Settled Blood (39 page)

She was beyond that.

Her heart, weakening with every second, would eventually slow to a point at which it would cease pumping blood around her body. She was fading fast, unaware that her temperature was about to
drop below a critical thirty-five degrees. Like the current, her mind drifted. She was hardly able to remember who she was any more – or even where she was – as the moving body of water
swirled waist-high around her frozen, emaciated body.

If it was to rise any further, she could bow her head and drink.

Any further than that and she would drown.

Either way, there was now little chance of rescue from her living hell.

‘T
his is strictly for your ears.’ Several pairs of eyes bore down on Daniels. ‘Suffice to say he’s gone to his grave taking our only hope with him.
It’s over to you guys now.’

She was surrounded by TSG officers and Weldon’s group of civilian volunteers. It was bright sunshine now. They had pulled their utility vehicles off the road, parking them in a circle;
protection from the weather, should it change again for the worse – which, in this part of the world, it frequently did.

Each member of the search-and-rescue team had listened intently and without interruption as she delivered her account of the previous night. A stony silence descended, followed by cries of:
bastard, selfish twat,
and a whole lot worse – all sentiments Daniels agreed with. She did her level best to lift their spirits. Then, reassured that they would carry on regardless,
she left them to get on with it and rode back to Newcastle as fast as she could.

The atmosphere in the MIR was just as bleak as the one she’d left behind. And here too she had work to do to boost her flagging squad. Gormley was standing in front of the murder wall, a
look of resignation on his face. He hadn’t noticed her come in and, despite his earlier attempt at humour, she hadn’t seen him look this glum since . . . she couldn’t remember
when.

He’d shown resilience even on the worst cases they’d worked together over the years. But this one had really got to him, and Daniels knew why. Finding a dead body was awful –
informing a loved one of a death by homicide, even worse – but they dealt with that every day. No. It was the not knowing that was eating him up – eating them all up. Unless they could
give closure to Adam Finch by finding his daughter, dead or alive, he would remain in limbo for the rest of his days.

Now that
was
hard to take.

Carmichael looked miserable too. Sitting at her desk, one hand supporting her chin, she was flicking aimlessly through a psychiatric file on Jimmy Makepeace obtained too late to do them any
good. She didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular, just leafing through it for something to do. In fact, she was so disinterested it could easily have been the
Beano
for
all the attention it was getting.

Daniels wandered over to take possession of the file. The enquiry into a death in custody was guaranteed to get messy. Not that she was in any way to blame. Nevertheless she wanted to prepare
herself in case she was called to give evidence to the Police Complaints Authority. Makepeace had been
her
prisoner and she was the SIO.

She was about to ask for the file when something in it caught her eye.

But the pages had already slipped through Carmichael’s fingers.

‘
Jesus!
’

Daniels ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t know if she believed what she’d just seen or if it was a case of wishful thinking. She asked Carmichael to skim the file again.
Slowly. Reacting to the urgency in her voice, the young DC turned back pages until she was told to stop.

Raising her head from the file, Carmichael locked eyes with Daniels. ‘What is it, boss?’ she said.

Daniels heard footsteps behind her, but the file was her only focus. Carmichael’s words and the manner in which they had been uttered acted like a magnet, drawing the gaze of detectives
working nearby. Within seconds, Gormley, Brown and Maxwell had gathered in a huddle around her, making her the centre of everyone’s attention, all of them steeling themselves for the
bombshell they knew was coming.

‘We can no longer interview Makepeace . . .’ Daniels said. ‘But we can interview his first wife, Susan.’

‘If we ever find her,’ Gormley said.

‘I think I just did.’ Daniels pointed at a photograph of a young girl in the file. ‘If that is his daughter, I know exactly where I can find his ex.’

‘S
he’s gone,’ Adam Finch said.

He looked tired. Not surprising, given that he’d been woken in the small hours to receive the distressing news that the only person who knew where his daughter was had committed suicide.
Daniels was sensitive to the fact that the murder investigation team generally, but she in particular as SIO, might not be welcome at the Mansion House right now. Jimmy Makepeace had been captured,
arrested, and remanded in custody. But they might as well have given him the keys to his police cell for all the good it had done.

