Page 5 of Making a Killing (DI Fawley #7)

Tate is still in with Kearney when Bradley gets the results, which is a result in itself: there’s never any harm show-ponying a little in front of the Super, especially given the OMG bombshell she’s about to detonate. She just needs to make sure she doesn’t put Tate’s back up in the process.

She arranges her face into Very Urgent and Extremely Professional, and knocks on Kearney’s door.

‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we’ve just had the results we’ve been waiting for from the lab.’

Tate swings her chair round to face her. ‘The DNA from the woods?’

Bradley nods. ‘Yes, boss.’

‘At last,’ says Kearney drily.

‘And?’ says Tate.

Bradley comes further into the room, holding out the sheet of paper for her to take. ‘The victim isn’t in the data-bases. But that hair on the duct tape? That person most definitely is .’

Tate gives her a look. ‘Cut the theatricals, Bradley, and just get on with it.’

‘That’s the thing, boss,’ says Bradley, allowing herself, despite Tate’s sark, to relish this just a little. ‘This person is what you might call renowned.’

‘ Renowned? ’ says Tate, her eyes narrowing. ‘What sort of a bloody word is that?’

‘The sample in the database dates back eight years. A murder case in Thames Valley. She was only a child at the time. She’s still only a teenager now . ’

Kearney frowns. ‘This kid killed someone?’

Bradley turns to him. ‘No, sir. She wasn’t the perpetrator. She was the victim.’

Tate stares at her. ‘But if it was a murder case, that means –’

‘That’s right, boss. This girl – she’s already dead.’

***

Adam Fawley 25 July 2024 10.17

The longer you’ve been out on secondment the more ominous it is to get a call from home base, so when I see ‘Supt Harrison’ ping up on my phone I know it’s not going to be good news. He’s not exactly the just-keeping-in-touch-to-see-how-you-are type, even at the best of times.

‘Hello, sir, nice to hear from –’

‘I need you back at St Aldate’s, Adam. I’m sorry but there it is.’

Whoa there – one thing at a time.

‘I’m here until December, sir.’

‘Not any more you’re not,’ he says, irritation upping. ‘I’ve cleared it with the Chief Constable. I’ll expect you at noon.’

I glance at my watch. ‘You mean, you want me to leave right now ? This minute? I can’t just drop what I’m doing –’

‘Like I said, I’ve cleared it with the Chief Constable. And your Commander. Don’t be late.’

***

Tate was sent outside to kick her heels while Kearney spoke to the Chief Constable but after ten minutes she decided to go passive-aggressive and decamped to the Ladies. Another twenty minutes later his PA came looking and she was ushered back in to see Sir like she’d been misbehaving in class.

It’s not good news.

‘You’re not serious – you can’t be –’

Kearney shrugs. ‘It’s out of my hands.’

Tate gets up and walks over to the window. She has to do something with all the negative energy.

‘It’s my case, sir.’

‘It was,’ he says heavily. ‘But it isn’t now.’

‘It’s not fair and you know it.’

She sees his eyes narrow and realizes she needs to be more careful. No point gratuitously pissing him off.

‘Look,’ he says, more conciliatory now, ‘if it’s any help, it isn’t meant as a reflection on you. It just makes operational sense for the team who handled the original case to pick this up too. And you still have Ellie Harben. Not that you seem to have made much sodding progress.’

‘So it’s going to Thames Valley? The Hescombe grave? Even though it happened on our patch? That’s hardly efficient, is it – how many bloody emails do we get on a weekly basis about budget cuts? We’re supposed to be saving money, not pissing about driving endless miles to crime scenes in a totally different county –’

Kearney sighs audibly. ‘Look, you’re ranting at the wrong person. I didn’t make the bloody decision, and I’m sure as hell not going to try changing it. And neither are you. Because it would be a complete waste of effing time on both our parts. And I’m sure the DCI from Thames Valley will be grateful for your input. Assuming you’re prepared to get down off your high horse and give him any.’

