Settled Blood (40 page)

It was time to press some buttons, provoke a reaction. Daniels didn’t care how she got the information from Susan Makepeace, so long as she got it. Just then the car passed a sign –
motorway service station, half a mile – which gave her an idea. Leaning forward in her seat, she tapped Carmichael on the shoulder.

‘Pull into the garage, will you, Lisa? Get me some water and twenty tabs.’

Carmichael indicated her intention to exit the A1M. ‘The usual, boss?’

‘Please, I’m gagging for a smoke.’

Feigning a yawn, Gormley looked at Carmichael. ‘I’ll come with you, I could do with some air and I need the cashpoint. My lass is going out on the hoy tonight with some lasses she
went to school with. She’ll have my guts for garters if I come home empty-handed.’

Daniels stifled the urge to grin, grateful that she had such an alert couple of detectives with her. Both Gormley and Carmichael had picked up on her ploy to get them out of the car. She
hadn’t smoked in a long time and just wanted a private chat with the former Mrs Makepeace.

Having cautioned and arrested her on suspicion of aiding and abetting an abduction, to question her before she was properly represented would constitute a technical breach of protocol. But it
was a judgement call. Daniels was acting on instinct. Any court in the land would forgive such a small indiscretion. Her primary duty was and had always been to preserve life, protect the public,
and keep the Queen’s peace. If she were being honest, right now it wasn’t the sovereign’s peace on her mind. It was the nasty piece of work sitting right next to her in the
car.

Carmichael slowed as she passed the familiar blue countdown markers to the start of the deceleration lane: three slashes . . . two . . . one. She left the motorway on the slip road. The service
station was busy, parking at a premium, no spaces close to the shop and restaurant. There were fewer cars parked near the perimeter fence in a quiet spot overlooking open fields.

Carmichael used her initiative and drove in that direction.

Stopping the car, she killed the ignition and got out, taking her keys with her. Gormley followed, telling Daniels they wouldn’t be long. Susan Makepeace watched them go and then met the
DCI’s gaze with a look of defiance. There it was again. That same malicious, mocking smirk that said:
Can’t fool me, I know what you’re up to.

‘Where is she, Susan?’ Daniels saw no point in wasting precious time. ‘We know you’re involved now, so you may as well tell us. It’ll save us all a lot of
aggravation back at the station. Your ex didn’t like it much last night, that’s for sure.’

Susan Makepeace didn’t even flinch. Just sat there tight-lipped. She’d been a good-looking woman in her time. But the years had taken their toll, adding fine lines to her face,
particularly around her mouth. She looked away as a car drew up alongside with a couple of kids in the back, a boy and a girl. The little girl smiled at her and received a weak smile in return. The
chance encounter came at exactly the right time and was like manna from heaven to the DCI. She’d been due some luck. The girl was of similar age to Sally Makepeace at the time of her
death.

Daniels seized the moment. ‘Was it the stress of losing Sally that turned him, Susan?’

Makepeace swung round. ‘Off the record?’

‘Of course,’ Daniels lied.

‘Do you believe in fate, Inspector?’

‘I think certain things happen for a reason, if that’s what you mean.’

‘When I went to work for Finch I had
absolutely
no idea who he was.’ She hesitated. ‘I can see you don’t believe me, but it’s true all the same. In fact,
everything I told you earlier was true. Finch wasn’t to blame for my daughter’s death and my Jimmy was a big drinker who couldn’t reconcile himself with his . . . his lack of
interest in Sally when she was alive. By the way, I’ll deny everything if you repeat it. I won’t be saying anything in a formal interview. I know my rights. You can’t question me
without a solicitor present, if I choose to have one. And I
will
have one. You can be sure of that.’

‘I’m not asking you anything, Susan.You’re telling me, aren’t you?’ The car next to them moved off again. The little girl in the back seat waved. Susan Makepeace
didn’t wave back so Daniels did it for her, prompting further conversation, trying not to sound confrontational. ‘You were saying, Susan?’

