Killing for Keeps (22 page)

S
unday 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.

You’re the only one placing barriers in our way
.

Kate knew she was right.

The thought that their relationship might still have some life in it lifted her spirits as she showered and brushed her teeth. Within twenty minutes, she was on her way to work with renewed
determination to solve her case and plan some time off afterwards. It wouldn’t be for long though. Ambitious police officers didn’t ask for special dispensation for an extended period
of leave, not if they knew what was good for them. It didn’t show the right level of commitment – at least, that was how it would be viewed upstairs. A sabbatical was out of the
question. If she took one of those, she’d be guaranteed a job at the end of it, but not necessarily the one she already had. HR might put her back in uniform and she wouldn’t risk
that.

S
he arrived at the incident room at six forty-five. It was exactly as she’d left it the night before. No one in yet, no laughter or chatter, no hum of the well-oiled
machine that was the Murder Investigation Team. Her office smelled faintly of alcohol. The shot glasses were gone, tidied away by the cleaner, not the best impression for a DCI to give. What the
hell? It had never happened before in all her years in the force. She had enough to fret about without adding to the list.

Drinking copious amounts of water to rehydrate her body and downing a couple of painkillers for her aching head, Kate even managed a bacon sandwich from the staff canteen to soak up the alcohol.
By seven-thirty, she’d completed her admin. She’d made a few phone calls, including one to Trewitt. He was tied up in a meeting. She hoped it meant good news. Leaving a message for him
to get in touch, she put down her mobile as Hank arrived in the doorway. Gone was the bedraggled look, the five o’clock shadow he’d been sporting when last seen. He was freshly shaven
and raring to go.

She felt guilty for having doubted him.

The tenth morning briefing was due to get underway at nine o’clock. Bright surprised everyone by arriving at the MIR unannounced. He gave no valid reason for wanting to sit in, made out
that he had nothing better to do on this fine Sunday morning, mitigating his presence by reminding everyone that he knew the Allen family well. He’d taken a personal interest in the case and
was curious to know how things were progressing.

Kate wasn’t fooled. It was all bollocks.

Bright was shadowing her – protecting her – something he’d done for nearly fifteen years. After her first case as SIO, he’d stopped doing it. Until now. He wasn’t
exactly treating her like a rookie, but not far off. Although she didn’t like it, she had to accept that he was genuinely worried about her. So she bit the bullet, pushing away any residual
ill-feeling, hoping to convince him she was perfectly well and capable of carrying out her duties without interference or anyone holding her hand.

The noise in the room increased as the squad took their seats.

The murder wall had been updated. Under Finn O’Kane’s image, his name was underlined. Beneath it someone had written the words:
Deceased – TIE action
ongoing
. Kate stood up, signalling that she was ready to start. She began by confirming that there was no new intelligence on the whereabouts of Craig O’Kane, and no evidence that
any of McKenzie’s cronies had been involved in the murder of Finn O’Kane.

Kate was inclined to believe McKenzie. ‘If I’ve read him right,’ she said, ‘although he joked about throwing a party when he found out Finn was dead, he was shocked by
the news. I’m certain of it. He tried very hard to mask his surprise.’

Andy Brown was nodding. ‘I agree with the boss. He couldn’t hide it.’

‘So,’ Kate said. ‘If he wasn’t behind Finn’s death, then who was? Unless—’

Her phone rang.

‘Unless?’ Bright said. ‘You going to enlighten us?’

Kate ran a hand through her hair as she took in the display on her mobile phone. She looked up. ‘It’s Trewitt, guv. I’ve been waiting on news from Scotland. I’m hoping
this is it.’

The Chief Super nodded his consent for her to take the call.

To avoid wasting precious time relaying everything that was said to the team, she put the phone on speaker. There was a short delay before Trewitt came on the line.

‘Guess whose print was on the windscreen of Finn’s car?’ he asked.

The squad were all ears. He’d asked the question in a way that implied Kate must know the answer. And it turned out she did. Overpowering O’Kane and strapping him to his vehicle took
strength, suggesting that the person responsible was a well-built male. The handprint was
definitely
male. There were few possibilities from which to choose. If it wasn’t McKenzie or
one of his associates, it had to be Finn’s brother, Craig, or . . .
who else, who else?
It was the question Kate had been asking herself all morning. The answer had come to her in a
flash. It had been on the tip of her tongue when the phone rang.

‘Brian,’ she said. ‘Brian Allen.’

‘No one likes a clever shit,’ Trewitt replied. ‘How did you work it out?’

