Kate Daniels made a full recovery. She left the Royal Victoria Infirmary that same night, having discharged herself – against her doctor’s advice. Her injury was not life threatening. She was bruised and sore, but still alive. That didn’t mean she wasn’t hurting like hell for the relatives of Father Simon, Sarah Short, Alan Stephens, Jennifer Tait, Jamil Malik, Dorothy Smith and Frances Cook – victims she would never forget.
There had been times in the past few months when Daniels almost lost the will to live, but her encounter with Forster had concentrated her mind. And now? Now she was able to see that life, no matter how difficult, was so much better than the alternative. Her friend and colleague, Jo Soulsby, arrived in the nick of time, just as she was leaving the hospital. They stayed close in the coming few days, recapturing the wonderful connection they had once enjoyed. For the time being, at least, it remained the camaraderie of fellow professionals. Whether it would ever be anything more was debatable.
But, where there was life, there was always a modicum of hope.
James Stephens had been able to clear up the uncertainty over a torn-up photograph found in his mother’s bin. Had he known that it had formed part of the ‘evidence’ against her, he’d have come forward sooner. As a gesture of goodwill, Monica Stephens had pledged money from her late husband’s estate to both of his sons. James intended to use his to finance a gap year before completing his education at Sheffield University. Thomas had yet to decide.
Four weeks later, Daniels returned to work to great applause from the murder squad. Detective Superintendent Phillip Bright had accepted a commendation from the Chief Constable for his team’s sterling work in apprehending a serial offender who had blighted the lives of so many. ACC Martin was not available for comment. He had resigned his post with immediate effect, following sensational allegations over his personal life which very nearly eclipsed press coverage of a murder investigation involving several forces, the biggest manhunt Northumbria force had ever known. Insiders suspected that the resulting media frenzy into his best-kept secret was being fuelled either by his estranged wife, Muriel, or by someone within his own force.
Jonathan Forster looked set to join the ranks of Britain’s most notorious killers, although he wasn’t alive to enjoy it. Following a post-mortem examination, his body was released for burial and taken to the West Road Crematorium where a short ceremony took place. There were no mourners present.
Within a month or so of Forster’s demise, Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley would apply for an order for the destruction of an item used in connection with a series of crimes; namely a computer containing sensitive information on several victims – not to mention photographic evidence proving that the late Jonathan Forster had been stalking a senior member of Northumbria Police. Inexplicably, no mobile phone or camera belonging to the said offender was ever recovered, despite extensive searches of his flat and the adjoining property. Gormley had this to say: ‘It’s just one of life’s little mysteries. We may never know what happened to them.’