Bye Bye Baby (10 page)

‘Good. Look, I’ve got to go, I’ll speak to you in the morning.’

And a dull click, followed by silence, told her he was gone. She glumly replaced the phone on its cradle. He was with a woman. Her cheeks began to burn, she wasn’t sure why. Probably because of how awkward she now felt, and also how unimportant in his life she was. Somehow, it was even worse that although he was clearly occupied, he remained a gentleman and gave her thirty seconds of his time.
But only thirty seconds
, a cruel voice whispered in her mind.

Why wouldn’t he be with a woman? Did she honestly believe he went home each night, climbed into his pyjamas and watched cooking shows with Jamie or Nigella? She closed her eyes, not totally
convinced that the groan she heard herself give was entirely one of humiliation. It was more like intense regret that Jack had someone in his life. It was alright for her to be sleeping with Dan but she hated the notion that Jack Hawksworth might be sleeping with the woman who loved Marvin Gaye.

Kate took herself off to her lonely bed and dreamt of smearing blue paint over the nameless woman’s face, while Marvin Gaye crooned sexily in the background.

10

Kate woke sluggishly to an insistent alarm — the type that would keep shrieking until she physically pressed buttons and answered questions and told it her vital measurements. It was 6.29 a.m. Dan was already gone, she gathered. This was confirmed by the note she found in the kitchen when she staggered out to put the kettle on. It read:
Said goodbye — not that you noticed. Will be late tonight. Don’t cook or wait up.

She did notice that he didn’t sign his name or a little kiss after his notes any longer, and tried not to dwell on it. She turned her attention instead to another lonely night in the making — she could work late, perhaps visit the Yard’s gym.

Kate turned a sigh into a yawn and realised she was freezing. Dan might have kissed her and left behind the dregs of his breakfast for her to clean up but he hadn’t turned on a heater. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered aloud, ‘just because you don’t feel the cold.’ She flipped on the gas fire and flames erupted. She knew she didn’t have time to wait for the whole room to warm but she could hug the fire over a mug of tea. If there was one thing she was going to give them as a wedding gift, it would be
proper central heating . . . if they stayed here in Stoke Newington, of course. If they decided to sell and move, then wherever they ended up she’d insist it already had heating throughout the house, preferably underground heating, she decided, as she poured water into the mug.

She’d opted for coffee somewhere amongst thoughts of heating because tea took too long to brew, and she wanted to be first into the office after Jack — no one beat him — as it would mean some time alone, a chance to apologise for last night’s disruption. She felt sick all over again as she tried to imagine who the mystery woman was, and whether he’d mentioned to her that his ditsy DI was stalking him.

Only half-finishing her now sour-tasting coffee by the fire, Kate threw most of it into the sink and quickly stacked the dishwasher with Dan’s dirty plates and cups —
why does he need so many?
she wondered. It was full to the brim and unpacking it would be a nice chore for her this evening, especially as she had nothing else to look forward to.

Her mobile shrieked into action. ‘DI Carter,’ she answered.

‘Oh, er, it’s Diane Sheriff here,’ came a shaky voice.

‘Hello, Diane. Please, call me Kate,’ she said, instantly softening. ‘How are you today?’

‘Each day is hard,’ the woman admitted. ‘But I’m calling because I think I’ve found some old photos of Mike, as you asked. I don’t know how much help they’ll be, but they’re here for what they’re worth.’

‘That’s great. Is it alright if I drive up this morning?’ She looked at the microwave clock. ‘I can be there by around eleven-thirty?’

‘I’m home all day, Sally’s not well.’

‘See you soon then, Diane. And thanks for all you’ve done.’

Kate hurried into the shower and, for expediency, cheated with her hair, pulling it into a ponytail while it was still damp. She dressed and made up swiftly, all of it on and looking back at her in the mirror within five minutes. Kate knew DS Jones envied her clothes — and why not, they were all lovely and chosen with great care to suit her figure. She wasn’t deliberately trying to show up the ambitious young detective sergeant, particularly as they were required to work as a close team under Hawksworth, but she was feeling a bit miserable today and had to take it out on someone, even if it was by means of a fashion attack.

She opted not to take Dan’s car in today; parking in the city was such a nightmare. She could use a pool car from work to get to Louth. Because there was no tube station at Stoke Newington, it meant a bus ride to Angel where she could pick up the tube. All good reading and thinking time, she decided, hunting down the chick lit novel her sister had insisted she’d read. ‘You’ll laugh your head off,’ Suzy had said. Well, so far her head was still stubbornly attached. Kate preferred movies for her escape from real life.

