Killing for Keeps (16 page)

E
arly next morning, Kate left the house to meet Jo. Officially, she wanted to update her on developments. Unofficially, she wanted to talk to someone other than her immediate
colleagues. They met at the eastern end of Jesmond Dene so they could get some fresh air before driving into town together. Jo’s car was in for a service. It was a lovely morning: sunny,
windy, warm enough not to wear a coat. They walked the length of the wooded valley and sat down on rocks by the waterfall.

Jo handed Kate a croissant and a small bottle of fresh orange juice.

Kate smiled as she took it. Al fresco breakfasts were Jo’s speciality.
Al fresco anything, in fact.
Kate’s phone rang, piercing the silence of the dene, an unwelcome
interruption so early in the day. It was Andy Brown. She spoke to him for a few moments and then hung up, her mind off her pastry and back on the job.

‘All quiet in Blanchland?’ Jo asked.

Kate nodded. ‘Andy’s relief arrived.’

‘You got lucky yesterday.’

‘With Price? Yes. Nice to know someone had their eyes and ears open for a change. Serendipitous isn’t a word I can often use in relation to any incident of mine. If Theresa and
McKenzie had chosen a different village, it could have been months before we found them. I now have two priorities: their security and finding the O’Kanes.’

‘How was Theresa?’

‘Not good.’ Kate pulled a piece off her croissant and popped it into her mouth.

‘And you?’

Kate stopped chewing. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘I can see that. Did you sleep?’ When she didn’t answer, Jo turned to face her, concerned that she was getting the brush-off. Despite their break-up, she’d always been
there for Kate, in good times and bad, always willing to listen or offer advice. ‘You going to tell me what’s bothering you?’

Looking into the pool beneath the waterfall, Kate sighed. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘But I do.’

‘Better you don’t. I’ve done something I’m not very proud of.’

‘Kate?’ Jo put a comforting hand on her forearm. ‘You’re hurting. What’s wrong?’

Laying her hand on top of Jo’s, Kate stroked it gently. She didn’t pull away. Kate was desperate to pour her heart out and confess all, but she couldn’t. Not just for her sake,
for Hank’s too. He’d never forgive her if she blabbed to anyone about their ill-fated trip to Whitby. The truth was, she hadn’t slept. She’d spent the whole night tossing
and turning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Towner, heard the death rattle.

‘What is it?’ Jo asked.

If only she could answer. But how
could
she bang on about her precious career – the one she’d placed above all else, including Jo? The career she might lose if her gung-ho
escapade was discovered. Kate dropped her gaze. She needed disapproval. All she got from Hank was support she felt she didn’t deserve. Jo was studying her, trying to work out what was wrong,
probably wondering why on earth she was looking so glum when the case was going so well. The team had identified the perpetrators of two, possibly three murders. Now all they had to do was find
them. Not even that thought lifted her spirits with Towner’s death dragging her down.

‘Don’t freeze me out, Kate. Talk to me . . . maybe I can help.’

‘Not this time,’ Kate said softly.

‘Why not?’

‘You just can’t.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! You’re acting like you killed someone!’

The lump in Kate’s throat grew bigger. She threw the rest of her pastry into the water, watched a couple of ducks fight over it, an explanation for her depressed mood on the tip of her
tongue. Then Hank’s voice barged its way into her head:
You went off-piste. No point losing your bottle now . . . get a grip!

‘Let’s go.’ Kate got up and walked away.

B
ack at her office, the guilt over Towner’s death continued to gnaw at her. Giving instructions to the team not to disturb her for the next quarter of an hour, under any
circumstances, Kate logged on to her computer, typing two words into the search field. The homepage of the
Whitby Gazette
loaded, and there it was, dead centre of the Local section, just
as she suspected it would be: news of a recent RTA. Under the headline – Fatal Road Traffic Accident – was the report of Towner’s death.

Emergency service personnel were called to the scene of a traffic accident yesterday after a man was knocked down by a car on North Terrace. We understand that the casualty was not from the area. He was pronounced dead on arrival at Scarborough Hospital. His identity is not being released, pending further enquiries. Police are appealing for witnesses with any information to contact Whitby police on 101 quoting incident number NCL40965270812.

