Deadly Deceit (35 page)

L
aidlaw was silent on the way back the city. At Market Street nick, they lodged her in the custody suite, then Gormley peeled off to be checked out by the police surgeon as
Carmichael and Daniels went straight to the incident room. Robson was sitting at his desk, a phone jammed between shoulder and neck, taking down notes as he listened. Maxwell was also busy on the
phone, feet up, a much more laid-back approach – but at least he was working. Brown was sitting at Carmichael’s computer, updating the murder wall with the fourth victim and
Laidlaw’s recent arrest. He smiled at Carmichael and held up a thumb as she went off to find refreshments, applauding Daniels on a great result as she passed his desk. But they and the rest
of the team knew there was still a way to go: facts to be checked, solicitors briefed, offences put, an interview to conduct.

Naylor added his congratulations as the DCI approached. ‘How’s Hank?’ he asked.

‘He’ll live,’ she said. ‘Any news on the Mediterranean?’

Naylor nodded. ‘Yusuf Sevket. Stanton lifted his prints in situ and we ran them through the system. He’s from Northern Cyprus, a fugitive in several countries. Andy found a
Warning–Wanted marker on the PNC too. It seems he jumped bail in Turkey in 2005 during an investigation into the killing of a British woman on holiday. Sounds like he and Laidlaw are two of a
kind. Let’s put it this way, I don’t think he’ll be missed. You did a good job today, Kate.’

‘I taught her everything she knows,’ a familiar voice behind them said.

Daniels’ old guv’nor, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright, had a wide grin on his face. He was standing in the doorway, feet crossed over each other, looking the picture of health.
He was immaculately dressed as usual: grey suit and tie, white shirt, his signature handkerchief in his breast pocket. ‘Still running the show, I see.’

A wide smile spread over Daniels’ face. ‘Hello, guv!’

‘She never looks at me that way,’ Naylor said.

‘Some people have it, some don’t.’ Bright grinned at Naylor. ‘Get over it!’

‘And to what do we owe this pleasure?’ Naylor asked. ‘Paint dry at Fantasy Island?’

‘You should try stand-up!’ Bright was enjoying the camaraderie. ‘The Chief asked me to pass on his appreciation for a sterling day’s work. Thought I’d drop by and
deliver the message in person . . .’ He turned his attention from Naylor to Daniels, his feelings for his protégé plain to see. ‘You know, I reckon you could make Super
out of this, if you play your cards right.’

‘You keep telling me that, guv. But it hasn’t happened yet.’ She gave him a pointed look, her ambition for promotion no laughing matter as far as she was concerned.
‘Don’t suppose you know why?’

Acknowledging a gaffe wasn’t Bright’s style.

‘Patience, Kate. It’s just a matter of time.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze. He’d shaped her career, knew only too well she’d done more than enough to progress to
the next rank. Scooping up his briefcase from the floor, he scanned the room, smiling at Carmichael as she arrived laden with sandwiches, crisps and coffee. ‘By the way,’ he said.
‘The drinks are on me when time allows. A knees up is long overdue. Maxwell can come too, if he can still make it off his arse.’

Everyone laughed.

Daniels walked him to the door. ‘I hear things are going well at Ponteland.’

She was discreetly referring to his new PA, Ellen Crawford. But as he turned towards her, there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that he was doing his best to hide. His feelings for her
hadn’t always been purely platonic or professional. There was a time, during his late wife’s illness, that he’d have taken things to another level, had she been willing. But that
was before he found out about her relationship with Jo Soulsby who, spookily, had just walked through the door and was heading straight for them.

‘Catch you later,’ Bright said.

And with that he was gone.

J
o smiled. ‘Was it something I said?’

Daniels didn’t answer. She was angry with Bright for walking away. His relationship with Jo had always swung between bearable and non-existent. But in recent months they’d toned
their antagonism down a little, tolerated one another, helped by his move to HQ. It wasn’t a personal thing when it began. Bright was old school, always would be. Despite Jo’s
reputation as an exceptional criminal profiler, he didn’t see the need to involve her, or anyone like her, in police work. As far as he was concerned, detectives cracked cases and worked best
when left alone to do their jobs without outside influence or interference. But Daniels suspected it
was
now personal, fuelled by his knowledge that the two women had once been an item.
She hated that two of the most important people in her life couldn’t get along. Bright would probably throw a party when Jo handed in her notice.

