Killing for Keeps (14 page)

W
ithin minutes, she was tearing across the Tyne Bridge heading south. Despite Towner’s warning to come alone, Hank was in the passenger seat in case they needed to bring
him back. Kate had only once made the mistake of driving an offender somewhere on her own and nearly came to grief when the mad woman grabbed the steering wheel on the coast road at seventy miles
an hour. She’d vowed never to do it again.

Turning left out of Gateshead town centre she took the Felling bypass. Frustration getting the better of her, she glanced at her watch but then forced herself to ease off the accelerator rather
than risk being flashed by speed cameras on a road notorious for catching drivers out. Hank yawned, settling back in his seat for the journey as she pressed on, passing a sign for South Shields,
then turning right on to the A19 towards Sunderland and Teesside.

On a good day it would take an hour and a half to get to her destination, never mind find the premises her snout had chosen as a rendezvous. The miles flashed by in silence. They barely
exchanged a word, and at one point Hank fell asleep. That was fine by her. It gave her time to think, an opportunity to calm down. She’d need her wits about her if Towner came across with
vital information that might tip the enquiry on its head. As Jo had rightly pointed out, McKenzie and the O’Kanes were hard to handle. They weren’t about to put their hands in the air
and come quietly.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Hank stirred in his seat, his eyes blinking open. Taking in their current position, he yawned, apologized for sending the zeds up for the best part of their
journey. ‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Want me to drive?’

Kate shook her head. ‘Looks like we’ll make it,’ she said.

‘Where’s the meeting place?’ He peered out of the window in search of a road sign.

‘Whitby.’

‘Where?’

She gave him an odd look. ‘North Yorkshire.’

‘Yeah, I’ve got a Geography O Level. I meant where in Whitby?’

‘I don’t know.’ She’d been to Botham’s many times with her mother. It was an institution in the seaside town, reputed to be the oldest surviving teashop of its kind
in Britain. ‘Look up the postcode and plug it into the satnav on my phone, will you?’

Hank did as she asked and then called the office. Progress was mixed: Brown was still working with staff from the QC club. With the doorman-cum-bouncer’s help, he’d identified and
traced more clubbers. That was good, but there was bad news too. Most were uncommunicative, claiming they’d been so pissed by midnight, they couldn’t remember their own names, let alone
ID anyone making trouble. No one would admit to knowing the Allen brothers – hardly surprising, under the circumstances.

P
ushing open the door, Kate and Hank stepped inside. Despite the fact that the tearoom was due to close in a little over twenty minutes, a line of customers were queuing at the
counter to be served. Mounting the stairs to the restaurant was like entering another era. The place had the genteel atmosphere of a bygone age. A courteous young woman behind the till greeted them
on the floor above. Kate told her they were meeting someone. The girl led them to a table near the window, taking their order for a pot of tea, much needed after their frantic search for Towner in
Newcastle and the long drive south.

Problem was, the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

‘I hope he’s not playing silly buggers,’ Kate said under her breath.

Hank grimaced. ‘Why here and not in a pub?’

Kate shrugged. ‘Well, we’re not going to meet any riff-raff or angry gangsters here, are we?’

‘This him?’ Hank flicked his eyes to a customer arriving.

‘No, relax.’

‘What’s he look like?’

Before she had time to answer, Towner appeared at the top of the stairs, more nervous and bedraggled than usual. As soon as he clocked Hank, he ran. Kate gave chase, belting down the stairs
after him, out through the open door and along the road. He’d run the wrong way; Towner was in no condition for an uphill marathon. Dodging in and out of pedestrians, the DCI closed the
distance and seized him by the collar. She swung him round, uncomfortably aware that the pursuit had attracted attention. Not wanting anyone to call the law, she hissed in his ear:

‘Walk!’

Towner shrugged her off. ‘We had an arrangement,’ he reminded her. ‘Come alone or no deal. You’ve always insisted on that. You can’t change the fucking rules just
because it suits you.’

‘Your fault!’ she said. ‘How the hell was I going to get here on time without someone to park up if I had to abandon my car? Now get walking.’

Towner set off. ‘Who was he anyway? Your minder?’

‘A colleague, you daft sod – who the hell d’you think? And he’s trustworthy, so if you ever need me and I’m not around, ask for DS Gormley and he’ll sort you
out. He’s a good bloke. You two share the same dry sense of humour. You might have found that out if you’d stuck around.’

At the top of the street they turned right, heading for the sea. A few moments later, they sat down on a bench facing a vast expanse of shimmering water with nothing whatsoever on the horizon.
It was a view that would normally lift the spirits, but neither Kate nor Towner were in the mood to sightsee. She wanted information. He wanted money. It didn’t take long for him to ask for
it.

