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

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Irish doesn’t necessarily mean stupid, Inspector.’

  ‘I’m sure it doesn’t.’ The DCI grinned at the others. She liked McGowan’s candour. ‘Thanks for the information, sir. I’ll send someone up immediately to take a statement. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay put until they have.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You’ve been a great help.’

  As Kate hung up, her tiredness vanished. Tampering with equipment. Deliberately masking Terry Allen’s arrival at A & E. She grinned at the others. They were in business.

  8

  Hospital CCTV backed up everything McGowan had told them. Having commandeered the footage, the three detectives walked back to their car in glorious sunshine. Hank chuckled under his breath when he spotted a sticker for illegal parking on Kate’s windscreen. Tearing it off, she slapped it against his chest, begging him to sort it when he got back to the incident room – one less problem for her to deal with.

  ‘It’ll cost you,’ he said.

  ‘And I’m sure you’ll collect.’ Kate turned away. ‘Lisa, contact Forensics. We need the camera at the front door dusted right away.’

  Pulling out her mobile, the DC dialled a number and lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Can we visit the deli on the way back? I’m ravenous.’

  Despite an early call-out, no breakfast, and the fact that she was also starving, Kate refused. There was no time for a detour today. Pleading with her to change her mind, Hank said something less than complimentary about the staff canteen that made both women laugh. Carmichael’s sulk was gone by the time they reached the car.

  Hank climbed in the front with Kate, Lisa in the back. ‘Are we agreed: we’ve nailed the time Terry Allen arrived at the hospital?’ he asked.

  ‘Looks that way.’ Belting up, Kate unhooked her sunglasses from the visor, put them on and fired up the engine. ‘Not that it’ll take us very far.’

  ‘It’ll aid the sequence of events—’

  ‘True. But unless there are prints or DNA on that camera, we’re screwed. I can’t believe anyone with the savvy of a three-year-old wouldn’t be gloved up while attempting to mask their identity, can you?’

  ‘We’re due some luck.’ There was no conviction in his voice.

  ‘Yeah, and pigs might fly.’ Kate turned left towards Exhibition Park. Giving way at a roundabout, her eyes shifted to the rear-view mirror as Lisa ended her call, pocketing her phone.

  ‘I’d love to know who took Terry to the hospital,’ she said.

  ‘Million-dollar questions are always tricky,’ Kate said. ‘Whoever it was, they didn’t want to be seen. Which strongly suggests we’d recognize them.’

  Lisa gave a resigned nod. ‘A family member, you reckon?’

  Hank wasn’t sure. ‘Nah, they would wait around for a prognosis, surely?’

  Kate listened as her colleagues continued throwing ideas around, each point stripped down, examined, ruled in or out. They were great, these two. Always gave their very best in pursuit of justice, even for victims as loathsome as the Allens. Handpicked by her old guv’nor, Hank and Lisa were the cream of the Murder Investigation Team. She counted herself lucky to have them on board.

  Hank still wasn’t buying the family angle. ‘Wouldn’t a relative want to find out how he was doing, whether he was going to make it or croak?’

  ‘Well, if not family, then who?’ asked Lisa. ‘Unless he managed to call a mate—’

  ‘With one finger and multiple knife wounds?’ Hank made a not likely face.

  ‘What then? Are you suggesting he was tortured, then a Good Samaritan comes along and takes him to A & E?’

  ‘Part of that suggestion rings true,’ Kate broke in. ‘I mean, it is possible he was found by someone he recognized, someone who didn’t dare walk by without helping. Terry begs to be taken to the RVI rather than dialling 999, thinking it’ll save his life, but then loses consciousness. His shy saviour decides not to stick around for fear of being implicated in a serious assault. He may well have been a Good Samaritan but, make no mistake, he’s also known to us. Law-abiding folks don’t tamper with evidence—’

  ‘Now you’re talking sense,’ Hank said.

