don’t we talk about Jo instead?’
Daniels clammed up. He was referring to criminal profiler, Jo Soulsby. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her. When last they’d spoken, it had felt more like a therapy session
with a professional counsellor than a conversation between mates, let alone ex-lovers still attracted to one another. She missed Jo more than she cared to admit, even to herself. She missed her
smell, her laughter, her touch – just breathing the same air.
She wanted to stop loving her and make the pain go away.
A sign pointed off to the left. Daniels took the slip road on to the A1 heading north, hoping Gormley would change the subject.
He didn’t disappoint. ‘Finch is an arrogant bastard. I’m not surprised he has enemies.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Hank. He’s under so much stress he probably doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.’
‘Sympathy sits between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.’
She grinned. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting he’s someone I’ve warmed to a whole lot, but I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, don’t
you?’
‘The man’s a prick, Kate.’
Gormley took off his bifocals, put them in his breast pocket and shut his eyes. Conversation over: at least for now. Within seconds, he was sending the zeds up. He didn’t wake until she
stopped to refuel at Washington Services. They grabbed a quick bite to eat, the atmosphere between them thawing a little, and then got back in the car. Traffic was unusually light and they made
good time. At Corbridge, Daniels turned north on the A68 and cut up on to the Military Road, reaching High Shaw at three forty-five.
14
P C Kevin Hook walked towards the Toyota as Daniels parked in the only space available. As they got out of the car, he handed her a message from the forensic science laboratory
and stood by waiting for further instructions.
‘Matt West said it wasn’t urgent, but he’d appreciate a call back.’
Daniels thanked him and made a mental note to return the call. ‘Any news from the house-to-house while we were gone?’
Hook shook his head. ‘Nothing so far.’
Gormley spoke over his shoulder as they walked away. ‘Keep us posted.’
The murder investigation team were ready and waiting as they entered High Shaw. It was standing-room only with the whole squad crammed into the tiny cottage. They were on starter’s orders,
the buzz of a new enquiry filling the air. Robson had been busy. Photographs of Jessica Finch and Amy Grainger were pinned to the whiteboard, alongside their details: height, build and eye colour.
These photographs were the focus of everyone’s attention, the similarity between the two glaringly obvious.
‘OK, listen up!’ Daniels sat down surrounded by her squad. ‘It won’t have escaped your notice that Amy Grainger is a dead ringer for Jessica Finch, which means that our
priorities have now changed. I’m not suggesting for one minute that we forget about Amy. This
is
a murder enquiry. But our main concern must be on finding Jessica Finch while
there’s a chance she’s still alive.’
‘Did they know each other?’ Robson asked.
‘Not according to either of their parents,’ Gormley said.
‘Yeah, but what do parents ever know?’ Daniels said. ‘Mine were on a different planet, hadn’t a clue what I was up to. It’s like that for most kids, surely.’
Her eyes found Carmichael. ‘Lisa, when we’re done here, get over to the university and find out what you can. I need an address for Jessica and I need it now. Her father was under the
impression she was living at halls, but she’s moved out. Someone must know where she lives. Be careful what you say though. We don’t want to spook the students.’
Daniels had worked on many high-profile cases but this MO somehow seemed more macabre than all the rest. It was an exceptionally cold method of sending anyone to an early grave and calculated in
its intent. It
Daniels clammed up. He was referring to criminal profiler, Jo Soulsby. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her. When last they’d spoken, it had felt more like a therapy session
with a professional counsellor than a conversation between mates, let alone ex-lovers still attracted to one another. She missed Jo more than she cared to admit, even to herself. She missed her
smell, her laughter, her touch – just breathing the same air.
She wanted to stop loving her and make the pain go away.
A sign pointed off to the left. Daniels took the slip road on to the A1 heading north, hoping Gormley would change the subject.
He didn’t disappoint. ‘Finch is an arrogant bastard. I’m not surprised he has enemies.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Hank. He’s under so much stress he probably doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.’
‘Sympathy sits between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.’
She grinned. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting he’s someone I’ve warmed to a whole lot, but I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, don’t
you?’
‘The man’s a prick, Kate.’
Gormley took off his bifocals, put them in his breast pocket and shut his eyes. Conversation over: at least for now. Within seconds, he was sending the zeds up. He didn’t wake until she
stopped to refuel at Washington Services. They grabbed a quick bite to eat, the atmosphere between them thawing a little, and then got back in the car. Traffic was unusually light and they made
good time. At Corbridge, Daniels turned north on the A68 and cut up on to the Military Road, reaching High Shaw at three forty-five.
14
P C Kevin Hook walked towards the Toyota as Daniels parked in the only space available. As they got out of the car, he handed her a message from the forensic science laboratory
and stood by waiting for further instructions.
‘Matt West said it wasn’t urgent, but he’d appreciate a call back.’
Daniels thanked him and made a mental note to return the call. ‘Any news from the house-to-house while we were gone?’
Hook shook his head. ‘Nothing so far.’
Gormley spoke over his shoulder as they walked away. ‘Keep us posted.’
The murder investigation team were ready and waiting as they entered High Shaw. It was standing-room only with the whole squad crammed into the tiny cottage. They were on starter’s orders,
the buzz of a new enquiry filling the air. Robson had been busy. Photographs of Jessica Finch and Amy Grainger were pinned to the whiteboard, alongside their details: height, build and eye colour.
These photographs were the focus of everyone’s attention, the similarity between the two glaringly obvious.
‘OK, listen up!’ Daniels sat down surrounded by her squad. ‘It won’t have escaped your notice that Amy Grainger is a dead ringer for Jessica Finch, which means that our
priorities have now changed. I’m not suggesting for one minute that we forget about Amy. This
is
a murder enquiry. But our main concern must be on finding Jessica Finch while
there’s a chance she’s still alive.’
‘Did they know each other?’ Robson asked.
‘Not according to either of their parents,’ Gormley said.
‘Yeah, but what do parents ever know?’ Daniels said. ‘Mine were on a different planet, hadn’t a clue what I was up to. It’s like that for most kids, surely.’
Her eyes found Carmichael. ‘Lisa, when we’re done here, get over to the university and find out what you can. I need an address for Jessica and I need it now. Her father was under the
impression she was living at halls, but she’s moved out. Someone must know where she lives. Be careful what you say though. We don’t want to spook the students.’
Daniels had worked on many high-profile cases but this MO somehow seemed more macabre than all the rest. It was an exceptionally cold method of sending anyone to an early grave and calculated in
its intent. It
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