79
The plan worked like clockwork. As soon as Daniels stepped through the aircraft door she’d clocked Laidlaw in an aisle seat about a third of the way down on the right side. Her head was completely shaved and she was wearing a headscarf tied closely round it, like a cancer patient, her face made pale with the use of make-up. It was the eyes that did it: pure evil. Eyes that Fielding had so expertly captured in the portrait she’d painted. Eyes that now looked through the senior investigating officer as she approached.
Not resigned or defeated – just ice cold.
As Daniels walked down the aisle, her professional persona on full show, passengers realized the problem wasn’t technical at all and craned their necks to see what was going on.
The DCI held up ID. ‘Madam, would you come with me, please?’
Daniels’ anger grew as she took in the exquisite seal ring on Laidlaw’s little finger. The callous bitch . . . pound to a penny it was Bridget’s. Laidlaw didn’t move. She sat there, staring up, waiting for an explanation which wasn’t long in coming. There was no need to arrest her for murder, not yet anyway, that would come later. For now, the DCI was content to use the assault on Chantelle as a way of getting her off the plane without causing distress to other passengers.
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Daniels. Lucy Laidlaw, I am arresting you on suspicion of Section 18 Wounding. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘I bloody love it!’ A man across the aisle said loudly. ‘I’ve always wanted to hear someone say that!’
Daniels glared at him. He was the epitome of the great unwashed: mid-thirties, grossly overweight, wearing a black-and-white nylon football shirt and no deodorant. His complexion was angry and red, like he’d spent a fortnight in the sun with no protection, or been to a studio to top up the tan before his holiday began in earnest. He was half-cut too, she noticed, sun and booze, a lethal mixture for the cabin crew to deal with.
The DCI was pleased to be getting off.
‘What’s she done, love?’ the man asked, his alcohol breath filling the cabin.
Ignoring him, Daniels turned back to Laidlaw. ‘Come on, Lucy. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, eh?’
‘I’m sorry, Detective, but there must be some mistake.’ Cool as you like, Laidlaw took her passport from her bag, opened it up and handed it to Daniels. ‘My name isn’t Lucy, it’s Penelope Clark.’
‘You tell her, Miss Penelope!’ The fat drunk again. He was glaring at Daniels through bloodshot eyes ‘She’s ill man, can’t you tell? And it’s bloody ridiculous keeping us waiting like this. We’ve got places to go, people to see, even if you don’t. Get the fucking trolley dollies out here. It’s time for a bevvy.’
‘Wind your neck in, pal,’ Gormley warned. ‘Or you’ll be next!’
The guy didn’t need telling twice. He sank into his seat, minding his own business.
Pocketing Laidlaw’s passport, Daniels produced a pair of rigid handcuffs from a clip behind her back. In deference to her, Laidlaw dropped her head and took a deep breath. She pointed at the snips. ‘There’s no need for those, Detective Inspector. I’ll come quietly.’
Pleased to hear it, Daniels put them away.
Taking possession of Laidlaw’s bag, she handed it to Gormley for safekeeping, then stepped back to allow the woman out of her seat. Laidlaw unclipped her seatbelt. Placing her hands on the armrests, she eased herself up, her trailing hand already reaching for the iPad she’d placed on the next seat. With full force, she swung her arm round, smashing the device across Gormley’s cheek, knocking him unconscious and sending him crashing to the floor.
The DCI fought to get hold of her, but Laidlaw proved too strong and managed to struggle free. What happened next made Daniels’ day. The smelly drunk stuck out his leg, tripping Laidlaw up as she tried to run for the open cabin door. Scrambling forward, Daniels made a lunge for Laidlaw. In one swift movement, the snips were on and she stopped struggling.
Relieved, Daniels remained on the floor, trying to get her breath back, high-fiving the drunk as she sat there. Further down the aisle, Gormley was on his feet, holding his head. Helping her up, he winked at her. Job done. Taking an arm each, they escorted Laidlaw from the aircraft. As they walked down the stairs, a huge round of applause rang out from above their heads as Captain Halvorsen asked for the cabin doors to be made secure and ready for take-off.
Laidlaw was silent on the way back the city. At Market Street nick, they lodged her in the custody suite, then Gormley peeled off to be checked out by the police surgeon as Carmichael and Daniels went straight to the incident room. Robson was sitting at his desk, a phone jammed between shoulder and neck, taking down notes as he listened. Maxwell was also busy on the phone, feet up, a much more laid-back approach – but at least he was working. Brown was sitting at Carmichael’s computer, updating the murder wall with the fourth victim and Laidlaw’s recent arrest. He smiled at Carmichael and held up a thumb as she went off to find refreshments, applauding Daniels on a great result as she passed his desk. But they and the rest of the team knew there was still a way to go: facts to be checked, solicitors briefed, offences put, an interview to conduct.
Naylor added his congratulations as the DCI approached. ‘How’s Hank?’ he asked.
‘He’ll live,’ she said. ‘Any news on the Mediterranean?’
Naylor nodded. ‘Yusuf Sevket. Stanton lifted his prints in situ and we ran them through the system. He’s from Northern Cyprus, a fugitive in several countries. Andy found a Warning–Wanted marker on the PNC too. It seems he jumped bail in Turkey in 2005 during an investigation into the killing of a British woman on holiday. Sounds like he and Laidlaw are two of a kind. Let’s put it this way, I don’t think he’ll be missed. You did a good job today, Kate.’
‘I taught her everything she knows,’ a familiar voice behind them said.
Daniels’ old guv’nor, Detective Chief Superintendent Bright, had a wide grin on his face. He was standing in the doorway, feet crossed over each other, looking the picture of health. He was immaculately dressed as usual: grey suit and tie, white shirt, his signature handkerchief in his breast pocket. ‘Still running the show, I see.’
A wide smile spread over Daniels’ face. ‘Hello, guv!’
‘She never looks at me that way,’ Naylor said.
‘Some people have it, some don’t.’ Bright grinned at Naylor. ‘Get over it!’
‘And to what do we owe this pleasure?’ Naylor asked. ‘Paint dry at Fantasy Island?’
‘You should try stand-up!’ Bright was enjoying the camaraderie. ‘The Chief asked me to pass on his appreciation for a sterling day’s work. Thought I’d drop by and deliver the message in person . . .’ He turned his attention from Naylor to Daniels, his feelings for his protégé plain to see. ‘You know, I reckon you could make Super out of this, if you play your cards right.’
‘You keep telling me that, guv. But it hasn’t happened yet.’ She gave him a pointed look, her ambition for promotion no laughing matter as far as she was concerned. ‘Don’t suppose you know why?’
Acknowledging a gaffe wasn’t Bright’s style.
‘Patience, Kate. It’s just a matter of time.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze. He’d shaped her career, knew only too well she’d done more than enough to progress to the next rank. Scooping up his briefcase from the floor, he scanned the room, smiling at Carmichael as she arrived laden with sandwiches, crisps and coffee. ‘By the way,’ he said. ‘The drinks are on me when time allows. A knees up is long overdue. Maxwell can come too, if he can still make it off his arse.’
Everyone laughed.
Daniels walked him to the door. ‘I hear things are going well at Ponteland.’
She was discreetly referring to his new PA, Ellen Crawford. But as he turned towards her, there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that he was doing his best to hide. His feelings for her hadn’t always been purely platonic or professional. There was a time, during his late wife’s illness, that he’d have taken things to another level, had she been willing. But that was before he found out about her relationship with Jo Soulsby who, spookily, had just walked through the door and was heading straight for them.
‘Catch you later,’ Bright said.
And with that he was gone.