Settled Blood (38 page)

Jo studied her, any resentment she may have felt giving way to understanding. She was there to assist the murder investigation team and to support Daniels, even though she didn’t think she
deserved it.

‘To be honest, I’ve not slept well when I
have
been home.’ Daniels said. ‘I’ve been having this weird recurring dream which ends with me firing a gun. It
isn’t Forster, or at least I don’t think it is. I’m firing into the darkness and I don’t understand why.’

‘It’s a dream, Kate, that’s all. A sign of unrest. You’ve had a lot on lately.’

She was probably right.

Daniels finished her soup and felt better for it. Turning her attention to a large flat-screen mounted on the wall, she saw that it was presently showing four images of areas under close
observation. But, in this instance, she was only concerned with viewing one in particular: cell number four. She pressed a button on the handset and the split screen changed to a single image.
Bizarrely, Makepeace was not sitting on the bed provided. He was lying on the concrete floor, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Daniels zoomed in for a close-up on his face: not a flicker of
emotion visible.

Having observed him for several minutes, Jo eventually broke the silence. ‘You can have all the interview strategies you want, Kate. But if I’m reading him right, he’ll
continue his wall of silence until you’re blue in the face. Psychologically, this isn’t affecting him at all.’

‘Well, I’m going to have to try! He’s been detained for the purpose of interview and that’s what he’ll get, like it or not. The question is, how do I go about it,
what methods do I employ? The Police and Criminal Evidence Act doesn’t allow me to pull his fingernails out with pliers, more’s the pity. An AK-47 might do it though, if you have one in
that bag of yours.’

But Jo wasn’t laughing.

‘Frankly, I don’t know what to advise.’ Jo looked back at the screen. ‘He’s a professional soldier, highly trained in anti-interrogation techniques. Guys like him
are taught how to resist, how to shut down in order to protect themselves. They’re used to sleep deprivation. Cold. Hunger. Unfortunately, you’ve put him in a nice warm cell and
probably given him something to eat.’

‘You’re telling me I won’t get near him, is that it?’

‘I’m telling you it won’t be easy to break him down.’

Makepeace hadn’t moved an inch.

Deep down, Daniels knew Jo was right. From day one, the man’s sole purpose had been to cause alarm and distress, pain and suffering, to Adam Finch – and he’d achieved that in
spades. The longer he could go on inflicting that pain, the better he would like it. Jo’s words had only served to confirm what Daniels was already thinking.

‘I’m sorry, Kate. I doubt he’ll tell you anything that’ll lead you to Jessica, dead or alive,’ she said. ‘Because he knows if she’s not found it will
eventually drive her father insane.’

There was a knock at the door.

Naylor came in looking refreshed from the shower. He greeted them both, letting them know he was ready to interview the suspect. Daniels punched numbers into the handset and the image switched
from cell number four to an empty interview room: IR2. They left Jo to observe and took a short walk along the corridor. They had barely sat down when Makepeace was brought in by a PC. Daniels
waited for the uniform to clear the room and then switched on the recording device, her eyes settling on the man sitting opposite.

‘This interview is being conducted in interview room two at the West Road police office. I am Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels of the murder investigation team. Also present is
Detective Superintendent Ron Naylor. And you are . . .?’

Daniels gestured for Makepeace to speak next.

He remained silent.

‘Mr Makepeace, would you answer the question, confirming your name, date of birth and current address?’

Makepeace was staring not
at
her but
through
her. It was as if he’d fixed his cold, dark eyes to a point on the wall somewhere behind her and there they remained for the next
few minutes.

‘The suspect has declined to answer,’ Daniels said for the benefit of the tape. ‘Where is she, Jimmy?’ She waited for a response. But Makepeace chose silence. He
didn’t even blink. ‘OK, tell us where you were between six p.m. and midnight on the evening of Tuesday, fourth May.’

Makepeace said nothing. The only sound Daniels could hear was her own desperate thoughts.

If Jessica is still alive, she can’t possibly hold out much longer.

