Killing for Keeps (6 page)

T
he phone on Kate’s desk rang before she’d even sat down. She stopped chewing, glanced at a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, coffee in the other, and placed them
down in order to answer.

‘DCI Daniels.’ Kate listened but no one spoke. Background traffic noise suggested the call was coming from a public phone box.

Towner.

For a moment, she thought he’d bottled it. Finally, he came on the line, telling her that he had information and was willing to trade it in exchange for immunity from prosecution. Fair
enough. Kate never went back on her word. He sounded nervous, understandably so. Whoever was dishing out the torture wouldn’t think twice about seeing him off. He told her that Terry Allen
had been given a right going-over last month. It was the first corroboration of what she already knew. Proof that he wasn’t lying.

Her instincts had paid off.

‘So, he got jumped,’ she said. ‘Thugs have a tendency to make enemies occasionally. You know I need more than that. Where exactly did this take place?’

‘Grant’s.’

‘Nightclub?’

‘Yeah.’

Kate picked up her pen. ‘Who attacked him?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Stop wasting my time!’

‘I don’t, I swear.’ Towner hesitated. ‘Look, all I know is he’s been lying low ever since. Word on the street is, he was lucky to survive. The heavies doing the
kicking backed off when his mates arrived mob-handed, tipped off by a hooker who’d seen it happen. The guys who got hold of him weren’t arsed about Terry. They were searching for
John.’

Yes!
‘Why?’

‘Fuck knows.’

‘Which hooker?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Try harder.’

No response.

‘Fine, enjoy the rest of your day. It’ll be your last in the sunshine—’

‘Calls herself Sky,’ Towner blurted out. ‘I swear, that’s all I have.’

‘That was the right call,’ Kate said. ‘Next time you’re on a church roof, say three Hail Marys for me.’ She cut him off.

Making a note on a message pad for entry on to HOLMES, Kate timed and dated the form. In the bottom corner there was a box to fill in with the name of the person from whom the information had
come. It appeared to get larger the more she stared at it. Lifting her pen from the paper, she paused, then scribbled four words:
Anon Female/Sunderland
accent.

S
he finished her tea before joining the rest of the team in the incident room for the early evening briefing. Carmichael kicked off the meeting. She’d been in touch with
the Serious Organized Crime Agency. A list of known associates had gone out to Division for further investigation. It seemed that the Allen crew were not averse to crossing force boundaries to
carry out their business. They operated in several cities: Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow among them.

Kate went next, disclosing her new intelligence on Terry Allen’s hospitalization six weeks earlier. Then, as cool as you like, she shared her more recent tip-off, the fact that the assault
may well have been witnessed by a hooker named Sky, information she believed might move the enquiry along a pace.

‘Where did that come from?’ DS Robson was often too bright for his own good. As statement reader, he was the linchpin of the murder enquiry. All statements passed over his desk and
he was telling everyone that he didn’t recall any mention of Sky. His focus was on the DCI. He was waiting for an answer she’d rather not give.

‘It didn’t come in a statement,’ Kate explained. ‘It was a phone call. I took it myself.’

That truth seemed to satisfy him. But on the opposite side of the room, it wasn’t fooling Hank who, it had to be said, was a lot more switched on than Robbo would ever be. Feeling his eyes
bearing down on her, Kate moved quickly on to Maxwell . . .

‘Any news on the DVD from JMR Refrigeration, Neil?’

Maxwell shook his head. ‘Technical support are working flat out. It’s proving difficult to enhance. Light was poor. Both guys were wearing balaclavas. They’re not holding out
much hope.’

Kate wasn’t impressed. ‘What about the rest?’

‘Rest?’ Maxwell queried.

‘Clothing, watches, jewellery, footwear. There must be something distinctive that we can identify. Or didn’t it cross your mind to ask?’

‘Have I done something wrong, boss?’

‘No. Yes. Get back on to them. You need to up your game.’ Kate scanned the room. ‘That goes for the rest of you. I want enquiries made in the nightclubs in and around town.
There’s some real shite coming out of Grant’s club lately. Start there.’

Gormley’s eyes again.

Kate sucked in a breath. ‘Andy, get in there tonight and see what you can pick up. Take Lisa with you. And for God’s sake, be careful. We want results but we don’t want to tip
anyone off.’

The noise level rose as the team disbanded. Before Kate had a chance to slip away to the relative safety of Naylor’s office – he’d asked for a personal briefing – Hank
approached asking if he could have a word, flicking his eyes in the direction of her office.

Kate led the way, expecting earache.

She deserved it.

Hank closed the door behind him. ‘What’s going on?’

