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

by Mari Hannah

  Dr Maria Benitez’s consulting rooms were in Quesada. Kate arrived as they were closing for lunch. An attempt to see the doctor was met with a resounding ‘no’. Hardly surprising. Even with the funds to pay for it, Kate didn’t expect to get in quite that easily. She’d have to come at the problem from a different angle. Beyond the reception desk was the means to do just that. Benitez’s photo and that of other doctors were displayed on the wall.

  Kate smiled.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the receptionist said. ‘You must leave now. We are closing.

  Thanking her, Kate went outside. A sign on the door said the surgery wouldn’t reopen until four o’clock, so she waited. When Benitez left the building and got in her car, Kate seized on the one chance she might get. In a flash, she opened the passenger door and climbed in too. Visibly shocked, the doctor tried to get out again.

  Kate leaned across her, grabbed hold of the door and held on tight.

  ‘What do you want?’ Benitez was clearly frightened.

  ‘I’m not going to harm you,’ Kate said.

  They were about the same age, Benitez the better dressed. Better looking. Her eyes were so dark it was almost impossible to distinguish her pupils from her irises. She had perfect white teeth. This close, Kate could smell spearmint on her breath.

  ‘What do you want?’ she repeated. ‘I have money.’

  Letting go of the driver’s door, Kate said: ‘I don’t want your money, Maria.’

  The doctor scrutinized her, confused by the use of her name.

  ‘I want to die in the UK,’ Kate said. ‘And live a long and healthy life in Spain.’

  ‘I can’t help you.’ The woman avoided eye contact.

  ‘But you do know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Please leave. You are mad, I don’t do this thing.’

  ‘What thing is that then?’

  ‘I can’t make you disappear.’ Her English was perfect.

  ‘Brian Allen says you can.’

  Kate slapped a brown paper bag on the dash, thick and heavy. Benitez looked at it, a flicker of interest she couldn’t hide. Although the car was parked in the shade, the heat coming in through the window was tremendous. But the doctor’s high colour and the perspiration on her forehead had nothing to do with the temperature inside the vehicle.

  She made no reply.

  ‘Where is he?’ Kate asked. ‘I’ve not seen him in a while, I need to find him.’

  The morning flew by. Back in La Manga, Kate found Hank sitting outside La Barra tapas bar on a circular terrace with a lovely view of the mountains beyond. He gave the impression that he was like any other tourist on holiday; enjoying time off in the sun, shades on, a glass of something cool in front of him, nowt troubling him.

  An English newspaper was on the table. The front-page headline: A Fitting Tribute Rises from the Ashes of Ground Zero. Images the world would never forget forced their way into Kate’s head. Eleven years on from 9/11, a memorial to the victims who died in the World Trade Centre was finally visible.

  Terrorists would never win.

  A cool breeze blew between the building and the trees. Kate was glad of it. After spending an hour in the car, she needed to escape the searing heat. She sat down. The restaurant was very popular, not a table empty in sun or shade. A glance at the menu told her why. It served up wonderful Spanish cuisine but also catered for the English palate.

  ‘Apple crumble . . . really?’ She screwed up her face. ‘How can anyone eat a heavy pudding in the heat of the day? What do people come abroad for, if not to experience something different?’

  ‘It’s like home from home.’ Hank grinned. ‘On Sundays they even have roast beef and Yorkshires. According to the owners, you can’t get shifted at lunchtime. They have to bring in extra staff to cope with demand.’

  ‘They’re Brits?’

  ‘Yeah, nice young couple, friendly enough to sit down and have a conversation about you know who. They don’t know O’Kane. They’re not too sure about Brian. The husband seemed to think he was familiar, but the wife didn’t recognize him and she’s the one who waits on tables, so don’t get too excited. Let’s face it, he looks much the same as other men of his age.’

  ‘Did you show them the picture of John?’

  Hank gave her a nod. ‘Didn’t register.’