Maybe it would be best if she did leave.

Life would certainly be far less complicated.

‘I heard congrats were in order,’ Jo said.

Too distracted to answer, Daniels was busy watching her former boss make good his escape. He turned as he reached the door, made a telephone with his hand and held it to his ear indicating that
he’d ring her later. As she nodded her understanding, Jo waved a hand in front of her face.

‘Kate?’

‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘Absolutely nothing . . .’ Jo pointed to Daniels’ office door. ‘Shall we get on?’

The DCI led the way. On her journey back to town, she’d been as high as a kite for two reasons. One: she’d collared her suspect. Two: she’d seen Fielding again, and that
brought hope of something special for the future. Some
one
special she wanted to get to know. But as she made coffee and sat down opposite Jo, her newfound joy faded and she found herself
dragged backwards, memories of their time together crashing in on her, all thoughts of Fielding pushed away.

Torn by mixed emotions, she fought her feelings and dealt with the situation badly. Because of where they were, the conversation didn’t escalate into a full-blown row. But for the next few
minutes there was awkwardness between them she found hard to ignore. If Jo said black, Daniels said white, treating her former partner like any other business associate, making it obvious she had
neither the time nor the inclination to prolong their meeting beyond that which was absolutely necessary.

‘You OK?’ Jo asked. ‘You seem really agitated.’

‘I’m fine,’ Daniels lied. ‘Tired, that’s all.’

‘We’re all tired,’ Jo said. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.’

Daniels’ apologetic smile felt like a sneer on her lips.

‘Better get to it then.’ Jo slapped a thick file on the desk between them and handed Daniels some handwritten notes, a précis of what she’d discovered. ‘While you
were out searching for Laidlaw, Abbott gave me access to her Fire Service record. I called in a few favours with my colleagues at Social Services. Bribery and corruption usually does the trick, I
find.’

Her joke fell on deaf ears.

‘It’s very impressive,’ was all Daniels said.

‘Ahm, what’s with the cold and unfriendly tone?’

‘Can you give it to me in layman’s terms?’

‘Of course!’ Jo said. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

‘No.’

‘If this is about my leaving—’

‘It’s not!’

‘Because, if it is, I’ve decided—’

Daniels cut her off. ‘Look, you must do what you think fit. It’s really none of my business, is it?’

Jo looked angry but held her tongue. Grabbing the notes from the desk, she buried her head in them, trying to hide the fact that she was upset. As she began to sum up what she’d found out
–
something to do with Laidlaw being mistreated as a child
– her words were drowned out by Daniels’ guilty thoughts. She was behaving like a prat and Jo had done nothing
to deserve it.

‘Are you getting
any
of this or am I wasting my breath?’ Jo asked pointedly.

‘Child abuse doesn’t excuse what she did.’

‘No . . . but it goes some way to explaining it,’ Jo reminded her. ‘Shall I carry on?’

‘Please.’

‘From an early age, Lucy was living south of the river. She was taken into the care of Gateshead local authority when she was eight years old . . .’ Jo paused. ‘Is she being
processed now?’

Daniels nodded. ‘It’ll take a while to get her brief down here. I wanted your input so I could work out an interview strategy.’ Deciding that an apology was in order, she tried
to find the right form of words but they remained on the tip of her tongue and were never articulated because she hid behind the work as usual. ‘Naylor’s building up a picture of the
man she was with. Information is flooding in now we’ve ID’d him. Con man and money launderer was his claim to fame. I think he’d groomed Laidlaw, who was the Brit arm of a much
larger operation of organized crime.’ Daniels was still choking on the apology. ‘Her living in Gateshead during the early part of her life adds up, though.’

‘How?’

‘It’s another connection between her and Ivy’s lottery ticket. She wasted no time collecting the winnings. On Thursday she caught a train to King’s Cross and met a man
who has since called the incident room. Ben Foster happens to be a linguist and nailed her accent which, he says, she was none too happy about at the time. He also said she was very odd. Dangerous,
was the word he used to describe her. Reckons she’s got a screw loose.’

