82
A huge round of applause went up when Daniels walked into the MIR. The Murder Investigation Team were jubilant, the pressure off, the case on target for a successful conclusion. There were the usual slaps on the back, calls to tell family the good news, promises of an early finish for once, a chance to catch up with what really mattered. But Daniels didn’t feel like celebrating, or particularly elated for that matter. Laidlaw was a victim as much as she was a killer, and that was always hard to come to terms with. She’d been charged with a string of serious offences and would be held in custody until morning, when she’d appear in court at the earliest opportunity. Any application for bail would be futile. She’d be remanded for sure. And probably spend the rest of her unhappy life in jail.
Depressed by that thought but also relieved that Laidlaw could do no more damage, Daniels called the safe house to let Chantelle Fox know it was OK to return home. Then she shut up shop and took everyone to the Bacchus for a few drinks. It was expected, the way things were always done at the end of an enquiry. Regardless of her wish to go home, the DCI would not disappoint the Murder Investigation Team. After all the hours and hard work they’d put in, they deserved to let their hair down.
At the pub, she tried her very best to join in the revelry, to push Lucy Laidlaw to the back of her mind. But nothing seemed to work. Not the euphoria of having cracked the case – several cases at once – or the booze, the chat or the music. Something was missing and that something was Jo. Normally the life and soul of any party, for some reason she hadn’t turned up. For the umpteenth time, Daniels checked her mobile but there were no missed calls, no texts or voicemails. Every time the door opened, she glanced towards it, expecting her to walk in, a smile on her face that would brighten the room, an unspoken look in her eye for Daniels.
Where the hell was she?
Almost like a missile, an explanation crashed into Daniels’ head. Jo had made up her mind. This was to be her very last case within the department. She hadn’t shown because she didn’t want to put a damper on the celebrations.
‘No!’
‘No, what?’ Gormley asked. Despite his bewilderment, he didn’t wait for an answer, just held an empty pint glass in the air. ‘Ready for another?’
‘Why not?’ Daniels lied. ‘Make it a double.’
She didn’t really want a drink. In fact she wanted nothing Gormley could give her. Not here. Not now. She didn’t want to hear his take on the case and she certainly didn’t want to laugh at his humour. She wanted to scream and shout. Stamp her feet. Take him into a quiet corner and tell him how pissed off she was. But this was neither the time nor the place, so she held it in.
Taking her glass from her, Gormley fought his way to the bar. Raising his voice above the din, he ordered their drinks from his nephew, then stood chatting and joking with other detectives as he waited for the barman to hand them over. Daniels looked around her. Near the window, Robson and Carmichael were playing a slot machine, Brown looking over their shoulder. Naylor and Maxwell were talking football, Germany inevitably featuring in the conversation. ‘A place in the last sixteen,’ Daniels heard Naylor say. Some mention of a game with Ghana at the Soccer City in Johannesburg. She checked her mobile again as Gormley returned to her side. Then threw back her drink, gave him a wad of cash to keep the beers coming, made her excuses and left.
A cab got her home in double-quick time. She set down her bag, then picked it up again and removed her iPod. Unable to choose what she wanted to listen to, she set it to shuffle and then placed it on its station and turned up the volume. Jackson Browne – ‘For a Dancer’ – began to play, a song about love and loss, but the words depressed her so much she was forced to turn it off again. Picking up the phone, she called Jo’s mobile. No reply. She tried her landline. No reply there either.
Fine!
Daniels made her way upstairs and took a long, hot shower. She was drying her hair when the phone rang. It was Fielding: the best thing that had happened to her all day. They arranged to meet at Zizzi’s on Grey Street at nine o’clock. Nothing heavy: a pizza or pasta, a few glasses of wine. Daniels put down the phone, dressed quickly in jeans and a blue shirt she’d been keeping for a special occasion and then went back downstairs. This time Fielding might get her wish . . .
I prefer my women to take clothes off, not put them on.
Zizzi’s was full when Daniels arrived. It was nine on the dot. Fielding was already there, drinking a glass of white wine, looking divine and relaxed. Daniels ordered Linguine Gamberi, Fielding the Penne Della Casa and a bottle of Pinot Grigio Sartori to wash it down with. All things considered, Daniels had a good night, much better than she expected. She was nervous at first – but in a nice way – and excited at the prospect of a first date with someone unconnected with her work.
During their meal, Fielding was attentive and interesting, really good company as it turned out. They had plenty in common too: a diverse taste in music, the love of a good book, motorcycling.
‘Really?’ Daniels said.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I never figured you for a biker, that’s all.’
‘Why?’ Fielding smiled. ‘I like to live dangerously.’ She toyed with her wine glass, tilting the liquid inside, watching it stick to the sides. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, actually. And a lot more I don’t know about you, I suspect.’ She looked up at Daniels and chanced her arm. ‘You still on the rebound?’
‘Makes you say that?’
‘Detectives aren’t the only ones with intuition.’ Using her free hand, Fielding pointed at her own temple. ‘There’s stuff happening up there. You going to tell me what it’s like on planet Kate?’
‘Would it make a difference if I was – on the rebound, I mean?’
‘Hey, I’m not criticizing. I saw her, don’t forget. She’s very beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is.’ Daniels went quiet for a while and then changed the subject. ‘I’m always distracted at the end of a case. We have your murderous neighbour in custody, but there are so many loose ends to tie up and then the case file to compile. I warn you, I’m a workaholic who never really switches off. I bet you’re the same when you’re putting together one of your art exhibitions.’
‘Nice sidestep, Kate. You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Or you mine.’ Daniels took a sip of wine, meeting Fielding’s gaze over the top of the glass. ‘I’d rather not talk about Jo, if it’s all the same to you. I’m here, aren’t I? That should tell you all you need to know.’
‘It’s certainly a step in the right direction,’ Fielding said, flirting with her. ‘I think we could have some fun, you and I. As it happens, I also come with a warning. I spend a lot of time abroad, Kate. If we can see each other in between trips, I’d really like that. There’s no need to get heavy, is there? Sound like a plan to you?’
‘Sounds perfect.’
They left the restaurant and went back to Fielding’s place. They drank more wine, put on some music and talked until the small hours. Then, without warning, Fielding took hold of Daniels’ hand and led her to an adjoining room, sat down on the bed and kissed her softly on the mouth. She smelled of good perfume. Her bare arms were cool to the touch but smooth and toned. Daniels returned the kiss, feeling the need to have all of her.
The urgency of that kiss made Fielding pull back. ‘You sure about this?’
‘Shut up,’ Daniels said, unbuttoning her shirt.