She threw herself down in her seat, trying to avoid looking at the message from Towner still lying on her desk. Hank remained standing, eyeing her with suspicion. Reading her. Making her feel
uncomfortable. She wanted to laugh out loud. The best detective sergeant in Northumbria force, her favourite man in the whole wide world, was sulking – but only because he cared about her. On
a previous enquiry they had fallen out when she’d not played by the rules. He’d told her then that if she dug a hole – however big – and jumped in, he’d be there to
haul her out, no matter what the circumstances, but in exchange he expected honesty and openness.

He was staring at her. ‘You wouldn’t be using unregistered informants, by any chance?’

She used her best poker face. ‘Makes you say that?’

‘I know how your brain works. How devious you are.’ He tried for a smile. ‘I couldn’t give a stuff either way, but we had an agreement to play nice, didn’t
we?’

It was true. She’d promised not to exclude him from her exploits ever again. But things were rarely that simple. She stared at him, weighing up the possibilities. Tell him, or protect him
by keeping him well out of it? They were playing a game of blink first.

Hank was winning.

‘So.’ He sat down. ‘Are you using a snout or not?’

‘Might be.’ Her eyes grew big. ‘OK, I am. Happy now?’

He blew out his cheeks. He knew only too well that it could land her in hot water with Naylor, a disciplinary offence at best, a demotion at worst.

‘My call,’ she said. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. And no Form A, understood? We want to catch these bastards, don’t we? My source won’t help me if it’s
official.’ She made a smiley face. ‘You in, or out?’

Hank grinned.

K
ings Terrace was a tree-lined avenue in the leafy suburb of Jesmond, a couple of miles from Newcastle city centre. Kate was feeling decidedly jaded as she pushed open the gate
to number 45, walked up the path and rang the bell of the smart Victorian house. Since being dragged out of bed she’d viewed two dead bodies, launched a double major incident investigation,
delivered two death messages, worked all day, delegated, directed her team and briefed her guv’nor. She was ready to drop.

An arc of light flooded from the house as the door opened.

As Kate stepped inside, Jo Soulsby took her jacket and hung it on a peg in the hallway. Shutting out the dark, she gave Kate a gentle hug. Kate stood there, arms flopping by her side like a
child at the arse-end of a school day, too grumpy and too tired to move. She didn’t hold on for fear that it would be interpreted as another pathetic attempt at reconciliation.

Jo looked happy and relaxed. Kate could hardly remember what it felt like to take a day off and chill. It was warm and cosy in the house. There was a faint whiff of alcohol in the air, and she
could hear music, a constant in both their lives when they hung out together. Just being there brought a rush of memories flooding back.

‘Heavy day?’ Jo asked.

Slipping off her shoes, Kate avoided eye contact. ‘The first few hours are always the worst. It’s bedlam in the office and this one’s not straight by any stretch of the
imagination. We’ve got victim IDs and bugger-all else. My guys are still in the haystack searching.’

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come this late.’

‘I nearly didn’t.’

Kate checked her watch – quarter to ten – almost nine hours since she’d promised to call Jo, sixteen since she’d started this particular shift. The role of SIO on the
Murder Investigation Team was her dream job, one she’d worked hard to secure, but there were times when she questioned what she was doing with her life, when the position asked too much of
her. Right now, she wished it would vanish, if only for a few days, until she recovered from the influx of cases that had wiped her out.

‘Sure you don’t mind?’ she said. ‘We can do this tomorrow.’

‘We’ll do it now. You look like you need a good talking to.’

Jo moved away, her tapered trousers and skinny T-shirt accentuating her figure as she walked towards the kitchen. Kate followed, trying to ignore her own reflection in a full-length mirror at
the end of the hallway. She looked dreadful, longed for a soak in a hot bath and a change of clothes.

Inviting her to sit at the table, Jo handed her a bowl of soup and a chunk of brown bread, told her to eat while she poured them both a glass of wine. ‘I take it you’re finished for
the night – unless that damn phone of yours summons you back.’

Mid-mouthful, Kate nodded.

The soup tasted good. It was homemade and warmed to the perfect temperature. A few feet away, Nelson, Jo’s young Labrador, was curled up asleep in his basket next to the Aga, so peaceful
she wished she could lie down beside him and drop off.

When she’d finished eating, Kate followed Jo through to the living room, her stomach churning as she walked through the door. The lighting was soft – very personal – and it
wasn’t for her. A couple of candles were burning away and there were signs of an intimate evening: two champagne flutes, wine glasses, empty bottles, corks and CDs littering the place.

Quite a party.

For a moment, Kate pictured Jo and A. N. Other. Shoes off. Snuggled up on the floor, listening to music, as they had once done. Sharing a joke. Possibly planning their next jolly jaunt. Making
out.

Jo stifled a laugh. ‘You should see your face!’