‘I’d like to help you out,’ he said, ‘But it’ll take a shedload of cash to make it worth my while. By the way, you can have this back.’ He handed her the
mobile she’d given him. It was smashed to pieces. ‘I want out. This is too heavy for me.’

‘So tell me something I don’t already know. Three people are dead, Towner. I need you to help me before anyone else gets hurt.’

‘Like me, you mean?’ Glowering at her, he lit a cigarette.

Kate could see how spooked he was. He dropped his head into shaky hands, smoke drifting through his fingers, his nails bitten to the quick. Right this minute she could do with a fag herself, a
large drink to go with it, a nice hot bath, scented candles and good music.

Like that was on the cards anytime soon!

‘I want you off my back, once’n for all,’ he mumbled.

‘Up to you,’ Kate said. ‘You come across for me this time, I might forget our alliance permanently.’

‘You mean it?’ He wiped a thin film of sweat from his upper lip.

‘Depends. You need to start talking to me. Christ’s sake, you have the chance to do some good for once. Please, Towner, I need your help to get this shit off the streets.’ Her
plea went unanswered. Time to up the ante and stop buggering about. ‘OK, you had your chance. When I catch those bastards, I’ll make it my business to let them know the information came
from you. How’s that sound?’

He glared at her. ‘I gave you nowt!’

Kate got to her feet. ‘They won’t know that.’

‘You can’t do that,’ he protested.

‘I’m a copper. We can’t afford ethics. Who’s Amanda?’

Towner’s expression was inscrutable.

‘I will make it worth your while.’ Taking fifty pounds from her wallet, Kate sat down, placing it on the bench between them, keeping her hand on top so it didn’t blow away. It
was her own money, nothing she could claim back from the force on account of his unofficial status, but she didn’t care. It would be worth it to see the O’Kane brothers banged up.

‘I need an address,’ she said. ‘Tell me where Amanda lives or where I might find her. Then you can start talking about the O’Kanes.’

Towner said nothing.

Sliding the cash out from under her hand, he looked out to sea, letting out a big sigh. For a moment, she thought he’d come across. Then he bolted from the seat, taking her completely by
surprise.

The sound of screeching brakes and the thump as the car hit him made her shudder.

A small crowd had gathered by the time she made it off the pavement. Barging her way through to the front, she knelt down beside him, her heart kicking a hole in her chest from the inside. He
stared at her through fading eyes as bubbles of blood spilled out of the left side of his mouth, ran down his cheek, settling on the tarmac beneath him.

An elderly woman arrived on the scene. Punching numbers into a mobile phone, she lifted it to her ear, her eyes on Kate. The woman was sheet-white, having witnessed the accident from the other
side of the main road.

‘He just ran,’ she said. ‘Do you know him?’

Kate shook her head.

She was vaguely aware of a female voice asking for police and ambulance. The elderly witness was explaining their location, telling the operator what she’d seen. Traumatized and bloodied,
Kate looked down at Towner, feeling guilty for having denied him. Then Hank’s voice came from left field:
Poor sod! Anyone know him? Anyone see what happened?
People were shaking
their heads. The consensus of opinion was that Towner ran off the pavement into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

‘What an idiot!’ someone said. ‘The poor driver had no chance of avoiding him.’

‘Yeah, tragic.’ A young woman’s voice trailed off.

The sound of emergency vehicles could be heard in the distance. Towner stirred, tried to speak, something Kate couldn’t make out. She leaned forward, her ear to his mouth. She could almost
feel his dying breath on her cheek as he repeated it.

‘What did he say?’ the elderly witness asked.

Kate lied: ‘He said his name was Alan Townsend.’

The woman pointed at the approaching ambulance. ‘I’ll let them know.’

Kate looked down at Towner, gave his hand a squeeze, reassuring him that help was imminent. What he’d actually said was ‘Amanda’. As she removed her hand, he grabbed at it,
keeping a tight hold. ‘Across the street from Grant’s . . .’ He coughed, a spray of red spotting his chin. ‘Blue door.’

T
he large, steady hand on her shoulder was familiar. Hank pulled her back as the ambulance crew emerged with the stretcher, one medic shouting at the crowd to give them room to
do their jobs. Kate glanced over her shoulder, feeling the weight of guilt eat away at her insides. She met the eyes of her DS. There were no accusations there, just an expression of total
incredulity. He was talking to her but Towner’s words were louder . . .

I want you off my back once’n for all.

Kate was struggling to put one foot in front of the other as they left the scene. In her head, she pictured the medics checking for signs of life. They were wasting their time; the minute
he’d uttered the words ‘blue door’ Towner was gone. She had her information, but at what cost?

Have I ever let you down?

‘I pushed him too far,’ she cried. Her words were almost inaudible, her explanation incoherent and jumbled as she tried to justify her actions. Hank still had his hand on her
shoulder, steering her clear of onlookers flooding the scene to gawp at Towner’s crumpled shape lying in the middle of the road.