‘Can you account for your whereabouts between six p.m. and midnight on the evening of Wednesday the fifth of May?’ Daniels continued her line of questioning. But still there was no
reply. She tried a different tack. ‘What were you doing outside the crematorium?’

Nothing was touching him.

Makepeace was clearly in the zone.

A
n hour and a half of interrogation and not a single word had left the suspect’s lips. After the excitement of the arrest, Daniels and Naylor walked away from the
interview feeling as if they were right back where they started.

‘He gets minimum rest,’ Naylor said. ‘Then we try again.’

‘We’re wasting our breath, guv!’ Daniels snapped. She wanted to punch something. Scream. Yell. But what would be the point? ‘Did you see those eyes? Cold as ice. You
could stick pins in them, he wouldn’t even flinch.’

‘He’s a hard-arsed bastard, I’ll give you that.’

‘Yeah, Jo nailed him as soon as she looked at him. As she said, he’s had all the right training. Well, we’ve had all the right training too and we’ve been in the job long
enough to know when we’re beaten. Let’s face it, if we’re going to find Jessica Finch, alive or dead, we’re going to have to do it without his help.’

They walked back to the observation suite to collect Jo, then organized coffee and found somewhere comfortable to sit and plan their next move, knowing that it was important to regroup now
rather than leaving it till morning.

It was getting on for two thirty a.m. – and several coffees later – when they finally agreed on the best line of attack. They were about to call it a day when a deafening alarm bell
rang out in the building, getting louder and louder the longer it went on.

Daniels shot out of her seat and poked her head round the door to see what was going on. Several officers came tearing down the corridor, heading in the direction of the cell block. With a
sinking feeling, she took off after them with Naylor and Jo right behind her. The moment she turned the corner, her worst fears were realized.

The door to cell 4 was gaping open. A huddle of bodies crowded around the entrance, visibly shaken by what they could see. Daniels rushed towards them and pushed her way through. Makepeace was
lying unconscious on the floor in a pool of his own vomit, a small plastic bag smeared with human faeces next to him. A custody officer was kneeling beside him, his face frozen in disbelief,
completely clueless as to what to do next. A pair of latex gloves dangled loosely from his right hand. Grabbing them, Daniels shoved him aside and snapped them on. Yelling for a defibrillator, she
lifted Makepeace’s eyelid.

The eye underneath was unresponsive.

Tilting his head back, she listened for breath.

There was none.

Someone handed her a resuscitation aid, a plastic valvelike tube designed to fit into a casualty’s mouth. Wiping away vomit from Makepeace’s airways, she put it into his mouth.
Pinching his nose between forefinger and thumb – trying to ignore the stench of vomit – she took a long deep breath and blew twice into the tube. He still wasn’t breathing, so she
began chest compressions.

‘One, two, three, four . . .’ Tears were rolling down her cheeks, sweat running down her back. ‘Don’t you
fucking
die on me you
bastard
!’

Naylor and Jo looked on helplessly as she tried for fifteen minutes to revive him, both manually and by delivering a shock with the defibrillator when it came. She hadn’t figured on him
topping himself, shafting them completely in the process. The evil sod had prepared for his arrest and, if necessary, his death, right down to the very last detail, concealing poison he knew
wouldn’t be found without a full internal body search.

Daniels was faintly aware of Naylor’s voice as he cleared the room behind her. And, seconds later, felt his presence near her as she continued in her quest to restart her suspect’s
heart. Deep down she knew that her efforts were in vain. A strangulated wail escaped from her mouth, a demonstration of distress so upsetting it made Jo shiver.

‘That’s enough, Kate,’ Naylor said softly.

And still Daniels continued to ram her balled hands into the centre of the suspect’s chest. ‘One, two, three, four . . .’

Her voice broke off, exhaustion taking over.

‘Kate, he’s gone!’ Naylor’s tone was more forceful than before.

Stopping the heart massage, Daniels sank back on her heels, head bowed in defeat, a mixture of grief and anger washing over her. She was sobbing now, not for Makepeace but for Jessica. Getting
up, she pushed her way past Naylor without another word, ripping off her gloves as she went. Jo followed her out. Leading her into a nearby office, she shut the door behind them and held Daniels
close until her rage began to subside.