‘Face?’ Kate felt her cheeks burning even as she said it.

‘No need to panic, Kate. The lads have been round: a celebration for James’s graduation, remember? I asked you to join us.’

‘Ohmygod.’ Kate palmed her forehead. ‘I totally forgot, I’m
so
sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You missed them by minutes. They’re off into town to meet some mates.’

With her jealousy out of the way, Kate could see more clearly. There were three, not two, wine glasses in the room. One had been left on a side table and there was a third champagne flute
abandoned in the hearth of a fabulous marble fireplace, the pride of the room. She felt silly and a little emotional. Fatigue sometimes had that effect.

She cleared her throat. ‘Am I allowed to ask how he did?’

‘He got a 2:1.’

‘Fantastic!’

‘Bloody amazing for someone who put no work in whatsoever.’ Even though Jo was smiling, her eyes were not. James had been tipped for a first but had been too busy shagging his tutor
to do the graft. ‘He could have done so much better.’

‘Don’t be disappointed,’ Kate said.

‘I’m not, I’m frustrated.’

‘Why? Because studying an older woman floated his boat more than politics and economics ever could?’ Kate smirked. ‘No-brainer, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yeah, I guess. Believe it or not, they’re still together.’

‘Wow! Must be serious.’ Kate knew about the affair from way back. ‘Have you met her?’

‘Jill? Hell no!’ Jo made a crazy face. ‘Anyway, you didn’t come to talk offspring. Sit. You look exhausted.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Really? Take a look in the mirror.’

Kate ignored the dig. Any more tension and she’d surely snap.

Jo slumped down on the sofa, kicked off her pumps and tucked her legs beneath her bum. Kate sat down too, changing the subject to something less personal: work. Handing over crime-scene
photographs, warning Jo that they were far from pretty, she looked on as the profiler viewed them. The temperature seemed to plummet the more information they shared, the main thrust of their
conversation hinging on the level of violence used. It was way over the top in anyone’s book.

‘Torture cases are rarely impulsive,’ Jo said.

‘I agree. This one was definitely planned. Stolen vehicles, acquisition of tools – SOCO found bolt cutters.’ Kate cringed as she said it. ‘You’d expect that would
guarantee Terry Allen’s compliance. Except, he didn’t talk – at least, we don’t think he did, poor sod. Whoever cut his fingers off was organized enough to bring along the
right implements to do the job. It’s enough to make you puke—’

‘Unless the tools just happened to be in the van they stole.’

‘C’mon, you don’t believe that any more than I do. Anyway, Robbo checked with the registered keeper as soon as the missing digits were discovered in the van. There were no
tools in the Mercedes or the four-by-four. Whoever did this knew what they were doing and why they were doing it long before last night.’

‘So what’s your theory?’

‘I’m not sure I have one, at least not fully formed. Either the offenders let Terry go and followed him, or else he escaped and managed to get a message to John. It wouldn’t
take a brain surgeon to work out that he’d require a major trauma centre. Which is the only plausible explanation why the brothers bypassed the nearest A & E. It didn’t work though;
I think the offenders were lying in wait to grab John as he left the RVI.’

‘Why are you so certain that Terry was the bait, John the target?’

‘I’m not. But that’s the word on the street.’

‘Then why bother torturing John? Why not just kill him outright?’ Jo held up the photos. ‘This is pretty elaborate, don’t you think? Risky too. There must be more to it,
surely.’

‘There are certainly easier ways of committing murder,’ Kate conceded. ‘Killing him wasn’t enough. They wanted him to suffer on the way out. According to SOCA, his
offending has escalated in recent years. He and Terry were dabbling in all sorts. Extortion, mainly. Taxing local businessmen in exchange for protection they didn’t want or need. Nasty stuff.
Maybe this is someone fighting back.’

‘If you lie down with dogs . . .’

‘Exactly.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘I’ll work on Terry’s wife. She’s not a fan of the police, but I’m hoping she’ll want justice.’

‘Is that a euphemism for revenge?’

‘Either way, I’m probably the best person to hand it to her, whether she likes it or not. I intend to play up that angle, make her understand that killing those responsible would be
swift but a lot less satisfying than watching them go down for life. I’m not sure it’ll wash though.’

‘What about John’s girlfriend?’

‘Same difference.’

‘Maybe not. If she’s young and has a kid, she might be more amenable—’

‘Hank tried. She was equally uncooperative.’

‘With all due respect, Hank isn’t you. You have a way with women.’

