Killing for Keeps (27 page)

K
ate slowed where tollbooths crossed the carriageway. Signs above each booth showed method of payment: cash, credit card or personal service. Fearing being left penniless in
Spain, she drove towards one with a human behind the desk. There was no way she was using her personal debit card in case it was swallowed up. It had happened before, leaving her stranded.

A few minutes’ driving and they came to another toll-booth – another three euros.

‘Bloody rip-off,’ Hank muttered under his breath. ‘Bet half that goes in his pocket.’

‘You’re such a cynic!’ Kate held up a receipt. ‘Not everyone is on the take.’

Winding her window up, she drove on. Settling in his seat, Hank closed his eyes. She thought he’d fallen asleep, but the atmosphere grew heavy in the car. He was still awake with something
on his mind.

‘You going to spit it out?’ she asked.

‘What?’ He opened his eyes.

‘You reckon we’re pissing in the wind, is that it?’

‘A bit.’ He looked out the side window, his tone flat. ‘Much as I fancy a luxury hotel, Brian Allen has been in the country for days. He could be anywhere by now. I agree that
O’Kane might make his way south, but you heard Neena Gil, he was nervous, keeping his eye on the exit. He’ll be watching his six for sure. He’s not going to be a simple collar, is
he?’

‘When was our job ever easy?’ Kate glanced his way. Hank didn’t answer. ‘Anyway, O’Kane wasn’t looking for us, was he? He was keeping obs on the door in case
Brian walked in. He doesn’t know we’re on to him. How could he? Besides, he likes the premier treatment as much as the man he’s hunting. He’s arrogant enough to want the
best, and that’s where we’re heading. Trust me, of all the places round here, La Manga is worth a try.’

‘You ever been?’

‘Years ago, it was wonderful. An oasis in the desert.’

‘Who with – if you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Old boyfriend.’

He turned to face her, a wry smile on his face. ‘How does that work then?’

Kate spoke through a yawn. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’

‘Ah, I get you. You don’t know much about relationships, do you, Hank? Because I was with Jo doesn’t mean I’ve had no men in my life. You
know
I have. They may
not have lasted long, but they did exist. If you want to know the truth, I just happened to fall in love with her. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to anyone. It’s hard to explain.
It felt right, that’s all, like we were the perfect fit.’

They fell silent again, the miles rolling by as the road cut its way through flat land, orange and lemon groves on either side, mountains in the foreground. A caravan of foreign bikers passed
them, a road trip Kate longed to be part of, their panniers and backpacks full to bursting, bedrolls securely fastened.

Freedom machines.

She pictured her Yamaha Fazer gathering dust in her hallway at home. She hadn’t ridden it in ages, something she promised herself she’d do as soon as this case was over. Maybe north
up the A68, across the border to Scotland, an ideal route for bikers. The road took in the most dramatic countryside with plenty of viewpoints along the way.
If only
. . .

Instructing her to take the next junction, Hank broke her reverie.

Completing the manoeuvre, Kate glanced at her watch. ‘How much further?’

He checked her phone. ‘Twelve more clicks, if the satnav on here is accurate.’

A few minutes further on, the most spectacular sunset began to form on the horizon for the second night in a row. Pink and purple at first – then flame-red, orange and yellow – the
whole sky on fire. It was a glorious sight. So much so, Kate asked him to take a picture to forward on to Jo. She’d appreciate that –
assuming they were still speaking
. Kate
had lost track.

T
he Hotel Principe Felipe car park was an area of manicured lawns, pine trees and well-placed floodlights that came on as they entered the driveway. Reversing into the only
space available, Kate felt the eyes of a concierge on the upholstered roller-skate she was driving. Most other vehicles in the lot were high-end hire cars with posh interiors and pristine paint
jobs.

‘Talk about the poor relation,’ she said.