But Finch was curious. ‘Why do you want to see Mrs Partridge?’

Daniels stepped forward. ‘It’s vital we speak to her. What do you mean “gone”?’

‘She resigned. After ten years, she suddenly ups and leaves! No explanation.’ Finch rolled his eyes. ‘My employees are a bloody ungrateful bunch sometimes. You’d have
thought she’d have shown enough loyalty to work her notice at least.’

‘How long ago did she leave?’ Daniels asked.

‘Why do you need to know?’

‘I’ll explain later. How long?’

‘Twenty minutes, half an hour, no more than that. Assuming she hasn’t called a taxi, it’ll take her at least that long to walk to the village.’

‘Could she have taken the bus, sir?’ Gormley asked.

Finch looked at his watch and shook his head. ‘No, she’ll have missed it. There’s only one an hour I believe, the next one’s due at twenty past. Jessica used to get it
when—’

He broke off as Gormley caught Daniels’ attention and tapped his watch. It was already five past twelve. They had time to catch up with Susan Makepeace, but they needed to move fast.
Leaving Finch in the study, they practically ran back to Carmichael’s car and got in.

‘Step on it, Lisa,’ Daniels said.

Carmichael drove away so quickly she sent plumes of dust high into the air as the gravel gave way beneath the tyres of her three series BMW, a car she’d recently acquired with money her
aunt had given her. She shot down the drive, sending geese running for their lives. At the main gate, she turned right on to a Broad and floored the accelerator for about half a mile, slowing less
than a minute later as she reached the outskirts of the village of Kirby Ayden.

The BMW inched along, three pairs of eyes glued to pavements on either side of the road as they passed a row of quaint, olde worlde shops on the right: a tea room, a bakery, a newsagent, a
barber shop sporting an old-fashioned red-and-white striped pole outside. No unisex salon here.

‘Pull in!’ Daniels said sharply.

She waited for Carmichael to stop, then pointed across the road to a market with more visitors than any of them expected to see in a village this size. Individual stalls were selling anything
and everything it was possible to cram on to half a dozen trestle tables pushed together in two parallel lines with a walkway in between.

‘There she is!’ Carmichael was pointing through the front windscreen.

Straight ahead, Mrs Partridge was trudging along the street, head down, pulling a large bag on wheels. Carmichael checked her rear-view mirror, eased out on to the road and put her foot
down.

‘Pull up short,’ Daniels said.

Carmichael did just that and her boss jumped out.

‘Susan Makepeace?’ she yelled.

The woman struggling with the bag on wheels stopped dead in her tracks. She didn’t try to run, just turned towards Daniels, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt. A couple she obviously
knew approached her. Then, following her gaze, they hesitated a moment before walking by, deciding not to get involved.

Sensible.

‘The photograph, Susan.’ Daniels held out her hand. ‘Where is it?’

Susan Makepeace didn’t respond.

‘Here, let me take that from you.’ Carmichael took possession of the woman’s bag. ‘It must be heavy.’

Susan Makepeace didn’t resist. She let it slip easily from her grasp.

As the bag was searched, Daniels made a quiet plea for information as to Jessica’s whereabouts, playing the sympathy card at the same time. But her efforts were in vain; Susan Makepeace
wasn’t listening. Carmichael found what she was looking for: the framed photograph the DCI had first seen in the kitchen of the Mansion House just six days earlier whilst her young DC was
cramming her face full of home-made scones.

Delving into her pocket, Daniels pulled out a second photograph, the one of Sally Makepeace and her father that she’d found a couple of hours ago in his psychiatric file. Placing the two
side by side for comparison, she saw that they were identical, the only difference being that on Susan’s copy, the photo had been trimmed so that Jimmy Makepeace didn’t feature.

A small group of inquisitive onlookers were now staring over in their direction from the market square. Daniels put Susan Makepeace in the rear of the BMW and climbed in next to her. The woman
began to sob. Handing her a tissue to dry her eyes, Daniels nodded to Carmichael, who started the car and drove off at speed.