Kate managed a half-smile. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Hoping Jo was right about April Allen, and that she might also be able to talk some sense into Vicky now she’d had the chance to calm down, Kate let out a big sigh. ‘I’m not
sure I have the wherewithal to pull it off this time.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘Do I?’ Kate met her gaze with a look of defeat. ‘I’ve hit rock bottom, Jo. I’m under so much pressure to perform, I can hardly breathe. Everyone at the office is
relying on me to put these cases to bed, even Hank. To do that, I need to break down an impenetrable wall of silence and hostility. Allen territory is rough terrain. Any witnesses are going to be
too terrified to speak out. Where the hell do I start?’

‘If anyone can get through it, you can.’

Kate was shaking her head, the mask she wore at work peeling away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. ‘You don’t understand. I just don’t have it in me to take another big
enquiry, not after the caseload I’ve been carrying the last few months. But try telling that to Naylor – the man’s a bloody machine.’ Kate went quiet – toying with the
Celtic necklace Jo had bought her the previous Christmas – meeting her compassionate eyes across the room. ‘I’m not being defeatist – I’m being brutally honest –
I’m struggling here.’

‘I didn’t say it would be easy.’ Jo gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You’ll have to draw heavily on your reserves. You’re bound to feel depleted occasionally, but
you have the patience and experience to unlock this. I’m not just saying that because we’re mates. You know it’s true.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘That said, you need to be very careful. These are sadistic, organized psychopaths. They enjoy inflicting pain. They’re not your average thugs.’

‘I’m not interested in labels. I just want them off the streets.’

‘You need to warn the team they won’t come quietly.’

‘
I
need to find motive – and
you
are preaching to the converted.’ Seeing the hurt on Jo’s face, Kate apologized immediately. Jo was an easy target for
her rage, the only one she could yell at without fear of retaliation, but it wasn’t fair to use her that way. She sighed. ‘Know what I need most?’

‘A kick up the arse?’

‘A hug.’

Kate looked on as Jo uncurled herself from her chair, picked up the wine bottle and joined her on the sofa. Taking Jo’s right hand in her left, Kate laid her head on the profiler’s
shoulder – a perfect fit – a minute of peace and quiet after a wretched day.

‘Forgive me being grumpy?’

‘Don’t be daft. I rather like being your punch-bag. Makes me feel I’m contributing.’

‘You are . . . you always do. Why do you think I’m here?’ Kate lapsed into silence for a moment, her mind back on the case. ‘Know what my first thoughts were when I
viewed John Allen’s body? I was thinking that the torture was more important than the killing. Does that make any sense to you?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me. It was certainly very personal.’

‘What the hell goes through the minds of these people?’

Jo combed a hand through Kate’s hair, soothing her. ‘You’ll work it out. How many times have I heard you tell the squad that, if they look hard enough, they’ll find a way
to build a case? Any case.’

‘You’re right. But the extent of our knowledge is thin, to say the least. We’ve got two vehicles and sod-all else. Both nicked on the outskirts of Hexham, within minutes of one
another, far enough from the city so as not to be clocked. That’s classic behaviour for car thieves: fail-safe device in case anyone remembers a number plate. They’re savvy.
Professional. I’m not sure that takes us any further.’

Easing herself out from under Kate’s head, Jo reached for the wine bottle.

‘Not for me,’ Kate said. ‘I’m already feeling drowsy and I’ve got the car.’

‘Live a little. It’s Friday night. You can’t keep up this relentless pace—’

‘Ahem, didn’t you just finish telling me I can?’

‘Good point.’

‘Who am I kidding? I can hardly bail a day into a double murder enquiry, can I? Much as I might like to.’

‘No, but how many times have we had this conversation?’ Putting down the wine, Jo turned to face her. ‘You drive yourself too hard. Remember when Stella Bright was dying and
things got on top of your old boss? Who advised him to delegate? You should take your own advice, Kate. By all means give your team direction, but then let them get on with it. There’s loads
of them and only one of you. They’ll share the workload. You’re good for nothing otherwise.’

Kate was welling up. There were no actual tears. Even if there had been, Jo would’ve made nothing of it. Her support was unconditional. There would be no bullshit offers from the force
psychologist at
her
recommendation. No reminding her of it later. What was said in her living room would stay there. Kate could rely on her integrity.

Fighting sleep, she sat up straight. It was true that she’d been feeling the strain for a while and had failed to do anything about it. She was doing the work of two. Her annual leave had
gone untouched. She’d been working flat out for months and it had to stop.

Jo had read her mind. ‘Is there no chance you can take time off?’

‘You coming with me if I do?’

‘Try stopping me.’

Kate looked at her. ‘Promise?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘Please don’t say that unless you mean it.’

‘I do mean it. I’m a lot of things, but a tease isn’t one of them. Of course I’ll come with you. I hate to see you like this. You can barely stay awake. Besides,
I’m a doctor. I’ve made a diagnosis and come to the conclusion that you need my special kind of therapy to make you well.’