Gormley put the phone down and shook his head. ‘She’s still not picking up,’ he said.
‘Try her mobile, her office . . .’ Daniels looked worried. ‘Just get hold of her before the press do.’
‘Poor Jo . . .’ Carmichael was genuinely concerned. ‘That’s going to make things a little tricky round here, isn’t it?’
Her comment was met with an uncomfortable silence.
Daniels glanced at Bright. It was hardly a secret that he had no rapport with Jo Soulsby despite her excellent reputation as a criminal profiler. His attitude to psychological profiling was disparaging at best. As far as he was concerned, it was a load of bollocks, an incomplete science – an absolute waste of time. He tolerated her input only because the Home Office insisted that he should. But she was a fellow professional who deserved their respect and – for now at least – he had the good sense to keep his personal feelings to himself.
Daniels appreciated that and turned her attention back to the squad.
‘Let’s concentrate on what we know. Alan Stephens was shot at close range and there was no forced entry at his home. He’d been out to a charity dinner at the Weston Hotel, so maybe he took someone home with him. We’re still looking for a weapon, so when you are out and about keep your eyes and ears open. Given the proximity of the river, chances are it’s in the drink. That doesn’t mean we don’t look.’
‘According to his wife, Alan Stephens travelled to the Weston by taxi,’ Gormley said. ‘Assuming for now he got home the same way we need to do a sweep of local firms, see if we can nail the timing a bit.’
Daniels nodded her approval. ‘Lisa’s already been in touch with the Weston for a guest list and will follow that up. Area Command are gathering CCTV footage and doing the usual with dry-cleaning establishments, rubbish tips, skips, anywhere that clothing or the gun might have been dumped. I’ve asked Hank to hold the fort here while I cover the PM. Those who worked through the night go home and get some shut-eye. The rest of you know what’s required. For now, we concentrate on the victim’s family, past and present. Monica Stephens maintains they were happily married. Maybe they were, maybe not. She was first at the scene, so unless her alibi checks out she’s still a suspect. She’d also have us believe her husband was a nice guy. Well, obviously someone doesn’t think so. Dig up as much background as you can, but bear in mind that Jo Soulsby is a colleague . . .’ Daniels exchanged a look with Bright. ‘So please tread carefully—’
‘Whatever the story behind this shooting we’ve got to move quickly,’ Bright said, getting to his feet. ‘And there’ll be no leaks to the media if you know what’s good for you. So if any of you are shagging the press, keep your flies open and your mouths shut! Let’s see how quickly we can put this one to bed.’
He promptly left the room leaving Daniels to dismiss the squad. As officers began to disperse, she pondered her decision to take the case. There was no doubt she’d screwed up. But now she had to work out what was she going to do about it. Seeing her worried expression, Gormley leaned in close to have a quiet word.
He never got the chance.
‘Sarah Short’s parents are here,’ Robson said, interrupting. ‘They’ve been waiting a while. I said I’d let you know.’
Daniels sighed. If there was one thing she didn’t need right now, it was another heart-wrenching session with parents still waiting for justice for their daughter. She nodded to Robson and immediately left the room, heading downstairs. On the floor below, she hesitated before entering reception. Through a glass panel in the door, she could see David and Elsie Short huddled together on a hard bench, holding hands as always. Both bore the scars of the past: they were pale, drawn, emotionally spent.
Assistant Chief Constable Martin walked up behind her.
‘Sarah Short’s parents again?’ he said.
There was a distinct lack of compassion in his voice, as if their frequent visits to the station were an inconvenience to him. Daniels nodded. She couldn’t imagine the ACC ever having held the hands of any families of murder or manslaughter victims. Understanding was not on his radar. The man was a complete wanker, a hate figure with a formidable reputation. Not one member of MIT had a good word to say about him – most wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.
‘How long’s it been?’
‘Too long,’ Daniels said. ‘It’s painful to watch.’
‘Painful for you too, I imagine. It isn’t every day you come across two bodies. Doubly difficult when they’re known to your family.’
‘They’re not . . . well, only in as much as they attend St Camillus church.’
‘Still, you feel the loss deeply. I can see that.’ Martin chose his words carefully so as to cause her the maximum grief and embarrassment. ‘There’s no shame in seeing the force psychologist if you ever feel the need to talk, DCI Daniels.’
Daniels turned, her eyes burning into him.
‘Not that I’m suggesting—’
She cut him dead. ‘I don’t need therapy, sir. Just space to do my job.’
She opened the door to reception and walked through it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to smile as she entered the room. David and Elsie looked up with hope in their eyes; a hope that was dashed immediately they saw the guilty look on her face.
‘What is it, Kate?’ David Short asked.
Daniels glanced through the glass at the ACC, who was still hovering outside. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. She could hardly meet David’s eyes.
‘Temporarily, I’m off the case.’
‘No! They can’t!’ Elsie cried.
The door from the street opened and Wayne Hood – a well-known local thug, aptly named – walked through it. He acknowledged Daniels with a smug grin and carried on to the front desk, pressing the buzzer for assistance. Receiving a stern look from the DCI, the civilian desk clerk ushered the offender into an anteroom to wait. As the door shut behind him, Daniels took Elsie’s hand.
‘I won’t rest until he’s behind bars, Elsie. I promise you.’
David held on to his anger. He could see Daniels was hurting too. ‘Come on, dear,’ he said. ‘Kate has a job to do.’
Daniels looked at him. ‘David, please—’
‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘I do . . .’ She hated disappointing them, yet again, but they deserved to know the truth. ‘It’s just that we’ve exhausted every possible avenue and the evidence just isn’t there. I have to be honest with you: we’ve run up against a brick wall.’
David put his arm round his wife, as if doing so would protect her from Daniels’ harsh words. ‘You’re dropping the investigation?’
Elsie was appalled. ‘You can’t!’
‘No. You have my word,’ Daniels said softly. ‘But whoever murdered Sarah is still not in the system. Eventually he’ll make a mistake and when he does—’
‘He’ll have killed someone else!’ Elsie wept.