  They ordered a glass of wine and some local food: chorizo, chickpea and pepper salad; garlic and chilli prawns; cubes of potato in a spicy tomato sauce. As they ate, Hank advised her that his search of the golf club had come to nothing. There was no sign of either man at the clubhouse and therefore nothing of interest to feed to the incident room in the UK. He leaned forward, placed an elbow on the table, his earlier enthusiasm a little depleted.

  ‘You fare any better?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe.’ Kate could see herself and the customers around them reflected in his sunglasses. She lowered her voice, making sure they weren’t overheard. ‘I lucked out totally at the medical centre. Nothing doing at the local shops either. Then I drove north in search of a certain doctor of dubious character. I got to see her, eventually.’

  Hank leaned in. ‘And?’

  ‘Guilty as sin.’

  ‘She admitted it?’

  ‘Do I look like a woman you mess with?’ She gave him a crazed face that made him laugh. ‘Carmichael was spot on. Insulin won’t last much longer than a month. Benitez last saw Brian on thirtieth August, when she gave him the drug. She said he was agitated, a clear sign he was in need of medication. It’s the eleventh of September now. By my calculation, he’s got a couple or three weeks’ worth left before he has to find some more.’

  ‘From Benitez?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Kate swatted a fly away from her meal. ‘She’s driven off with an envelope full of paper she thinks is money. I lied, told her I wasn’t interested in her deception. She came clean in exchange for my silence, silly woman. Local police should be picking her up soon. She will of course deny our conversation ever took place. Ta-daa!’ Kate held up her iPhone, a big smile on her face. ‘I captured her admission on here. She’ll be struck off for sure and will be going down if Chavez has anything to do with it. That’ll stop the bastard crowing about British fugitives in his country.’

  ‘Yeah, but if Brian gets desperate and can’t raise her, he’ll break into a chemist.’

  ‘Which is precisely what I told Chavez. He’ll feed us any burglaries as and when they occur. Didn’t you get any whiff this morning?’

  Hank waggled his hand from side to side. ‘Not sure.’

  ‘What did you get?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He stretched out in the sun, crossing his legs at the ankles, linking his hands behind his head. ‘I did six rounds of the hotel corridors, one every half-hour. There’s a sign on the door of room 210 that bothers me.’

  ‘Sign?’

  ‘POR FAVOR – NO MOLESTAR! I made discreet enquiries with the chambermaid. Whoever booked the room has been in there a couple of days. In all that time, the sign has been hanging on the door. He – and it is a he according to my new best friend; I tipped her well – never has turn-down service at night and she can’t get in to clean the room in the daytime.’

  ‘She’s seen him?’ Kate asked.

  ‘No, so she can’t make the identification, unfortunately.’

  ‘So, how come she knows it’s a bloke in there?’

  ‘She knocked on his door. He barked at her to shove off.’

  ‘Nationality?’

  ‘English or American – English-speaking, certainly.’

  ‘Dialect?’

  Hank pulled an are-you-kidding face. ‘She wouldn’t know one accent from another.’

  That was unfortunate, but the news set Kate’s imagination off and running. Maybe Craig O’Kane was holed up here, watching and waiting for Brian to show himself. With no idea O’Kane was in the country, let alone in La Manga, chances were that if Brian was also at the resort, he was playing golf. Kate was in room 308, Hank in 305, bot
h with views of the eighteenth hole. The DCI was sure that room 210 on the floor below would share that view. All O’Kane had to do was wait until his target came strolling up the fairway and pick him off. She could almost hear the shot ring out and pictured Brian dropping to his knees.

  She studied Hank. ‘You don’t look too excited.’

  ‘It feels too easy.’

  Kate knew what he meant. Maybe she was clutching at straws.

  Still . . .

  ‘The guy in 210 is probably hooked up with a married woman,’ Hank said. ‘Or maybe the lucky bugger has a sex slave in there. I could do with one of those myself. Wish I’d bought Julie along.’

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  Kate felt hot, her eyes settling on anything but Hank. A thought occurred as she turned back to face him. ‘Even sex slaves have to eat,’ she said.

  ‘How do you know?’ Hank grinned.

