Killing for Keeps (9 page)

K
ate hung up, told the team she was heading out to Theresa Allen’s penthouse, and made straight for the door with Hank on her heels. On the way downstairs, he pointed out
that there was a plausible explanation for the missed appointment: Theresa couldn’t face the grim task of seeing her son on a mortuary slab. But Kate could tell he wasn’t really buying
that. And, it had to be said, neither was she.

‘Unless she’s topped herself,’ he added, getting in the car. ‘Or worse, she’s the next target. Or her new squeeze is.’

‘I hope none of the above is true.’ Kate really didn’t want to go there. The idea was alarming but credible. Taking off like a bullet from the station car park, she engaged a
blue light as fears she didn’t even want to acknowledge grew louder in her head. Hank was still theorizing . . .

‘It’s possible that the man you saw in her apartment had gone there to kill her rather than to buy her afternoon tea. He might have changed his mind when he realized she already had
company.’

‘Oh great.’ Kate shot him a look. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

‘Just doing my job.’ Hank stopped talking.

The rest of the journey was a blur of pedestrians, traffic lights, slow-moving vehicles and nightmarish thoughts. Kate couldn’t stop her brain working overtime. Conjuring up images of raw
flesh and blood, the aftermath of cruelty she’d tried and failed to forget, she imagined Theresa Allen’s tortured body on the floor of her penthouse, a thought that repulsed her all
over again.

Lacking the stomach for another corpse, she screeched to a halt at the base of the tower block, drawing the attention of passers-by, as well as lower-floor residents who’d seen and heard
them arriving.

The detectives jumped out of the car, their normally relaxed walking pace turning to a sprint as they neared the entrance, neither of them sure what they expected to find.

They took the lift to the top floor.

When the doors slid open, Kate led the way, praying she’d find Theresa alive and well, right where she’d left her yesterday. When there was no answer at the door, she flashed an
anxious look at Hank. The penthouse lacked a letter box – mail was delivered to the ground floor only – so she put her ear up against the door and listened for movement from within.

Eyes on Hank, she shook her head.

‘You waiting for a warrant or shall I kick it in?’ he asked. ‘If we’re really lucky, she might still have some fingers left.’

Kate’s whole body shuddered.

‘Do it!’ she said.

Standing well back, heart hammering in her chest, she looked on as he shoulder-charged the door. With two family members dead already, they had reasonable cause to suspect the occupant might be
in mortal danger. Their first duty was to preserve life. Kate was prepared to argue the case for unwarranted entry to her superiors or a court of law should any surviving member of the Allen family
complain about her actions later.

The door held, so they joined forces and hit it again.

This time it flew off its hinges. They rushed inside, calling out to Theresa. The living room was empty. Kitchen too. Nothing out of place and no signs of a struggle. By anyone’s
standards, the apartment was immaculate. That meant very little. Theresa was a slight woman. Faced with someone prepared to do her harm, she wouldn’t necessarily have put up a fight. She may
not even have had a chance to defend herself.

Leaving Hank in the living room, Kate wandered down the passageway, checking bedrooms on either side. All clear. The bathroom was pristine, the towels bone-dry, no evidence of recent use. She
was about to leave when something odd registered but then disappeared. Whatever it was, it was gone. Lingering in the doorway a moment, she scanned the room, her eyes eventually coming to rest on
an empty glass shelf devoid of the personal items she might expect to see: toothpaste, deodorant, body lotion. To the right of it, the electric toothbrush charger was empty.

Opening the mirrored bathroom cabinet, she looked inside.

‘Shit!’ She shut it again, taking in her own miserable reflection.

‘What’s up?’ Hank wandered in. I’ve seen better-looking dead folks.’

‘She’s gone,’ Kate said. ‘Not taken by force. Just gone.’

‘Y
ou’re too late, love,’ a female voice said as they let themselves out of the penthouse. The woman to whom the voice belonged was leaving the only other
apartment on the top floor, a key still in her hand. Dressed in a blue camisole, cheap jeans and flip-flops, she was old before her time, stick thin and anaemic-looking, with hollow eyes.

‘What do you mean?’ Hank asked.

She flicked her eyes to the door beyond them. ‘The tenant scarpered first thing. I clean for the neighbour here. When I came in this morning, they were leaving in a hurry with a couple of
travel bags.’

‘They?’

‘You’re the cops, yeah?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Doesn’t surprise me, to be honest, I knew there was something dodgy ’bout those two the first
time I clapped eyes on ’em, him in particular – cold as ice.’

Kate and Hank exchanged a look.

‘Do you know who this man is?’ Hank asked.

‘Kiddin’, aren’t ya?’

‘I take it you were never introduced.’

‘Suits me fine. Terrifies me, he does.’

‘You’re absolutely sure the lady who lives here went willingly?’ Kate asked.

‘
Lady?
’ the cleaner scoffed. ‘That’s stretching it a bit, pet.’