Hank grinned. He knew how much she loved cars and what a bummer it was for her to be driving the Seat Mii. Before she had time to moan, he was out of the car, his eyes scanning the car park for
any vehicles or registration numbers that might suggest they were on to a winner. Returning seconds later, he helped her get their bags out of the boot, telling her there was nothing of obvious
interest there.

Palatial was the word that sprang to mind as they entered the cool interior of the hotel. The lounge area facing them was an architectural masterpiece: a domed building with arched windows,
marble pillars, a floor so clean you could eat off it. Chandeliers hung above sumptuous sofas, a place to chill out, read or write an email home – a thought that had Kate wondering whatever
happened to postcards. Fiona Fielding, an artist she’d met on a previous enquiry, a woman with whom she’d had a brief fling, was the only one she knew who used them. She travelled all
over the world sending cryptic messages to Kate, asking if she was hungry yet, an in-joke between the two of them. She was gorgeous too.

Kate was suddenly ravenous.

Hank went off to do a recce of the hotel bar while she checked in. As she handed their passports in at the desk, he arrived at her shoulder. Another shake of his head, almost imperceptible, was
enough to let her know that there was no sign of their quarry. Picking up their bags, they walked to the lift that would take them up a floor. Kate handed him the plastic key to room 305.

It was too near the lift for her liking.

Shoving the key into the slot produced a green light. Hank pushed open the door to a luxurious room, made a joke about slumming it for a few days and stepped inside. Taking a quick peek, Kate
fell in love. The contrast between this celebrated hotel and the one they had vacated at Guardamar had been evident the moment they entered reception. She had calls to make and asked Hank to meet
her in the bar in an hour.

Room 308 was further along the corridor. It was perfect and smelled of fresh flowers. The bed was as wide as it was long, with crisp white linen and plump pillows that would send her off to
sleep in seconds. There was a partner’s writing desk, two chairs, a comfortable armchair and a bathroom dripping with wonderful bathing products.

Heaven.

It was deathly quiet too.

Exactly what she needed to think through her case.

T
hey ate in the hotel, their dinner conversation like a murder investigation briefing. No investigative theory would equip them with a nice neat plan of how best to proceed.
For the most part, their campaign of attack was based on gut instinct rather than hard evidence. Intelligence had dried up and Kate was trying to second-guess what was going through the minds of
the men she was chasing.

Murder, probably.

If she had a strategy at all it was for Hank to check out the clubhouse the next day. He’d fit in better than she would. Hearing this, Hank puffed out his chest, telling her he was on top
doe. The three stones he’d lost following his reconciliation with Julie and his recent walking tour of Quesada were paying off. He felt energized, he told her, ready to take on anything.
Glancing at his plate, she wondered if her eyes were deceiving her.

No, he’d actually ordered sea bass.

Even more impressive: he was still on his first pint. Not bad going. They had already been there half an hour. He’d made a real effort to put his unhealthy lifestyle behind him and had
finally turned the corner. His face was tanned, his eyes bright, his skin clear. It was no exaggeration to say that it had taken years off him.

‘I wish you wouldn’t scrutinize me so intensely.’ He studied her over the rim of his glass as he took a drink. ‘People might think we’re in love. I can see
you’re already regretting the divorce.’

Kate laughed.

She’d missed his sense of humour in recent months. It was nice to see him so obviously relaxed, so happy that his marriage was beginning to work out. On the way to La Manga he’d told
her that his son Ryan had returned home. The boy hated the south coast and couldn’t wait to get home to Newcastle and the mates he’d left behind. Curiously, Hank never once mentioned
Julie. Maybe he didn’t want to spoil the magic. Maybe he didn’t want to tempt fate.

‘Do we have a plan then?’ he asked.

‘Of sorts.’ She picked up her knife and fork. ‘First thing tomorrow, I’m going to have a wander round, check out local businesses and doctor’s surgeries too.’
She smiled at him, a knowing look. ‘I know something you don’t.’

‘Oh yeah? What have I told you about keeping secrets?’

