Killing for Keeps (17 page)

C
ameras flashed. The large conference room was filled with the sound of shutters going off in quick succession as the DCI was shown to her seat in the centre of a long table,
the force logo at her back, Gormley on one side, Naylor on the other, a microphone in front of her. The room was busting at the seams, not a spare seat to be found. Everyone facing Kate was
sporting a VISITOR PASS lanyard.

Directly in front of Kate was a man she recognized: Ian Payne from ITV’s local news channel. Next to him was a BBC news presenter whose name she couldn’t recall, and behind them were
journalists from several national newspapers. Further back, she could see representatives from the local rags:
Northern Echo
,
Newcastle Chronicle
,
Evening Gazette
and
Hexham Courant
. It was standing-room only at the rear.

Kate waited for the hum in the room to die down, keen to get the conference over with. Tapping his microphone, an admin officer called for order. Instructing everyone to turn off mobile phones
or switch to silent mode, he checked that they were all in receipt of press packs containing details of both victims and suspects.

Satisfied that he’d covered everything, he sat down, giving Kate the nod.

Thanking everyone for attending at such short notice, Kate introduced herself as the SIO in charge of the case they were assembled to discuss. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I asked you here this
afternoon as a result of serious matters that have occurred in our force area in the last few days. You’re aware that the body of John Allen was found on the Silverlink Industrial Estate in
the early hours of Friday, twenty-fourth August. Shortly afterwards, the body of his brother Terence Allen was discovered at the Royal Victoria Infirmary. A murder enquiry was launched into both
deaths.’ The DCI paused, giving the reporters time to make notes. Glancing to her right, she noticed Detective Chief Superintendent Bright sneak into the room quietly. Their eyes met briefly,
then she carried on. ‘There is a third victim, Bethany Miller, a fifteen-year-old girl from Barrow-in-Furness. I must stress that at present I am unable to say for sure whether this third
death is linked to the other two. What I can tell you is that she knew John and Terry Allen. Before I say anything more, on behalf of Northumbria Police I’d like to extend our condolences to
the families and friends of all three victims.’

The press officer stood up. She wore a figure-hugging tailored suit, hair tied back and too much slap, the badge on her large left breast spelling out her name: Constance Blackett. Looking
straight to the television camera crews positioned at the rear of the room, she made sure she got her sound bites in . . .

‘I must point out that this incident is one of the most harrowing in the history of Northumbria Police and one of the worst Detective Chief Inspector Daniels and the Murder Investigation
Team has ever had to deal with. I’d like to commend the detectives involved for their dedication and commitment in trying to apprehend those responsible.’

Inviting Kate to carry on, she received a thousand-yard stare in return. Blackett dropped her head, unable to face the message being transmitted across the room:
Sit down and keep it
shut
. Kate hated the way these conferences were handled, especially the showboating by civilian press officials and senior officers trying to make a name for themselves. She’d make it
her business to have a word with Ms Look-How-Important-I-Am-Blackett later.

The media were getting twitchy.

‘My enquiries have revealed the names of two Scottish men who may be responsible for the offences outlined,’ Kate continued. ‘They are Craig and Finn O’Kane –
thirty and thirty-one years old respectively.’ She pointed at images pinned to the wall, then turned to face the bank of cameras in front of her, pausing a moment to get everyone’s
attention. ‘Take a good look at these photographs. Have you seen these men in your local pub, nightclub, newsagents or grocery store? It’s imperative that we trace and interview
them.’

Glancing at the bullet points of her press release, she added, ‘I’d like to make it absolutely clear that no one should approach these men. If anyone has any information on their
current or past whereabouts – particularly where they might have been since late on the evening of Thursday the twenty-third of August when they were last seen at the QC Club –
I’d urge them to contact their nearest police station or the incident room – or any police officer. The telephone number will be given out at the end.’

The press officer again: ‘We have a large team of detectives waiting to take your calls.’

Kate wanted to punch her lights out. She had six detectives and four civilians waiting to take calls. Bearing in mind several hundred might come in within the hour, that was hardly adequate. On
her right, Bright rolled his eyes, displeased with the unnecessary interruption at a pivotal moment in the process.

A hand went up. ‘Chief Inspector?’

‘I’ll take questions in a moment,’ Kate said as more flashes went off. ‘It’s vital that readers and/or viewers understand that these men are capable of extreme
violence and
must not
be approached.’ She waited for the scribbling to stop. ‘I’ll take your questions now.’