She bites her lip. Literally and metaphorically. Time to swallow the inevitable.

‘Who is it, do you know?’

Kearney gives that half-smile of his she can never quite read.

‘Actually, I do. Adam Fawley. Picked up the Camilla Rowan case when that particular shedload of shit hit the fan.’

She remembers that. They all remember that. Kearney most of all.

‘And?’

‘Seemed competent enough. Only a DI back then, of course. Bit too good-looking for this job, though, if you ask me.’

Tate raises an eyebrow. Maybe there might be a silver lining in all this, after all.

***

Adam Fawley 25 July 2024 11.52

It’s been a while since I’ve been at St Aldate’s, and I get that queasy feeling of everything being just a little smaller than I remembered it. Like going back to your old school. The car park certainly hasn’t got any bigger, that’s for sure, and without my old assigned space I’m forced to leave the car on a meter and run back to avoid being late. Which would be a bit demeaning at the best of times, but in this weather leaves me at a distinctly sweaty disadvantage. I don’t see anyone I know in the lift, which is maybe just as well, at least until I know what I’m doing here. Harrison’s PA welcomes me like a long-lost nephew.

‘Adam! I wasn’t expecting you!’

I risk a wry smile. ‘Neither was I, Maureen.’ I take a step closer and drop my voice. ‘Have you got any idea what all this is about?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I know he spoke to the CC this morning, but he’s playing his cards close to his chest on this one.’

‘OK. Thanks anyway.’

I touch her arm briefly, and then – absurdly, when I think about it later – straighten my tie before knocking on the door.

‘Ah, Adam,’ he says, looking up briefly, then back at his paperwork. ‘Take a seat.’

I pull out one of the chairs. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘You been watching the local news lately or is all that a bit too parochial for Counterterrorism?’

God knows Harrison has deserved enough s-adjectives over the years (self-important, stolid, stubborn and that’s just for starters) but snarky has never been one of them. Not till now, anyway.

I put on the I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about face that gets Alex really riled. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’

He finally puts down his papers and makes eye contact. ‘There’s a case, out near Hescombe.’

I’m frowning now, trying to nail down the bell that’s starting to ring –

‘Gloucestershire,’ he says, watching my face, ‘if your geography is hazy. Shallow grave in woodland, unidentified vic.’

‘Of course – my wife saw something about it on TV this morning. It was Lawrence Kearney fronting it – the Superintendent we liaised with back in 2018 –’

‘– on the Rowan case, yes, I’m aware. Well, it looks like history is repeating itself, albeit somewhat back to front.’

‘I’m not with you, sir.’

‘Back then, it was one of Kearney’s cases come back from the dead; this time, Adam, it’s one of yours.’

***

DS Everett slides a coffee on to Chloe Sargent’s desk, and bends over her shoulder, pretending to be interested in something on the screen.

‘Guess who I just saw going into Harrison’s office,’ she says in a low voice.

Sargent swivels round in her chair and sees her face. ‘Well, if you’re looking that pleased about it, I’m going for Tom Hiddleston.’

Ev grins. ‘Bloody hell, I wish. No, but you’re right – I am pleased about it.’

Sargent laughs. ‘So it’s Fawley, right?’

‘Am I so transparent?’

‘Yup,’ says Sargent, turning back to her screen.

‘But he wasn’t supposed to be back till Christmas, was he?’ says Ev. ‘That’s what they told us.’

Sargent shrugs. ‘Maybe something came up.’

‘It’d have to be something big,’ says Ev, her face thoughtful. ‘You don’t drag someone back from spook duty for a poxy speeding ticket, now do you.’

***

Adam Fawley 25 July 2024 11.58

‘What do you mean, one of mine?’

‘There was a hair found on the duct tape used to tie up the victim. Not, as it turns out, one of hers.’