‘Theresa Allen let it slip that Brian is diabetic.’

‘What?’ Hank nearly choked. ‘When?’

‘Lisa managed to drag it out of her this afternoon.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Theresa didn’t think to tell us this before?’

‘Apparently not. Anyway, it’s a new lead, the only one we have. I intend to make the most of it. If Brian needs insulin to keep his hormones level, he’ll run out sooner rather
than later. Lisa did her magic on the Internet. Insulin has a relatively short shelf-life. After a month or so it begins to break down. It becomes less potent and therefore less
effective.’

‘Then he’ll be forced to consult—’

‘A doctor. Precisely!’ Kate beamed at him. ‘I’m glad you won’t. How’s the fish?’

‘Delicious.’ Lifting a forkful, he paused before putting it into his mouth. ‘GPs have a Hippocratic oath here too, Kate. They’ll quote doctor/patient confidentiality.
I’m not sure they’ll tell you anything. Sharing information on a patient could get them into a lot of trouble.’

‘We’ll see.’ Kate raised a cheeky eyebrow. ‘You know me, I’m a DCI, an SIO and one hell of an SOB, if pushed. I can lie for England if the job demands it.
I’ll make something up, say he’s my big brother who’s gone missing.’ She feigned distress, putting on a feeble voice to make her point. ‘I’m worried about him
losing consciousness and going into a coma, Doctor. It’s happened before. He nearly died.’ She placed a hand on her chest. ‘I can’t, I just can’t bear to lose
him.’ She winked at Hank, reverting to her normal voice. ‘I might even cry – if I can remember how.’

‘You’re devious, you know that?’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to find him. Brian Allen is the devious one. He’s survived out here for years without detection. Chances are he has a whole new identity and a GP in
his pocket who a) helped fake his death and b) could supply medication at the drop of a hat. He’s a fugitive on the run now though. I’m thinking that it might not be so easy for him,
especially if he’s been forced out of his home. He needs that medication to survive.’

Pushing his plate away, Hank reminded her of Brian’s assumed name: Ray Charlton.

‘I doubt he’s using it now,’ she said. ‘That would be plain stupid, the one thing he’s not. Anyway, I have his picture. I’ll think of something. We have to
learn to out-think him, Hank – him
and
O’Kane – it’s the only chance we have of locking them up. Then it’ll be down to the extradition process to work its
magic so we can get them home and into a court of law.’

Kate stared at a fixed point in the distance as two pieces of a giant conundrum moved into place, something she hoped might take her enquiries in the right direction. Noting her concern, Hank
gave her a moment of quiet before asking her what was happening on Planet Daniels.

‘I was thinking about the doctor who certified Brian’s death.’

‘What about him?’

‘Her. Her name is Maria Benitez.’

‘Didn’t you put an action out—’

‘I did.’ Kate sighed. ‘I hate relying on anyone else to make my enquiries for me, particularly when I can’t speak to them face to face. The officer I talked to over here
said he’d investigated the matter thoroughly. Benitez has been practising for around ten years. She’s well respected, by all accounts, a pillar of the community. As far as he was
concerned, she was in the clear and wouldn’t face charges. He took the view that she was a victim of theft, not someone under suspicion.’

‘Theft?’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Some months after Brian was supposed to have died, she reported a numbered death certificate stolen, claiming that she’d only noticed it missing
after the event. I’m wondering now if she was telling the truth. She could’ve been covering herself. Quite clever too, if you think about it . . . or maybe not.’ Kate held his
gaze. ‘You know the score as well as I do. When people are trying to conceal their guilt, they sometimes go that little bit too far to prove their innocence.’

A waitress arrived to take away their empty plates.

Hank waited until she was gone. ‘Sounds like Benitez is unreliable.’