Pre-empting a question from the woman who’d interrupted her, the DCI looked the other way, gesturing towards another journalist she knew quite well: Gillian Garvey, crime reporter for the
Journal –
ex Reporter of the Year – a woman with her finger very much on the pulse of the city. She was bloody good at her job. As Hank had pointed out on more than one
occasion, she had more sources that the Mississippi.

In the crowded room, a phone went off at exactly the same time as the one in Kate’s pocket began to vibrate. Apologizing, Garvey drew an iPhone 5 out of her bag, quickly checked the
display and then turned it off. When the reporter raised her head, her expression sent a warning to the DCI. It was one she’d seen many times before:
triumph
. A statement rather than
a question was already forming on her lips . . .

‘I’ve been informed that one of the men you’re after is having a laugh with his mates in a Glasgow pub, Detective Chief Inspector.’ Garvey spoke matter-of-factly, as if
it was of no consequence, knowing the reaction it was likely to receive. Like the aftermath of an explosion, silence descended on the room. Then she twisted the knife further, eyes like lasers on
the DCI. ‘Instead of standing here talking to us, shouldn’t you be locking him up?’

Trying not to show her emotions, Kate checked her own mobile phone.
Snap
. A text:
Finn O’Kane spotted entering rough pub in Glasgow. Officers dispatched to check it out.
As she
focused back on Garvey, it was plain to everyone assembled that she was far from happy. Momentarily wrong-footed, she covered the microphone and bent down. Using her hand to shield her mouth, she
whispered to Hank: ‘How is it that Gillian has a hotline to Strathclyde Police and no one’s telling me about it?’

‘She has more money than we do,’ he whispered back.

‘Sort it,’ she hissed.

He got up and left the room.

All eyes were on Garvey. The smug journalist was milking her moment, enjoying herself at the DCI’s expense. She knew fine well Kate wouldn’t/couldn’t tell her where to get off
with an audience and cameras rolling. They were like Alpha females battling for supremacy in full view of the assembled press, not to mention Naylor and Bright.

Kate was losing.

‘Before I entered this room,’ she said, ‘there was no information on either suspect’s whereabouts. I checked.’ Her eyes never leaving her opponent, she continued:
‘Can you tell me how you came by that information, Ms Garvey?’

‘An anonymous source.’ She was almost grinning. ‘A very reliable source.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector, is it true that one of the victims was chained to the underside of a vehicle?’ another reporter asked. ‘I think the public have a right to know if
there’s a couple of madmen on the loose—’

‘That kind of wild speculation isn’t helpful, sir.’ Kate moved on. ‘Next question?’

Another hand went up, this one belonging to Andrew Jackman, a Scottish hack who had been around as long as Kate could remember. Balding, big smoker, sallow complexion – the man looked
positively ill.

‘Yes, Mr Jackman?’

‘Is it right that Bethany Miller was working as a prostitute?’ he asked.

‘I have no information of that nature.’ Kate had to restrain herself. This was a child he was talking about. Why didn’t he show some respect? There was no way she would admit
or deny the fact that Bethany was on the game. Her mother and father weren’t in the room, but they would be watching at home. Whatever her opinion of them as parents, Kate felt for them. How
hard must it be to hear your daughter referred to as a prostitute on or off national TV? ‘As far as I’m aware, this unfortunate child was caught up in what I can only describe as a
violent feud between rival gangs. Next question.’

But Jackman wouldn’t let it go. ‘It was my understanding that she was a working girl.’ He used the old cliché: no smoke without fire. ‘Is there no truth in it
then?’

‘Whatever information you think you have did not come from my office,’ Kate spat the words out, eyes boring into Jackman. ‘I think you should go and check your facts. Or better
still, if you have any information about Bethany Miller, feel free to contact the incident room and make a statement to that effect. I will personally see that you are accommodated.’

He smirked – they both knew what she meant by that.

They both knew she was lying.

A male voice, unidentified: ‘It sounds as though you have no leads, Chief Inspector.’

This was not going well.

Kate took a sip of water. More cameras went off and she was suddenly on the back foot, her awful week getting worse by the minute. Before she had time to respond, someone asked another
question.

‘Can you reassure the public that they’re safe in their beds?’

