34
Daniels returned to her desk and slipped her warrant card into the slot in her computer in order to access the report on George Milburn’s death. Bizarrely, it had taken place not only in the same street, but literally metres from Maggie Reid’s front door. As she waited for the incident to pop up on screen, she sat back wondering if the old man was somehow involved in her current case, either as the arsonist – as Gormley had suggested initially – or as a lucky target because the fuckwit that started the fire had got the wrong address. With his body lying in the morgue, it was going to be difficult to prove either way.
Scrolling through the incident report, she noted that a call had come into the control room from a female member of the public. MAN COLLAPSED is all it said. The first responder to the subsequent callout from the control room was recorded as PC4576 Dixon, an officer standing guard outside Daniels’ crime scene.
Small world.
She read on . . . Dixon had given mouth-to-mouth and called the ambulance. The case was then referenced off, having been handed over to the ambulance service. There was a note of a number of witnesses to the event, locals who lived on Ralph Street, and a list of names taken. None of them rang any bells with Daniels.
Picking up the phone, she dialled the West End nick. After a few minutes the desk sergeant answered. She explained who she was and asked to speak with PC Dixon, but neither he, nor his supervision, Sergeant Terrance Smith, were currently in the building.
‘B Rota is on days off,’ the desk sergeant said.
‘OK, make sure either one calls me as soon as their shift comes back on duty.’
She hung up as someone knocked on her door. Looking up, she saw it was Gormley. He had a face like thunder. Assuming Naylor had told him he wouldn’t be working the A1 incident, she beckoned him in, ready for a fight. He slung himself down in the chair opposite but before he had chance to open his mouth she held her hands up in surrender as if he’d pulled out a gun.
‘I know what you’re going to say, Hank. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t like it either. But that’s the way it is. Believe me, I want to get the nut-job that killed Ivy Kerr as much as you do, but it isn’t going to happen, so you may as well get used to it. Besides, I need you on the arson with me.’
‘Can’t I swap with Carmichael?’ He was practically begging. ‘You could have a word with the guv’nor, he’ll listen to you. You know he will.’
‘No, he won’t. I’ve already been there. Besides, he’s got a point, Hank. You’re too emotionally involved. Too close to the case to be objective. You know as well as I do that situations like those rarely, if ever, prove fruitful for the case or the officer concerned. Naylor’s right. We should stay out of it.’
‘Thanks for your support. You could’ve at least warned me.’
‘There’s no good sulking about it, Hank.’ She studied him for a moment, letting him sweat. ‘What exactly did you see anyway . . . at the crash site, I mean?’
‘I thought you said we should both stay—’
‘That was the official line.’ She grinned. ‘Unofficially, I’ve spoken to Carmichael and asked her to produce a computer-generated image of the A1 accident from the rough sketches I drew up at the time. I made contemporaneous notes of the walking wounded and what cars they belonged to, so we should get a pretty clear picture when she waves her magic wand. Lisa has agreed to feed back anything we need to know at the end of each day – confidentially, of course.’
‘You are some piece of work, Kate Daniels!’ Gormley beamed at her. ‘And if Naylor asks Carmichael what she’s doing?’
‘She’ll be using her initiative, as always.’
‘If he catches on, I hope you know you’ll get your head in your hands to play with.’
Daniels was resolute. ‘We were there first!’
‘Did I ever tell you how much I love working with you? Your epitaph should read: “Insubordination for the good of the cause.” You’re my Jack Bauer.’
She grinned. ‘That makes you my Chloe.’
‘I’m on it, Jack. How can I help?’
Laughing at his Kiefer Sutherland impression, she responded in kind: ‘I think we should talk about what you saw. The President is depending on us. We can’t let him down.’
‘Since when was Jack Bauer Irish?’
They chuckled, the tension leaving them both.
Dropping the accent, Daniels said. ‘Get your thinking cap on. The guv’nor wants a statement from you right away.’
‘I know, he told me.’ Gormley’s expression darkened. ‘I’ve been wracking my brains, but the simple truth is I’m not really sure what I saw.’
‘You must have some idea! The person attending Ivy – was it a man? A woman? Police, fire officer, paramedic . . . ?’
Gormley looked at her. Of his own admission, he’d had a skinful that night, having spent the evening drinking beer and watching the match. Probably shouldn’t have been working, if the truth be known. It was tanking down when they’d arrived at the crash site. So much going on. It was entirely understandable if he couldn’t recall everything in minute detail.
But he had to.
And he would – eventually.
‘I just remember Ivy’s face . . .’ He palmed his brow. ‘Jesus! Those eyes will haunt me for the rest of my days. Someone wearing a high-viz jacket was crouched down beside her. I never saw their face, I swear.’
‘A high-viz jacket means fuck all,’ Daniels reminded him. ‘They’re two a penny at Amble Market. I nearly bought one myself last Sunday.’
‘Yeah, but I was concentrating on her. Seeing her. Then a kid came up to me, nasty head injury. I turned away to find some medical help before I got an answer.’
‘Can’t you visualize the person with Ivy? Why don’t you walk yourself through a cognitive interview in the same way you would any other witness?’ She didn’t need to remind him that the mind does funny things to people when they get stressed out. Often shuts down in order to protect a person’s sanity. ‘Come on, Hank. Your evidence might be all we have. Did you speak to them at all?’
‘No, yes . . . I asked if they needed a hand.’
‘They?’
‘Figure of speech.’ He shook his head, disappointed not to have been able to tell her more. ‘I’m sorry, that’s all I recall.’
Daniels was disappointed too but didn’t let it show. He was beating himself up enough without her giving him any more grief.