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

by Mari Hannah

  A few miles on, Hank got his head down and fell asleep. With no one to talk to, Kate began dwelling on her altercation with Bright, her take on the matter going back and forth like a ping-pong ball. He’d practically ordered her to take a leave of absence. The words ‘unfit for duty’ had been a real slap in the face, questioning her credibility and professionalism, everything she stood for. She’d been replaying the same thing over and over like a mantra in her head ever since the words left his mouth.

  If it had been anyone other than Bright, she’d have shrugged it off. Laughed even. But therein lay the problem. Bright wasn’t anybody – he was her mentor, the man she admired more than any other, except Hank – the detective who’d taught her everything she knew.

  That didn’t mean she could forgive him for what he’d said.

  Hadn’t he fallen short in his career too? Hadn’t she covered for him?

  Now they were even.

  So what if he’d questioned her judgement. He’d done it before. Several times. What made him think he had the right to look at her as if she’d crawled out from under a stone?

  The reason she couldn’t let it go was because it mattered – because it came from someone she respected and looked up to. There was no getting away from it. She needed to see him. Apologize properly. She’d think twice in future. Rein in her maverick tendencies. Stop making rash decisions.

  Yeah, right.

  Living on the edge was part of her personality. He knew that. Wasn’t that why he’d taken her under his wing, nominated her over and again for promotion? She didn’t have to make him believe she was up to the job. She was up to the job. If he wanted a conformist, he’d picked the wrong horse.

  Exhausted with the argument raging inside her head, Kate eased her foot off the pedal. There was little traffic on the road. No need to rush. Time to calm down. The scenery was stunning beneath a leaden sky, the windscreen dotted with a few raindrops, one or two at first, then a torrential downpour, causing her to slow down even further. Hank stirred in his seat, opened one eye, then closed it again.

  The phone rang, startling them both.

  Robson had located Andy.

  48

  DC Brown was standing to attention, hands behind his back, feet slightly apart, facing his boss’s desk. Half an hour ago, he’d been relieved of duty in Blanchland and summoned to the MIR by Naylor. Five minutes ago, Kate Daniels had burst into the incident room, nearly taking the door off its hinges. Without checking the murder wall, something she always did, she marched across the room and ordered him to her office, humiliating him in front of the squad.

  ‘Lunch?!’ Her face was almost crimson. ‘You went for lunch?’

  ‘And then a walk in the woods,’ Brown said. ‘I weighed up the odds and made a decision.’

  ‘The wrong one!’ she yelled.

  Swallowing hard, Brown didn’t know what to say. His boss looked jaded. Drawn. He knew she’d had a hell of a day; a hell of a week. He’d seen her angry before – but never like this – and still she wasn’t done.

  ‘Let me rewind here.’ She crossed her arms, her eyes boring into him. ‘Hank and I are up at a murder scene in Glasgow thinking that the guy you’re babysitting has rocked you off, and you’re sitting in a pub somewhere filling your face? Tell me that’s not true, Andy! Make me understand how you thought that was a good idea.’

  ‘With respect, boss, it was! McKenzie and Theresa were stir crazy. Price was on a rest day. He did a forward recce before we set off. I took all the necessary precautions. Asked him to check the route first, make sure there was no one dodgy hanging around. There were the usual suspects walking their dogs, couple of people fishing on the reservoir. He knew who they were. He even came along with his dog to cover my back.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK then. Are you mad? Do you have any idea the trouble you are in?’

  ‘Why am I in trouble?’ Brown knew that sounded lame even before the words had passed his lips. From the minute he’d been summoned from Blanchland he knew he was for the high jump, if not from Naylor, then from her. Fortunately, Naylor had been called away to HQ and wasn’t in the office when he arrived. ‘Boss, McKenzie wasn’t locked up or under arrest.’

  ‘Don’t backchat me, Andy. I’m perfectly well aware—’

  ‘Will you hear me out?’ He paused, apologized for raising his voice and interrupting her. Aware of the eyes of the team through her office door, he felt ridiculous standing there, trying to vindicate himself. Since he’d joined the Murder Investigation Team, the DCI had only good things to say about him. Until today, they’d never exchanged a cross word. He’d dealt with the situation as he saw fit. He didn’t feel he deserved such a public reprimand. Again, he tried justification. ‘My role was saving their lives, not detaining them.’