‘All I am prepared to say at this stage is that the motive for these offences appears to be personal. I have no reason to believe that the general public has anything to fear from these
men, unless they are challenged. We believe the motive was revenge, the details of which I cannot disclose at this time.’

Kate tucked her hair behind her ear as other questions were fired in quick succession, the first from ITV News presenter, Ian Payne. ‘What advice would you give members of the public who
might have knowledge of the O’Kane brothers?’

‘They should call 101 and officers will be dispatched immediately to take a statement.’

‘And if they actually have them under observation?’

‘They should dial 999 and they’ll get an emergency response.’

Garvey dropped another bombshell. ‘I heard that torture was used.’

Looking straight at her, Kate came clean: ‘We strongly suspect that the men we want to talk to were after information and were prepared to torture their victims to death in order to get
it.’ She looked away, addressing the whole room. ‘As I said, these were violent crimes, which is why we’ve asked for your help in tracing those responsible. We have full
cooperation with Strathclyde, Lothian and Borders and other neighbouring forces. This matter is our priority. These men will be found.’

H
ank was waiting outside the conference room. Kate rolled her eyes as she barged through the door and went straight to the ladies. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water
on her face. As she grabbed a paper towel, Press Officer Constance Blackett entered. Kate swung round, let her have it with both barrels, telling the silly cow never to interrupt her again in
full-flight.

The woman rushed off.

Hank had heard every word.

‘That was a bit harsh,’ he said, as Kate joined him in the corridor. ‘You can add her to your list of complainants!’

‘Oh, you think so? Like I give a damn. You’d better ring Julie and warn her we’re off to Glasgow.’

‘What, now?’

‘Yes, now.’ As he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Gillian Garvey a few metres further down the corridor. She was leaning against the wall,
talking on her mobile. Leaving Hank’s side, Kate approached the journalist. Round two. Different opponent. ‘A word, if I may.’

Garvey hung up, telling the person on the other end she’d call them back.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Kate glared at her.

‘Just doing my job, Kate. No need to take it personally.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Boss?’ Ending his call, Hank tried to attract Kate’s attention. ‘We need to get going.’

‘Wait!’ She glowered at him before turning back to Garvey. ‘You’re experienced enough to know the rules, Gillian. It’s basic procedure to turn off your phone. You
obviously don’t know what silent mode is. Next time you want my help, you’ll find out. That special relationship we have? Forget it. You’ve pulled one too many strokes and I
don’t appreciate being made to look stupid in front of the national press, my boss and the head of fucking CID! I’m sick of your stupid games—’

‘Boss?’ Hank thumbed towards the door. ‘We’ve got to go.’

‘When I’m ready,’ she barked. ‘Wait in the car.’

He held his ground, sending her a silent message that another public row wasn’t a good idea. She glared at him, prepared to order him out if necessary. She was exhausted, the stress of
working flat out for the past week without any time off finally getting to her. Towner’s accident and her spat with Jo hadn’t helped. Gillian Garvey’s antics were the tipping
point.

A sharp tap on her shoulder made her turn around.

She came face-to-face with Bright.

Looking beyond her, he smiled at Garvey. ‘Well done, Gillian. You pipped us to the post again, I see. Give us a minute, will you?’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You too,
Hank.’ Then, to Kate: ‘A word in your shell-like, if I may? My office.’

‘We need to go, guv,’ Hank said. ‘The lads from Strathclyde have been on the blower—’ He stopped talking mid-sentence, a warning look from Bright telling him to
back off.

Garvey saw it too, made her excuses and left.

Kate’s brow creased. If Bright couldn’t say what was on his mind in front of Hank, it must be serious. If he was angry with her, or disappointed with her performance, so what? That
made two of them. Surely he could see that she was in a hurry. With the sighting of Finn O’Kane in Glasgow, she was desperate to get a shift on.

Garvey could wait. For now.

Acutely aware of Hank’s eyes drilling a hole in the side of her head, she glanced in his direction. ‘I’ll meet you at the car.’

Concern spread over his face.

Kate realized then that he’d tried warning her, that Bright must’ve been standing there the whole time she was yelling at Garvey. Not the way he’d want his star pupil to behave
to a member of the press. A bollocking was private. As the Senior Investigating Officer of a high-profile case, she should’ve had more sense.

