Next morning, Daniels arranged for some food to be sent in. It wasn’t exactly Sunday roast, but it would see them through a busy day. Murder enquiries didn’t stop just because it was the weekend.
Drawing her eyes away from the gruesome pictures on the murder wall, still feeling bad about turning Robson down so abruptly the previous night, she was about to have a conciliatory word with him when DC Carmichael called her over to have a look at something on the incident-room TV.
‘Yes, Lisa. What is it?’
‘Boss, take a look at this.’
Eyes fixed like glue to the screen, Carmichael stood poised, her thumb hovering over the remote control’s pause button, waiting to freeze a precise image. Daniels joined her and the two stood shoulder to shoulder, observing CCTV footage as it followed a cycle from floor to floor, location to location, within the Weston Hotel.
‘There!’ Carmichael cried.
The screen was now still, frozen on a clear image of Felicity Wood and Alan Stephens exiting a hotel room, his hand planted firmly on her bum. Carmichael ran the tape on and picked up the couple as they made their way down the corridor to the lift. A sign above it clearly showed FLOOR 4. Carmichael rewound the tape at double speed, then moved the cursor, zooming in on a door number: 429.
She looked to her left.
Daniels was beaming. ‘Gotcha!’ she said.
Just then the door to the incident room burst open and Bright walked through it, flicking his eyes backwards over his shoulder. Looking beyond him, Daniels saw Maxwell in hot pursuit, a film of sweat clearly visible on his brow, his face all red and blotchy.
‘Guv, a word, if I may?’ Maxwell was out of breath.
‘Make it quick,’ Bright said, ‘the DCI is about to start her briefing.’
Maxwell hesitated before letting them have it with both barrels: ‘The squad have been helping themselves to my biscuits and stolen coffee from my drawer. I want it back.’
Bright feigned serious concern. ‘Is that right?’
‘Theft is a very serious allegation, Neil,’ Daniels was smiling. ‘You should call a detective.’
‘I am!’ Maxwell snapped at them. ‘I’m calling them all thieving bastards!’
As he stomped off in disgust, mumbling about their casual attitude to a criminal offence, Bright turned to Daniels.
‘Interesting management strategy,’ he said, struggling to contain his laughter.
She made a face. ‘He asked for it.’
‘And he certainly got it!’ Bright grinned at Carmichael. ‘Watch and learn, Lisa. Your new SIO clearly has what it takes. And you do, too, I reckon. In fact, you’re both looking pleased with yourselves. Has there been an update on Soulsby?’
Daniels held back her annoyance. ‘Her name is Jo, guv. And I think the term is, “as well as can be expected”.’
‘I stand corrected.’ Bright stifled a grin. ‘Shall we get on?’
With Carmichael there, Daniels couldn’t challenge him. ‘You’re staying?’
‘Thought I might sit in, if that’s OK with you?’
‘I’m surprised you have time.’ Daniels hoped he’d take the hint and stop looking over her shoulder, but it seemed he just couldn’t help himself. ‘I heard you had someone in.’
‘You heard right, but the sick bastard’s not going to cough. First the brief screams for a medical review because our suspect’s just been discharged from St George’s – which, incidentally, came out in our favour – and then he insists on eight hours’ sleep following six of interrogation.’ Bright gave a little shrug. ‘Suits me fine. The search team are doing a number on his client’s house. I’m letting both buggers stew. ’ He glanced at the murder wall. ‘You going to fill me in or not?’
‘Jo’s movements remain unclear in the hours leading up to the murder.’
Still rattled by his interference, Daniels didn’t offer more. She was pleased her guv’nor had made an arrest. Of course she was. If his suspect was charged, the whole community would rest easier in their beds. He’d get good press too: chance to be the local hero, the main man. Chance to remind everyone that he was the most successful detective the force had ever seen. He needed that. The only downside was that, if he didn’t back off of her own investigation, she’d end up in the same psychiatric hospital to which he’d just referred.
‘And her sons?’ Bright pushed.
‘The eldest, Tom, has been eliminated. We have unequivocal proof that he was on a flight from Tenerife at the time of his father’s death—’
‘Word is, Robbo found two bags in her hallway,’ Bright cut in.
‘Don’t you start! I’d hazard a guess at Tom’s dirty washing, wouldn’t you?’ Daniels looked him right in the eye. ‘Guv, you can’t think Jo had anything to do with this.’
Bright raised an anything-is-possible eyebrow.
