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.
24
S arah’s Café was just across the road. The place was a dive: dishes abandoned on tables, chairs strewn around at odd angles waiting to be put back where they
rightfully belonged, the untidy mess ignored by a gum-chewing waitress – too busy on the phone to notice, too idle to care. They were sitting at a table by the window, each with an insipid
mug of coffee in their hands. Gormley had no intention of drinking his and was getting impatient to hear what was too important to talk about in the station.
‘Spit it out then,’ he said.
Daniels sat for a moment considering the many motives for taking a person’s life: rivalry for power or love, jealousy, greed, and the most potent of all – revenge. She looked at
Gormley and took a deep breath. ‘I know something, Hank. Something I’m duty-bound to disclose. Something that, for the time being, stays between the two of us –
understood?’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘Jo once told me, in confidence, that Stephens raped her.’
Gormley’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
Daniels knew she was on dodgy ground.
‘And you chose not to disclose it because . . .?’
‘I want you to check it out first.’
‘She reported it?’
‘No further action was taken. It was pre ’91. No such offence if you were married. On the outside he was a model citizen, a church-going Christian with a social conscience. But
behind closed doors, I gather he was a pig.’
‘Am I missing something here?’ Gormley picked up his coffee, grimaced, then put it back down. ‘It’s just . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, revenge is a
pretty strong motive!’
‘Eighteen plus years ago, maybe . . .’ Daniels thought it unlikely that a person would commit murder nearly two decades after the event. ‘And we don’t think this is a
domestic, right? At least, that was the consensus yesterday when you were offering to moon us from Fenwick’s window!’
‘True,’
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.
24
S arah’s Café was just across the road. The place was a dive: dishes abandoned on tables, chairs strewn around at odd angles waiting to be put back where they
rightfully belonged, the untidy mess ignored by a gum-chewing waitress – too busy on the phone to notice, too idle to care. They were sitting at a table by the window, each with an insipid
mug of coffee in their hands. Gormley had no intention of drinking his and was getting impatient to hear what was too important to talk about in the station.
‘Spit it out then,’ he said.
Daniels sat for a moment considering the many motives for taking a person’s life: rivalry for power or love, jealousy, greed, and the most potent of all – revenge. She looked at
Gormley and took a deep breath. ‘I know something, Hank. Something I’m duty-bound to disclose. Something that, for the time being, stays between the two of us –
understood?’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘Jo once told me, in confidence, that Stephens raped her.’
Gormley’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
Daniels knew she was on dodgy ground.
‘And you chose not to disclose it because . . .?’
‘I want you to check it out first.’
‘She reported it?’
‘No further action was taken. It was pre ’91. No such offence if you were married. On the outside he was a model citizen, a church-going Christian with a social conscience. But
behind closed doors, I gather he was a pig.’
‘Am I missing something here?’ Gormley picked up his coffee, grimaced, then put it back down. ‘It’s just . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, revenge is a
pretty strong motive!’
‘Eighteen plus years ago, maybe . . .’ Daniels thought it unlikely that a person would commit murder nearly two decades after the event. ‘And we don’t think this is a
domestic, right? At least, that was the consensus yesterday when you were offering to moon us from Fenwick’s window!’
‘True,’
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