she felt compelled to ask: ‘You’re telling me he’s a
father?’
‘I’d bet my job on it.’
Jo’s words hung in the air between them.
Daniels’ mobile rang, startling them both: Hank calling.
Ignoring it, Daniels said, ‘Hank doesn’t like Finch.’
‘That’ll make him guilty then!’ Jo was being ironic.
They both laughed, not because it was all that funny, but as a way of releasing the tension. Jo had grown to like Gormley during the time they had spent together at a safe house when it was
thought that she’d unwittingly become the target of one of her clients, a man who’d killed several times. It wasn’t until later that the murder investigation team found evidence
that it was actually Daniels he’d been watching. And
she
certainly didn’t need reminding of his name.
Joining Jo on the sofa, Daniels opened the murder file. Inside there were crime-scene photographs, statements and criminal records checks on Adam Finch and key members of his staff: Pearce,
Townsend and Mrs Partridge. ‘There’s nothing recorded against any of them,’ she said. ‘Apart from a spent conviction of urinating in a public place when Pearce was eighteen
years old.’
‘And the Graingers?’
‘Bloody snow white . . .’ Flipping pages, Daniels reached her notes on the bereaved family. ‘Not so much as an unpaid bill or a row with the neighbours. They come across as a
lovely couple on paper and in person. They’re totally devastated by this.’
‘Adam Finch is the only pilot among them?’
Daniels nodded. ‘Claims he hasn’t flown for years, hasn’t even got a licence any more. It lapsed a long time ago.’
‘Doesn’t mean he can’t still fly.’
‘That’s very true.’
‘May I?’ Jo pointed at the file.
As she leaned over to take it, her hand brushed Daniels’ lap. They hadn’t been this close in months and it made Kate’s heart race.
‘It can’t be Finch,’ she said, trying hard to focus. ‘I’m certain Amy was killed to punish him.’
‘I am too, unless . . .’ Jo didn’t finish.
Daniels looked at her. ‘Unless what?’
Jo didn’t answer.
‘Go on, what were you going to say?’
‘If it is Finch, then he’s lost the plot completely and the whole thing is even more elaborate and contrived than I first thought. However, if you’re right and it’s
someone else, someone who’s prepared to kill to get back at him, then this goes way beyond anger. This is hateful rage. The suffering is all part of it, Kate. And I’m betting it’s
someone he knows personally.’
This close to Jo, Daniels felt both uncomfortable and stimulated at the same time. She valued her opinion and, what’s more, Jo had a point. Most murders were domestics, offences carried
out on the spur of the moment: people losing their rag or getting pissed. There were some notable exceptions: one or two cases Daniels had been involved with that had been underworld or
gangster-related, where an element of planning was involved; another where a serial killer had tracked down a long list of victims in order to get back at his mother. But as far as the modus
operandi was concerned, the case she was now dealing with was definitely out there on its own.
21
A t High Shaw, spring sunshine flooded the room and fresh country air wafted in through the open front door. But the ambience of the place wasn’t lifting DS Robson’s
foul mood. Daniels had left him alone there with a huge pile of statements to read – meaningless statements at that. He looked up as a dark shadow crossed his face. PC Hook was on the
threshold with a farm labourer in tow.
‘This is Ronnie Raine, Sarge. Says he has something important to tell you. Is it OK if I leave him with you?’
Robson nodded.
Hook set off for the mobile unit, leaving Raine alone in the doorway. Casting his eye over the lad, Robson beckoned him inside. He was a giant, six four at least, with sandy-coloured hair, a
ruddy complexion and bright eyes. At a guess,
father?’
‘I’d bet my job on it.’
Jo’s words hung in the air between them.
Daniels’ mobile rang, startling them both: Hank calling.
Ignoring it, Daniels said, ‘Hank doesn’t like Finch.’
‘That’ll make him guilty then!’ Jo was being ironic.
They both laughed, not because it was all that funny, but as a way of releasing the tension. Jo had grown to like Gormley during the time they had spent together at a safe house when it was
thought that she’d unwittingly become the target of one of her clients, a man who’d killed several times. It wasn’t until later that the murder investigation team found evidence
that it was actually Daniels he’d been watching. And
she
certainly didn’t need reminding of his name.
Joining Jo on the sofa, Daniels opened the murder file. Inside there were crime-scene photographs, statements and criminal records checks on Adam Finch and key members of his staff: Pearce,
Townsend and Mrs Partridge. ‘There’s nothing recorded against any of them,’ she said. ‘Apart from a spent conviction of urinating in a public place when Pearce was eighteen
years old.’
‘And the Graingers?’
‘Bloody snow white . . .’ Flipping pages, Daniels reached her notes on the bereaved family. ‘Not so much as an unpaid bill or a row with the neighbours. They come across as a
lovely couple on paper and in person. They’re totally devastated by this.’
‘Adam Finch is the only pilot among them?’
Daniels nodded. ‘Claims he hasn’t flown for years, hasn’t even got a licence any more. It lapsed a long time ago.’
‘Doesn’t mean he can’t still fly.’
‘That’s very true.’
‘May I?’ Jo pointed at the file.
As she leaned over to take it, her hand brushed Daniels’ lap. They hadn’t been this close in months and it made Kate’s heart race.
‘It can’t be Finch,’ she said, trying hard to focus. ‘I’m certain Amy was killed to punish him.’
‘I am too, unless . . .’ Jo didn’t finish.
Daniels looked at her. ‘Unless what?’
Jo didn’t answer.
‘Go on, what were you going to say?’
‘If it is Finch, then he’s lost the plot completely and the whole thing is even more elaborate and contrived than I first thought. However, if you’re right and it’s
someone else, someone who’s prepared to kill to get back at him, then this goes way beyond anger. This is hateful rage. The suffering is all part of it, Kate. And I’m betting it’s
someone he knows personally.’
This close to Jo, Daniels felt both uncomfortable and stimulated at the same time. She valued her opinion and, what’s more, Jo had a point. Most murders were domestics, offences carried
out on the spur of the moment: people losing their rag or getting pissed. There were some notable exceptions: one or two cases Daniels had been involved with that had been underworld or
gangster-related, where an element of planning was involved; another where a serial killer had tracked down a long list of victims in order to get back at his mother. But as far as the modus
operandi was concerned, the case she was now dealing with was definitely out there on its own.
21
A t High Shaw, spring sunshine flooded the room and fresh country air wafted in through the open front door. But the ambience of the place wasn’t lifting DS Robson’s
foul mood. Daniels had left him alone there with a huge pile of statements to read – meaningless statements at that. He looked up as a dark shadow crossed his face. PC Hook was on the
threshold with a farm labourer in tow.
‘This is Ronnie Raine, Sarge. Says he has something important to tell you. Is it OK if I leave him with you?’
Robson nodded.
Hook set off for the mobile unit, leaving Raine alone in the doorway. Casting his eye over the lad, Robson beckoned him inside. He was a giant, six four at least, with sandy-coloured hair, a
ruddy complexion and bright eyes. At a guess,
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