‘He ran of his own free will,’ Hank said. ‘I saw that much. You’re not a psychic. You couldn’t have predicted that, Kate. No one could.’

‘Yeah, well maybe I should have.’ Palming her forehead, she stopped walking and drew in a long breath. She studied her professional partner, desperation in her eyes. ‘I was
seen, Hank! I was seen chasing him from the teashop, grabbing the silly bastard in the street. Jesus! I could lose my job over this. I’ve got to come clean. We have to go back.’

‘Are you serious?’ He swung her round as she tried to walk away, held on to her. ‘That’s bordering on professional suicide, and you know it. There’s nothing you can
do for him. Let’s go.’ His eyes held a warning she couldn’t take in.

Incapable of straight thinking, she could only blurt, ‘I can’t!’

‘Yes, you can. Calm down and think about this for a minute.’ He pulled her away from other pedestrians, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘You go back and you’ll be
suspended for months. You’ll never see SIO again. There’ll be an enquiry. You know how it works when you’re a copper – guilty or innocent, you’re shafted. Are you
prepared to lose your rank and possibly your job over a piece of shit like Towner?’

‘It’s not as simple as—’

‘Yes, it is. You didn’t chase him. He ran away. You didn’t push him under the car. He. Ran. Away. You weren’t putting him under any pressure whatsoever.’

Kate couldn’t concentrate with him glaring at her like she’d gone completely mad.

‘Walk away,’ he said. ‘You went off-piste. No point losing your bottle now. For Christ’s sakes, get a grip!’

Hank was right about one thing – she hadn’t been in pursuit of Towner when he legged it. He’d jumped up and bolted before she knew what was happening, there was no way she
could be held responsible.

So why did she feel that she was?

Towner was a weak individual. Vulnerable. Always had been. Someone she could push around at will in order to get results – a fact she’d frequently taken advantage of, over the years.
Informants were how detectives got lucky, how they cracked cases, earned recognition, achieved promotion. Nevertheless, she feared what she was turning into for the good of the job.

Hank told her she was talking rubbish. Towner was a loser, destined for a sticky end. He had no one. No family to mourn his passing. No one who cared enough to make a complaint or demand an
enquiry from the Independent Police Complaints Commission. He wouldn’t have told a soul that he knew her, for fear of losing street cred.

‘And now he can’t tell,’ he added. ‘So think yourself lucky. Jesus! He even gave you the phone back!’

‘If that’s supposed to make me feel good, it doesn’t.’

‘Well, it should.’ Hank strapped himself in. ‘We need to head back.’

Kate didn’t move.

‘We were never here,’ Hank said. ‘No one is going to come looking. Towner is an RTA statistic. All the witnesses said it was his fault—’

‘He held my hand, Hank!’

‘Exactly – you were there for him at the end when no one else was. You think he’d have told you about Amanda if he blamed you in any way?’

She hadn’t thought of that.

‘Drive,’ he said.

As she drove away, he held up his phone. ‘Do I make that call?’

Nodding, she put her foot down, putting as much distance between herself and Whitby as she could without attracting a speeding ticket. Hank phoned the office, asking Carmichael to check out the
information on Amanda as discreetly as possible. Three-quarters of an hour later, Lisa rang back. Amanda was indeed living behind the blue door opposite Grant’s.

‘Shoot, Lisa.’ Kate put the phone on speaker. ‘Who is she and what did she have to say for herself?’

‘Last name Hitchins,’ Carmichael said. ‘Claims she broke up with John a few days before he died. Wanted him to leave Vicky. He refused, on account of the kid. John adored him,
apparently, even though he wasn’t sure he was the father. And no, he didn’t call Amanda Thursday night. I checked her phone. She’s playing it straight, boss. Looks like you were
right. It must’ve been McKenzie he was phoning. We might have some news on that, by the way. Neil has the gen. OK if I put him on?’

Unable to hide the disappointment in her voice, Kate told her to go ahead. Finding Amanda had seemed vitally important earlier in the day. The fact that she had no information that would take
the enquiry any further was a bitter blow. Towner had died for nothing, and Kate couldn’t live with that.

Maxwell came on the line, forcing her to concentrate.

‘What you got for me, Neil?’

‘Call came in earlier from an off-duty copper, Dixie Price.’

‘The name means nothing to me.’

‘It won’t. He’s from Durham force. Claims he has good intel on McKenzie’s whereabouts. As you and Hank are out and about already, Robbo figured you might like to meet
with him personally. He’s waiting to hear from you.’

Maxwell reeled off a number.

‘Did you check him out?’ Kate asked.

‘Yup. According to those in the know, he’s a good bloke. His supervision said if he has information you can be sure it’ll be kosher.’