74
Daniels felt like a schoolgirl getting ready for a first date as they drove through town, surprised at how excited she was at the thought of seeing Fielding again. She flipped open the vanity mirror and peered into it, pretending she had something in her eye, wishing she’d run a comb through her hair before jumping into Gormley’s car in her rush to get a handle on Laidlaw. This wasn’t how she would choose to look, but she didn’t have time to go home and change. It was now or never.
‘Who is this mate of yours anyway?’ Gormley asked.
‘Oh, no one special.’ Just a little white lie.
Gormley tried to catch her eye but Daniels kept looking straight ahead.
A moment ago, Brown had phoned. Word had come through that Chantelle had six broken ribs and a deep gash to her right wrist. She was undergoing surgery to repair a tear to the triangular fibro-cartilage which might result in a shortening of the ulna – the bone extending from the elbow to the wrist. There would be some nerve damage but she was expected to make a full recovery in time, assuming she didn’t fall victim to MRSA, E-coli, or whatever other bacterium might be lurking within the hospital.
At A & E earlier, she’d let her guard down, all that hostility and mistrust of the police fading away. Underneath they saw a frightened child who’d never felt loved – a sad case really. She hadn’t stood a chance: losing her mother before the age of ten, being left with a father like Arthur Fox, who used to abandon his kids for weeks, sometimes months on end, resulting in separate care homes for her and her brother Todd – until Arthur decided he wanted them back.
Parking the car, Gormley turned off the engine. He took hold of the door handle in readiness to get out, but Daniels held him back, told him to stay put and keep an eye on the main gate, make a note of any vehicles entering or leaving the building. He grumbled for a moment and then succumbed.
Getting out, Daniels shut the door, leaned in and spoke to him through the open window. ‘Keep your phone clear. I’ll give you a ring if I need you.’
She entered the Turnbull with a sense of trepidation and dread. It wasn’t Laidlaw or the unidentified Mediterranean man that worried her. It was meeting Fielding again. Checking the entrance and exit routes on her way in, she found the right apartment and knocked at the door. Taking a big deep breath, she pushed her hair away from her face, hoping she didn’t look too bad. It was the best she could do in the limited time available.
Seconds later, Fielding opened the door.
Daniels smiled but couldn’t speak.
‘Hello, Kate.’ Fielding’s enigmatic smile seemed to convey so much more than a greeting. Her eyes went straight to the holdall Daniels was carrying. Tipping her head on one side, she stood aside, inviting her in. ‘You planning to stay awhile, DCI Daniels?’
Prompted by Fielding’s comment, Jo Soulsby’s voice arrived in Daniels’ head: What does a dyke bring on a first date? She hadn’t known the answer back then. Everything! Jo had told her, making her laugh out loud.
Noticing the private joke from the smile playing round Daniels’ lips, Fielding waited for her to say something. But Daniels was too busy taking in the apartment: the solid wood floors, the contemporary furniture, a mini studio in one corner, lots of objets d’art, much as she’d imagined her place might be.
‘This is lovely,’ she said.
It wasn’t lovely. It was awkward. Having ignored Fielding’s postcards for months, she didn’t know how to explain the sudden change of heart without sounding like a user – which was exactly what she was. In the end, she decided to go for it. Just tell her straight. She wouldn’t risk starting another relationship on the wrong foot.
‘I won’t deny I’ve been thinking about you, Fiona . . .’ Daniels glanced at her feet, trying to find the right words. ‘But that’s not why . . . look, I’m sorry—’
‘I told you once, you apologize too much.’
She had too, in the station, the first time they met.
‘Don’t look so glum, Kate. I think I know why you’re here.’ Her voice was low, breathless almost, like she had a permanent sore throat. It was very attractive too. She wasn’t hacked off that Daniels had an alternative motive for being there. Quite the opposite: she seemed pleased to see her, whatever the reason or circumstance. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s the redhead who just moved into the penthouse with an ape in tow. I knew there was something dodgy about those two. Your call confirmed it. What have they done? Something wicked, I hope.’
Smart as well as beautiful.
Fielding put a hand up. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I guess if you’re involved it must be pretty serious.’