‘I’m so sorry, Kate,’ she whispered. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he was
ever
going to tell you where he’d hidden Jessica.’

Daniels withdrew, choking back the tears, a look of pure anguish on her face.

‘I hope he burns in hell!’ she said.

The search team were now her only hope.

W
hen Daniels was a little girl, her father had told her that mist was made up of clouds that dropped out of the sky and landed on the ground with a bump. And she’d
believed him. She believed everything he said back then.

They were inseparable.

A lifetime ago.

She’d been thinking about him a lot in the past hour, watching as the sun came up over the horizon of North Pennine minefields, tiny droplets of water clinging to the landscape as she
waited for Weldon to arrive. But it was another estranged father–daughter relationship that was really on her mind, one that now had little prospect of survival.

A slim chance was all Daniels could realistically hope for.

The suicide had come as yet another blindside for her to deal with. She felt guilty that she hadn’t seen it coming. Why hadn’t she? Hadn’t his actions since day one suggested
that Makepeace was sick of living, or at the very least that he had nothing left to live for?

Daniels sighed, her eyes scanning the landscape. The murder investigation team had come close. But not close enough. And now they faced an impossible task, searching this dangerous and difficult
terrain with its potholes, tunnels and boggy streams stretching as far as the eye could see. She feared that the search could go on for years as another had done at the southern end of the
Pennines. She couldn’t help but wonder if this would be
her
Saddleworth Moor.

Her phone rang, pulling her away from that depressing thought.

‘Kate?’ It was Hank Gormley. ‘You OK?’

He sounded worried.

‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’

‘I just swung by your house. Couldn’t raise you.’

‘I’m not in.’

‘You don’t say.’ Gormley chanced his arm: ‘You at Hartside, by any chance?’

A wry smile formed on Daniels’ lips. He was referring to her fuck-off destination, the place she always fled to on her bike when things were grim at home or at work. An area not so far
away – less than thirty miles from where she was now standing – where she went to think things through.

‘Close,’ she said. ‘I’m waiting for Weldon.’

‘You sound like I just chucked you.’

Daniels laughed.

And then cried.

No one spoke for a very long time.

‘You want company?’ Gormley said eventually.

‘You need to ask?’

‘Meet you back at the office then. And don’t be too long or I’ll need another shave.’

He hung up.

G
ormley knew that choosing to take a ride up there so early in the morning was Daniels’ way of holding back the despair. Others might throw a sickie, hit the shops, max
out their credit card or drink themselves into oblivion. But solitude was
her
way. And when she’d spent enough time alone, organizing her thoughts, she’d move quickly on, take
positive steps and get back on track without dwelling on the past.

What other choice did she have?

She couldn’t allow the actions of a deranged man to overwhelm her.

D
aniels wiped her eyes. In the early hours she’d telephoned Bright to tell him what had happened. He’d taken it upon himself to contact Adam Finch, giving his
friend the devastating news that Makepeace had topped himself. Knowing her former boss, she wouldn’t put it past him to have done that in person at the Mansion House first thing. And for that
she was very grateful. She wanted to be the one to let Weldon in on events overnight. The news would hit the rescue effort hard. Morale would plummet and heads would go down. She’d have to
work hard to build them up again before the search resumed.

Dismounting the Yamaha, she took a long, deep breath. Patches of mist were blowing along on a soft breeze, an eerie sight when you were the only one about. Taking a few steps off the road into
wet grass, she listened, watched, wondering if she would somehow sense if Jessica were alive or dead. Not that she really believed in ESP, but she could at least
hope
that it existed.
Besides, while she’d been sitting there, she’d had the distinct impression that this desolate landscape was actually talking to her.

T
he miner’s helmet slipped from Jessica’s left leg and was gone. Sailing away on the current, taking her only source of light with it, it bumped off the side of the
tunnel as it left her behind. Jessica watched it go, but had no energy to care. Fear didn’t grip her any more, nor regret, or even pain.