Oh God!

In her head, Kate broke the number down. The last part was easy: 270812 was merely the date of the incident. The middle part would be the force-wide incident number, the FWIN, but it was the
prefix letters that worried her. She’d given Towner’s name only and yet the police had already established that he was from Newcastle, unless the lettering was randomly generated, and
she didn’t believe that.

Palming her brow, Kate feared repercussions, both personal and professional. If she was mentioned by any one of the many witnesses, would the police come looking? Not unless she’d been
seen arguing with Towner minutes before he died. Then they might. And not just for her, for Hank too – and he’d done nothing wrong. Would she be able to persuade the powers that be that
he wasn’t involved off grid with an unregistered snout? Debatable. He stood to lose his job. Would he ever forgive her? Would his family? Scooping up the internal phone, she rang him, asking
him to join her in her office right away.

A
lthough Hank had been busy with something else, he reacted immediately to the urgency in her voice, arriving at her door seconds later, anticipating trouble. Despite the open
window, he noticed a whiff of nicotine in the air. She must be worried. It was years since he’d seen her smoke. He didn’t mention it. He just took a seat and listened patiently as she
explained about the press coverage, the fact that police were talking to witnesses, appealing for information. It was all basic procedure. If she’d been in her right mind, she’d know
that. Instead, it seemed to have added to her woes, increasing her agitation and sense of foreboding.

‘Is that all?’ He relaxed. ‘Jesus! I thought from the way you were talking that you’d received blue forms. Right now, white coats are more in order, wouldn’t you
say? You keep going like this, you’ll end up on the funny farm.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She’d completely missed his attempt to cheer her up and calm her down. ‘I thought at the beginning of the enquiry that things couldn’t get
much worse.’

‘They can,’ he said. ‘And they will, unless you hold your bottle.’

‘What if they suspect—’

‘Suspect what?’ He leaned forward, dropped his voice. Looking deep into her tired eyes, he spoke slowly, assuredly. ‘Kate, listen to me: aside from the two of us, nobody knows
fuck-all. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ve got to stop fretting. No one is going to suggest you were running after Towner when he was hit. You weren’t. I know that, and so
does everyone on that street. I told you before, it was an unfortunate RTA. End of story. Keep it in perspective. You could do with some downtime. Why don’t you go off home—’

‘What, and talk to the walls?’

‘Just for a couple of hours.’

‘I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here, with you.’

‘OK, OK. So stay.’ Hank sighed. His amazing boss sounded like a child. He wanted to reach out and give her a big hug but he knew that in her present frame of mind she’d only
push him away. In the absence of anything better to do, he got up and put the kettle on, asking if she wanted tea or coffee.

‘Whatever, I don’t care. What if my name comes up?’ She continued to agonize over every detail. It was so unlike her. With his back to her, Hank shut his eyes and then opened
them again, trying to decide what to do. ‘Hank? Did you hear me?’

‘How can your name come up?’ he said. ‘No one knows who you are. You were here on duty with me, weren’t you?’

Hank knew she was in a very bad place, but he had no idea how to help her snap out of it. Maybe Jo could talk some sense into her. No, he couldn’t tell Jo. Kate would never speak to him
again. He had to think of something else. For now he got on with making the tea.

A
s Kate made her way to her car, Hank caught up with her. She’d noticed him keeping an eye on her all afternoon, but they had been in with the team and nothing more had
been said in relation to Towner or their flight from Whitby after his death. The issue, though, continued to gnaw at her. Like subtext, it lay just beneath the surface, waiting to rear its ugly
head, fooling no one. She just couldn’t let it go.

‘You really think I’m making too much of it?’ Kate took in his nod as he stopped walking and turned to face her. She could tell that he was bluffing. She hated all that macho
crap. He wasn’t fooling her. He looked as anxious as she felt. ‘I’m not, you know. Quarrelling with Towner in a busy street in full view of the public was stupid. It might cost me
my career, Hank. I couldn’t live with myself if it also cost you yours.’

‘Kate, stop! That was ages before the accident.’

‘What the fuck am I going to do?’

‘You’ll be fine. People row in the street every day. No one gives a shit.’