‘Is that a psychiatric term?’

Daniels smiled. ‘He claims she made a play for him that he rejected, then denied knowing him when they met by chance the very next day.’ She paused for a moment. ‘There’s
something odd about him too, I reckon. I get the feeling he’s not telling the whole truth, only the part he wants us to hear.’

‘That makes two of you,’ Jo said.

‘Look—’

Jo held up a hand. ‘I take that back. I can see you’re under a lot of pressure, Kate. I’ll do anything to help, you know that. Just let’s not argue, eh?’ She handed
Daniels a set of glossy photographs. ‘Take a look at these.’

Daniels’ face twisted in revulsion as she flicked through the photographs. They were graphic images: close-ups of cigarette burns on a child’s torso. There were more than two dozen
of them in total. ‘They’re disgusting,’ she said. ‘But then so is what she did to Jamie Reid.’

‘Violence breeds violence, you know that.’ Jo exhaled as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. ‘It was too late for Lucy by the time social workers discovered
the extent of the problem. A school nurse raised the alarm. Education professionals were concerned but didn’t flag her up as they should’ve, despite the fact that she was displaying
classic character traits of an abused child. Had they done so, Lucy would’ve been picked up by child protection much sooner. According to reports, she was a precocious child from an early
age, exhibiting inappropriate and provocative behaviour towards adult males: teachers, social workers, doctors, foster fathers. Each time they found a home for her, she was returned to
care.’

‘Was anyone ever charged?’

‘With the abuse? Not according to Robbo.’

‘Why not?’

‘Her father worked away a lot and both parents apparently had affairs. He
was
questioned but in his defence he cited multiple partners on the mother’s side. Without
Lucy’s evidence, they couldn’t make a case.’

‘She never told anyone who abused her?’

Jo shook her head. ‘Amazing isn’t it?’

For a few seconds the room fell silent, a little girl’s torment affecting them both.

It was Jo who broke the deadlock. ‘Her father passed himself off as a successful businessman, but health-care professionals expressed doubts about his status. He was a bit of a con man
himself, I think. That’s probably where she got the faulty gene, the aptitude for reinventing herself.’

‘How the hell did she get into the fire service?’

‘Kids like Lucy learn to manipulate from an early age. It makes them feel powerful and, from what I’ve learned from your lot, she’s good at it too. She’s beyond help,
Kate. And she’s not going to be easy to interview, that’s for sure.’

Her comment prompted Daniels to look at her watch. ‘I must go.’

Jo uncrossed her legs and stood up. ‘Good luck.’

Daniels stood up too and took the file from her. ‘Thanks for this.’

There was a moment of heartache and sorrow between them.

‘If you can bring yourself to do it sensitively, play on the abuse . . .’ Jo suggested. ‘If you find the right trigger, she may collapse and tell you all you want to
know.’

‘I’m surprised to hear you say that.’

‘Needs must,’ Jo said sadly. ‘I told you, it’s too late for Lucy. She walks and she’ll kill again, there’s no doubt about it.’

D
aniels didn’t need Jo to tell her what she was up against. That much was evident from the moment she walked into the interview room and saw those eyes at close quarters.
Studying her suspect closely, a slide show of horrendous burns ran through Daniels’ head. She decided that anyone who’d experienced such torture as a child and kept it to herself would
have no difficulty facing a few questions as an adult – police or no police.

Nothing could possibly touch her after that.

Having been stripped of her designer clothing, Laidlaw was now dressed in a baggy white disposable paper boiler-suit. She stared back across the table at Daniels, an inscrutable expression on
her face, the shaved head and pale complexion highlighting her malevolent streak. Her solicitor, Beatrice Parks, was sitting next to her, a woman of around forty-five years of age whose face was
covered in hundreds of freckles made worse by the recent sunny weather. She had shoulder-length, strawberry blonde, corkscrew hair and wore pink-framed spectacles low on the bridge of her nose. She
was wearing a pin-striped shirt, the neck and cuffs edged with a frill. A senior solicitor in one of the city’s largest criminal law firms, she was an excellent advocate who knew every trick
in the book and would be watching for any holes in Daniels’ case.