  ‘Either that or they were scared to death,’ Kate added. ‘And not necessarily of us. They wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of whoever did the torturing – or even Terry’s extended family.’

  As they continued theorizing, she took a right down Claremont Road, another right past the Civic Centre, arriving at the station a few minutes later. Keeping the engine running, she turned in her seat to face them. ‘By all means grab a sandwich, both of you, but then it’s heads down.’ Hank leapt out of the car like a man half his age, eager to get to his bait before he died of hunger. ‘Lisa, you know the score. I want you on close associates. Find out who was around, who was in prison. Try and get a handle on what’s been going on in the Allen world in the past few weeks.’ As Lisa got out of the car and shut the door, Kate dropped the window. ‘Hank, hold the fort ’til I get back.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  Realizing she was planning to see the victims’ family on her own, he protested vehemently. He wanted to go along in case there was trouble – the very reason she wanted to leave him behind. No amount of gentle persuasion could convince him that there was less chance of the family kicking off if he wasn’t there when she delivered the terrible news. He tried to get back in the car but she’d locked the doors and was already moving off.

  ‘At least tell me where you’re going,’ she heard him yell.

  9

  According to intelligence, Mrs Allen senior had a penthouse apartment in a block near the Sage Music Centre on the Gateshead side of the Tyne. Kate parked on the north quay, deciding to walk across the Millennium Bridge to the south side of the river. She needed some air. Time to think. En route from the station, her mind kept coming back to the same thing over and over. Why amputate all bar one of Terry Allen’s fingers? Why leave the ring in place? If it was a clue, she had no idea of its significance. Yet.

  Taking out her phone, she rang Jo Soulsby’s mobile.

  The profiler answered with her first name only.

  She was at home.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Kate tried to sound upbeat.

  ‘Hey, stranger!’ Jo sounded happy and relaxed. ‘What you up to?’

  ‘I need your help . . . again.’ Kate looked around her, making sure no one was within hearing distance. ‘I have a nasty torture case on my hands, a double murder this time – actually two murders that are most likely linked. Any chance I can swing by later and fill you in? Not sure what time it’ll be, but I could do with your input. I’m about to tell the relatives of the deceased, and they are not going to take it well.’

  ‘Why is that a problem for you?’ Jo asked. ‘You sound stressed. I know it’s never a pleasant task, but it’s not as if you haven’t done it before.’

  Stepping onto the bridge, Kate let out a big sigh. There was no point denying she was bricking it. The tone of her voice must have given her away. She didn’t stand a hope in hell of keeping that from Ms Intuitive. There had been a time when they were so much more than work colleagues, but even though intimacy was no longer a realistic proposition – except maybe in her dreams – the friendship remained.

  ‘Kate? You still there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry . . . it’s not a problem exactly, although I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. My victims were killed in separate incidents, but they belong to the same family – and these people aren’t big fans of the police.’

  ‘Is Hank with you?’ Jo sounded worried.

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t want to give them an obvious target to vent their anger on. They’re going to be pretty pissed as it is.’

  ‘Ring me the minute you’re out.’

  ‘That’s won’t be necess—’

 
‘Ring me . . . please.’

  It was easier not to argue. They had done enough of that to last them both a lifetime. They made arrangements to meet later at Jo’s house and then Kate hung up.

  Halfway across the bridge, her phone beeped twice. It was still in her hand. She stopped walking, leaned on the guard rail to check out the display, ducking as a gull swooped down from the roof of the Baltic into the murky waters below. Like most cities, Newcastle owed much of its wealth to the river on which it stood. Working shipyards further east were long gone, trading warehouses turned into upmarket riverside apartments.

  The text was from Robson, asking her to get in touch.

  He had news – none of it good – apparently.

  She rang him back. ‘Hi, it’s me. What’s up?’

  ‘Examination of the Mercedes is still ongoing. They’re reporting bolt cutters and severed fingers in the back. Unless John had more than the usual number, they’re not his.’

  ‘Terry’s.’ Kate wasn’t asking, she was stating a fact.