‘I still don’t understand –’

‘There was no match for the victim in the database, but there was to the hair.’

I’m none the wiser. ‘So?’

He pauses. Whatever it is, here it comes.

‘It’s Daisy Mason.’

* * *

MY SHADOW JOURNAL

My name is

We’ll come back to that

I will approach this process with openness and honesty, in a bid to understand who I am, and how that person came to be, good and bad, light and dark. I value my own growth and know that it is only by embracing both sides of myself that I will find healing.

Having made that commitment to yourself, let’s get started

What is Shadow Journalling?

The idea of a ‘Shadow Self’ goes back centuries, and can be found in literature and paintings across the world. Probably the most famous example is Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde , written in 1886. In the first years of the 20th century the celebrated psychiatrist Carl Jung formulated the concept of the shadow into a theory of the human mind. Jung believed that our ‘Shadow’ is the dark and hidden side of our psyche, the part we either repress or deny, because we associate it with negative feelings and behaviours that make us frightened or ashamed.

‘The shadow personifies everything that the subject refuses to acknowledge about himself’

Carl Jung

But suppressing our Shadow can be damaging. It can lead to self-destructive patterns, toxic relationships, and more serious mental health problems such as depression and self-harm.

So what can you do about it? Jung believed that only by reintegrating the Shadow with the conscious self can we achieve a whole and healthy mind. One way to do this is by confronting your Shadow – looking at it face to face. By doing that, you can take control of it, rather than have it control you. That’s where Shadow Journalling comes in.

This app has been designed to help you work through your confrontation with your Shadow in a structured process. It will help you explore how your Shadow has impacted your life, and help you towards healthier patterns in the future. You’ll feel kinder towards yourself, make better and more positive decisions, improve your self-esteem, and become more confident.

Some practical things

The Journal is structured in sessions, each beginning with a prompt or question. You can work through these at your own pace, once a day, once a week, whatever works best for you.

We’ve programmed the app so that your responses will appear in a handwriting font – there are several for you to choose from. The idea is to make the process feel ‘hands-on’ and personal to you, like a diary.

As you begin to journal, remember to be compassionate towards yourself. Shadow Journalling will bring up difficult issues and may be painful. If you have a counsellor, do talk to them, or find support in other ways.

Your first exercise

So much of what hinders or hurts us in adult life has its roots in pain and trauma suffered in childhood. This exercise will help you identify emotional damage from your childhood that may still impact you today.

Fill in the blanks as quickly as possible, without dwelling on the questions too much. It’s important to get your spontaneous response.

What were you not allowed to do as a child? Anything that would show my mother up. Behaving in any way that would make ‘Them’ think less of her, whoever the fuck ‘They’ were. Being anything other than the cleverest in my class, because that would impress Them and reflect well on her.

What scared you the most as a child? The idea that my parents actually were my fucking parents. That they were anything to do with me at all.

When did you hate yourself most as a child? When I was mean to Leo. Though that didn’t stop me doing it. Pretty much all the fucking time.

What were you punished for as a child? See above under ‘Showing my mother up’. Also, being ‘nasty and spiteful’. And ‘not showing proper respect’.

What made you cry as a child? When I thought this was all there was. All there would ever be.

What’s the one thing you would change about your childhood? The decisions I made. How I ended up here. That I didn’t find a better way.

When do you most resemble yourself as a child now? When I’m a vicious selfish cow. You said be totally honest, right?

If adults looked at you when you were growing up what would they have seen? A little angel. Just shows how wrong you can be.

How are you feeling now? Do you have doubts or apprehensions about the Journalling process? That’s totally normal and to be expected – in fact it’s a good thing. But it would be useful to draw those doubts out and explore them, before you move to the next exercise. Write down how you’re feeling below.

