by Mari Hannah
‘To see me?’ She was suddenly on the back foot. ‘On a Sunday?’
Naylor nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’
‘He thinks I’m losing my touch, is that it?’
‘Hey, why so defensive? He told me it was something he could only convey face-to-face. And, before you ask, I told him nothing. I know nothing, do I? Unless there’s something you haven’t told me . . . ?’
‘No, guv.’
So he knew. Although it wasn’t Naylor’s style to mention it to Bright, it didn’t mean that the head of CID hadn’t heard about her little drama in the incident room from elsewhere. A loose tongue in the canteen could expedite a rumour to HQ quicker than a Boeing. It would reach his ears eventually, as most things did. And, if it did, she’d have some explaining to do.
21
Kate let herself in to the incident room at five to six. Even by her standards, that was early for a Sunday morning. She’d woken at four and started chewing over why Bright wanted to see her so urgently and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. It was drizzling. No point going for a run, so she decided to skip breakfast and go in early. With no cleaner at the office to disturb her, and no squad due in ’til seven, she had plenty of time to skim the newspapers and organize a plan for the day ahead.
She didn’t linger in the MIR but went straight to her desk, made herself a pot of coffee and put her feet up. According to her paper, it was National Marriage Sunday. Roman Catholic priests were spouting their hatred again. Cardinal Keith O’Brien, the leader of the Church of Scotland – the man who’d previously described gay marriage as a ‘grotesque subversion of a universally accepted human right’ – had apparently stopped talking to First Minister, Alex Salmond.
Marriage . . . Kate whispered. Not gay marriage, you bigoted arseholes.
The article did nothing but convince her to stay in the closet. Pushing her anger and her newspaper away, she checked her in-tray. A hard copy of Brown’s report was right on top where she expected to find it, marked for her attention. Clipped to the front, a précis of what he’d gleaned from the CCTV she’d asked him to look at. At ten past eight, Terry Allen had entered the QC Club. Half an hour later, at twenty to nine, John joined him. Both brothers arrived alone, Brown noted. They left together at nine forty-two. At the bottom of the page was a handwritten note . . .
This is where it gets interesting.
Intrigued, Kate left her desk and walked into the MIR, switching on the lights on her way in. Dead computer screens, like giant eyes, watched her as she moved across the room to Andy Brown’s workstation. Opening his top drawer, she found what she was looking for: a USB pen drive, an exact copy of the DVD he’d retrieved from the QC Club.
Wondering how long it had taken him to complete the task, she counted herself lucky that she had such a dedicated team member prepared to stay late for the sake of the job and not because he was making shedloads of overtime. There was an embargo on at present. Headquarters were holding a tight rein on budgets. She’d have to go cap in hand to beg for an increase if the enquiry ran on.
And this one surely would.
Back in her office, she slipped the USB pen into her computer. She poured more coffee and then sat down to see what had fired Brown’s imagination. Before she had a chance to access the file and fast-forward to the relevant time, her office door opened and Hank walked in, a huge grin on his face.
She glanced at her watch.
Six-fifteen.
‘You sure Julie’s back?’ Her eyes shifted to the screen in front of her. ‘Mustn’t have been a very good night out.’
‘Ha! Very funny.’ He pointed at her monitor. ‘You got an adult movie on there?’
‘Touché! Pull up a seat for the Andy Brown show.’
Dragging a chair round behind her desk, Hank took off his jacket and sat down beside her. He smelled divine: his favourite shower gel. She sensed he’d turned the corner and was finally getting his life back on track. He’d lost more weight, was drinking less and looking all the better for it. She loved it when they were the only ones in. It was times like this when they did their best thinking.
Winding the timer to eight o’clock, Kate let the footage run on in real time. ‘Keep your eyes peeled while I read this.’ She tapped a few keys. The screen split in half – the footage on the left, Brown’s report on the right – side by side so she could check them off against one another, noting that a copy had been sent to the Receiver, Detective Sergeant Harry Graham.
‘Looks like Andy did a good job,’ she said.
‘Lisa too.’ Gormley’s eyes never left the screen. ‘I told her to get herself away home. She insisted on staying to help him.’
‘You do surprise me. I’ll have to have a word with those two. They’re spending far too much time together. You think they’ll ever—’
‘Nah, they’ve got more sense.’
‘You getting at me and Jo?’ She nudged him with her elbow.
‘Get off me!’ He grinned. ‘I’m trying to watch this.’
She smiled. ‘I wish you would.’
Kate relaxed. They never stayed mad at each other for long. That was the strength of their relationship.
Continuing to scan the report, she began typing actions into the remarks column in bold font. When she’d finished, she suggested that they run through the footage a couple of times, checking the accuracy of the report along the way. Not that she doubted Andy or Lisa, just because it was pertinent to do so.
‘What’s remarkable is the fact that Terry and John were in the club for less than an hour,’ Kate said. ‘And not by design either, judging by the expressions on their faces as they left. Not the cocky bastards of old, are they? They seem bloody nervous to me. Terry in particular, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Wait a minute!’ She paused the footage, replayed part of it, freezing the final frame and zooming in on the brothers as they went outside. ‘Who the hell is Terry looking at?’