  Kate laughed. ‘Just because the sign is on the door, it doesn’t mean that he’s actually in there. I stick mine on when I’m working, when I need a kip, but also when I leave the room because I can’t be doing with people poking around in my stuff. Whoever’s in there is either going in and out to eat or getting room service. So which is it?’

  ‘Dunno. I’ll ask the chambermaid to find out and check in with her later.’

  ‘Fine. If he doesn’t show himself soon, we’ll get Spanish police to collar the hotel management. Provided we can get access to the room next door, we could be in business. As you say, it might be nothing . . .’

  ‘Anything is worth a try.’

  Hank raised his wine, hoping that finally they had reason to celebrate.

  64

  Before the day was out, confirmation had come through from hotel staff that the man in room 210 hadn’t moved, at least not during the day. His room-service bill was hefty. He’d eaten well and regularly, drinking only the finest wine. He’d made no calls from the hotel phone. Hadn’t signed on for any broadband connection or ordered any newspapers. He’d accessed a number of adult movies on his TV, all between the hours of midday and eight o’clock in the evening, one of which Hank had also viewed.

  ‘It was good too.’ He made a smiley face. ‘Any chance expenses will cover—’

  ‘None,’ Kate cut in. ‘You want porn, spend your own money on it.’

  ‘We could share!’

  ‘Behave!’

  His pet lip made her laugh.

  They were sitting on a semi-circular settee in hotel reception savouring a cool drink. Apart from one guest who sat typing on a mobile tablet, they had the space to themselves. Everyone else was out enjoying the sunshine, keeping fit – something Kate wished she was doing too.

  Hank nodded towards the reception desk where three very smart clerks stood waiting. ‘How did you get on with them?’

  ‘I spoke to the manager. Nice man. He’s keen to cooperate. Even keener to avoid any embarrassment or, God forbid, threatening development that might upset or injure a hair on the head of one of his guests. Can’t say I blame him. He has a reputation to uphold. His upmarket clientele won’t take kindly to rubbing shoulders with a tooled-up Glaswegian thug.’

  ‘Don’t suppose they will. So what’s the plan?’

  Kate thought for a moment. ‘The way I see it, O’Kane is slipping out at night in search of Brian, watching the course during the day hoping to spot him.’

  ‘Good luck to him. We’ve not managed it.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what bothers me. It’s unlikely O’Kane will find him from the comfort of his room. Like us, he needs to move around. Ask questions. Flash the cash. I think he’s out at night doing just that. Probably has a few hours’ kip when he gets in, then amuses himself until he can go out again. I need to examine his room, but his curtains are drawn and I can’t see in. That’s where you come in.’

  Dressed as a hotel maintenance man, Hank knocked at the door of room 210. There was a spyhole in the panel facing him. Wondering if anyone was on the other end of it checking him out, he knocked again. When there was no reply, he used his master key to access the room, calling out as he pushed open the door.

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’

  Cocking his head to one side, Hank listened. He scanned the room without making it obvious he was doing so. In his peripheral left vision was a cupboard big enough to hide in. Directly ahead, net curtains were drawn across patio doors obscuring his view of the balcony. O’Kane could be out there, waiting.

  Improbable.

  Kate would spot him.

  Hank had timed his entry into the room knowing his boss would be outside.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out. ‘Sir?’

  As he waited for a response, his eyes homed in on a bag on the floor . . . a light tan Hidesign leather holdall, exactly like the one Lisa described O’Kane carrying when captured on CCTV at the easyJet check-in desk while his boarding pass was being processed at Glasgow airport. As quickly as his spirits rose, Hank’s enthusiasm plummeted. On the table above the bag, an open laptop pointed in his direction, a red light blinking above the centre of the screen.

  Surveillance camera.

  The fact that the owner could pinpoint exactly where he was in the room from a remote device spooked Hank a little. He was glad of the Kevlar Kate insisted he wear underneath his overalls. Despite the weight of the protective vest, and the fact that it made him leak like a colander, it would give him half a chance of survival should O’Kane charge at him with a knife or pull a gun.