How am I feeling? Well, I have serious doubts about how useful this shit is, for a start. I mean, ‘value your growth’, ‘embrace your dark side’, what sort of candy arse crap is that? But my therapist says I need to see beyond that – be honest about who I am and ‘own up’. By which she means owning my own shit. Not that she’d phrase it that way. She says no one else can see what I put on here so I can say anything I like, things I’ve never told anyone, not even her, and there’s no one here to judge. Ha fucking ha, if only she knew. But what the hell.

So. My name is Sabrina. Only it isn’t. It’s Daisy. Daisy Mason. Eight years ago, I went missing from my parents’ garden in Oxford and everyone thought I was dead. Nine months later my mother, Sharon, was tried and convicted of killing me. And the owning-my-own-shit part is that I made that happen. Not on my own, obvs, but it was down to me.

As for the no-one-here-to-judge part, I guess if someone actually did read this the first thing they’d say was ‘WTF – what eight-year-old does that?’ Because they don’t. Not 99.9% of them, anyway. However bad their lives, whatever they’re going through – abuse, poverty, general crap – they just don’t have the brains or the imagination to get away. OK, maybe that’s a bit unfair, but the point is, I did . I worked out how to do it, and then I made it happen.

My family might have looked OK on the surface, but trust me, no one had any idea what was going on underneath. Good-looking parents, successful business, happy kids. What’s not to envy? Well, my mother did. Envy, I mean. She spent her whole life thinking other people had it better than her. And a lot of them did, but if that’s how you want to live you’ll always find something to go green-eyed over. I remember the first time I heard that phrase – the ‘green-eyed monster’. It was in school, that last term. How Shakespeare had used it in a play hundreds of years ago and people were still saying it. How it proved the power there was in words. I didn’t really understand that at the time. But I knew about monsters. Oh yes, I knew about them.

Even as a kid, I could never work out why my parents bought that house. They were always saying it was down to the ‘catchment area’ (which, unlike most kids of eight, I did actually understand) but it didn’t matter how they tried to spin it, it was a pokey badly built house in a really expensive area. Everyone at school had more than we did – money, cars, holidays, second homes. All of it bigger, better, smarter, newer. Even if Sharon hadn’t had ‘NV’ issues before we moved in she’d have developed a shitload of them pretty damn quick simply by living there. There was even a little tiny part of me that felt sorry for her – that she was letting her whole life be dictated by what other people thought. What ‘They’ would say, how ‘They’ would judge her. If anyone needed a fucking MyShadowJournal app it was her.

Anyway, turns out there were things in her life that made her that way that I didn’t know about then and a lot of them weren’t her fault. But it still meant living with her was like camping out over an unexploded bomb. We were all hyper-vigilant. A word I lived but didn’t know. Barry, my ‘Baz the Builder’ father, well, he had endless excuses to get out of the house, all those work-sites he could pretend he had to go to and clients to see, but all me and Leo had were our own rooms. And sometimes not even that. It was bad for Leo, but tbh there was only so much pity and kindness available and I had to keep most of it for myself. Because it wasn’t just other people Sharon was envious of. She kept her real fury, her real bitterness, for the one person on earth she resented more than anyone else.

Me.

I used to creep down from my room at night and sit on the stairs, listening. I worked out, instinctively, like kids do, that the more I knew about what was really going on in that house, the easier it would be on me. If there was something new she was obsessing about, or someone who’d said something to piss her off, if I knew about it, I’d know where the landmine was and could manoeuvre round. Or get someone else to tread on it first. But as time went on and I heard more and more, I realised how powerful information could be. Like that thing about words, only much much better, because this was real and specific and useful . Stuff about my friends’ parents no one would have said in front of us kids. Stuff about my own parents. About Leo and who he really was. About me. And sometimes that was good, and sometimes it was bad. Really bad. Because when I wasn’t there Sharon would say what she really meant.