  ‘Looks that way. I think we found our second crime scene.’

  Pocketing her phone, Kate walked on, chewing over this new intelligence. It seemed reasonable to assume that Terry Allen had been tortured in the same van that was used to kill his brother. But how, she wondered, had he managed to escape? Or had he? Perhaps he was tortured and dumped as a warning. If so, could it have been John who’d taken him to the RVI?

  The questions were still whirring round in her head when Theresa Allen flung open the door to her penthouse apartment. It was clear from her appearance that she was expecting a visitor. Dressed smartly in a powder-blue linen suit, white T-shirt and strappy sandals, she had perfect hair and make-up. Either she was entertaining or she was on her way out to have fun. Had Kate not been about to give the woman the worst news of her life, she would have given anything to trade places with her.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A warm smile accompanied the question.

  ‘Mrs Theresa Allen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m DCI Kate Daniels.’ Kate offered up ID.

  When Theresa saw the MIT label beneath Kate’s rank and name, her face paled. Without saying a word, she moved inside, leaving the door wide open. Following her in, the DCI took a deep breath as she entered the living room. For a moment, Mrs Allen stood motionless with her back to the door, looking out through a picture window with a spectacular quayside view that Kate suspected she wasn’t seeing. Theresa turned, removed her jacket and sat down on the nearest sofa.

  Kate remained standing. ‘I’m so sorry, I have some bad news.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ Theresa’s Glaswegian accent was soft, nothing like the harsh version so often portrayed on the box. Although she’d guessed the situation was grim, she didn’t cry. It was as if she’d already imagined a copper’s knock a hundred times before. She sucked in a breath. ‘I tried with my boys, we both did. Don’t get me wrong, Inspector, I’m well aware my ex pulled some strokes in his time. Brian was no saint. But he never wanted our kids to go the same way. He died before they got into any serious trouble.’

  Theresa paused, exhaling loudly before carrying on. She needed to talk and Kate let her. It was a tactic employed by many of the bereaved, a way of putting off the evil moment when they would be told a truth they didn’t want to hear. It was the eyes that gave her away. On the brink of tears, she was barely holding on.

  ‘They were too much like him.’ Theresa’s eyes drifted to a photograph of a handsome middle-aged man, large build, steely blue eyes you could dive into. ‘Not violent,’ she corrected herself. ‘They were never like him in that way. They just thought they were above the law. I knew it would end badly.’ She paused a moment, swallowed hard. ‘Which one is it?’

  Kate didn’t know what to say. She wanted it to be one son, not both. She wanted to walk away and leave the woman be, not break her heart and pry into her personal life. She was sick and tired of being the purveyor of bad news.

  Theresa looked away.

  She’d already made the jump.

  Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, Kate sat down. This wasn’t how she’d pictured the scene. Nothing like the reception she’d anticipated. She’d gone to the house expecting trouble and found cooperation. It would have been much easier had the woman been angry, if she’d told her to get the hell out of her house. But here they were, interacting, woman-to-woman, not a hint of animosity between them.

  They spent an hour together. Kate made tea and listened patiently as Theresa talked some more. Many years ago, she’d begged her husband to put his past behind him and move away from his home city for the sake of their young family, to give their sons a better start in life than either of them had enjoyed.

  ‘Except that didn’t happen,’ Kate said.

  ‘No . . .’ Theresa held her gaze. ‘I did what I could.’

  When Kate didn’t comment, Theresa insisted she’d been a good mother.

  Whether a person was genetically predisposed to be bad or made that way – the nature–nurture argument – was a familiar topic of debate between Kate and Jo. Theresa was adamant that she’d done her level best, insisting that her late husband had never abused her or the kids. So, she was asking, if their violent tendencies weren’t learned or observed at home, where had such behaviour come from?

  The doorbell rang, stopping her in her stride.