‘It is. Trust me, I’m a detective.’
Fielding bent down and picked up a glass of white wine from her coffee table. Daniels had forgotten how attractive she was, not just physically, although she was certainly that. She had a body to die for, an alluring smile, and the deepest, most penetrating blue eyes she’d ever seen. She was dressed casually today: black leggings, a figure-hugging, thigh-length, skinny grey T-shirt, strappy sandals on her feet. Each strap picked out in a different colour, her toenails painted to match the one that looped round her big toe. Her attention to detail reminded Daniels of Jo. And that intrigued her. But maybe it shouldn’t.
Detectives do eat, don’t they?
Both women had used those words at the beginning.
Daniels was suddenly ravenous – in every sense. She hadn’t eaten since a piece of toast at six and she hadn’t had sex for more time than she cared to remember. ‘If you knew I had another agenda, why did you agree to see me?’ she asked.
‘Why do you think?’ Fielding was teasing her now, as only she could.
‘I’m sorr— what I mean is, I really wish it had been different.’ Daniels could feel herself blushing again. ‘Can we get the professional stuff out the way and start over? I don’t expect you to believe me, but I would’ve called you anyway.’
‘Works for me,’ Fielding said. ‘You sure you’re ready, though? I seem to remember—’
‘I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole life,’ Daniels cut her off. She didn’t want to talk about Jo. Not here. Not now. So she quickly changed the subject in favour of work, reminding them both of why she was there. ‘Tell me about the redhead.’
‘Smart but unfriendly. And he looks like your average thug. Acts like her minder, if you know what I mean. Shifty git. Walks ten paces behind. Always looking over his shoulder.’ Fielding watched Daniels take a stab-proof vest from the holdall and pass it over her head. She pulled a face. ‘That’s a first. I prefer my women to take clothes off, not put them on.’
Daniels laughed. ‘Later.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Later then.’ Fielding lifted her glass in the air. ‘You know what she looks like?’
‘I’ve got a good idea.’
‘Come over here.’ Fielding led her towards her mini artist studio in the corner. Through the window there were great views across rooftops to the River Tyne. ‘Would this help?’
‘Jesus!’ Daniels was gobsmacked and instantly back in the MIR. Look at the eyes . . . Ice woman . . . they’re pretty evil . . . your film guy deserves a BAFTA. In front of her was a fantastic sketch of Laidlaw, who was indeed a young Hermione Norris. A gifted and highly successful artist, Fielding travelled the world exhibiting her work. And no wonder. Daniels looked at her. ‘You did this from memory?’
Fielding nodded. ‘Trust me, I’m an artist.’
‘Fiona, it’s fantastic!’
Fielding took a bow. ‘She isn’t in, by the way. I saw her drive away like a bat out of hell not ten minutes before you arrived.’
‘Shit!’
‘She’s driving an Audi A5 rental, steel grey, 09 registration, if that’s any use to you. I saw the documentation on the dash and the little medallion thingy dangling from the rear-view mirror. Our bays are next door to each other.’
Daniels shook her head. ‘You’re amazing, you know that? And wasted as an artist.’ Looking down from the window on to the road below she took out her mobile and dialled Gormley’s number. He answered right away. ‘Hank, did Naylor come through with the warrant? OK, I need you up here, but swing by the underground car park first and check if there’s a steel grey, 09 Audi A5 . . .’ She grinned at Fielding. ‘Meet me at the penthouse as soon as you can.’ She hung up and headed for the door. Before she reached it, she turned, retraced her steps and kissed Fielding squarely on the lips. ‘Thanks, Fiona.’
‘For what?’
‘For being so understanding.’
That enigmatic smile again. ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’
‘Stay here. Don’t open the door to anyone. Wish us luck.’
Fielding’s smile faded. ‘You think you’ll need it?’
Daniels shook her head. ‘I have my own minder, remember?’ With that, she turned on her heels and left the apartment, closing the door behind her. She knew how to get to the penthouse from the floorplan Carmichael had commandeered from the council – an old planning application. She took the stairs two at a time, her antennae raised for any movement on the floor above.