Killing for Keeps: A Kate Daniels Mystery (Kate Daniels Mysteries)

by Mari Hannah

  Kate didn’t appreciate Hank locking horns with McKenzie when she wanted his cooperation – the most important thing to consider was the man’s welfare and that of Theresa Allen. Getting into a punch-up wasn’t going to help.

  ‘What did John say when he called you Thursday night?’ she asked.

  ‘What are you on about?’ McKenzie showed no emotion. ‘He didn’t call me.’

  ‘Theresa?’

  ‘He didn’t call me!’

  ‘One or both of you is lying.’ Kate eyeballed Theresa. The hard-nosed cow didn’t flinch. The DCI smiled at her, let some time pass. ‘Do you remember a DS called Bright?’ It was clear from her reaction that she did. ‘He’s my ex guv’nor, a cracking detective, best I’ve ever worked with – apart from this guy.’ Keeping her eyes on Theresa, Kate thumbed in Hank’s direction. ‘Bright’s a Chief Super now and he’s been talking about you—’

  ‘Fondly, I hope.’

  ‘He tells me you were quite something when you were younger. What was it he said . . . ?’ She paused, feigning memory loss. ‘Ah, now I remember. He said, quote: extremely attractive and not short of admirers from both sides of the law. End quote. It must’ve come in quite useful for a girl like you, being able to twist men round your little finger. Bet you shagged one or two, to get your own way. Did Brian know what you were up to?’

  Theresa smirked, showing her conceit.

  McKenzie turned his head towards her.

  She didn’t return his gaze.

  ‘Bright also said you were a pathological liar,’ Kate added.

  ‘I’m not lying.’ She’d lost the grin. ‘John didn’t call me. Check my phone if you want. My sons are dead. Why would I lie?’

  ‘Have it your own way,’ Kate said. ‘I want you both in a safe house.’

  ‘Do me a favour!’ McKenzie scoffed. ‘You can keep your poxy safe house – every prig in the area knows where they are! No thanks. If it’s all the same to you, Theresa and I will take our chances here – as long as you and the comedian keep your gobs shut, of course. Think you can do that?’

  Kate stood her ground, considering his words. She couldn’t force him to move or accept her protection. Silly man. ‘If you’re making your own arrangements, that’s fair enough,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget, the O’Kanes are patient souls. They’re not on a short fuse like normal scum. You know as well as I do that’s not how they operate. They’re happy to bide their time. From what I’ve seen so far, they prefer inflicting pain to shooting folks and getting it over quickly, but we happen to know they own firearms so you’d best be ready for every eventuality.’

  ‘Don’t you think he knows that?’ Theresa glanced at McKenzie. ‘Show them, Arthur. Show them what their bastard mates did to you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Kate said. ‘We have friends in high places. Shotts Prison sent me the photos.’ She made a show of wincing, then shifted her attention from Theresa to McKenzie. ‘That must’ve been quite scary at the time. Being locked up in there with nowhere to hide. I heard you were lucky to survive. John and Terry weren’t so fortunate. Which is why I’m concerned for your safety.’

  ‘My arse!’ McKenzie put his drink down on the carpet, his eyes never leaving her. ‘We’re staying put, so take your partner and piss off.’ He put his arm around Theresa. The pressure was clearly getting to her.

  Kate eased off as Towner popped into her head. ‘I urge you to reconsider,’ she said.

  The hard man gave an emphatic, ‘No.’

  ‘That’s the wrong choice.’ Kate’s eyes settled on Theresa. ‘Want to lose the last man standing, do you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Well, if you’re hell-bent on staying put, I insist you have an officer with you in the house at all times, preferably one who’s firearms-trained.’ Kate was thinking of Andy Brown. He’d be perfect for the job. Surveillance was his thing, but he was also cleared to carry a gun. She intended to ask Durham force if she could borrow Price until she could organize round-the-clock backup. She liked Price. His instincts were spot on. Besides, the dog could be useful.

  ‘That’s all you have, one fucking firearm?’ McKenzie let out a hollow laugh. ‘You’re really selling it to me, hen.’

  Ignoring the put-down, Kate told them they were lucky to be getting any protection at all. ‘The off-duty officer who spotted you isn’t a million miles away. I’m going to ask him to step inside so you know him when he comes to the door with your protection. OK with you?’ She pointed at the baseball bat. ‘I don’t want that thing wrapped around the wrong person’s skull.’

  Unable to sustain a show of bravado, Theresa buckled as the gravity of the situation closed in on her. She pleaded with McKenzie to accept help. At first, he refused. Then he nodded, reluctantly.

  Kate turned to Hank. ‘Get Price in here.’

  It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing.

  36

  Early 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 wa
s 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.

  Back 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.

  Although 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.

  As 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.

  37

  The 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.’