‘I’m not asking for a personal reference. Did she go willingly or not?’

‘Too right.’

‘I don’t suppose you know the man’s name?’ Hank said.

‘I heard her use it once. He didn’t like it either. Shoulda seen the look he gave her.’ The woman gave a slight shake of the head. ‘Nah, it’s gone, sorry. I
can’t remember.’

‘Can you describe him?’

When she did so, Kate knew she was talking about the same man she’d seen yesterday. She handed the woman her business card in case the name should come back to her later. As Hank took down
her details, Kate pressed for the lift. She couldn’t get out of there quick enough. Theresa Allen
had
lied to her. And now she’d done a runner with an unsavoury character whose
ID the DCI didn’t know. She could only surmise that one or both of them had reason to be in fear for their own safety. What the hell was going on? If they were together, who were they running
from?’

‘What they been up to anyway?’ the cleaner asked, pulling Kate back to the present.

‘We just need to speak with them,’ she said.

‘Won’t be anything good, I reckon.’

Kate wasn’t drawn by the comment. She had too much on her mind. Despite Hank’s assertion that she should’ve taken him with her when she went to see Theresa Allen the first time
round, there was nothing she would have done differently. She’d gone there in a welfare capacity, delivering a double death message to an unfortunate mother. She had no cause to suspect the
woman or to interrogate her visitors.

So why did she feel so bad about it?

If Hank was right about Theresa, she deserved a BAFTA. That very small lie began to grow bigger in Kate’s head:
A neighbour . . . you caught me out, Inspector. He’s my new
partner . . . I’ve not known him long
.

As a bell signalled the arrival of the lift, Kate turned to face the cleaner. ‘This man Mrs Allen was with? Long-standing boyfriend is he?’

‘Seems to be. They’ve been together a canny while.’

‘Can you be specific?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Eighteen months, give or take.’

So, more than one lie.

‘And who would you say wears the pants?’ Hank asked.

‘Eh? I’m a cleaner not a fucking shrink—’

Kate waited. It was an intelligent question from Hank. The answer could provide insight into Theresa Allen’s relationship. ‘You look like an intuitive woman,’ she said.
‘Go on, give us your best guess.’

‘
He
does.’ There was no hesitation.

All three got in the lift and travelled down in silence. Hank raised a sympathetic eyebrow as they made their descent to the ground floor. Kate didn’t need to tell him how bad she felt.
Theresa Allen and her fancy man had played a blinder.

B
ack in the incident room, Kate was on her feet ’fessing up to colleagues. ‘There are only two possible explanations for Theresa’s disappearance: either she
fears for her own safety or someone else’s. While I was with her yesterday, she had a male caller. Sadly, we were never introduced. I have no ID but I got a good look at him. Today we struck
lucky. We have a witness who saw him back at the flat this morning. I want this man traced as a matter of urgency.’

Hank was nodding, a show of solidarity; at least that’s how it would appear to the team. Kate knew different. On the way back from Theresa’s apartment they’d had words when she
almost crashed into a vehicle with a clear right of way. The near miss had given them both a fright, likewise the other driver who was heavily pregnant and in tears when Hank got out of the car to
make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Kate’s attempt at passing the incident off as a momentary lapse in concentration didn’t work. When he got back in, Hank had gone mental, telling her to take her head out of her arse
or let him drive. She had to admit that her performance had fallen below the standards of an advanced police driver, or any driver, particularly one whose car was her most prized possession. Still
. . . How dare he accuse her of underperforming? Didn’t he know she was doing her level best?

And what business was it of his anyway?

Hank was on his feet now, trying so hard to make amends it left her feeling more guilty, not less. The team were all ears, every one of them giving their undivided attention, barring her. She
hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Seconds later, he paused for breath, looked at her.

‘Shall I continue?’ he asked.

‘Be my guest. Never let it be said that I’d stop a colleague in full flow.’

Hank carried on. ‘The boss and I strongly suspect that Theresa Allen, her boyfriend, or both, may be the next target. Either way, they’ve put themselves in a position where they
don’t have to talk to us. Terry and John’s partners claim they don’t know where Theresa is, which we are prepared to accept – if she’s running scared, she’s
hardly going to advertise where she’s hiding. But they also deny any knowledge of the boyfriend – which, if I may say so, is bollocks. I’ve met enough liars in my time to know one
when I see one.’ Again, he looked at Kate.

‘I agree,’ she said, fighting her agitation. She should be leading from the front, not Hank. Trying to slow her breathing wasn’t working. She almost gagged on her words. What
the fuck? ‘I mean, I agree that . . . well, it was obvious that they were covering for him. Hank thinks the boyfriend may be up to his neck in the family business, and I’m fast coming
round to that view. I’m pissed that I let him slip through my fingers, I’m really sorry.’

Jo sprung to her defence. ‘How were you supposed to know?’

