. He’d always taken such a pride in his appearance.

She’d tease him about it when they got home.

More rescue personnel had arrived. Strobe lights from emergency vehicles flashed non-stop and there was frantic activity as professionals took over from civilians. A couple of plainclothes
police officers with high-viz jackets walked by as the rain began to ease off. Despite the chaos all around her, the woman appeared calm, confident and businesslike. She stopped making notes in
order to direct medics to a particular individual in distress. The man with her, a large man with a pleasant face, looked at Ivy through the car window.

‘You guys in there OK?’

G
ormley waited for a response. Hours ago, on a rare night off, he’d been watching footie with unmarried police mates. Take-out Indian food. A few jars. A few laughs. Time
away from marital disharmony. And then all hell broke loose: three mobiles rang out simultaneously in the middle of the night, three ringtones competing with each other to interrupt deep,
alcohol-induced sleep. Even for coppers, for all of them to be called out was unusual. An omen of what lay ahead. And now he was surrounded by death and destruction in the middle of a traffic
nightmare in the pissing rain, with no bloody idea why Daniels had agreed to get involved.

Who was he kidding? She couldn’t walk away from a lost dog.

He didn’t approach the vehicle, just ducked beneath the height of the car roof, raising his voice over the din of sirens and screams and the noise inside his head. ‘Need any help in
there?’

A young woman grabbed his arm, begging for help. He led her to the nearest paramedic and then turned back to the car. Gormley knew a dead body when he saw one. The driver was a fatal by the
looks, the old lady being worked on not much better. A front passenger, she looked proper poorly, her green eyes paling to yellow in the early morning light as they strained to meet his. She
reminded him of his mother, or what she might look like in a few years’ time, should she live that long. The same stamp: heart-shaped face and short-cropped, silver hair. He gave her a
reassuring smile.

I
vy was comforted by his caring face. As the big man in plain clothes moved off, her rescuer smiled at her, far too busy cutting off her seatbelt to turn around and chat.

‘We’ve got it covered here, haven’t we, Ivy? You’re a star, aren’t you, love?’

‘Nice of him to ask,’ Ivy managed in return.

She was relieved to hear that her rescue was proceeding well. It meant she
would
live long enough to make that trip. God forbid she’d meet anyone called Annaliese in Austria.
Another glance at John. Those flapping wings in her chest again. It was time she learned to trust him. She took his hand in hers, praying he’d survive his injuries and make a full
recovery.

Ivy looked out the window. The big man had caught up with his female colleague. They were heading in the direction of a busload of passengers Ivy could see in the distance. In the foreground, a
young woman suddenly appeared in front of her. She’d crawled out from beneath a load of boxes that had spilled from the back of a four-by-four, blood streaming down her face, rendering her
sightless. She walked towards Ivy, hands feeling her way, oblivious to her surroundings.

‘Help! Help me,’ she cried. ‘Is anyone there?’

Ivy never saw the object that struck her, or the torch illuminating her bag. Never felt the hands searching her pockets, or the gap in her cleavage where the item was nestled between her
breasts. She met her end holding her dead husband’s hand, with police and medical personnel metres away, a blind girl looking straight at her. And she certainly never heard the shout go up as
her damaged brain stopped functioning.

‘Over here! I need help over here!’

H
aunted by images of blood and mangled flesh, Daniels and Gormley left the crash site to continue their journey. They had done what any police officers would in similar
circumstances, given assistance to the living before attending to the dead, remained at the crash scene until the incident management team had everything under control and they were no longer
required.

Gormley glanced at his watch. It was just gone five.

‘You think the dash-and-splash will still be there at this hour?’

His pet name for the fire department was an attempt to lift Daniels’ mood. But it would take more than that, the way she was feeling. She gave a shrug, driving a little slower than usual
tonight. Turning left, she entered Ralph Street where the alleged arson had taken place. A hundred metres ahead, a large white tent had been erected around the front door of a terraced house to
keep prying eyes out. A fire engine was standing by, as well as a number of panda cars and Forensic vans. She drove towards the scene, steeling herself for more misery to come.

They got out of the Toyota and stood for a moment viewing the scene. There was a media scrum behind police tape: reporters, photographers and local television crews all jockeying for position,
capturing what they could through telephoto lenses. Some elderly neighbours were in the street too, offering tea to their unexpected guests. Just then a man in a forensic suit emerged from the
crime tent to greet them. He ushered them inside so they could talk freely without fear of being quoted chapter and verse on breakfast news.

Fire Department Investigator Geoff Abbott was a man they knew well, a professional highly regarded in his field of expertise, as serious about his job as they were theirs. That didn’t stop
him going tit for tat with Gormley over their poor response time.

‘Take the scenic route, did you?’ he said.

Gormley gave him a wry smile. ‘Don’t tell me you’re complaining about the ovies hitting your pay packet this month. Rumour has it your lot spend most of your service in bed.
Why shouldn’t we? Figured we’d stop off for coffee and croissants on the way. The boss was feeling a bit peckish.’

Daniels was feeling anything but. The accident had sickened her and food was the last thing on her mind. She turned to Abbott. ‘What’s the story here, Geoff?’

‘Control room got a 999 call at one-o-four. We received a Persons on Premises call seconds later. Officers attending found two dead: believed to be Jamie Reid, ten months, and his father,
Mark Reid. The house is leased by the boy’s mother, Margaret Reid. She’d been out for the evening, leaving her ex to babysit. The building was well alight when she came home.’

‘
She
called it in?’

‘Yep. And there are no other witnesses – at least none that have come forward since I got here. I’ll check with my lads. Call me a suspicious old git, but that sounds iffy to
me. According to elderly neighbours, that way –’ Abbott pointed to his left – ‘the couple are still married. They get on fairly well, despite no longer living together since
the baby was born. Reid kept in regular contact though, so I’m guessing the child was his. As far as the neighbours are concerned there was no animosity between them.’

‘Reason for their split?’

‘Same old, same old. Extra-marital is the word on the grapevine.’

‘His affair or hers?’ Gormley asked.

‘Didn’t say, didn’t ask. That’s your remit, not mine.’ Abbott eyeballed Gormley, his expression hard. ‘Don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes after
what happened in December, do I?’

The venom in his voice was not lost on Daniels. In a previous arson case, inaccurate information provided by fire crews had been acted upon by a Murder Investigation Team – thankfully not
hers – causing red faces all round. Inter-agency cooperation was all well and good, but intelligence still had to be checked out. It was as much the fault of the police for not covering the
bases. It happened sometimes in the heat of the moment when resources were stretched. Nothing to fall out about.

Gormley eyeballed him. ‘No one blamed you, Geoff.’

Abbott bristled, holding his gaze. ‘That’s not what I heard—’

‘Hey, you two, cut it out!’ Daniels shot them both a look. ‘I’m in no mood for a punch-up. It’s old news. For God’s sake, move on!’ They didn’t
need telling twice. She glanced towards the house. ‘Appreciate what you’ve given us, Geoff. Can we take a look?’