To Daniels’ surprise, Bright turned up at her house early next morning. He’d had a shave but dark shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t been to bed. As he walked into the house begging for forgiveness for the state he’d been in the night before, she detected a slight whiff of a cigarette.
A hint of what was to come perhaps?
Bright only ever smoked when he had a drink in his hand and, for a fleeting moment, Daniels wondered if he’d started the morning where he’d left off just eight hours ago and was about to say something they’d both regret. But she was wrong. His apology was grovelling and well rehearsed, which explained the nicotine hit so early in the day. She laughed when he mentioned an ‘inappropriate request’ to stay the night at his place, lightening the mood between them, putting him at ease as she poured him a coffee.
As far as she was concerned it never happened.
She gave her word that it wouldn’t be mentioned again so long as he agreed to stop putting himself under so much pressure . . .
‘You’ll run yourself into the ground otherwise.’ The smile slid off her face as a grim thought crossed her mind. ‘Guv, who’s looking after Stella?’
‘Neighbour,’ Bright said vaguely.
Daniels looked out at the darkness through black kitchen windows. ‘At this hour?’
Bright registered the doubt. ‘Don’t fret, Kate. I’m not ready to lose Stella yet. Our neighbour is also an old school-mate. Salt of the earth, too. Up at the crack of dawn. Comes in every day at six. Never misses.’
They left the house together but in separate cars, Bright on his way to headquarters, Daniels en route to the incident room with a manpower problem to sort. She’d assembled a good team: a dedicated group she trusted to cross-reference each and every piece of information that came into the incident room, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, with Harry Holt – a DS pushing fifty with almost three decades of experience under his belt – appointed as receiver, and Paul Robson as statement reader. But with the benefit of hindsight she knew she should’ve chosen differently where the latter was concerned. Robson’s sudden departure on paternity leave was going to leave her short.
Driving into the city, she was forced to consider drafting in his replacement. Carefully sifting the possibilities in her mind, she eventually settled on a newly promoted ex-squad member, DS Patrick O’Doughty from Northern Area Command. Not that he had many statements to read as yet; so far the house-to-house had failed to turn up a single witness. Which didn’t surprise her, given the Bonfire Night celebrations. The killer had been one of many thousands of strangers in the city for the occasion. She wondered if he’d planned it that way or just got lucky.
She entered the incident room with the intention of ringing O’Doughty’s line manager. As with every murder she’d ever worked on, over-crowding was proving to be a problem. Typists, data-entry clerks and squad members were crammed together, sharing desks, frustrated by the lack of facilities afforded to their work. But they would manage in the end. They always did. In the wider scheme of things, space was less important than just getting the job done.
In her early years as a police officer, Daniels would gladly have worked for no pay – and often did. She believed that, for a woman, self-sacrifice was an integral part of reaching the top in any profession. Motherhood was the obvious example of what she’d missed out on in pursuit of her career. It was a decision she’d take again tomorrow if she had to.
As she’d just told Bright, life was too short for regrets.
Daniels’ father suddenly entered her thoughts. A smile crossed her lips as she recalled her childhood, the afternoons spent watching cowboy movies with him. Good times. He’d nicknamed her Annie Oakley and teased her a lot. When they’d played make-believe, she was never the gunslinger – always the county sheriff. He’d once told her she was ‘born to uphold the law’.
Little did she know that his comment would later split them apart.
She wondered if he ever had regrets. He was the one who had taught her to take pride in what she did, instilled in her a sense of devotion and commitment – good old-fashioned qualities that had moulded her into the impressive officer she was. He was the one who’d given her a strong perspective on right and wrong. Daniels swallowed hard. Her father had been an affectionate, hard-working, proud man with a great sense of humour – until she’d reached the age of ten and everything changed.
Ed Daniels was now a broken man whose emotions – even to this day – were still raw from the miners’ strike. Memories of the bitter and bloody confrontation with the police on the picket lines, Scargill’s troops versus Thatcher’s, had not diminished. He’d never recovered his status as breadwinner for the family after his pit closed. It nearly killed him to walk out of the gate on the last day. When Daniels left school at seventeen with above-average grades and a burning ambition to join the police, he’d taken her choice of profession as a personal betrayal, refusing to give her his blessing. How long would it be until he forgave her for that? She’d always felt that she was born to be a detective, but now Stephens’ death had changed things and, once again, divided loyalties weighed heavy on her mind.
There was a muddle of bodies around a desk in one corner of the incident room. As it slowly dispersed, Daniels was delighted to see DS Robson emerge from its centre. His wife had given birth overnight to a boy – Callum, named after a Scottish grandfather on his mother’s side – weighing in at a healthy 2.85 kilos. The mood in the room was buoyant as people arrived for work and heard the news. They shook hands with Robson before taking their seats, aware that the new arrival would get less attention than it deserved. That came with the territory. It wouldn’t be the first time pressure of work had prevented a proper celebration to wet a baby’s head.
It wouldn’t be the last.
‘I’m not taking paternity leave just yet,’ Robson said.
Daniels was taken aback. ‘Oh?’
He smiled. ‘I could tell you it’s down to my enduring professional integrity, but I’d be lying. Truth is, my mother arrived late last night. She’s hell-bent on stopping for a fortnight. I’ve talked it over with Irene and I’m yours till she goes home. Irene doesn’t fancy playing referee.’
Daniels tapped his arm. ‘I’m delighted to hear that. We’re run off our feet.’
Gormley sauntered over, adding his own congratulations, telling Robson that having a son would change his life for ever.
‘In a good way,’ he added. ‘First sixteen years are the worst!’
Robson smiled. ‘I appreciate the tip-off.’
Gormley’s phone rang. He took it from his pocket and lifted it to his ear, leaving Daniels and Robson hanging. He listened intently for a few seconds, holding the DCI’s gaze, then rang off thanking the caller for getting back to him so quickly. ‘The drugs theory is a non-starter,’ he said. ‘Neither Interpol nor Customs and Excise have anything on their radar.’
Daniels shrugged – it was a long shot anyway.
She turned to Robson. ‘Can you give us a sec, Robbo? Hank and I have something important to discuss.’
Gormley threw her a questioning look as Robson moved off. ‘Something I missed?’
Daniels shook her head. ‘Fancy getting out of here for a bit?’
‘Er, aren’t we a tad busy to go on walkabout?’
‘It’s important.’
‘What is?’
‘Not here,’ Daniels said. ‘Meet me at Sarah’s in ten.’
She suddenly had his undivided attention.
Sarah’s was known as a last resort.