‘Whoever it is, they’re out of shot.’
They both glanced at Brown’s report . . .
To: DCI Daniels
From: DC Brown
cc: DS Harry Graham
Report re: Action 36
DVDs recovered from QC Club – Evening of Thursday, 23 August 2012 – Exhibit references AB3 (Front door) AB4 (Dance floor) and AB5 (SE Corridor)
I have to report as follows: I’ve examined all the CCTV as outlined above and have come across Nominal 1 (John Allen) and Nominal 2 (Terence Allen) on only four occasions. FYI, there is a discrepancy between the CCTV clock and real time. Clock running seven minutes slow, hence time on DVD and actual time recorded below:
Ref: AB3 – Front Door
CCTV Time
Actual Time
Description
SIO Remarks
20:03
20:10
N2 enters wearing dark shirt and trousers. In this frame, in front of him is one blonde female: mid 20s, red dress. Also two white males behind: both dark-haired wearing dark pants, light dress shirts and no jackets. No words shared. No reason to believe they are together.
Raise action Blonde F/2 males
20:33
20:40
N1 enters dressed in a grey casual jacket/white T-shirt. No one in close proximity.
20:34
20:41
Sequence ends.
Ref: AB5 – SE Corridor
CCTV Time
Actual Time
Description SIO Remarks
20:45
20:52
N1 and N2 talking. They don’t appear happy. They seem keen not to be overheard. Stop talking when approached by female – short dark skirt/revealing strapless pink top, brunette, lots of bling.
Raise action One Female
20:47
20:54
Both N1 and N2 talking on BlackBerry phones. At this time they’re approached by a bouncer – thickset, shaved head. Obviously known to N1, as they exchange a high five.
D
itto Bouncer
20:50
20:57
Sequence ends.
Ref: AB4 – Dance Floor
CCTV Time
Actual Time
Description
SIO Remarks
20:52
20:59
N2 on dance floor talking into iPhone. One female nearby – overweight, thin legs. Very drunk. Purple silky sleeveless dress. N2 shouts at her and she leaves.
Raise action One Female
20:54
21:01
Sequence ends.
Ref: AB3 – Front Door
CCTV Time
Actual Time
Description
SIO Remarks
21:35
21:42
N1 and N2 leave together, N1 shouting into his phone, N2 looking over his shoulder at someone out of shot.
Who? Raise action
21:45
21:52
Sequence ends.
They needn’t have bothered checking it. Andy’s account was spot on, no inconsistency with what they themselves had seen. The case had indeed just got ‘interesting’.
22
Newton Road, High Heaton. Kate rapped on the door so hard it hurt her knuckles. For some reason, Bright had delayed his visit to the incident room until eleven o’clock. Still, she was pushed for time. Following information received, she needed to speak to Vicky Masters urgently. A British Telecom contact of Carmichael’s had been swift to assist the police. He’d told her that John Allen paid for the privilege of a line rental but never used the phone. His landline was a broadband connection only. No calls, local or international, had ever been made or received, despite the allocation of a dedicated number. Even worse news from Lisa: there was no record of a mobile contract for either John or Vicky with any major service provider. It was as the DCI had expected – unregistered mobiles were a criminal’s best friend.
‘What now?’ Vicky’s shoulders dropped as she opened the door and saw her standing there. The young mum was still in her pyjamas, her son Nathan nowhere to be seen.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Kate said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
The DCI gave her a pointed look.
Without a word, Vicky spun on her heels and walked away. In the living room, she went back to a pile of ironing. There were fresh bouquets in vases and condolence cards scattered about. The TV was tuned to some kind of talent show, the contestant proving only that he couldn’t sing. Seeing the look of disapproval on Kate’s face, the girl picked up the remote and killed the set. Folding baby clothes was the method she employed to avoid eye contact.
Kate didn’t hang around. ‘I’d like to examine your phone,’ she said.
Vicky looked up, rattled. ‘I don’t have a phone.’
‘You expect me to believe that, in this day and age?’
‘Believe what you like.’ She was lying and not very well.
‘What about John? I bet he had plenty.’
Vicky’s colour rose ever so slightly. ‘Didn’t you find it on him?’ she asked.
‘Stop wasting my time, Vicky. I’m trying to get the people who murdered him and I need your help. Don’t you want them caught?’ Kate waited. The girl remained silent. ‘OK, I happen to know he had a phone with him because I saw him using it at the QC Club. It looked like a BlackBerry. And no, it wasn’t on him. If his phone is in the wrong hands, I hope you weren’t daft enough to use your real names in the address book, or this bloodshed won’t be over.’
There was more clothes-folding – frantic now.
Vicky glanced at a photograph of John. ‘I want to see him,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible—’
‘Why?’
