85
With no rush to get into the office, Daniels called a cab and headed home to get changed. On her way she tried to contact Jo several times, but the phone rang out unanswered. Asking the driver to keep the meter running, telling him she wouldn’t be long, she unlocked her front door and let herself in. There was a handwritten note from Jo on the hall carpet: I guess I have my answer was all it said.
Daniels’ heart sank.
At some point during the night – the only night she’d stayed out since they’d split – Jo had come round to find the house in darkness and no sign of her. She reread the note, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She was about to call Jo again when, right on cue, the house phone rang: the MIR.
What the fuck?!
Was this a conspiracy to keep them apart?
Carmichael sounded cheerful: Laidlaw’s case had been adjourned with no application for bail, as Daniels had anticipated.
‘Any problems?’ she asked.
‘None. You never said what an evil shit she is close up.’ Carmichael paused. ‘Cocky, too, until she was remanded in custody. Almost threw up then. But those eyes . . .’
Carmichael’s voice trailed off.
Daniels could tell she’d turned her head away from the speaker. Not surprising given the raised voices in the background. There was a lot of swearing and blasphemy going on. Naylor wasn’t a happy bunny by the sounds of it. He was yelling instructions that Daniels only heard snippets of. Something about getting a team together . . . full forensics . . . the whole works. Another murder incident? Then why the rush? Dead bodies were usually pretty patient souls.
‘Lisa? Lisa, what’s going on?’
‘Not sure, but it sounds serious. Call you back.’ She hung up.
Seconds later, although it seemed like hours, the phone rang again. ‘Boss, you’re not going to like this. Laidlaw escaped, seriously injuring one of the court security guards. She’s in a really bad way, she might not make it. All units have been alerted and are looking for Laidlaw.’
Jo’s words echoed around Daniels’ head: She walks and she’ll kill again, there’s no doubt about it. ‘Put Hank on, Lisa,’ she said calmly.
Chantelle left the General Hospital after an early out-patients appointment to have her dressing changed. The number 684 bus was already at the stop when she arrived, so she hopped on board for the short ride home, paid her fare, and threw herself down on a seat near the front. When she got off, a few minutes later, she had the distinct impression that she was being followed. It was a strange sensation, like heat burning a hole in the back of her head. She looked around, searching the faces of those who’d got off the bus with her.
But there was no one she knew.
She walked on for a bit, glancing over her shoulder before turning the corner. Daft cow. It wasn’t like her to let her imagination run wild like that. But since Laidlaw had done her over, she couldn’t be too careful. As she reached her front door, she swung round again, expecting to see someone for defo this time, but the street was deserted, except for a few idiots riding their bikes up and down trying to impress her by doing wheelies.
Chantelle ignored them. She was too busy scanning the cars lining the pavement. With the sun glinting off windscreens it was hard to tell if anyone was sitting there or not, watching, waiting to jump her. Then a thought suddenly occurred. Maybe the bizzies were keeping an eye on her. Unless . . . were they following her? Was Daniels?
Nah, Daniels was a top bird under all that authority.
She hadn’t condoned what Chantelle had done but neither had she made too big a deal out of it. She’d rescued her, sent a cop to guard her, made sure she was treated as an emergency at the hospital. There was no waiting in the queue like the rest of the divvis in A & E – not with Daniels on her side. That didn’t mean some other stupid fucker wasn’t still barking up the wrong tree though, did it?
Chantelle could tell all along the police didn’t believe her about George Milburn’s money. She wouldn’t deny she knew he had some, or that she’d have nicked it had she known where it was hidden. Now she came to think of it, his grandson had given her a hacky look on Monday morning when she left for work. He was round at George’s gaff, clearing it out, although what the fuck for was anyone’s guess – his possessions weren’t good enough for the charity shop. Elliot was probably the one who accused her in the first place. What an absolute tit he was.
‘I want two teams, Hank. You take one, Robbo the other. Chantelle is your priority, Laidlaw his. Her phone is constantly engaged so I’ll head over there now. She’ll be milking all the attention, no doubt. Some things never change. Before you join me, have Lisa dig off the system every possible location those two girls could be.’ A car horn blasted outside. Daniels looked out of the window and held up a thumb to her driver. ‘Tell her I want those jobs actioned immediately and put out to the relevant team. No duplication, obviously, we don’t want people turfing up at the same place. It’s imperative we find them quickly.’
‘You think Laidlaw will go after Chantelle?’ Gormley asked.
‘Don’t you? Chantelle is a prime mover in her downfall. If I’m any judge of character, she won’t let that lie. By the way, forensic results are in. That the fag in the wall sample is definitely Chantelle’s—’
‘So?’ Gormley shrugged. ‘We already knew that, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, but what we didn’t know is – and this has been checked and verified by Matt West – the hair we lifted from Laidlaw’s drop address was genetically very similar to Chantelle’s—’
‘She’d been there, at Laidlaw’s place?’
‘No, I queried that possibility with Matt. Although the samples are close, he’s confident that they are from two different people. It’s familial DNA: the two girls are related, probably sisters. Hard to believe, isn’t it?’
Gormley stared at the floor, trying to get his head around what he’d been told, his detective brain working overtime. When he looked up, his eyes were wide open. ‘Jesus Christ! You’re not telling me Chantelle’s been playing us all along? That she and Laidlaw are in this together?’
‘No, but I can see where you’re coming from. Besides, we have too much evidence on Laidlaw for it not to be her. I know Chantelle’s a wrong ’un, but I can’t see her involving herself in murder, can you?’
‘You sure about that? Remember the cap in her hall? We’ve still to ID the petrol buyer.’
‘She’d hardly blackmail Laidlaw if she was involved, though, would she?’
‘She had the photos for insurance. Easy to pin the blame on her if we came calling.’
‘It would be more than her life was worth . . .’ With that worrying thought lingering in the back of her mind, Daniels checked outside. Her driver was still waiting with the engine of his panda running, his arm lolling out the window, a fag-end held between two brown-stained fingers. She turned back to Gormley. ‘You know what? I find this whole episode quite sad. I don’t believe Laidlaw and Chantelle know they’re related. Arthur Fox was a bastard to his women, Hank. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he has illegitimate children all over the place. Anyway that’s not important. We’ve got to find Chantelle before Laidlaw does. Meet me there as soon as you’re done here.’