‘Process of elimination.’ Kate ignored a round of quiet applause.

A
s she put the phone down, Bright stood up, still clapping his hands in a show of appreciation. A little choked by the gesture, Kate managed to hide it well. There was no doubt
that it was a pivotal moment in the case. It explained so much, most importantly the issue that had bugged her since day one: the identity of the person John Allen was calling on the night he died.
She had her answer. He was screaming for his father’s help when he made that call.

‘Jesus! The guy’s got some neck,’ someone said, pulling her back into the room.

The nerve it must’ve taken to pull off Finn’s death under the noses of three police forces and get away scot-free – especially when you were dead – required a certain
level of
je ne sais quoi
. It didn’t surprise Bright. According to him, Brian was the most audacious criminal he’d ever come across. Fearless too. But even Bright had to admit,
he hadn’t seen that one coming.

‘A legend in his time,’ he said. ‘Not one to use violence for the sake of it, but if someone crossed him he’d get his revenge – and then some. If Finn’d had a
hand in killing his sons, he’d have no qualms using a vehicle to squash him like a fly against the wall until his eyes bled. He would have walked away without giving the matter a second
thought.’

‘Nowt wrong with an eye for an eye,’ Robson said emphatically. ‘Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. I’d be prepared to swing if anyone touched my
laddie.’

‘Too right,’ Hank added, the only other father among them.

Bright was nodding. ‘Now can you see why I liked him?’

‘I’m beginning to like him too,’ Hank said.

Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Will you lot listen to yourselves? Revenge was the motive that triggered the violence in the first place. It solves nothing. Anyway, Brian is Strathclyde’s
problem, not ours. All
they
have to do is find a dead man. Dead or alive,
we
still have to prove a case against Finn and the evidence, so far, is circumstantial. We might be
convinced of his guilt, but that’s not enough.’

‘The DCI is right,’ Bright said. ‘You need to find Craig before Brian does and get a confession out of him.’

Hank looked at him. ‘Guv, with all due respect that’s as likely as my being appointed Chief by the end of the day.’

A chuckle went round the room.

Kate didn’t need reminding that if Brian got to Craig first it would change things dramatically. It would mean she’d have to prove the case to Bright, rather than a court of law. If
both brothers were dead, before the case could be classed as detected and written off in the system, it had to satisfy the head of CID. The report she’d have to write would be lengthy.
She’d have to prove beyond the bounds of possibility that the O’Kanes were responsible for John and Terry Allen’s deaths. It would be a massive undertaking, one she’d do
anything to avoid.

‘I need proof, guys,’ she said. ‘No ifs or buts.’

‘You have
no
real evidence?’ Bright asked.

Kate was shaking her head.

Carmichael was the first to offer an answer. ‘I hate to state the obvious, but Bethany Miller was the only witness we’re aware of and she’s dead. The van was burned out and
SOCO say there’s nothing in it of use to us. The only other thing we have is the young lad who saw a flash of ginger hair in the Range Rover in close proximity to Silverlink at silly
o’clock the morning the Allen brothers croaked.’

‘Bring him in,’ Bright said. ‘Put an album of redheads in front of him.’

Carmichael advised that she was on it. ‘I don’t hold out much hope, though. The Range Rover was being driven at speed. Can’t see him making a positive ID, can you?’

‘Anything else?’ Bright asked.

Most team members were scratching their heads.

‘Brian seems to think he was guilty,’ Hank said. ‘The man’s been officially dead and buried for years. Why would he come back to life to right a wrong if he wasn’t
one hundred per cent sure Finn had something to do with his sons’ deaths? John Allen was terrified. I think he told his old man exactly who was responsible.’

‘For what it’s worth, I do too,’ Robson said.

‘The history also fits,’ Kate reminded them. ‘The bad blood, I mean.’

‘We do have one other witness,’ Carmichael said. ‘The cleaner at Theresa Allen’s apartment block got a good look at the blokes who paid her a visit.’

‘Good thinking,’ said Kate. ‘Get her in here, Lisa. Have her take a look at an album of redheads too. We may never have physical evidence linking Finn and Craig to the scene,
but if we have a witness who can ID them driving away and another witness who’ll testify they were trying to get to Theresa, we’ll be cooking on gas. Let’s face it, they had no
reason to be in either place unless they were involved.’

Bright sent her a silent message: the protégé he’d nurtured for years was back.

It brought a lump to her throat. Things were looking up.

