17
It was getting on for two as they left the morgue. Carmichael’s phone rang, a request from Gormley that they stop and pick up Dene’s Deli sandwiches on the way back to the incident room. When they got there, Daniels went to brief their guv’nor while Carmichael handed out refreshments to the team. But she was picking at her lunch when the DCI returned.
‘OK, you lot. Mobiles off!’ she said. ‘Hank and I are expected elsewhere.’
Daniels sat down, surrounded by core members of the squad, all eyes turned in her direction. Hank Gormley took a seat by her side, directly opposite DC Andy Brown. Andy was mid twenties, built like the scrum half, his ruddy face topped with a mop of strawberry blond hair. He was a great bloke whose parents were employed at either end of the lifecycle – his mother a midwife, his father an undertaker – which Brown always said equipped him well for the brief interlude in between. He was Daniels’ obs man, the detective she used whenever there was a need for surveillance. He had the capacity to sit still for hours and could survive with very little sleep.
Sitting next to him, as always, was Lisa Carmichael. They had joined the squad together and were the best of mates. She was about to bin her lunch when DS Neil Maxwell reached out and took it from her. Large, lazy and lethargic, he was nicknamed Sicknote by the others. He had a fondness for women and soft porn, in any order, and both at the same time if he could possibly manage it. He’d been forced upon the squad, arriving under a cloud on a final warning. Considered the weak link in the team, he’d shown significant improvement after a choice word in his shell-like from Daniels, a true believer in three strikes and you’re out.
And lastly, DS Paul Robson, Robbo for short. A skilled detective but a man whose popularity had plummeted following mistakes he’d made recently that reflected badly on the team as a whole. A new father with a gambling addiction he’d not yet come to terms with, he still looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Daniels got straight down to business, giving a brief case review to kick-start the enquiry. The consensus among the team was pretty clear-cut. If Mark Reid was last seen alive by Maggie Reid at around seven-thirty when she put Jamie down for the night – the same woman who’d dialled 999 nearly five and a half hours later – that in itself was highly suspicious.
‘Then again . . .’ a voice at the back said, ‘the West End shite wouldn’t call the police if the aliens had landed—’
‘I need evidence, not innuendo,’ Daniels countered. ‘Having talked to the woman myself, I’m not convinced she’s anything other than a grieving mother.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve seen her again. Hank and I are due there in twenty minutes.’ She eyeballed the smartarse at the back. ‘Remind me never to recommend you for Community Crime Prevention.’
A titter went round the room.
Daniels allowed them their moment of fun, naming Robson as statement reader before moving on to specific actions she wanted carried out immediately. ‘Lisa, look into Mark Reid’s background. Find out who his friends are, talk to his work colleagues, try to build a picture of the kind of man he was.’ Her gaze shifted to Brown. ‘Andy, until we know more, I want covert surveillance of that street in case there’s a pyromaniac on the loose. Fix it up with Technical Support. Tell them it’s an urgent job, no excuses. Then liaise with the Search Coordinator. Drains and rubbish bins are to be searched before the next collections in case evidence was dumped by the perpetrator fleeing the scene. Neil, canvass all local petrol stations. Make a note of anyone buying petrol in a can of late. And seize CCTV where you think appropriate.’
It was a start, of sorts.
Daniels left the station with Gormley. Leaving the city centre, they headed up the West Road passing the motorcycle garages where the DCI spent a lot of her off-duty time. A little further up the hill a fight was going on outside the bowling alley, two uniforms getting stuck in. She slowed the car in case they needed a hand. Satisfied that they had everything under control, she picked up speed again passing the City West Police Station on her left where she once worked, a challenging location for any officer on the force.
As she drove by, she thought of the staff there with affection. In the bate room at the back, you could see all the way to the Angel of the North. It was the place she’d first met Gormley. She drove on, counting down the streets. Police officers were taught to associate a saying with streets abutting a main road. For example: Fair Lady Hampstead stood for Fairholme Road, Ladykirk Road and Hampstead Road. It made it easier to recall them if you needed to get there in a hurry.
They dropped down on to Elswick Road, still heading west, then down again on to Armstrong Road where Maggie Reid was being cared for by her sister-in-law, Nadia Turner. They were shown into a tidy living room with views across the river to Gateshead’s Metro Centre. A uniformed officer stood up as they walked in, explaining that Maggie’s parents were too traumatized to look after themselves let alone their grieving daughter and so Nadia had volunteered to do so until alternative accommodation could be found.
Nadia offered them tea, telling Daniels that no Family Liaison Officer had yet arrived.
