38
Daniels paid the driver and leapt out of the cab. Gormley looked hot and bothered as he hurried towards her, cutting her off from entering the station via the back door. Grabbing her upper arm he led her around the side of the building, guiding her to a quiet spot where they could talk without fear of being overheard.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ Daniels said. ‘People will get the wrong idea.’
‘Very funny. What’s with the taxi?’
‘You haven’t heard then . . .’
Daniels wondered if her Toyota was still in one piece or lying burnt-out somewhere, along with the kit she’d left in the back. Thankfully, none of it official or traceable to her home address. Just a few personal items, including a tyre pressure gauge and bike lock she’d only just bought.
Bastard joy riders.
Gormley looked confused. ‘About what?’
‘Never mind. This had better be good, Hank.’ She tried not to sound put out, even though her morning had been spoiled by his phone call. Jo would still be eating breakfast alone in her sunny back yard, the first quality time they’d spent together in ages. ‘I wasn’t due in for a couple of hours and neither were you. Mind telling me what the hell we’re doing here?’
‘Long story . . . won’t bore you with the details.’
‘Oh, good. We’re both speaking in code!’
‘I couldn’t sleep. That’s all you need to know.’ Gormley pointed towards the perimeter fence where a number of police vehicles stood idle. Next to them was a flat-back low-loader carrying a smashed-up vehicle. ‘I spotted it arriving as I parked my car. Recognize the Honda Jazz? That’s Ivy’s car. Thought you’d like to take a look before the CSIs offload it. They’ve gone for a late breakfast in the canteen, hence the urgency. You haven’t got long if you want to examine it before Naylor does.’
A couple of uniformed officers walked by and said hello as they passed. Acknowledging them with a nod, Daniels watched them get into a panda car and drive away. Glancing up at the second floor of the station, she homed in on the windows of the MIR. The low loader was visible from there. If spotted tampering with the car she knew she’d be in deep shit with her new boss – friend or no friend.
Gormley picked up on her anxiety. ‘Don’t sweat,’ he said. ‘Naylor’s busy launching his enquiry. You know what that’s like. He’ll be tied up all morning.’
She shook her head. ‘Too risky, Hank. Can’t be done.’
‘Yes, it can! Carmichael promised to keep him occupied ’til I give her the heads-up that we’re finished.’
‘That sounds rather like a conspiracy. Er, Naylor? Me? What bloody difference does it make who examines the vehicle? We’re on the same side, remember?’
‘Please, Kate. Just take a look. And hurry, or I’ll need another shave.’
Daniels punched his arm and then set off towards the low-loader as naturally as she could, Jo’s warning ringing in her ears: This will not end well. Gormley followed, reminding her that officers not party to last night’s briefing wouldn’t give them a second glance. They were murder detectives, after all, even if they weren’t behaving like it. As they neared the recovery truck, he bent his knee for her to use as a step, feigning a groan as she propelled herself on to the vehicle.
Daniels looked around her. Gormley was right. No one was paying her any attention. Ripping off her scarf, she used it as a glove and opened the door of the Jazz. A set of keys were still dangling from the ignition; there was blood everywhere, a shallow pool of which had congealed on the rubber matting in the driver’s footwell, enough to make her think that Ivy’s husband had bled to death in his seat. Leaning in, she turned the ignition key a notch and nearly jumped out of her skin as the computerized voice of the satnav filled the car:
‘ Turn round. Turn round.’
Letting out a sigh, she glanced up at the MIR again. Naylor was standing with his back to the window. Praying that he wouldn’t turn round, she took in Gormley’s apologetic expression which suddenly morphed into a plea for her to continue. This is crazy, she thought. Returning her attention to Ivy’s car, she quickly accessed the satnav, checking the device’s saved locations, scrolling down to the last entry which was nothing more than a postcode: WD18 9RN. She read it out and told Gormley to write it down, then leapt to the ground, hoping it would lead to something because they had sod-all else right now.