Dropping her head, Kate tried to suppress her agitation, tried desperately to justify her actions and save herself from spiralling into a deep depression. She’d seen it happen to a lot of
officers in her time. Hank was right: she had to get her act in gear.

She looked up. ‘Thanks for looking out for me, Hank.’

‘Hey, we’re a team. Who else would I look out for?’

They walked on.

Kate tried for a smile but didn’t make it. In some ways it was worse because he was there, because he knew. If she’d been on her own, maybe she’d have come to her senses, kept
her gob tightly shut and walked away.
Maybe
. Any copper worth their salt would. They’d say nothing to nobody. They would never have given it houseroom. If they had seen it, done it,
they’d have left it alone. There were nice people in the world to worry about and Towner wasn’t one of them. He was a good-for-nothing lowlife . . .

No, Kate thought, as they reached her car. He was more than that. Underneath his alcoholism and bad life choices, he’d been a pathetically sad man who’d needed help. She’d let
him down.

T
he week dragged on with no further developments – at least, not in relation to the enquiry, and not in Whitby, where Towner’s death had been written off as a
tragic accident. Hurricane Isaac had thrown all it had at New Orleans, Newcastle United managed a one nil win over Atromitos FC in their first European home game for more than five years, forest
fires had ravaged large parts of Marbella, but, despite a force-wide search, the Glasgow thugs Kate was hunting had evaded capture. The investigation had ground to a halt.

The last day of August was dull and grey, much like the mood in a meeting room at Fantasy Island – the nickname for force HQ. It was day eight of the enquiry and Bright wanted answers.
He’d summoned the A Team – Kate, Hank and Naylor – to provide them. The table around which they were seated was littered with papers, used coffee cups and all manner of other
stuff, including the Detective Chief Super’s favourite Garibaldi biscuits, laid on by Kate in an effort to soften him up.

It wasn’t working.

Bright’s tone was harsh. ‘You must have something!’

‘The bastards are lying low,’ Kate said. ‘I wish I had better news, guv. But there’s none to give.’

‘You’ve done everything in your power to find them?’

‘Everything. I think it’s time to talk to the press.’

‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Let’s not get too hasty. What’s the position with McKenzie and Theresa Allen?’

‘Sitting pretty, I’d imagine.’ Kate sighed. ‘I appreciate that babysitting those two was my idea, but it’s tying up physical and financial resources, placing a hell
of a burden on the team, not to mention the budget. Taxpayers shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of keeping them in their love nest for much longer. Besides, I’m bored, and so are the
rest of the squad. I want to be more proactive.’

‘What are you proposing?’

‘As I said to you on the phone, there’s no longer any reason to keep the O’Kanes’ identities from the media. It’s time we took the initiative.’

Bright shifted his gaze to Naylor. ‘You happy with that, Ron?’

‘If that’s the consensus round the table, I’m not going to argue. Hank? Any thoughts?’

‘I’m with Kate on this, guv. We need to flush them out. We’ve got nowt from Strathclyde or Lothian and Borders forces. We considered going north, but there’s really no
point. There have been no sightings of the brothers in Glasgow or Edinburgh. The police up there think they’re hiding out on our patch. We’ve been hoping they would come out to play,
but it just hasn’t happened—’

‘They have to come out sometime,’ Kate said. ‘They’ve got to eat. I suggest we go public as soon as possible. We need help. Let’s face it, we’ve got bugger
all else. By the way, Theresa is offering a reward of twenty K.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Hank said. ‘How very motherly of her.’

‘Never underestimate the power of cash,’ Bright said. ‘Or the power of Theresa Allen. She knows the score, that one. She also knows that a high reward will bring a weasel out
of his hovel to talk to us. We need information and we’re not going to find it sitting on our arses twiddling our thumbs. Have you no snouts you can lean on?’ He was talking to
Kate.

Blankly, she returned his stare.

‘No, boss,’ Hank answered for her. ‘None that are talking, anyway. Prigs are understandably nervous. They’re saying nowt, and I can’t say I blame them. Kate’s
right: maybe we’ll fare better with the general public.’

Kate felt hot and hoped it didn’t show. ‘While we’re on the subject of press conferences, Bethany Miller’s parents presented themselves at the station the day before
yesterday demanding the opportunity to make a televised appeal.’

