Patience—and walking up the street to where the cordon was being controlled by a detective constable from Meadowvale. She steeled herself and hoped her voice would come. “Is DI Gorman inside?”
DC Rodgers did a classic double take. He’d hadn’t seen her for weeks, was startled—though later he realized he shouldn’t have been—to see her here. “Hazel? Er—yes. I’ll call him.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find him.”
Rodgers looked concerned. “I don’t think you should go inside. It’s pretty … messy … in there.”
Hazel sighed. “Of course it is. But it won’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”
“It’s different when it’s someone you know,” warned Rodgers.
“I know it is. But, Jack, it really won’t be something I haven’t seen. I saw him do it.”
“Oh, shit.”
A moment later the front door opened and Dave Gorman emerged. He’d been watching for her. “I’m sorry. We were too late.” He looked terribly tired.
“I know.” She managed a brittle smile, to ease a little the guilt they all felt when they did their job but didn’t do it quite fast enough. “I saw.”
Gorman fisted both hands deep in his trouser pockets, dropped his square chin onto his chest. “I’m so sorry. That we couldn’t stop him. That we didn’t get here in time.”
“I know. Thank you.”
He looked past her. “Is this your car? You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll find someone…”
She held on to her car keys, politely but firmly. “I’m fine. I’ll head home now. Unless…?” She left the question mostly unasked.
Gorman heard it just the same. He shook his head. “You can’t go up there. You wouldn’t want to, Hazel. And you wouldn’t want to hinder the investigation. The guys from the Home Office are here already. I suppose, because of who Ash was. They’ve pretty well taken over.”
“Investigation?” For the first time since it had happened, her iron control wavered, the word booming like an overpressured dam. “Dave, we know what happened! We know what he did and why he did it. The whole world knows, or at least as much of it as has access to the Internet. Tell me one thing. Are they safe? Are they really safe?”
The DI nodded somberly. “Yes. The British consul is at the checkpoint now. He’s confirmed that Cathy Ash, her two sons, and Stephen Graves are all safe. They’ll be on a plane home as soon as it can be arranged. Ash achieved what he wanted to, Hazel. If he thought the price was worth paying, then it was.”
But Hazel still didn’t think so.
She got back in her car and headed south. A few miles from Norbold, though, the weather turned unexpectedly dreary—mist shrouded the A road so much that she had to slow down, followed soon afterward by a downpour that stole the last of her vision and forced her into a lay-by.
Only when the windscreen wipers whined a dusty protest and failed to improve matters did Hazel realize that the downpour was highly localized. That the dam had broken, and it was tears blinding her, not rain.
CHAPTER 13
T WO DAYS LATER, on a hot Saturday afternoon, an RAF flight landed them in Coventry. Hazel was there to meet it. DI Gorman had conveyed the request from the Home Office, but she was glad to, felt she owed it to Ash to greet his family. He’d have been there himself if he could. She was a poor substitute, but no one else would have been a better one.
The first she saw of Cathy and her sons was three dots on the tarmac. Actually there were four dots—Stephen Graves was there, too—and it took them a few minutes to cross the open space, heat haze rising like a mirage from the surface, to where Hazel was waiting.
It wasn’t a bad way to approach what was always going to be a difficult meeting. As the figures grew larger, the two women were able to adjust mentally to each other’s presence. Hazel found herself vacillating between relief that Cathy Ash had found her way home after four years in captivity, so that her
DC Rodgers did a classic double take. He’d hadn’t seen her for weeks, was startled—though later he realized he shouldn’t have been—to see her here. “Hazel? Er—yes. I’ll call him.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find him.”
Rodgers looked concerned. “I don’t think you should go inside. It’s pretty … messy … in there.”
Hazel sighed. “Of course it is. But it won’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”
“It’s different when it’s someone you know,” warned Rodgers.
“I know it is. But, Jack, it really won’t be something I haven’t seen. I saw him do it.”
“Oh, shit.”
A moment later the front door opened and Dave Gorman emerged. He’d been watching for her. “I’m sorry. We were too late.” He looked terribly tired.
“I know.” She managed a brittle smile, to ease a little the guilt they all felt when they did their job but didn’t do it quite fast enough. “I saw.”
Gorman fisted both hands deep in his trouser pockets, dropped his square chin onto his chest. “I’m so sorry. That we couldn’t stop him. That we didn’t get here in time.”
“I know. Thank you.”
He looked past her. “Is this your car? You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll find someone…”
She held on to her car keys, politely but firmly. “I’m fine. I’ll head home now. Unless…?” She left the question mostly unasked.
Gorman heard it just the same. He shook his head. “You can’t go up there. You wouldn’t want to, Hazel. And you wouldn’t want to hinder the investigation. The guys from the Home Office are here already. I suppose, because of who Ash was. They’ve pretty well taken over.”
“Investigation?” For the first time since it had happened, her iron control wavered, the word booming like an overpressured dam. “Dave, we know what happened! We know what he did and why he did it. The whole world knows, or at least as much of it as has access to the Internet. Tell me one thing. Are they safe? Are they really safe?”
The DI nodded somberly. “Yes. The British consul is at the checkpoint now. He’s confirmed that Cathy Ash, her two sons, and Stephen Graves are all safe. They’ll be on a plane home as soon as it can be arranged. Ash achieved what he wanted to, Hazel. If he thought the price was worth paying, then it was.”
But Hazel still didn’t think so.
She got back in her car and headed south. A few miles from Norbold, though, the weather turned unexpectedly dreary—mist shrouded the A road so much that she had to slow down, followed soon afterward by a downpour that stole the last of her vision and forced her into a lay-by.
Only when the windscreen wipers whined a dusty protest and failed to improve matters did Hazel realize that the downpour was highly localized. That the dam had broken, and it was tears blinding her, not rain.
CHAPTER 13
T WO DAYS LATER, on a hot Saturday afternoon, an RAF flight landed them in Coventry. Hazel was there to meet it. DI Gorman had conveyed the request from the Home Office, but she was glad to, felt she owed it to Ash to greet his family. He’d have been there himself if he could. She was a poor substitute, but no one else would have been a better one.
The first she saw of Cathy and her sons was three dots on the tarmac. Actually there were four dots—Stephen Graves was there, too—and it took them a few minutes to cross the open space, heat haze rising like a mirage from the surface, to where Hazel was waiting.
It wasn’t a bad way to approach what was always going to be a difficult meeting. As the figures grew larger, the two women were able to adjust mentally to each other’s presence. Hazel found herself vacillating between relief that Cathy Ash had found her way home after four years in captivity, so that her
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