This news angered the DCI more than she could possibly show. ‘My apologies . . .’ She glanced at the PC. A silent message to sort the FLO. And then to Nadia. ‘We’ll take care of that right away.’
The officer and Nadia both made themselves scarce.
Maggie Reid was sitting hunched over in a chair by the picture window, but the vista across the Tyne was completely lost on her. She was in a hell of a state, hardly registering their presence as they sat down to talk to her, spaced out on sedatives the doctor had given her before they arrived. Her eyes were dull and lifeless and she was still dressed in the same clothes she’d gone out in the previous night, blue streaks in her blonde hair matching her smudged eyeliner.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Maggie . . .’ Daniels said gently. ‘And for intruding on your grief at this difficult time. But I’m afraid I must ask you some questions. Is that OK?’ Reid nodded without making eye contact. ‘When exactly did you make arrangements to go out last night?’
‘Ages ago . . . couple of weeks, maybe . . . Mark was good and stuff, but he liked plenty of notice to babysit.’ She looked up, trying to hold back the tears. ‘It’s his birthday today. We were going to celebrate as a family, like we used to. I made him a chocolate cake yesterday, his favourite . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Who else knew he was at your house?’
‘What do you mean?’
Daniels rephrased. ‘Who else knew Mark was looking after Jamie?’
‘Me mam. What difference does it make?’ Maggie looked puzzled. Her hands shook as she tore at a bunch of tissues Nadia had shoved on her lap before leaving the room.
‘Can you think of any reason why someone would want to harm Mark? Or you, for that matter?’ Daniels didn’t mention the child this time. Maggie didn’t respond and hadn’t yet twigged what she was getting at. ‘Maggie? I need you to think very carefully. Any idea who might have a grudge against—?’
‘No! Despite our differences, Mark’s a lovely guy. Ask anyone, if you don’t believe me!’ The woman’s face paled further. She pawed at her throat, fighting back vomit, almost choking on her words. ‘He wasn’t supposed to be there . . . him or the bairn! Mark usually has Jamie at his and me mam picks him up to give me a lie-in and that when I go out clubbing. It’s usually late when I get back. She can’t keep him at her place overnight coz me dad’s got special needs and Jamie doesn’t sleep. It’s too much for her to look after them both at the same time.’
Daniels caught Gormley’s unease. He was standing a few feet away, stroking the stubble on his chin. He raised an eyebrow. This was certainly an interesting development. Responding to the silence in the room, Maggie looked up, her gaze flitting back and forth between the two detectives. Her eyes grew big as the penny dropped.
‘You saying they were after me?’
‘We don’t know.’ Gormley’s tone was flat. ‘We were hoping you could tell—’
‘What did you mean, they weren’t supposed to be there?’ Daniels said, interrupting.
‘Jamie had a nasty cold. Mark and I decided he’d be better off at mine.’
‘You changed arrangements at the last minute?’
A nod was Maggie’s answer.
‘You on Facebook, Maggie?’ Gormley asked.
It was a good question. When Maggie didn’t reply, Daniels repeated it, adding other social networking sites in case she’d mentioned her change of plan publicly. People were cavalier in their attitude to giving out personal information these days. They rarely thought through the consequences. But Maggie was in a bad way, too wired to answer. With a flick of her head, Daniels sent Gormley off to ask Nadia if she had a Facebook page or Twitter account.
Seconds later, he was back in the room, shaking his head.
Daniels turned to Maggie again. ‘So where did you go last night?’ she asked.
‘I told you, I went clubbing.’ Maggie sniffed. ‘With a mate.’
‘We’ll need a name,’ Gormley said gently. ‘Of the person you were with and the club you visited. You’ll understand why.’
Maggie Reid just looked at him. Blurting out the name Stella Drew, she ran from the room.
‘The sudden change of arrangements could be highly significant,’ Daniels said as they left the property and got back in the car. ‘Assuming for one moment that Maggie’s an innocent in all this, either the offence was totally random, or she was the target, or someone very close to one or both of them knew they had altered their plans.’
‘She’s lying, boss!’
‘Makes you say that?’
‘You saw her reaction when you asked her who she was with last night. She was sweating like a Geordie on a spelling test.’
Daniels grinned. ‘You don’t think her grief is genuine?
‘I’ve seen others fake it better. Do you?’
Daniels waggled her hand from side to side. The jury was still out on that one. She started the engine and moved off as a crash of thunder brought more rain. ‘Much as we might like to think so, we have no idea what she’s going through. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling or thinking, let alone saying. And where the hell is the FLO?’
Gormley shrugged.
‘Well, find out! And put your bloody seat belt on.’