By the time they reconvened in the briefing room, Carmichael had made further headway, discovering that Makepeace had experienced a complete mental breakdown after his daughter’s death, another after his marriage collapsed. At one time, he’d been found wandering the streets and was sectioned under the terms of the Mental Health Act.
‘He was discharged into the care of the local authority in September ’97,’ Carmichael said. ‘Disappeared soon after.’
‘Any psychiatric records available?’ Daniels asked.
‘Already requested.’
‘Good work, Lisa. When they arrive, have Jo take a look. I’m not saying it’ll make any difference, but it might provide useful insight into his mental state. I’ll give Jo the heads up.’
Back in her office, Daniels sat down at her desk, lifting the phone from its cradle intending to call Jo, aborting the call when someone knocked gently on her door. At the height of any enquiry her office was like Kings Cross at rush hour. It was something she’d had to get used to, work round, and sometimes just ignore.
Robson stuck his head in. ‘Got a mo’, boss?’
‘Is it about the case?’
Gormley pushed past him into the room.
Robson clammed up.
‘Then there’s your answer,’ Gormley said. ‘I take priority, now clear off.’
He closed the door, shutting Robson out.
‘That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it?’ Daniels said.
Gormley gave a little do-I-give-a-shit? shrug. He made a big smiley face, his eyes like saucers, his teeth exposed like a toothpaste advert. Daniels grinned. She hadn’t seen him this excited in a long time and that only meant one thing. He knew something she didn’t. Something big, by the look of it.
She sat back as he approached her chair, lifting her feet from the floor as he wheeled it away from the desk so he could better access her computer. After a few keystrokes, data she hadn’t seen before suddenly popped up on screen. Her eyes followed his index finger as he pointed to a section relating to the deceased child, Sally Makepeace. Shuffling closer, Daniels stared wide-eyed at the screen.
The revelation hit home immediately.
The date Sally died.
May fifteenth.
Tomorrow.
Daniels checked her watch to be sure. If Makepeace was their man – and they both thought he was – it was Sally’s death that drove him. He’d not miss the anniversary.
And if he so much as breathed near that cemetery, they’d be ready for him.