‘It’s over, Susan,’ Daniels said gently. ‘Jessica will die if we don’t find her soon. If you ever cared for her, you must tell us where she is.’

‘I don’t know, I swear. I’d tell you if I did. It can’t have been Jimmy. I’ve not seen or heard of him for years, but I know he’d never harm a child. He loved
our Sally so much. He was a good man, a brilliant partner, in spite of his problems.’

‘He was, Susan. But he changed after Sally died, didn’t he?’

The woman nodded.

‘He was ill. We all understand that,’ Daniels said softly.

Susan Makepeace let out a heartbroken sob. ‘He was so unhappy. In the end, I couldn’t live with him any more. I changed my name so he wouldn’t find me. I know how it looks, but
I had nothing to do with Jessica’s disappearance, you must believe me. We were so close. As I told you, she was like a daughter to me.’

Gormley’s phone rang loud in the car.

As he took the call, Susan Makepeace carried on talking.

‘My daughter died in my arms, Inspector. One minute she had a mild headache, the next she’d turned into a medical emergency. She didn’t have a chance. I know Jimmy blamed Mr
Finch for not allowing him home, but it wasn’t his fault, really it wasn’t.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘As it turned out, he’d have been too late anyway. It was
that quick.’

A tale so desperate would normally have brought a lump to Daniels’ throat, except that the woman was lying through her back teeth. Or if she wasn’t now, she soon would be.

The DCI played along. ‘It must’ve been a very difficult time for you both.’

‘When Sally was little, Jimmy was never there. He was down the pub with his mates. That’s the truth of it. And afterwards, well, let’s just say he projected his guilt on to Mr
Finch because he couldn’t bear to live with it.’Susan Makepeace sighed loudly, seemingly a little calmer now. ‘No, Inspector. Mr Finch didn’t make him turn to drink. Jimmy
had done that long before Sally got ill. He’ll never change.’

‘So why were you running away?’ There was no compassion in Daniels’ tone.

‘Brian told me what he’d told you, more or less confirmed what I’d been thinking for this past week or so. I couldn’t face Mr Finch after that. I’m sure you
understand.’

Clever answer.
‘Townsend knew who you were?’

Susan Makepeace shook her head. ‘Nobody did.’

‘He was good mates with your husband, wasn’t he?’

‘Army buddies yes. We never saw them socially. At least, I didn’t.’

Gormley twisted in his seat. ‘Boss, you need to hear this. It’s Robbo.’

There was a message in Gormley’s eyes as he held the phone out to her:
This is really important
. Daniels apologized to Susan Makepeace. But the woman had already turned away and was
staring blankly out of the side window as the countryside flashed by.

Daniels lifted the phone to her ear.

Robson sounded excited. ‘Someone rang Makepeace’s phone at around two a.m. I only discovered that ten minutes ago when I was taking possession of his property. It’s a number he
calls regular.’

‘Do we know who?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not on the system?’

‘Not registered either.’

‘Hold on.’ Daniels clicked her fingers. ‘Pen, please, Hank. On the dash.’

Gormley grabbed the pen she was pointing at and handed it to her along with a scrap of paper he took from his pocket. Daniels went back to her call, writing down the number as Robson reeled it
off. She thanked him and hung up. Looking sideways, she stared at the back of Susan Makepeace’s head, wondering if she was on the level, almost sure she was not. The woman had her face
pressed up against the window, looking out, and didn’t turn around when the phone call ended.

Daniels still had Gormley’s phone. Catching his eye in the rear-view mirror she keyed the number she’d just written down and waited . . . Seconds later a phone rang in the car. Now
Susan Makepeace turned around, her expression stone cold.

She knew she’d been rumbled.

C
ontemplating her next move as the BMW sped northwards, Daniels felt bereft of energy. Another ‘no comment’ interview back at the station was more than she could
bear to think about. Susan Makepeace sat quietly beside her, no longer the unassuming housekeeper. Something in her head had switched the minute she knew they were on to her, a malevolent smirk
appearing on her lips that led the detectives to believe she would follow her ex-husband’s example and refuse to cooperate.

Think, Kate! Get your act together.