by Mari Hannah
‘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.
Arranging 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.
38
Cameras 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 fri
ends 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 mi
ght 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.’
39
Hank 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.