‘Maybe they should,’ Bright said.

Kate gave him a hard stare. ‘Not while I’m SIO.’

‘Why not? They’ve lost a daughter.’

‘Because I have nothing but contempt for them. Their sole interest seems to be getting themselves on the telly to show the world how much they’re grieving when they’re doing
nothing of the sort. They threw that poor kid out in the dead of winter without a second thought. Despite their . . .’ She used her fingers as inverted commas. ‘“Deep
concern” over her welfare, they didn’t even file a missing-persons report. I’m not letting them wail to the cameras for sympathy. Their misfortune is their own doing.’

‘OK, if you feel that strongly.’

‘I do.’ Kate paused. ‘Guv, I think you should know that they’ve gone home to Barrow-in-Furness threatening to make a formal complaint.’

Bright shrugged. ‘It’s not your first. Don’t suppose it’ll be your last.’

Thanking him, Kate got to her feet and gathered up her papers, exchanging a brief glance with Hank.
How true that was
.

A
rranging the press conference for two o’clock, Kate called Andy Brown from headquarters. There was nothing happening in Blanchland, but McKenzie and Theresa Allen had
made him very welcome. Understandably nervous of having an armed officer in the house, they had eventually relaxed enough to manage a few laughs. They played cards to pass the time, even caught the
odd movie.

‘OK,’ Kate said. ‘Stay alert.’

‘Will do, boss.’

‘Put Theresa on, will you?’

The phone went down on a hard surface. Kate could hear Brown calling out Theresa’s name. A few seconds later, she came on the line sounding out of breath, as if she’d run to the
phone. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked. ‘Andy said you want to talk to me.’

Kate was quick to reassure her. ‘There’s nothing new to report. I just wanted to make you aware that there’ll be an appeal on local television channels tonight for witnesses
and information in connection with the case. I didn’t want you turning on without warning and thinking there’s something afoot.’

‘You haven’t found those bastards then?’

‘No, that’s why we’re going live.’

‘Are you even trying?’ She sounded stressed.

‘We’re doing our very best. The idea is to flush them out of their hiding place, assuming they’re still in the area.’

‘I’m not going in front of the cameras—’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to. Don’t worry about that. It’ll be me, DS Gormley and possibly our guv’nor.’

‘Bright?’ Theresa asked, a little too quickly. Her reaction made Kate wonder if anything had ever happened between them. Despite his devotion to his late wife, he’d always had
a reputation as a ladies’ man. Whether or not that was justified depended on who was doing the talking. The DCI had never witnessed him playing away.

‘No,’ she corrected her. ‘I meant my new guv’nor, Detective Superintendent Naylor. We, or rather I, will appeal for witnesses to come forward. Then we’ll warn the
general public not to approach the O’Kanes if they see them. It’s as simple as that. There may be questions from the press – I might answer them, I might not. I wanted to make you
aware of it so you don’t read anything into it that isn’t there. I’ve told you everything there is to know. It’s a press conference, nothing more.’

‘Thanks for keeping me informed.’

‘You still happy to put up the reward we discussed?’

‘More than happy.’

Thanking her, Kate hung up and then made a similar call to Bethany Miller’s parents. They weren’t best pleased to hear that the planned press conference did not include the two of
them. Mr Miller spent the next half-hour haranguing her, telling her that a letter was already winging its way to the Chief Constable, that she’d better enjoy her time on the TV because it
would probably be her last appearance in front of a camera, in or out of uniform.

By the time she’d put the phone down, Kate was punchy. Picking up her pen, she began jotting down the salient points to be covered at the conference. She’d no sooner started than the
phone rang. She scooped it up, frustrated with yet another interruption.

‘Yes?’ She didn’t even try to hide her irritation.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ Jo said quietly. ‘Can you talk?’

‘Not really, I have a press release to write.’

‘Kate, let me help. I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, it’s sorted. There’s no longer a problem.’

‘Are you sure? I got the impression that you were—’

‘Look, I shouldn’t have said anything, OK? To be honest, I wish I hadn’t. Leave it be, will you?’

‘Fine!’ The line went dead.

It was times like this Kate hated her job.