  ‘It wasn’t their lives that concerned us. It was yours!’ Kate took a breath, dropped her voice a touch. ‘Jesus, Andy! Did you not think for one millisecond how going AWOL might look to the rest of the squad if they tried getting hold of you? How it would look to me – to Hank? To anyone else with a brain bigger than a walnut?’

  ‘They were hell-bent on going. If I hadn’t gone along, they’d have walked out anyway.’ Brown resented the implication that he had no sense, even though he could see how worrying it might have appeared to her. ‘There was nothing I could do! Theresa was even worse than McKenzie. She wanted out of the house and I couldn’t convince her otherwise. She can moan for Scotland, that one. She had to get out of there and, to be perfectly honest, so did I.’

  ‘Ah, I understand.’

  ‘No, with all due respect, I don’t think you do, boss.’ Brown shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I did everything I could in order to make it as safe as possible for all concerned. I’m sorry, OK? I’m a townie. How did I know you can’t get a mobile signal up there if you move more than two metres from the house?’

  Kate huffed. ‘You should’ve called first!’

  ‘I never thought—’

  ‘Why the hell not?’ Kate’s voice was getting louder by the second. ‘Hank and I have been going crackers, thinking something awful had happened to you. Lisa is in chunks. You owe her big-style. You bloody idiot! You never ever do that again! Do you understand?’

  And suddenly he did. He felt like a kid being scolded by a parent for running off, or a dog whose owner slaps it for not coming to heel when called – which is precisely why they never do. This was her way of showing him how much she cared. How worried she’d been. He’d rather have had a Bonio.

  Having vented her anger on her young DC, Kate called the squad together for a full briefing. When it was over, she sent Hank off home to see his family – it was the least she could do after the day he’d put in. Grabbing a sandwich to go, she left the station, bound for Blanchland, taking Andy Brown with her.

  There was no way he was going home yet.

  He had no bloody idea how relieved she was to hear that he was safe. At first he seemed almost oblivious to the anxiety he’d caused his colleagues in the few hours he’d been off the grid. She’d enlightened him good and proper, terrifying him in the process. Although he didn’t know it yet – she intended to let him stew a while – she had absolutely no intention of taking the matter further. Technically, he’d broken the rules. But hey, who was she to point the finger? No, it was over: Junior was back with his mummy.

  It was dark by the time they reached McKenzie’s cottage: eight thirty-three, to be precise. Andy Brown rapped hard on the door. Creeping around outside wasn’t to be recommended with an armed officer in the house on high alert because some raging lunatic was out to get McKenzie. When Craig O’Kane found out about his brother, all hell would break loose.

  The latch came off and the door opened.

  Kate showed ID, asking the armed officer to remain in the hallway while she and Andy had a word with the occupants. Andy led the way into the living room. Acknowledging Theresa with a nod, he stepped aside, letting his boss take centre stage. McKenzie wa
s sitting in his usual fireside chair, legs raised on a footstool, newspaper on his knee, not one but two crisp packets on the floor beside an empty plate – the remains of his supper.

  The DCI got straight to the point. ‘Right, Arthur, I want to know who it is.’

  McKenzie’s eyes slid over her from head to toe, a method employed by his kind when they were trying to put professional women down. Kate was used to it, immune to it even. It made her all the more determined to make his life difficult until she was ready to leave. And that would depend very much on his reaction to her line of questioning. Not that she expected straight answers. She was only there to gauge his response – to see the whites of his eyes, so to speak.

  ‘What the fuck are you on about?’ he said.

  Kate so wanted to wipe the grin off his face. Her eyes took in both McKenzie and Theresa. ‘You two think you’ve played me, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you. Detective Brown here may have babysat your alibi, but I know you sent someone up to Glasgow to kill O’Kane, and I’m going to prove it if it’s the last thing I do.’