Makepeace studied her hands. ‘All the time we were separated, I still wore Jimmy’s rings. That was one of the first things he noticed when I bumped into him in Kirby Ayden about a
month ago, quite by chance. He was very unhappy, said he wanted me back. Shortly afterwards he told me who Finch was. He asked me to help him teach the bastard a lesson. No, I’m wrong there.
He begged me. Got down on his hands and knees and cried like a baby, he did. He promised not to harm Jess, though—’

‘That’s total bollocks and you know it. Jimmy left nothing to chance. He’d been watching Finch and planning his revenge down to the very last detail.’ Daniels ran a hand
through her hair. ‘Jesus, he must’ve thought all his birthdays had come at once when he saw you! Make no mistake, he
has
harmed Jess, and killed another girl – all so he
could have his revenge on your employer.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe what you like, it’s true. He used you, Susan. Played you like a fiddle, can’t you see that?’

‘He loved me.’

Daniels thought for a moment. ‘He never told you he’d remarried, did he?’

That one hit her hard, Daniels could see it in her eyes. Only the faintest flicker of emotion, but it was there nevertheless. And when vindictive people get hurt, their first reaction is to hurt
back.

‘That’s clever, Detective Inspector, but it won’t work.’ The smirk returned. ‘I won’t tell you where he’s keeping her
or
where he’s
living.’

‘He’s not.’ Daniels stuck the knife in, oh so gently. ‘Living, I mean.’

Absolute silence.

‘Oh, didn’t I mention? Jimmy poisoned himself in the cells last night.’ Daniels waited for a reaction. None came. So she turned the knife, a little further this time, twisted
it as it reached the woman’s heart. ‘He’s dead, Susan. That’s how much he cared about
you
. So, if you know where Jessica is, now’s the time to tell me. Unless
you want to spend the rest of your life in Durham’s notorious She Wing. That’s where they send all the pathetic women like you. Myra Hindley. Rose West. They were besotted with men too,
for all the good it did them.’

‘You’re
lying
!’ Anger had taken over now.

Daniels reached into her pocket and withdrew a photograph of Jimmy Makepeace, the official one taken in the cells following his suicide: vomit, snot ’n’ all. She handed it over and
braced herself for the woman’s rage. Only she wasn’t quite quick enough. Screaming like a woman possessed, Susan Makepeace swung her left arm across the back seat, catching Daniels full
in the face with the back of her hand, her diamond engagement ring embedding itself in her lip, splitting it wide open.

It stung like hell.

Momentarily stunned, Daniels lifted her arm to fend off a second attempt. It never came. Susan Makepeace was struggling with the door now, trying to get out of the car. But Carmichael had been
one step ahead; she’d had the good sense to put the child locks on. Daniels leapt across the seat, restrained the woman, forcing the snips on, making sure they were good and tight. She
slumped back into her own seat just as the front passenger door opened and Gormley’s head appeared through it.

‘OK, boss?’ He pointed to the blood on her lip. ‘Been at the Jammy Dodgers again?’

‘Where’s the fucking fags?’ Daniels yelled.

S
usan Makepeace refused to cooperate with Daniels after their tête-à-tête in the car, so Gormley and Carmichael were interviewing her instead. Not that it
would do much good. She’d said fuck-all since arriving at the station and that’s the way it would stay, if DCI was any judge of character.

Naylor ordered her to get herself checked out at the hospital then go home and get some rest. Well, she’d see about that. Sliding her arms into the shoulder straps of her back protector,
fastening it with a belt around her waist, Daniels pulled on her leathers and went in search of her motorcycle with no intention whatsoever of stopping at A&E on the way home.

Thankfully the seat wasn’t wet despite leaving her bike exposed to the elements all day. Pulling on her helmet, she winced as it squashed her cheeks together, pushing her fat lip forward
and jamming it between the soft inner lining and the teeth she was grateful she still had. Then she pulled on her gloves, mounted the Yamaha, flipped her visor down and rode off out of the car
park.

As she turned on to the main road, she smiled to herself and waved at Naylor, who was, or so he thought, surreptitiously gazing down from his office window on the second floor making absolutely
sure she’d left the station.

He knew her so well.

Arriving home ten minutes later, Daniels let herself in with the intention of a quick turnaround: shower, change of clothes, ice pack on that lip, then business as usual. She’d slip in
under the radar and be back at her desk within the hour. If she kept her head down, Naylor would be none the wiser. That was the plan, anyway.