All the same, she found the book, threw it into her leather satchel and delved for Dan’s car keys in one of its pockets. She left the keys next to his pointed note, unsure as to whether it was symbolic of something.

The longest escalators in Europe swallowed Kate into the Angel tube station, and she didn’t have to wait long for a train to Monument, where she picked up the Circle line to St James’s Park. As she jogged up the
steps of the station, hoping she didn’t trip on the hem of her long skirt, she reassured herself that the creamy latte she was going to buy at the top would be offset by the exercise she was getting because there wasn’t an escalator. She scanned the row of coffee shops, finding with surprise that all were relatively empty and that, thanks to the early hour, her favourite bar, Giorgio’s, had the shortest queue.

‘Thanks, Joe,’ she called over her shoulder to the barista as she left with her takeaway coffee and hurried through the cold drizzle across the road to New Scotland Yard. By mid-morning the place would be base camp for any number of TV crews getting stock footage of the revolving sign, or tourists having their photos snapped below it. It wasn’t just Kate who was trying to get to work early; dozens of other police and support staff were piling in through the staff entrance.
May the Force be with you
, she thought, as one not so chivalrous fellow let the door fall back on her, threatening to spill her finely balanced coffee.

Finally, after clearing security and battling the lifts, Kate stepped out at the top floor and moved down the corridor to where Operation Danube was based. Joan hadn’t yet arrived but wouldn’t be long, Kate suspected. The telltale glow of lights from the back office told her DCI Hawksworth was present. Good.

The view of the city took her breath away.

‘This is amazing. Did you arrive during the night?’ she asked at his office door, aiming for a breezy start to the conversation.

He looked up and she felt impaled by his cool grey gaze. ‘Glad you approve. I do sleep, I promise.’

Nothing breezy about that response; she might as well be direct then. ‘Er, sir, I’m sorry again about disturbing you last night.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s really no problem. I’m just wondering why you feel it’s important to check in with me on small things.’ Now his tone turned earnest. ‘I trust you, Kate; I have since the moment I met you. Perhaps you don’t realise that you were the first person who came to mind when I was thinking about the team for this operation.’

Among the waves of remorse, she felt a thrill of pleasure pulse through her. ‘I don’t know either, sir. It won’t happen again.’

His voice came softly now, and once again Kate was reminded of why this man was moving ahead in the Force with such speed. He knew precisely how to interact with people — when to be firm, when to be gentle, when to play, when to be serious. ‘It’s not a complaint, Kate, I just want you to feel confident to make your own decisions. You know the pressure we’re under. Going up to Sussex is fine with me if you think it’s relevant to the case.’

‘I do, but better news since. Diane Sheriff has found some photos. It’s Lincoln for me today.’

He looked instantly cheered. ‘That’s great. But first a cup of tea. Want one?’

She nodded, chuffed that he’d offer. ‘Why not. I swallowed the latte I bought in one gulp in the lift.’

‘Give me a moment then. Take your coat off and warm up. Have a snooze. It’s far too cold and early for you to be in.’

His grin reassured Kate that the awkward moment of last night had passed and she began digging in her
satchel for her notes. She looked out of the window for a minute or two longer as the sounds of a working day in Westminster began to seep up to the highest regions of New Scotland Yard. She wondered how much of Jack’s day might be spent looking out to Westminster and Big Ben in the distance; she imagined he loved this view of all the old buildings.

‘Sugar?’ Jack said, making her jump. ‘Sorry.’

‘None, thank you.’

He disappeared again and Kate’s gaze drifted back to his desk. It wasn’t a file he had been reading she now realised. He had the
Yellow Pages
open; she leaned forward. Restaurants.

He caught her peeking as he returned. ‘I’m trying to find a Chinese restaurant I went to a year ago but can’t remember its name.’

Guiltily, Kate sat back and reached, embarrassed, for one of the mugs he was holding. It said:
Here I am . . . now what are your other two wishes?
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, wondering whether he’d deliberately picked that one out for her. She decided it was unlikely after last night’s cool reception to her call. ‘Perhaps I can help?’

‘It’s in Chinatown.’

She flicked a hand, more confident now. ‘I know Chinatown really well. Fire away.’

‘I remember it had many levels — you know, the higher you go the more expensive it is. I think the ground floor is mainly students tucking into won ton soup. It’s not far from Gerrard Street, or probably on it. It has a clock, I think.’

Kate frowned for a moment and then smiled. ‘Really busy, reasonable prices and always serving loads of free weak jasmine tea?’

His eyes lit up. ‘That’s right.’

‘I think you’re talking about Wan Kei. I’ve got as high as the fourth floor.’