  ‘O’Kane’s dead?’ McKenzie grinned. ‘Ace! Which one? We’ll throw a party.’

  ‘You know fine well which one. And believe me when I tell you, the other one’s not going to be a happy bunny. If I were you, I’d dig in for a while. Because Craig is coming after you and I might not have the funds to provide any more protection – unless you cough up a suspect.’

  ‘Is she always this dim?’ McKenzie was smirking at Brown. Another put-down. Address the male officer and ignore the female, irrespective of rank. ‘Even if I knew what she was harping on about, does she really believe that I’d implicate myself in something as serious as a murder? The stupid cow is talking shite.’

  Brown told him to show some respect.

  Slowly, McKenzie shifted his gaze to the DCI and slipped his hand into Theresa’s. ‘I told you once before, I’m going straight. Theresa and I both are. We’re not the same people we were years ago. Ask anyone. We run a reputable business. We have a solicitor and everything. In fact, if you continue to make such wild accusations, Detective Chief Inspector, I might have to give him a call.’

  49

  The incident room was in semi-darkness when Kate arrived, shortly before ten o’clock. Everyone had knocked off and gone home. Lights were dimmed, computer screens blank, as she made her weary way towards the glow of her office at the far end of the room. The blinds were half-closed but she could see a figure waiting there, way before she reached the door.

  Bright.

  Kate slowed. Not now.

  After going ten rounds with Andy, and ten more with McKenzie, she couldn’t stomach another row – especially with the head of CID. Tired and agitated, she’d left McKenzie in a strop, accusing her of harassment. It was useless talking to him. The tosser deserved all he got from whoever was currently dishing out the violence. Shame she couldn’t butt out of his dispute with O’Kane and let the stupid sods kill each other.

  For a moment, she considered tiptoeing away, making out that she’d gone straight home. But unless Bright had changed his aftershave, she knew it wasn’t him before she reached her office door. A whiff of Jo Malone – Dark Amber & Ginger Lily – identified her visitor as Jo Soulsby. Kate had bought her the cologne for her birthday.

  Jo’s presence, even at this late hour, was a nice surprise, if not a little baffling. Given that they hadn’t seen each other for days, or spoken since their brief squabble on Friday morning, Kate wondered why she was there so late in the evening when she could be tucked up in bed or lounging in front of a good movie.

  Trying not to appear as downhearted as she felt, she turned the handle and opened the door. Jo was sitting in the easy chair Kate had bought from an antiques shop and installed for the comfort of visitors, feet tucked up beneath her. She was casually dressed in a pair of old jeans and a rugby shirt, hair tied up loosely, a few strands hanging loose around her face. A pair of tatty sneakers lay untidily on the floor, kicked off to make her even more at ease in her surroundings.

  She looked right at home, engrossed in a novel: Louise Welsh’s The Girl on the Stairs.

  ‘Good choice!’ Kate was pointing at the book. She bent down and planted a kiss, first on one cheek, then the other. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘Sit down, I’ll get you a coffee.’

  Closing the paperback, Jo stood up and gave her a hug, hanging on for a bit too long. Kate told her not to bother with the coffee. It was too late in the day for that and she had a much better idea. She needed something stronger after the day she’d put in. She was technically off duty, on her own time. Opening her bottom drawer, she took out two shot glasses and a bottle of Jim Beam Devil’s Cut bourbon.

  Pouring them both a dram, she held up her glass. ‘I so need this,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think you do,’ Jo said awkwardly. ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Not a social call then?’

  Kate was right about that. Jo told her that she knew all about O’Kane’s death, Andy’s disappearance and McKenzie’s alibi. As part of the team, most of that was understandable, but she’d left the best ’til last and didn’t hold back.

  ‘I also know about Whitby, Towner, and your bloody awful row with Bright.’

  ‘How the hell?’

  Meltdown . . .

  Hank had grassed her up.

  Kate downed her drink in one, felt the bourbon do its job, warming her insides as the amber liquid entered her system. Even without the alcohol, she was punchy. Having told her to forget all about Whitby, in the time it had taken her to drive to Blanchland and back, Hank had blabbed to the one person in the world whose approval mattered.