B
lanchland on Sunday lunchtime, particularly when the weather was warm, took on a persona of its own. People swarmed there to soak up the atmosphere, to stroll in the fresh
air, picnic at nearby Derwent Reservoir or stop off at the White Monk for lunch. It was a much-loved haven of tranquillity in people’s busy lives. Just as well the tourists and villagers had
no inkling of the goings on in one tiny cottage in the village.

Kate was visiting McKenzie and Theresa yet again, this time with Hank. On their way into the house they had been warned by the couple’s close protection officer that the pair were already
half-cut and argumentative. In the few hours they had been awake, they had fallen out with him and had a go at each other. Despite the smell of a Sunday roast permeating the room, the atmosphere
could only be described as hostile.

Domestic bliss this was not.

Apart from being unbearably hot, the house reeked of booze and fags. McKenzie was sitting at a small dining table, yesterday’s
Journal
spread out in front of him, an open pack of
cigarettes, a lighter, an empty beer glass by his side, waiting to be refilled. Not bothering to raise his head, not interested in a word they had to say, he’d called Theresa through from the
kitchen to see to their guests. She arrived, decidedly flustered, hands covered in flour, a dab of white powder on the left side of her cheek. She was wearing a black apron Kate’s father
would call a pinny, a check tea towel draped over her left shoulder. Her eyes were red, whether from too much alcohol or upset was anyone’s guess.

Apologizing for calling unannounced at such an inconvenient time, Kate invited Theresa to sit.

‘I prefer to stand, if it’s all the same to you.’ Theresa raised her hands. ‘As you can see, I’m busy.’

‘As you wish.’ Kate cleared her throat, wondering how to word the information she was there to impart. It was important to establish whether the woman was aware her husband had faked
his own death. The subtle approach wouldn’t work with someone like Theresa, so Kate dived right in. ‘I have something to tell you. It might be news to you. Then again it might not.
Chief Superintendent Bright told us you were a pathological liar, but I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt.’

‘Fuck does that mean?’ McKenzie stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over. He loomed over Kate, furiously demanding, ‘What is your problem, lady?’

The DCI stood her ground, unfazed.

When McKenzie pointed his finger in her face, Hank stepped between them, eyeballing him. They were like a pair of prizefighters flexing their muscles before a bout, psyching each other out. The
state McKenzie was in, Kate was confident he’d be on the deck with the snips on if he decided to take a pop at her DS.

‘I think it’s you who has the problem,’ Hank said. ‘Back off and listen.’

‘Or what?’ McKenzie leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching.

‘You don’t want to find out,’ Kate said. ‘So shut it or we’ll be having this conversation in a cell. You’ll be right at home.’

Placing his fingers on McKenzie’s chest, Hank pushed him away roughly. Then bent his forefinger, beckoned him forward, willing him to kick off. McKenzie was about to rise to the bait when
Theresa took hold of his arm. Shrugging her off, he withdrew, sat down in his favourite armchair, demanding that she bring him another drink.

Kate asked her to stay put. ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’

McKenzie glared at her. ‘Spit it out then, Detective. Then fuck off to where you came from and leave us be. Have you no manners? Can you not see we’re about to eat?’

Keeping her focus on his other half, Kate ignored him. ‘We have categorical evidence that Brian didn’t die in Spain, Theresa. He’s alive and well. And less than twenty-four
hours ago, he was up to his old tricks in Glasgow.’

Theresa took a step backwards, put a hand out to steady herself. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the tabletop. She was almost hyperventilating. If she was bluffing, she deserved a
BAFTA.

Allowing the woman a moment to compose herself, Kate asked her outright if she had known that Brian was alive and studied her reaction carefully.

Theresa swore she didn’t.

‘John did,’ Kate said.

The noise that left Theresa’s mouth was a strangulated wail. She sat down at the table, drew McKenzie’s fags towards her and lit one, taking the nicotine deep into her lungs. Her
floury hands were shaking so much she could hardly hold the cigarette between her fingers. As she took another long drag, the tip glowed red and then died off. She glanced up at Kate. ‘There
must be a mistake.’

Kate shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘The bastard. I had no idea, I swear to you.’

Kate looked at McKenzie. ‘How about you, Arthur?’

‘Are you fucking serious? Why would he confide in me?’ He was chuckling, apparently finding the whole thing hilarious. ‘Anyway, you think I’d be with Theresa if he
had?’

‘I was wondering about that,’ Kate said. ‘What impact will his resurrection have on you?’

‘Well, if he’s going after the other cunt, he has my vote. I’d be the first to shake his hand, because guys like O’Kane never stop.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Kate left that one floating.

