Kate arrived home to a warm, inviting house, the intense aroma of garlic and Italian herbs hitting her senses as she walked through the door. Finally, she felt ready to eat, even though Kyra Thakur had put paid to the possibility of getting a lead on Aaron or his whereabouts. That particular line of enquiry had evaporated when the Met detective fed back that Peter Swift had not seen or heard from Hannah for years. He was unaware of whether or not she’d since married or become a mother.
As instructed, Kyra had left it there.
Stone had been right, Thakur was a pro.
Though grateful to her and him, Kate was painfully aware that tomorrow’s planned meeting with Hannah’s father now had an added and very personal dimension. For many years Kate had been estranged from her old man because she didn’t live up to his view of the ideal daughter. Relationships were complicated. It made her wonder what dysfunctional family dynamics were at play in Hannah’s life.
Closing the front door, Kate leaned against it, pleased to be shutting out the world and the investigation for a few hours before returning to base. She stood there, taking a moment to shake herself free of the case, something she tried to do most nights before greeting Jo, not always successfully.
The haunting chords of one of Kate’s favourite songs drifted along the hallway from the kitchen at the rear: Charlene Soraia, ‘Wherever You Will Go’. At the top of her voice, Jo sang along. Her only audience – Nelson, her beloved Labrador – sloped out of the kitchen towards Kate, looking less than enamoured.
If he could’ve rolled his eyes, he would have.
She crouched down and gave him a hug. ‘I completely agree with you,’ she whispered. ‘Your mum has many talents. Singing isn’t one of them. Go on, in your bed.’ As the dog moved away, Kate stood in the hallway listening. The song’s lyrics seemed more apt than usual. At work, Jo had tried to guide her through one of her darkest days and been knocked back. Kate would have lost it if she’d let her in.
An apology was overdue.
Dropping her car keys on the side table, her bag on the floor, she shrugged off her coat, kicked off her boots and moved down the hallway. When she reached the kitchen, Jo was swaying gently to the music, putting the finishing touches to their meal, a glass of red on the bench beside her. She wore cut-off jeans, a raggy old T-shirt, frayed at the edges. Her feet were bare, wet hair hanging loose around her shoulders.
Unable to take her eyes off her, Kate was filled with a mix of emotions: guilt for having pushed her away earlier – the only way she’d have coped with such a grim day – deep love and a yearning for intimacy, the one thing guaranteed to heal her. She couldn’t make it through this case on her own.
Sensing a presence, or maybe a change in atmosphere, Jo swung round, a big smile as their eyes met, an odd expression – part relief, part curiosity. ‘Hey, you made it!’
‘Was there any doubt?’
‘Once you took that call, I thought I might have to eat alone.’ Jo pointed over Kate’s shoulder. ‘Actually, I thought I heard you before. Did you come in and nip out again, or did I imagine that?’
‘No. I arrived just in time to admire your moves.’
Jo laughed. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
‘Not long enough. Feel free to carry on.’
Turning down the volume on their Bose system, Jo held up her wine and changed the subject. ‘I started without you.’
‘So I see.’
Eyeing the open bottle on the kitchen counter, Kate walked towards it, picked up an empty glass and poured herself a small measure. Jo took a step forward and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. They held each other for a long moment. There were times when words were useless, touch more appropriate. This was one of them. In Kate’s exhausted state, Charlene’s lyrics had got to her. She turned away and went upstairs to shower before dinner.
Jo was about to dish up by the time Kate arrived in the kitchen in her PJs, asking if there was anything she could do to help. There wasn’t. Unlike Kate, Jo had everything under control. They took their meal into the living room to eat on their knees in front of the fire. When they had finished, Jo cleared away the dishes, returning with another bottle of wine.
‘Not for me . . .’ Kate waved it away. ‘One more will tip me over the edge. I have an early start. More importantly, I’m meeting Hannah’s father off the plane at nine thirty. I can’t do that with a hangover.’
She updated Jo on the latest disappointing development.
‘Swift has no idea he’s a grandfather?’ Jo’s eyes widened when Kate shook her head. ‘Oh my God, poor man. Hearing of Hannah’s death must have been dreadful. Finding out that she kept that from him will break his heart all over again. You’ll tell him?’
‘When identification is complete, not before. I have no choice. As far as I’m aware, he’s now Aaron’s next of kin.’
Kate’s eyelids were getting heavy. As usual, she fought sleep. For most people, it was a safe haven. For her it was a place where demons lay waiting to attack. It was only when Jo moved in with Kate that she realised the full extent of her nightmares. It was scary waking up to the sound of whimpering, witnessing a loved one fight off an imaginary foe.
She continued to listen as Kate talked, providing a sounding board, hoping that verbalising her thoughts before retiring might give her some respite when she finally went to bed. Jo soon realised that Kate was in trouble. She was obsessing about Hannah alone in that van. Waiting. Jumpy. Terrified of every sound outside in case it was the man who’d threatened to take her life.
Although Jo had once been married to a predatory male, a serial philanderer who couldn’t have cared less about her feelings or those of their kids, try as she might she couldn’t comprehend what Hannah’s life must’ve been like. It wasn’t only the brutality of her death that was tearing Kate apart. It was the inevitability of it – the fact that Hannah had nowhere to turn – that Kate found hard to swallow.
‘We’ve got to stop this happening,’ she said. ‘These are mothers, daughters, sisters. No one gives a fat rat’s arse about them—’
‘You do, I—’
‘Yeah, when it’s too fucking late.’ Kate apologised for snapping.
‘No, I agree with you. We need to care when they’re still breathing.’
Kate looked like a torn soul.
Jo knew she’d carry Hannah’s note with her for the rest of her days.
‘I need your help,’ Kate said. ‘You’re the one with the expertise. I lock them up, I don’t spend time with these vile men like you do. You engage with them, for hours on end. I need a pointer. Anything and everything you can give me.’
‘I’m putting together a profile, but I need more time. It’ll be counterproductive otherwise. I could be giving you a bum steer.’
‘How long do you need?’
‘As long as it takes. Kate, I know you’re desperate, but it’s not something I can rush.’
‘Sorry, I’m just frustrated.’
‘Me too.’
Jo poured herself another glass of wine. She’d worked extensively with dangerous offenders, much of it with lifers, during and after sentencing. She’d seen the whites of their eyes, questioned their motivation, given courts of law the benefit of that experience. And yet, like Kate, she was struggling when it came to JC.
She had to give her something.
‘Based on the content of Hannah’s note, JC is most likely highly intelligent, manipulative and successful. I could make inferences on personality type, but it won’t narrow down a list of suspects. Had Hannah died at the hands of a serial killer, I’d have more to go on, like violence progression and state of mind during the commission of the offence. I have an inkling that he’s been building up to this. What we need is his trigger, the thing that made him snap.’