  Kate wouldn’t forgive him this time.

  OK, so he was concerned about her. That didn’t give him the right to involve Jo in her screw-ups. When was he ever going to learn to keep his nose the hell out of her business?

  Lifting Jo’s untouched glass to her lips, Kate slugged off the bourbon, picked up the bottle and poured another, slopping some on her desk in the process, not bothering to wipe the excess away. She didn’t know what to say, what to think.

  ‘You could have told me, you know,’ Jo said gently.

  ‘What, and risk the condemnation I can see in your eyes? Or is that for the drink? It’s hard to tell these days.’ Kate stared Jo down. They were no longer together. There was no reason to explain her actions. Why should she? She had nothing to feel ashamed of or guilty about. She wasn’t about to apologize for doing her job. If she felt like a bloody drink, she’d have one. Resentment bubbled to the surface and she blurted out exactly what was on her mind: ‘If I’d wanted you to know, I’d have told you myself. He had no right!’

  ‘He had every right. Don’t be angry with him, Kate. He meant well.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Wonder who else he’s told.’

  ‘What? Come on! You know he’d never do that! He thinks I can help.’

  ‘Well, you can’t. No one can. I’m a big girl. I have to work this out all by myself.’

  ‘You’re not though, are you? Working it out, I mean. He said you weren’t. He told me how upset you were. How you weren’t—’

  ‘Coping? Is that what he said?’

  ‘I was going to say feeling your best. That’s true, isn’t it?’

  Kate didn’t believe her. She glanced out of the window at the building across the street. It was dark. Empty. Just like her. So, now she wasn’t merely ‘unfit for duty’, she wasn’t coping. Jesus Christ, was this a conspiracy? Did everyone think she was heading for a mental breakdown? She turned back to Jo, her face set in a scowl. ‘Roll up, roll up for the freak show. The great Detective Chief Inspector Daniels does it again. Is Hank selling tickets yet?’

  ‘What’s Hank got to do with it?’ Jo looked genuinely bewildered.

  Kate stared at her as the penny dropped. If it wasn’t Hank who’d grassed, it had to be Bright – but why? He and Jo had never seen eye to eye. For him to confide in h
er went beyond unusual, it was unprecedented. The sharing of such confidential and potentially harmful information came as a body blow to Kate. And with it came an epiphany.

  She desperately needed help.

  50

  Sunday morning was glorious, warm and sunny. Kate had slept soundly, if only for four hours, despite a heartbreaking face-to-face lasting until after midnight. By that time she was incapable of driving, so Jo had dropped her off at home. Persuaded to stay for a nightcap, she eventually left around half past twelve. In between arriving home and Jo leaving, Kate had gone through a range of emotions: anger, aggression, guilt, and most of all sadness for having pressurized Towner and disappointed Bright.

  Jo, as always, had listened patiently while she spewed out all the reasons she was feeling so ghastly. She had wept and drunk more alcohol than was good for her, purging herself to the point of exhaustion. At some time during the conversation, she’d acknowledged she’d been pushing herself too hard and promised to slow down. Whether she’d keep that promise rather depended on her case.

  Before Jo left, she’d helped her upstairs to bed and held her until she fell asleep. Unless Kate had imagined it, they had reiterated their intention to take a holiday together when the investigation was over – which it wasn’t, not anywhere near. Kate had a vague recollection that they had talked about themselves too, specifically about that topic, the one she wasn’t to mention ever again – why their relationship had gone horribly wrong.

  In the course of a one-way conversation, Jo had told her some home truths. She’d accused Kate of limiting her choices, seeing only two alternatives – being out and proud, or staying in the closet – when most of their gay friends were busy just getting on with their lives. They didn’t need to bang on about their sexuality or beat the drum. Why should they? Jo argued. The phrase ‘private life’ meant just that. Like they gave a shit what anyone else thought. Jo was insistent: there was only one person stopping them moving in together and starting over, letting others make up their own minds what was going on, and it wasn’t her.