‘I thought so too. It was a matter for the Spaniards to sort. No offence committed in the UK, so not my problem.’ Kate lifted her glass. ‘If a certificate was stolen and
reported missing, you’ve got to ask yourself why no one picked up on it at the time. It looks like the Spanish registrar couldn’t be arsed to check his records or raise so much as a
concerned eyebrow.’

‘Not worth the hassle?’

Kate sipped her wine. ‘Yeah, especially as it involved a Brit.’

‘So what do you intend to do about it? She’s not going to talk to us, is she?’

‘Not the official us, no. Finish your pint, I need to call Lisa and find out more about Benitez and where I might find her. Don’t stay up too late, I want you to resume your search
first thing.’

‘
My
search? What you going to do?’

Kate locked eyes with him, a plan forming in her head. If her hunch was right, there was one way to find out what Maria Benitez was up to. It might involve a little undercover work.

K
ate slept like a dream and woke fully refreshed. Before getting up she tried calling Jo. The number rang out unanswered. Frustrated, she lay there dreaming of what she might
be doing right now, seeing her face, her sparkly eyes, a cheeky smile on her lips. Raising her knees, Kate slid her right hand down between her legs, shutting her eyes, imagining Jo’s hands,
soft and warm, tracing the contours of her body, kissing her gently, as only she could. A single tear rolled down Kate’s cheek as she brought herself to orgasm, an ache in her heart as her
emotions flooded out.

In semi-darkness, she rolled over and tried Jo’s number again with the same result, then got up and took a quick shower. Wrapping herself in a bathrobe, she opened her curtains to a lovely
surprise that hadn’t been available the night before. Beyond her patio doors was a stunning view across the golf course, the eighteenth hole, an ornamental lake and the Mar Menor. Stepping on
to the balcony, she leaned on the railing, drinking in the view, the smell of freshly mown lawns carried on the breeze. The sight served only to increase her loneliness. She missed Jo so much.

Totally pathetic.

Raising her face to the sun, Kate would have liked nothing more than to sit on the balcony and relax with a good book. Instead, she dragged herself inside to dry her hair. Tying it up, she put
on a bit more slap than she was used to, dressing in cool linen, a pair of navy trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt and a pair of strappy flat sandals she could walk in all day long. Satisfied
that the detective in her was well hidden, she went down to eat, giving Hank a knock as she passed his room.

H
e’d beaten her down, was sitting in the breakfast room when she arrived. The food was like artwork, laid out beautifully: cereals and fresh fruit, several different
breads, croissants and pots of local jam. To her right, a chef stood waiting to prepare cooked breakfast for those who wanted it.

Through the panoramic window, Kate could see that many had already eaten and were out on the golf course. At a table near the window, directly ahead of her and down a few steps, Hank gave her a
wave. As she arrived at his side, he flicked his eyes left. Following his gaze, she found not Allen or O’Kane but Judi Murray, mother of Andy, the tennis ace. She was sitting alone, reading a
newspaper, dressed to give a coaching session in the club’s tennis centre. Feeling Kate’s eyes on her, she looked up and smiled.

Returning the greeting, Kate pulled out a chair and sat down with Hank. He’d ordered coffee, lots of it, strong and black. She’d trained him well.

‘Going somewhere nice?’ he asked.

Kate shook out her napkin. ‘Might be.’

‘You look different.’

She blushed, shoving away the ridiculous notion that he could tell she’d been masturbating before joining him at the breakfast table.

‘Sophisticated, I mean.’

‘That suggests I normally look like a tart.’

‘That’s not what I—’

‘Joking! Got my fishing gear on, haven’t I?’

He was intrigued. ‘Need me along?’

‘No, Hank, I want you here tracking down murder suspects. I’ve got to go out for a few hours, check out the local medical centre and shops. I need to track Benitez down. If I can,
I’ll rendezvous back here at two. I’ll give you a bell if not. Remember that little tapas bar not far from the hotel?’ She took in his nod. ‘Meet me there.’

D
r 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.’

T
he 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, both 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.