  Although he’d rather not be there, Hank had no choice but to carry on pretending he was part of the hotel staff who’d come to fix a leak. Double doors led into the spacious bathroom. He rounded the bed, which was rumpled and unmade. Putting an ear to the bathroom door, he knocked gently. ‘Excuse me, sir? I have to check your bathroom. There’s been a complaint from the floor below. Hello? Sir, are you in there?’ Sliding the doors open, Hank poked his head in, his heart hammering in his chest.

  Silence.

  A second sliding door led to the WC. The shower curtain over the bath was closed. Taking a lungful of breath, Hank checked the shower first, then slid the toilet door open. Nothing. He unbuttoned his overalls, pulled out his penis and had a pee to justify opening the door. Fortunately, due to the copious amounts of water he’d consumed throughout the day – something he never drank at home – he had a full bladder. The sound of urine splashing into the pan below left nothing to the imagination should O’Kane be listening in.

  Kate certainly was.

  With a wry smile on his face, Hank flushed the loo, washed his hands in the left of two sinks and dried them on his work overalls.

  He relaxed.

  If O’Kane had been hiding out in the room he’d have known about it by now. Getting down on his knees, Hank opened up his toolbox and proceeded to take the bath panel off. It came away easily. Whistling as he worked, he fiddled around for about ten minutes and then pretended to call a colleague on the bathroom phone, telling him he’d tightened up the dripping pipe, asking him to check that the leak was fixed in the room below.

  Thanking the dialling tone, he hung up and packed his tools away.

  When he was ready to leave, he took a few hairs from the shower tray, placed them in an evidence bag and put them in his pocket. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Giving his ear a scratch, he spoke into his sleeve. ‘Where are you?’

  Kate’s voice came through his earpiece: ‘Service room. Far end of the corridor.’

  ‘Target not present,’ he said.

  Seconds later, he reached her.

  Kate looked at him expectantly as he walked in. ‘Are you sure it was his room?’

  ‘Hundred per cent. Unless someone else has the exact same bag he carried through Glasgow airport and all he packed was one change of clothes and a toothbrush. He forgot his cologne. The room reeks of alcohol and stale sweat. I think we’ve been rumbled anyhow. He’s got a webcam watching the door. Pound to a penny it’ll be linked to his
iPhone. It’ll go beep. He’ll clock me entering his room and do a runner. I carried on with the facade of fixing a leak, but I doubt he’ll buy it. All we can do is wait.’

  Kate rubbed her face. O’Kane was clever.

  They both knew he was long gone.

  65

  They spent a couple more days lying in wait, but in the end Hank’s suspicions were confirmed. O’Kane had disappeared into the ether, leaving no trace. There had been no further activity in room 210, no room service, no movies ordered nor bill paid. That came as no surprise to Kate. Even dressed as a maintenance man, her DS looked like a policeman.

  The only sensible option open to the DCI was to move in and seize what she could. When she did so, there was nothing of interest. The Hidesign bag contained a change of clothes and toiletries, nothing more. There was a pair of shorts and a crumpled T-shirt hung up on the bathroom door. Chavez’s men took away a toothbrush and comb for DNA analysis. They didn’t need it. No one was under any illusions as to whom the items belonged.

  With no clue as to where O’Kane might be, local police made enquiries along the Mar Menor. With one hundred and fifty kilometres to cover, it was like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. Chavez didn’t complain. As part of Operation Captura, he was as keen to apprehend Kate’s target as she was. Besides, it was well worth a shout. Even in September, that stretch of coastline was rarely busy. It was very Spanish there, not home from home for the English like the main resort areas.

  While his men checked all the obvious places, Kate and Hank stayed close to La Manga. All morning, they had scoured Mar de Cristal, named after the crystal-clear waters on that part of the coast.

  Looking out over shimmering waters, Kate turned her attention to the La Manga strip on the horizon to her right, a beautiful sight, especially so accompanied by the sounds of a flamenco guitar drifting from the garden of a small cafe across the promenade behind her. The tranquillity of the lagoon and warmth of the sun on her bare arms did nothing to calm her frustration.

  ‘We lost him,’ she said, without turning her head. ‘We bloody lost him!’