The list of potential candidates for the top job in the murder investigation team had been circulating among the rank and file for weeks. And no amount of fishing for information from Human Resources had given Daniels a clue. It was obviously a closely guarded secret. Even her spy in the control room, Pete Brooks, aka ‘The Font’ (of all knowledge), hadn’t been able to enlighten her on that score. And if anyone could wheedle a name from HR, he could.
Bright was always going to be a hard act to follow, but never in her wildest dreams had Ron Naylor’s name entered Daniels’ thoughts. Why? Because he was highly respected within his own force and there was every reason to believe he’d make chief constable one day. But now she’d had time to think about it, it made perfect sense. All chief constables were required to work in at least one other force at some time during their career. No, Naylor’s sideways move was no happy accident. It was part of a calculated, strategic long-term plan to take the top job in Durham Constabulary further down the line. As far as she was concerned, it would be a just reward for a lifetime of service to his community.
It really couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
In all the years Kate had known Naylor, he’d made the most of his life, in and out of work. At training school he’d taken the place by storm, instigating all sorts of shenanigans that rookies with less of a personality would never have got away with. On one occasion, drunk as a skunk, he’d found himself locked out of the accommodation block at three a.m. Undeterred by the final warning he’d received from their senior instructor, he’d scaled a ledge in order to knock on her bedroom window and beg her to let him – only to realize in the sober light of day that he was looking down at a forty-foot drop on to a concrete garage floor.
Mr Invincible, that was Ron – the star of that year’s intake.
A broad grin spread across Daniels’ face. She’d arrived at the office first thing hoping to break the news, but it seemed the team had already heard. When Naylor followed her in a few minutes later, he was mobbed by detectives offering congratulations, queuing up to shake his hand. Despite their late-night celebration, his eyes were bright and alert, not even the slightest hint that he’d hung one on in spectacular fashion at Café 21. He’d insisted they make a night of it, inviting half the restaurant to join them, including the retired Divisional Commander, his third wife and their guests.
And still Daniels couldn’t remember the man’s bloody name.
Eventually, the muddle of bodies around Naylor dispersed and Daniels led him away to the privacy of her office. She made coffee, strong and black, before giving him the rundown on the enquiry so far. He listened without interrupting her and seemed satisfied that she was doing all she could to resolve the case. But he was as disturbed as she was by the depressing news that Jessica Finch might be incarcerated underground in some hellhole in the middle of nowhere with little chance of being found.
They were a week into the enquiry and time was running out.
Daniels pushed away that sombre thought. ‘Hank floated the idea that our victims were somehow caught up in your prostitution ring.’
‘Negative. I ran their names.’
‘Figures. You don’t miss much, do you?’
‘Can’t afford to. It’s a bloody nightmare and a political hot potato. Councillors from all parties are up in arms demanding we stamp it out. The city doesn’t want that kind of slur on its good name. But the operation hasn’t produced any arrests yet. Whoever’s running those girls is very good at covering their tracks.’
Looking out of the window, Daniels noticed a brand-new Land Rover Discovery passing under the security barrier in the car park below. The 2010 Car of the Year: one she definitely would have chosen if she were ready to part with her beloved Toyota. She was shocked to see Jo Soulsby get out the driver’s side. The vehicle wasn’t her style but was probably a replacement for the BMW she’d written off in an accident that very nearly cost her her life.
Jo opened the back door and reached inside. She looked happy and relaxed as she re-emerged, briefcase in hand. Shutting the door, she peered back through the window and spoke to someone still inside.
Kirsten.
‘She’s looking good,’ Naylor said. ‘All things considered.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Daniels changed the subject. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of this but one of my DCs, Lisa Carmichael, is a dead ringer for Jess and Amy. Amy’s mother even thought so, poor woman. Is there any mileage in putting her undercover for a while, see what she can find out? She might pick up some useful information for Durham and for us. She’s a clean face, not known in the area. And the scumbag we’re after may still be a threat to innocent students, may even attempt to take other girls . . .’
Naylor looked at her, a solid gaze. ‘You know, that’s not a bad idea.’
Taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes shifted past her, a little to her left. From the wry smile on his lips, she guessed he was looking at a framed poster on the wall behind her. It was a reproduction of Beryl Cook’s painting The Staircase – used for a national theft campaign with the kind permission of the artist. It depicted two rather voluptuous ladies walking up the stairs of a pub, wine in hand, knickers on show. To the right of the picture was a caption: Who’s giving your bag the eye? Don’t let a thief get away with it. It was an old poster Daniels had found in an unused office. She’d taken a shine to it and kept it for posterity.
Naylor’s smile disappeared. ‘You’re not suggesting we use Carmichael as bait?’
‘I’m suggesting she has attributes we could use in the apprehension of a serious offender or offenders. That’s what she joined for, a privilege she gets well paid for on the penultimate day of every month, same as we do.’
It was a brutally honest statement. Daniels’ new guv’nor was too experienced to have the wool pulled over his eyes. Besides, she had too much respect for the man to lie to him. When they had joined the job, all those years ago, there was an expectation that you’d risk life and limb to get the right result. Lisa Carmichael felt the same. Daniels knew it. Now all she had to do was to convince their new boss.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Naylor said. ‘I’m not discounting it. It’s just, I don’t know Carmichael very well. And from what I remember of her service record, she hasn’t got a lot of time in. I have to admit that concerns me a little. You think she’d be ready for that kind of exposure?’
‘Ready and raring to go.’ Daniels picked up the internal phone and dialled Carmichael’s extension. ‘Got a minute, Lisa? Detective Superintendent Naylor would like a word.’
‘No problem. Do I need to bring anything?’
‘Just yourself.’ Daniels was about to hang up. ‘Wait! On second thoughts, bring the photographs of Amy and Jessica.’
There was a short pause. Someone else was trying to get Carmichael’s attention. Daniels looked over Naylor’s shoulder through the pane of glass in her office door. Robson was having a word with Carmichael and Daniels caught a fleeting glimpse of Jo Soulsby entering the MIR.
‘Boss?’ Carmichael was back on the line. ‘Robbo wants you to know that Fiona Fielding is in reception waiting to speak with you. She hasn’t got long apparently. She’s got another plane to catch.’
‘Tell her I’ll be straight down.’ Daniels put down the phone. ‘Can you carry on without me, Ron? I’m needed downstairs.’