No kid should have to hear things like that about themselves. Especially not at eight years old. You can’t block out memories like that. I heard her once, talking about the IVF they did to have me, and for a few glorious weeks I thought IVF was ‘ivy thief’ and I really was like a princess in a fairy tale and they’d stolen me as a baby and weren’t my parents at all and I was so damn relieved . And yes OK, I was dumb to think that. But I was eight . And then that smartarse little toerag Jamie told me the truth, and I felt humiliated and wretched for a while, but then stronger. Because that was when I realised that if I was really going to escape, I couldn’t wait for a prince in shining armour.

I had to find my own rescuer.

I had to write my own story.

***

Adam Fawley 25 July 2024 12.10

I’m still staring at Harrison, struggling to take this in.

I haven’t heard the name Daisy Mason in years but it could have been last week, the memory is so vivid. The heat that night, the smell of the barbecue as we got out of the car, Gis loosening his collar as we stood on the doorstep, and me looking round at the patrol cars, the rubberneckers, the house-to-house already underway, and then the door opening and I turn round and –

‘Adam?’

‘Sorry, sir, I was just thinking about the case. I haven’t done that in a very long time.’

‘I’m sure you haven’t. Why would you? You got a conviction.’

‘And they’re absolutely sure the hair is hers? There’s no possibility of a cock-up at the lab?’

Harrison sits back and spreads his hands. ‘That’s what I asked too, but apparently not. They’ve run it three times. It’s her.’

‘But it can’t be –’

‘I appreciate you haven’t had as much time as I have to process this.’

‘Process’ – that’s Harrison all over. Bullshit Lingo Bingo is his stock-in-trade. Pity I don’t have the brain space right now to appreciate it.

‘You used to swear by Occam’s razor, didn’t you?’

I smile, despite myself. ‘We called it “Osbourne’s razor”, because my old DI Alastair Osbourne was so fond of quoting it.’

‘Precisely. And he had a point: “The simplest explanation is almost always right”.’

‘The operative word there is almost , sir. We acted in good faith on the Mason case. The jury decided that we’d proved the case beyond a reasonable doubt.’

‘I know that, Adam. No one is questioning your competence. Or your integrity.’

But. Because sure as hell a ‘But’ is coming.

‘But I’m sure you’ll appreciate that we have no choice but to review the original inquiry. Clearly, based on this new evidence, Daisy Mason was not murdered in 2016, but somehow left Oxford and started a new life elsewhere. A new life that’s taken such a bizarre turn for the worse that she may now be an actual murder victim. And she’s still only – what? – sixteen?’

He sits back again; I can hear Maureen outside telling a caller he’s not available, and no, she doesn’t know how long it will take.

He’s looking at me rather kindly now – which is terrifying in itself. If Harrison thinks I deserve pity I’m really in the shit. And OK, no investigation is perfect, and if a lot of the evidence was circumstantial that was because circumstantial was all there was –

I tuned out a moment there which was a bad idea because I swear Harrison is now saying something about Kearney emailing me the file.

‘Sorry, sir – you said he’s emailing me the file? I thought you were just telling me all this out of courtesy –’

Who am I kidding: of course there’s more to this than that.

‘It’s a South Mercia case, sir, surely –’

‘In principle, I agree, but in the circumstances, Kearney believes you would be best placed to handle this new investigation. You have previous knowledge of the Mason case, you have the seniority, it could be just what you need: an opportunity to show your class.’

Yeah, right. Best served cold is the first thing that actually comes to mind. Back in 2018, it was my team who found out what had really happened in the Camilla Rowan case, and uncovered the mistakes Kearney’s original team had made. It’s never comfortable hanging a fellow officer out to dry, even for the right reasons, and I did my damnedest to play that side of it down, but I knew he’d probably never forgive me. And now, all these years later, he’s been gifted with a fur-lined ocean-going chance to get his own back. Because this isn’t an ‘opportunity’, it’s a hospital pass. It’s revenge.

‘What exactly do you have in mind, sir?’ I’m trying to dial down the sarcasm, but I’m not sure it’s working.