‘Then you’re a mile wrong.’ Daniels smiled at Carmichael. ‘Lisa just clocked Stephens leaving a room at the Weston Hotel with a woman from his apartment block.’
‘Is that right?’ Bright said. ‘Well, things are looking up.’
‘And Monica Stephens gave an account of her movements that doesn’t quite add up,’ Daniels added. ‘There was no flight from Newcastle airport to London at the time of night she allegedly saw off Teresa Branson – who, incidentally, has gone AWOL. Repeated calls to her mobile phone have gone unanswered. Oh, and you might like to take a look at this . . .’ She led Bright to a chart positioned a few feet away. Turning over the front cover, she revealed a circular seating plan resembling a huge green squash ball with a red dot at its centre. ‘I’ll let Lisa explain this. It’s all her good work.’
Carmichael pushed her shoulders back, pleased to have made a good impression.
‘The red dot indicates Stephens’ position at the charity dinner,’ she said. ‘The surrounding green area represents the tables nearest to him. I’ve managed to identify every guest within this circle.’
‘Excellent, Lisa.’ Bright was impressed. ‘What have you done to ensure all these witnesses are traced?’
Carmichael pointed towards the receiver’s desk. ‘Harry is fast-tracking actions as we speak, and detectives from Area Command are lending a hand to get through them ASAP.’
Hearing his name, DS Harry Holt looked up and threw in his contribution. ‘If an action comes back unclear, guv, it’ll bounce straight back to them.’
‘Fair enough,’ Bright said, turning back to Carmichael. ‘You’re certain security collected invitations from everybody?’
‘That’s company policy at the Weston, guv,’ Carmichael said. ‘I interviewed the security staff myself. No invitation was supposed to mean strictly no admittance.’
‘But if someone made it worth their while, they’d turn a blind eye, right?’
‘That was the impression I got. Security pay is poor.’
Bright nodded. ‘And this was definitely the seating plan they used?’
‘Yeah, but . . .’ Carmichael glanced again at Daniels. ‘They may have played musical chairs.’
Daniels grinned. Carmichael was learning fast. Turning to face the assembled squad, she raised her voice to gain their attention and pointed at Carmichael’s chart. ‘Listen up, everyone! I want you all to familiarize yourself with this plan.’ Taking in the collective nod of heads, she noticed Maxwell attempting to sneak back in without drawing attention to himself. ‘Neil, what’s the state of play with the house-to-house?’
Maxwell turned beetroot. Being singled out was not something he’d anticipated. He promptly knocked his notes off his desk and scrambled around the floor on all fours trying to retrieve them – irritating Bright in the process.
‘In your own time . . .’ Bright rolled his eyes. Unable to resist an opportunity to pull Maxwell’s leg, he added: ‘You look like you could do with a shot of coffee, Detective.’
‘No residents on the third floor of Court Mews heard or saw anything, guv,’ Maxwell puffed, trying to gather papers and his thoughts at the same time. ‘The fireworks display was well advertised and most had made arrangements to go out for the evening. We do have a witness at number 28: Mrs Kim Foreman—’
He stopped mid-sentence. When he looked up from the floor he was sweating profusely and his notes were all mixed up. The guv’nor towered over him, clearly out of patience. The rest of the squad weren’t helping either; their gawking was making him even more flustered. Finally, he got his act together and stood up, scratching his left ear, something he tended to do when he was nervous.
‘Mrs Foreman is a dancer at Rivaldo’s nightclub. She began her shift at around seven and was due to work until closing on Thursday night, but she went home early—’
‘Why early?’ Daniels asked.
‘Said she was feeling ill. Anyway, she remembers hearing raised voices, one male, one female, definitely arguing.’
Daniels wanted more. ‘Exactly where does she live in relation to the victim?’
Maxwell bowed his head, trying his best to avoid eye contact with her and with Bright. It was obvious to everyone in the room that he didn’t know the answer.
‘I’ll find out,’ he said.
‘Come on, man!’ Bright said. ‘You must have some bloody idea.’
‘Have you not drawn up a plan?’ Daniels asked.
Maxwell glowered at Carmichael, who was trying not to look smug. ‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘That’s not good enough!’ Bright was almost yelling.
‘Get it done, ASAP,’ Daniels said quietly. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, nothing.’ Maxwell’s relief was obvious. At last they were going to move on to someone else and leave him alone.
Bright, however, was not done with him yet: ‘I think you mean nothing else, thank you, ma’am.’
Maxwell looked as though he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He hung his head in shame, steeling himself for a blasting. There was a moment’s silence and then Bright left the room.