The Detective Chief Superintendent remained tightlipped as he led her down the corridor, a walk that seemed longer than usual. She felt much like a schoolchild being taken to the headmaster for
a telling off. Instructing Ellen Crawford, his PA, that they weren’t to be disturbed, he entered his office first and sat down, inviting Kate to do the same, meeting her eyes across his
desk.

After what seemed like ages, she felt obligated to fill the silence with an apology. ‘Guv, I’m sorry about the press conference. I let Gillian get the better of me. And that silly
cow from the press office is as bad.’ Kate shook her head. ‘The woman is a complete liability. Someone should have a word with her.’ She could feel herself blushing. ‘Other
than me, I mean. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barked at her like that. I don’t know what got into me.’

‘That’s not why I wanted to see you.’

‘Oh?’ Kate relaxed.

Thank God!

For a moment, she thought she’d misread the situation. He’d been meaning to tell her something for days. She was dying to know what it was and hoped that it was better news than his
intense expression suggested.

She’d seen happier undertakers.

‘What the hell were you doing in Whitby?’ he asked.

The question winded her like a body blow. The room suddenly got smaller, the mere mention of the town sending shock waves to her brain. The man she revered so highly had caught her out. She felt
hot, unable to think straight, and hoped it didn’t show. Her response was pathetic. ‘When, guv?’

‘Oh, so you weren’t there?’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost me.’

His jaw bunched, demonstrating his irritation with her. Kate studied his face. There was no humour in his eyes, no sarky smile on his lips. His favourite DCI wasn’t feeling the love.
Wasn’t feeling anything. She was staggered by this development – totally numbed by what might come next. He wouldn’t tolerate any more nonsense.

She eyeballed him. ‘How did you know?’

‘Hank told me.’

‘No he didn’t. How did you find out?’

‘You think chief superintendents have nothing better to do than sit at their desks with their feet up, drinking tea and bending paperclips?’ He picked up his
Journal
and
chucked it at her. ‘I read the newspapers, Kate. Suspiciously, an old informant of yours was run over while crossing the road in North Yorkshire on the very day you and Hank were tied up
doing extensive enquiries out of area and couldn’t be contacted. I put two and two together and made four . . . because I’m a
detective
. I am still a detective, you know, even
though I haven’t got a proper job. Was Alan Townsend registered?’

‘He’s not an informant now.’

‘He’s not anything now!’ Bright had fire in his eyes. ‘I asked you a question that demands an answer. Was. He. Registered?’

‘No, guv.’

‘Did you tell Naylor where you were going?’

Kate shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘I needed information!’ She stood up, began pacing up and down. ‘Guv, I did what I thought was right. When people ring up with information, I don’t question it, I act on
it. You taught me that, in case you’d forgotten.’

‘Sit down! And don’t get arsy with me.’

‘I’m not!’ Retaking her seat, she sucked in a big breath, realizing that she was in deep trouble. ‘Towner wanted to meet in that location. I thought he sounded serious
enough to pursue it. So much so that I was prepared to get in my car, drive all the way down there and fly by the seat of my pants. When I saw him, he was frightened. Terrified. I knew he had
information to give and when I mentioned the O’Kanes, he got up and ran away. Bang! The car hit him a split-second later.’

‘Jesus!’ Bright’s eyes found the window. His expression was grave when he turned to face her. ‘What have I told you about breaking the rules? I’ve warned you so
many times to run things by me first. You were out of the force area, pursuing someone who is now dead. Tell me he didn’t run from you.’

Kate studied her shoes.

‘Did you run after him?’

‘Yes.’ Kate’s answer was spontaneous and emphatic. ‘Quarter of an hour before, not when he died.’

‘Come on!’ He was shaking his head. ‘You don’t expect me to buy that!’

‘It’s the truth, guv, I swear.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Is that code for Hank?’ Bright snorted. ‘He’d say anything to save your ass.’

‘He wasn’t even there.’

‘Do not lie to me!’

‘He wasn’t! He came along afterwards. I promise you, he knows nothing about it. This is my neck on the line, not his!’

He shook his head. ‘You and your damned loyalty—’

‘You’ve had your fair share of that from me too, guv. I’ve saved your ass once or twice.’

There was an awkward silence between them, a moment of high tension as they stared each other out. In the days he was her guv’nor, he’d always been in her face – but equally he’d
always supported her. They were as close as it was possible to be. Yet Kate knew she’d overstepped the line once too often. He could go either way. He could help her or feed her to the IPCC.
What she said next would determine which one of those options it was going to be.