‘Technically, you’re not his next of kin.’ Kate acknowledged how difficult that must be to accept and hurried to change the subject. ‘The phone, Vicky . . . he was shouting at someone on the phone. Was it you?’
Vicky looked up. ‘No! What are you on about?’
Kate backed off, allowed some time to pass, putting the pressure on her to answer. Somewhere in another room, the baby stirred and then went off again. After a while, the girl couldn’t stand the lull in the conversation and began to fill the silence. Thank God she’d finally seen sense.
‘I binned all the phones,’ she said.
‘You did what?’ The DCI was furious and it showed.
‘It’s not against the law. John told me to.’
‘He rang and asked you to?’
Vicky shook her head, guilt creeping across her face. ‘Ages ago, he told me that if he didn’t come home your lot would probably have locked him up and I was to get rid fast. When I got up to see to Nathan at five on Friday morning, he wasn’t there. I just did what he asked with all the phones in the house, mine included.’
‘How? Where?’
‘I burned them on the BBQ. The bits that were left, I chucked in a disposal bin at the hospital. John said all their waste is incinerated every day.’
Kate raised her eyes to the ceiling.
This wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
23
Chief Superintendent Phillip Bright looked immaculate, as always. He entered Kate’s office bang on eleven o’clock, shutting the door behind him. His appointment as head of CID had been the best thing to happen to the department in years. He was a no-nonsense copper, a detective of the old school, feared by the shirkers and loved by everyone else. He was quite simply the very best detective the Northumbria force had ever seen, the man who’d chosen Kate to follow in his wake, the policeman who’d taught her all she knew – and then some. He’d told her that one day his job would be hers, if she played her cards right.
Kate sighed.
At this moment in time, she didn’t fancy her hand.
Opening the button of his jacket, Bright hoicked up his beautifully pressed trousers and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. His shoes were bulled to perfection, so much so that he could’ve been a guardsman on parade. Draping his left arm over the back of the chair, he looked at Kate, no doubt noting how tired she was, but telling her it was great to see her.
‘You too, guv.’
A smile began at the corner of his mouth and spread quickly – always a good sign.
Mindful of her recent drama, Kate wondered if she should mention that this week hadn’t been her finest. She decided against. He’d had plenty of disappointing weeks himself over the years, not to mention twice as much aggravation on account of the way he approached his job, as well as a fair amount of associated stress.
‘Ron said you wanted a face-to-face,’ she said.
‘Don’t look so worried. It’s not about Theresa Allen, if that’s what you’re thinking. By the way, I know her of old. Came across her back in the days of the regional crime squad when I was a rookie. She’s one piece of work, is Theresa.’ He chuckled. ‘I hear she did quite a job on you.’
Kate wasn’t finding it funny. ‘I can’t believe I swallowed her garbage.’
‘Hook, line and sinker, is the word on the grapevine. It happens, Kate. Move on.’
‘So that’s not why you’re here?’
‘Would I lie to you?’
They both laughed.
Of course he would.
‘Why then, guv?’
A flicker of something behind his eyes was hard to identify. ‘Later,’ he said. ‘Given that I am here, that I’m also an authority on Allen family history, it might be as well if I chip in. I want to help if I can – unless you feel it would undermine your authority. I got on the wrong side of you once before, remember?’
He was teasing her.
She stared at him – almost a glare. ‘How could I forget?’
The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. The case to which he was referring was her first as SIO. On that occasion, he’d been the one making errors of judgement – with catastrophic results for Jo Soulsby, who ended up in
custody, wrongly accused of her ex-husband’s murder. Although the memory was painful for all concerned, it was water under the bridge now.
Still, it was a lesson to all that the great man was himself fallible.
Kate stretched, easing the tension in her shoulders. ‘I don’t mind you holding my hand, guv. To be perfectly frank, I could do with your advice. If I don’t get this right I have a feeling that Stanton will be screaming for space down at the morgue.’
He pointed to her cafetière. ‘Better get the coffee on then.’
His visit proved timely and invaluable to the investigation. There were few detectives with his ability to recall details of old cases with such clarity. Of particular interest to the SIO was his knowledge of the older generation of the Allen family, especially their flight from Glasgow to Newcastle when their children were small.
Kate convened a ‘special’ meeting and, with the whole squad gathered round him, Bright was soon on a roll. It was like old times. Like he’d never been away. With his usual panache and good humour, he shared what he knew about Brian and Theresa Allen – a formidable couple who had made a fortune from other people’s misery.
‘Back then, Brian Allen was fearless,’ Bright said. ‘Although Strathclyde force never proved it, it was strongly suspected that he and his partner in crime killed a rival gang leader in Glasgow, sending a wreath to the family with the message “We done it” pinned to the front, taunting them.’
‘Rival gang leader?’ Kate was taking notes.
‘Dougie O’Kane. Nasty piece of work.’
‘The note was anonymous, I take it?’
‘Yes, but no one was in any doubt who’d sent it.’
‘How long after this did Brian bring his family south?’
Bright ran a hand through silvery grey hair. ‘Five, maybe six years.’