Setting her helmet down on the bottom stair, leaving her keys inside as always, she made her way along the hallway to a kitchen she’d hardly seen in three days. Picking up the phone, she
rang Weldon. But the news wasn’t good: the search team were flagging and there’d been no sign at all of Jessica, or anyone else for that matter. She hung up and slumped down on a chair.
It was then that she spotted the business card on the kitchen bench where she’d left it, a little helicopter motif in the left-hand corner.

She called the number on it and waited.

The phone rang out only twice before he picked up and gave his name.

If a voice had a feel, his was like velvet: warm, soft, no edge to it.

‘It’s DCI Daniels here, Mr Cole.’ Her hand went to her mouth as she caught sight of her reflection in the polished steel toaster on the kitchen bench: an ugly bruise and dried
blood visible on her upper lip. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say what came out next, but from the moment she’d met Cole, she’d had the feeling he was one of the good
guys. ‘I need your help,’ she said.

‘You can have all the help you want, Inspector.’ He sounded intrigued. ‘It’ll cost you, mind. You call me Stew, I call you Kate. How’s that?’

She took no offence, surprised that he’d even remembered her name. Dropping the formalities, she explained about the frantic search to find Jessica Finch. Then, without going into detail,
she broke the news that his former friend, Jimmy Makepeace, was dead. There was a pause at the other end; a long, awkward pause while Cole digested the information he’d been given. Then he
was back with her again, asking what it was she wanted him to do.

She told him about the search area. ‘Don’t know if you’re familiar with the North Pennines, but it’s
really
rough ground up there: shaft mounds, spoil heaps, old
mine workings and not a lot else. The place is riddled with hidden rocks and streams. When I first saw it, I have to tell you, my morale took a dive. I can’t imagine why he chose it.
There’d be easier places to hide someone.’

‘Sounds like Jimmy,’ Cole said. ‘Told you he was a nutter! If there was a hard way, he’d find it. That’s the kind of guy he was. He was a good pilot, though. The
best. I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but flying, or should I say, landing a helicopter really isn’t rocket science. It’s just a question of doing your homework.’

‘Homework?’

‘We call it the five S’s: size, shape, surface, surrounds, slope. In other words, is it big enough? Is it long, wide, or flat enough? Are there tree stumps, rocks, any kind of
bogland? Anything at all that might affect our ability to land? In your case, there obviously is.’

‘Pylons, obstacles, that sort of thing?’

‘Exactly. Slopes are tricky. You need at least twelve degrees nose up, nine from side to side, otherwise you’re in trouble. We’re trained to pick natural markers in the
landscape: trees, rocks, any sort of visual that might aid an approach – one forward, one lateral – but even in the most difficult territory you can usually find somewhere to land.
That’s why we complete two orbits before we give it a go.’

Give it a go?

Daniels didn’t like the sound of that.

‘In my time in the military, I saw guys do amazing things in conditions you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.’

‘Like Jimmy?’

‘Yeah, like Jimmy.’ A hint of sadness crept into his voice. ‘It’s hard to believe he’s done something like this.’

‘You said he was a good pilot.’ Daniels cut him off, trying to keep him focused. She didn’t want him to dwell on the whys and wherefores of the case, just help her to solve it.
‘Better than you?’

‘Maybe,’ Cole said honestly. ‘Why don’t you show me the site. We can take a look now, if you’re up for it.’

C
ole was confident but not arrogant, which was just as well because Daniels didn’t fancy a trip in a flimsy bloody flying machine with some egomaniac at the controls. She
thanked him, gave him the geographical coordinates for the search site, then hung up, agreeing to meet him there as soon as was humanly possible.

Before she left the house, she rang Weldon, letting him know they were on their way, asking him to keep quiet about her unofficial help if Naylor happened to make contact in the meantime. It was
probably best if
she
was the one to tell him she’d commandeered a private aircraft at God knows what cost – five, six hundred pounds an hour? – while off duty on sick
leave.

That
would
go down well.

‘I’m supposed to be resting,’ she said.

‘Has something happened?’ Weldon sounded concerned.

‘Tell you later.’

Minutes after that conversation, she was back on the Yamaha, speeding to the same coordinates she’d just given Cole. He was waiting for her when she arrived, standing beside what could
only be described as a Smart car with rotor blades on top and a couple of insubstantial skis underneath. Two wheels or four Daniels was happy with. Helicopters were something else. But this case
had started with a journey in one and she was hoping that’s where it would end.