  It was a rude interruption but a welcome one, allowing Kate to let the matter drop. ‘You want me to get that for you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ Theresa said. ‘I was going out. It’ll be my lift.’

  She left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  Muffled conversation and sobs reached Kate through the wall. Curious to find out who was at the door, she stood up and moved into a position where she could see along the hallway without making it obvious she was snooping. Idly studying a bookcase, she was able to view what was going on out of the corner of her eye. Theresa was receiving a hug from a male visitor. Kate could feel his eyes on her. But the second she looked at him, he turned his face away. Half-expecting Theresa to return with her guest in tow, Kate went back to her seat. Seconds later, she heard the door close and he was gone.

  ‘A neighbour,’ Theresa said, as she walked back in.

  ‘Oh?’ Kate could see she was lying. ‘Then I’m surprised he didn’t stay.’

  For a moment, the women locked eyes. Kate waited patiently. Experience had taught her that confrontation was not always the best policy in situations like these. And so it proved. Exposed as a liar, Theresa had nowhere else to go . . .

  ‘You caught me out, Inspector. He’s my new partner. I asked him to leave because he has no idea I have sons, let alone that my ex was a Glasgow thug. I told him there had been a family bereavement, that I’m OK and prefer to handle it by myself. I’ve not known him long and I don’t want to lose him. Can we get on with this? I’m very tired.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kate said. ‘It would help if we knew where John and Terry spent last night.’

  ‘No idea, I’ve not seen them for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Did they talk about what they had been up to recently?’

  Theresa was shaking her head. ‘I assume it was probably illegal. I told you, Inspector: I wanted none of it. Mind you, I’m not surprised they had enemies. They were often in the papers, accused of this and that. John had been to prison on more than one occasion. I don’t know which one.’

  ‘You didn’t visit him?’

  ‘No.’ Theresa lit a cigarette and threw the lighter on the coffee table. ‘I thought that my disapproval would help him see sense, like it did his father. I was kidding myself. I’d already lost him and his brother. To be honest, they were good for nothing else. God forbid that they would get a regular job and settle down. Money was all they cared about. And before you ask, I never took a penny from either of them.’

  Kate couldn’t help but be impressed by the woman’s ability to keep a rein on her emotions.
Given the same circumstances, she knew she wouldn’t have. This woman had seen some shit in her lifetime, the kind that hardens people. No wonder she had wanted to leave it all behind in Scotland and turn her life around. From the look of her penthouse, she’d certainly done that. Such a shame her sons hadn’t followed suit.

  The phone rang out a couple of times and was ignored.

  ‘I don’t expect you to believe this,’ Theresa said, ‘but when John and Terry were with me, they were just my boys, loving and generous, everything a mother could possibly want or wish for. John especially. After his father died, I don’t know how I’d have got through it without him. They were in Spain together when it happened. A golfing holiday – boy’s stuff, y’know.’

  A tear formed in Theresa’s left eye. A tiny liquid balloon sat on her bottom lid for what seemed like an age before gravity made it splash on to her bare shoulder. She brushed it away, composure returning. She took a long, deep drag on her cigarette. Smoke curled around her mouth as she moved it away.

  Studying her closely, Kate was very much aware that she still had the hardest part to face. She couldn’t shrink from it: certain facts had to be disclosed. Theresa’s sons had both been tortured. How could she tell her that she only need identify the younger of the two, that formal identification by next of kin would be impossible in John’s case? It would destroy her.

  Theresa was still talking. ‘I chose not to ask my sons questions I didn’t want answers to, Inspector. I don’t suppose that makes any sense to you, does it? But that was the only way I could cope.’

  ‘I understand.’ Kate had met many parents who followed the same policy.

  It was time.

  She told Theresa the truth, conveying the information as sensitively as she was able; only what she needed to know, nothing more. She was relieved that the mother didn’t want specifics. In possession of an address for Terry’s wife and John’s girlfriend, Kate made arrangements for Theresa to view the body and for a Family Liaison Officer to call, then left the woman to grieve alone.