‘Oh, I see.’ McKenzie shrugged. ‘We’re not in danger from Brian, if that’s what you’re suggesting. He and I were practically family. Ask Theresa.’ He
looked to her for confirmation, but there was no response; Theresa’s face was almost as white as her hands. Unconcerned, McKenzie trained his eyes on the detectives. ‘If Brian
is
alive, it was his choice to disappear. He’s got no dispute with me, or her. We both thought he was dead – and she had every right to get on with her life.’
Another
grin.
‘It suits me fine. I always did prefer screwing married women. Forbidden fruits are so much sweeter.’ He scowled at Hank. ‘Don’t you agree, pal?’

Hank couldn’t help himself. ‘I hope Brian appreciates your attitude to married life.’

Kate told them to cut it out. She hadn’t come for a fight, much less a discussion on morals. Despite McKenzie’s confidence, she couldn’t afford to assume that he was correct in
his assessment of the danger Brian posed to him and Theresa. So far as she was concerned, Brian Allen was an unknown quantity. He’d proven himself capable of extreme violence, and she had no
idea of his current whereabouts. Bearing that in mind, she wanted McKenzie and Theresa moved to a bona fide safe house. She couldn’t force them to go. And if they insisted on staying, as they
had once before, she’d need to make arrangements to extend their protection for the foreseeable future.

I
n the end, McKenzie and Theresa agreed to move, if for no other reason than a change of scenery. Tasked with making the necessary arrangements, Andy Brown was put back in
charge of their ongoing protection and excused from all other duties.

Back at the incident room, there was no consensus of opinion. The team was split right down the middle, one half prepared to accept Bright’s contention that Brian wouldn’t harm
Theresa. Quite the contrary: he’d do anything for her, even drag himself out of the gutter, even fake his own death. The other half of the squad remained to be convinced. Like Kate, they
thought it was stretching it to believe that he’d been motivated solely by the desire to protect his wife and sons from the wrath of the O’Kanes.

Superintendent Ron Naylor put forward another suggestion. ‘Maybe we’re all missing the point. Couldn’t it be much more simple than that? Maybe he found someone new and pissed
off to a place in the sun.’

‘A new start?’ Kate queried.

‘Just so,’ Naylor said. ‘It’s not as if it hasn’t happened before, is it?’

‘That’s true,’ Carmichael chipped in. ‘The guv’nor said he was quite the ladies’ man. A real charmer.’

‘I’m with the Super on this,’ Robson said. ‘If Brian moved his family south to protect them, chances are he faked his own death for the very same reason, so the Glasgow
mob would hear of it and stop hunting him down, if indeed that’s what they were doing.’

‘C’mon!’ Hank was shaking his head. ‘Giving up the love of your life is too high a sacrifice, surely? I agree with Ron. He probably got sick of Theresa and the kids
weighing him down and cleared off while he was young enough to enjoy life and start again.’

‘Then why go to the trouble of faking his death?’

They were going round in circles, getting nowhere fast.

‘Robbo’s got a point, Hank,’ Kate said. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter why he left her. As I keep telling you, he’s not our problem. Strathclyde can argue that
one. The important thing here is that one or both of the O’Kane brothers found out he was still alive and committed murder and mayhem on our patch, a mess that you and I have to clean
up.’

‘You think Brian was unlucky?’ Carmichael asked. ‘That he got spotted by some other lowlife in Spain or wherever, after all these years?’

‘Who knows?’ Kate paused for thought. ‘Lisa, see what you can find out about Brian’s “death”. John shipped the body home, so he was obviously complicit in his
father’s vanishing act. Maybe he confided in someone and was double-crossed. Knowledge like that is worth a shedload of money.’

‘If so, his loose tongue cost him,’ Maxwell said. ‘You reckon Vicky knew?’

‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I think it highly unlikely. I’m pretty sure Terry didn’t either. If he had, he’d have blabbed before losing his fingers. It begs other
questions though, very worrying ones.’ She had the whole squad’s attention. ‘What exactly did John give up while he was being tortured? What I mean is, does the surviving
O’Kane brother know where to find Brian?’ Kate studied the faces of her team. ‘Maybe the sole reason for killing John and Terry was to draw Brian out into the open, bring him back
to the UK.’

‘Well, it backfired,’ Carmichael said. ‘He’s out for revenge now, and if he found Finn . . .’

‘Yup, he’ll find Craig,’ Hank said. ‘One down, one to go.’

‘Not if we find him first,’ Kate said. ‘Lisa, get Trewitt on the phone. Let’s do some graft.’