He sits back. ‘Superintendent Kearney has agreed with the South Mercia Chief Constable that you will assume the SIO role at Hescombe, with support from his team. Meanwhile, in tandem, I want you to conduct a full review of the original conviction with your own squad here. DI Gallagher has been informed. She was due to end her stint here in December at all events.’

‘Isn’t that a conflict of interest – me investigating my own case?’

‘We have considered that, of course, and the CC suggests that you report formally to Superintendent Renshaw in Major Crimes on matters relating to the review.’

‘So he’ll be leading it.’

‘Officially, yes. But at a granular level, you will have operational discretion. So the idea is light touch, at least initially, but he’ll review your findings and act as a sounding board.’

What did I just say about Bullshit Bingo? But Renshaw is a good call. Six months from retirement so he won’t give a shit about the politics, but in any case I’ve always found him to be a decent bloke. Dull, yes – in fact, complete imagination bypass from what I’ve seen – but hell, I’ll take that right now.

‘Likewise, I will expect more regular updates than normal. Should any evidence emerge that calls your original investigation into question, we will, of course, review the position. But as I said, no one – at present – is questioning your integrity.’

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘reassuring’.

‘So you want me to run a live case and a cold case simultaneously, in two different counties? That won’t be easy.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, you’re a DCI now, Adam. It isn’t supposed to be easy.’

Suck it up time. ‘You said “my squad” –’

He nods. ‘I think it would be helpful to have as many of the original team from 2016 as possible. DS Gislingham is still in post, as I’m sure you’re aware, as are DS Everett and DC Baxter. DC Somer, as you know, is now working as a Ministry of Justice intermediary.’

Helping vulnerable witnesses deal with the police and the court process. Children, people with learning difficulties, victims of abuse. It’s a tough job and I have to say I was surprised she opted for it, but Gis pointed out that it was in Hampshire, near her bloke, and in any case having survived cancer against some pretty tough odds she felt she owed one to the universe. I’m not sure I agree with that, as a model for career planning, but she’ll be good at it, no question.

‘And Quinn? Isn’t he in uniform at the moment?’

Harrison nods. ‘Currently acting Neighbourhood Inspector for North Oxford, while Katherine MacAlister is on maternity leave. He passed his inspector’s exams –’

‘Yes, I heard.’

‘– so is awaiting an appropriate opening. I thought being back in uniform for a while would do him good.’

‘And how’s that working out?’

Harrison considers. ‘On the whole, very well. He knows how to handle the demographic –’

What he means is The Money. North Oxford is the Chelsea of this city: it doesn’t get much more desirable, or expensive, than OX2, and as household incomes rise so does the propensity to complain.

‘His new in-laws are doubtless a great support in that respect.’

Harrison suppresses the same smile I just did. ‘Quite. They’re personal friends with the DCC as well, which I’m sure is turbo-charging his career very nicely. But it’s not just that he’s managing the glad-handing; he has a number of useful initiatives underway on issues like graffiti, which are high on the list of priorities locally.’

I bet. Indeed, I know.

‘And James Fry, the local councillor, speaks very highly of him, and he’s always a good barometer on these things. So, the question is, given Quinn’s doing well where he is, do you want him back?’

Eight years ago, when Daisy Mason first went missing, Quinn was his own worst enemy. Too flash, too careless of his colleagues, and odds-on to shoot himself up the arse at the first chance that came his way. But he can also be smart, resourceful and – when there’s enough in it for him – diligent. And marriage, so Gis tells me, has been the making of him. For him, unlike me, this really could be an opportunity.

‘Yes, sir, I think I would like him back.’

‘As DS or acting DI? It’s your call.’

‘No, I think he’s earned a chance to prove himself, sir. Let’s give him the DI.’

‘Very well. I’ll let Superintendent Kearney know, and leave you to break the news to your team. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have you back sooner than they expected.’

Maybe. But they sure as hell won’t be cracking open the prosecco when they find out why.

***