‘That’s it, that’s the one! Wan Kei. Great, thanks for that. How was the fourth, anyway?’

‘Scrumptious but slow, and the tea is served stronger.’

‘Good, I’ll book it.’

She couldn’t help herself. ‘Off to the theatre?’

He smiled, although his tone became ever so slightly guarded as he busied himself with writing down the phone number of the restaurant. ‘I am, yes.’

‘Dan and I took my parents there when we treated them to
Les Mis
.’

‘Yes, that’s what we’re going to see,’ he replied, distracted, and then looked up at her, clearly aware of his slip.

She regretted how her eyebrows arched involuntarily at his admission because a shadow definitely passed over his expression. She was saved by the arrival of various other members of the team. The cold they brought in with them attacked the warmth in Jack’s office.

‘Morning. Freezing out there,’ Sarah said, smiling.

‘Morning, Sarah. You got home okay?’

‘Whizzed there, sir, thank you.’

‘Sarah worked back past eleven on the blue paint. She’s formed a worthy idea for us to work with,’ Jack explained to Kate, who felt a pang of jealousy towards the stocky DS.

‘Can’t wait to hear it,’ she commented tartly.

They were still here after eleven? Kate’s mind raced. She’d phoned Jack just past midnight, so he hadn’t
been long with the Marvin Gaye fan when she’d interrupted them — probably having a late cuppa by the sounds of things. She hoped dearly it wasn’t a drink before bedtime, although she knew she had absolutely no right to think that way.

‘Er, actually, sir, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’ she said brightly.

‘The paint or late nights?’ he asked briskly and she knew he hadn’t missed her scowl towards the young detective sergeant. She would have to watch herself.

Before long, all the staff attached to Jack’s unit had found their way to their new home. Everyone gave whistles or cheers of approval as Jack welcomed his team to their new headquarters.

‘Fuck me,’ Cam said, ‘and I paid to go on that thing.’ He pointed to the London Eye that reared up ahead of them. ‘This is better!’

Jack grinned. ‘What do you think, Swamp?’

‘I think I’m going to get a nosebleed, we’re so high. How did you swing this, Hawk?’

‘Operation Danube is considered top priority, so we get the best offices.’

Kate was turning on the spot — now that the day had lightened, she was incredulous at the sight of the city sprawling before her, with magnificent bird’s eye views of Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. ‘How will we ever work? It’s beautiful.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Jack said, moving next to her. Kate could feel the warmth of his arm close to her own.

‘Pity you can’t see your beloved cathedral,’ she said.

Jack adopted an injured tone. ‘No, but life is never perfect.’

He turned to the rest of his team. ‘Okay, everyone, close your mouths, you’ll get used to it. Let’s get down to some work. Our enemy is time. Fetch yourselves a cuppa. There’s real coffee brewing in our own kitchenette just outside,’ he took a bow to acknowledge further catcalls, ‘or the usual tasteless crap that most of you favour. Meeting in five minutes.’

Once they’d all settled, DIs Brodie and Marsh assured their chief that they’d trodden so lightly in their respective inquiries that no one had heard them arrive or leave at either Lincoln or Hackney.

‘So, let’s start with London first. What do we know, Cam, that we didn’t know previously?’ Jack asked, twirling a whiteboard marker in his broad hands.

Cam took the floor. ‘Okay, we’ve already got all the pathology and forensics — there’s nothing new there that we didn’t already know, and what we do know is in the file you each now have. The killer’s being extremely careful. There’s no CCTV footage for Springfield Park unfortunately, although the records show that a —’ he consulted his notes, ‘— Mr Don Haven did see a council worker wheeling a bin through the park. He thought it was odd because it was late.’ He raised a hand to quell the rush of questions. ‘And there’s a white Toyota transit van — not council issue — but the guy pushing the wheelie bin was in uniform and had a beanie pulled low on his face. The local boys have left no stone unturned but there’s nothing on the bin — which was new, and common to hundreds of hardware stores around the country — or the van. No fingerprints, no incriminating DNA — although plenty for the victim, of course, who was carried to the toilet block in the bin.’ He let that sink in and looked towards his boss.

Jack nodded at one of the PCs. ‘Con, get on to Hackney Council. Find out if anyone’s lost a uniform, or there’s been a break-in to stores. Get us a lead on where the killer’s been.’

‘Sir.’

‘Carry on, Cam,’

‘Clive Farrow had been drinking at a pub called The Grenadier, not far from where he lived with his thirty-three-year-old fiancee, Lisa Hale. I’m leaving her to you, right, boss?’