‘At the time, I wasn’t . . .’ Kate pinched the bridge of her nose. She stuttered awkwardly. ‘Hindsight . . . is a wonderful thing. Maybe Terry and John were just foot
soldiers, not as far up the organization as we . . . as we initially thought. Maybe Theresa’s boyfriend is in charge these days.’ Her eyes found Hank. ‘Sometimes it’s hard
to tell who’s the boss.’

Hank got the message.

‘So, who’s to say he’s not your killer?’ Jo pointed at the murder wall with its array of gory crime-scene photographs. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it, if
those two stepped out of line?’

‘Absolutely right.’ Hank chanced his arm. ‘Which is why we need to find him.’

The discussion lasted a while. Either their mystery man was a raving loony who’d killed John and Terry, or the poor sods died trying to protect him, or else they didn’t know of his
existence when someone thought they did and now he was next on the hit list. As her team threw ideas around, voices faded in and out. Kate gave up trying to follow what they were saying; she could
feel the blood draining from her face, and her head felt like it was about to explode. Massaging her temples, she struggled to organize her thoughts but they were all over the place. She hated
falling out with Hank. He didn’t deserve the treatment she was shoving his way.

Even in the midst of her confusion, Kate was clear about one thing: she alone was to blame for the dilemma facing the team. She could have kicked herself for being sucked in by
Theresa-I’ve-had-it-with-crime-Allen. The speed with which the woman had upped sticks and fled the penthouse should have come as no surprise; even a complete rookie ought to know that
organized prigs always had an escape route mapped out. Presumably Theresa had a bolthole, another toothbrush charger. Kate wondered whether her intention was merely to make herself scarce in the
short-term, lying low till the police caught whoever was responsible, or if she and her boyfriend had scarpered for good. They hadn’t taken much from a penthouse packed with objets
d’art, some of which looked valuable. She wondered too how the search team were doing.

What else have I missed? Think!

‘Kate?’

The DCI turned towards the voice. Jo had an odd look on her face, Hank too. In fact, the whole team were frozen like statues, all staring in her direction.

‘Sorry . . . Andy . . . have you . . . you got anything for me?’

‘Boss, it can wait. You don’t look well.’

‘No. I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Let’s hear it.’

‘You want some water?’ Jo asked.

‘What? No!’ Suddenly hot, Kate pulled at the neck of her shirt. ‘Don’t fuss.’

Jo backed down. Kate asked Andy to carry on. He’d been waiting patiently to take the floor. A skilled officer, he rarely missed a trick and this occasion was no exception. He’d been
checking CCTV footage from the QC Club and made a positive ID of Terry Allen arriving at ten past eight the night he was killed. It was fast work, a Eureka moment, one that would normally be met
with congratulations and a flurry of activity, but Kate hardly reacted.

‘Any sign of John?’ she asked.

‘Not so far but, unlike Neil, I have no heavy date so I’m here for the duration if you need me.’

‘Thanks. Have your . . . report on my desk, first thing.’

The stutter was back, along with the stares, the loss of concentration and confidence. Kate couldn’t continue. What in God’s name was wrong with her? She told herself to breathe. Jo
was on her feet, holding out a plastic beaker of water.

‘Lisa, can you open a window?’ she said. ‘It’s very hot in here.’

Kate took a long drink as Jo tried to cover for her, floating the idea that she too was dehydrated. Inwardly, Kate was panicking, struggling to convince herself that her incapacity was
temporary, brought on by this particular case. The scale of the violence disturbed her; of all the stabbings, beatings and shootings she’d dealt with in her career, this one was the worst. It
was evil, gratuitous, way over the top – even for the most hardened of professionals. From the moment she’d viewed what was left of John Allen’s body, she’d been going
downhill at a rate of knots. It wasn’t just cumulative stress, the result of long hours, little rest and clawing her way up the rank structure, trying to be the very best detective she could.
She knew she ought to take her own advice and try zoning out the images, but when the job dominated her every waking hour that was easier said than done. Living alone, she had no one to distract
her, no one to unwind with, no one to hold her hand. That was nothing new – it had always been that way. There was no point dwelling on it. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t solve a
thing. She dismissed the squad.

T
hank God Naylor hadn’t made the case review
. An appointment with Chief Superintendent Bright, Kate’s former guv’nor, had kept him away. It was
getting on for eight o’clock when he resurfaced and they finally sat down for a progress report. He seemed a little preoccupied and she hoped it wasn’t anything to do with her wobble in
the incident room.

After the briefing, she’d gone for a walk with Hank to get her shit together. She’d apologized for yelling at him, for not giving him the lickings of a dog in the briefing, and then
sent him home to see his wife and son. His marriage had been hanging on a thread for years, but recently there had been a turnaround, a change of heart from his wife, Julie. Having told him she
couldn’t live with him, she’d since decided she couldn’t live without him either. Right now, Kate understood how she felt. At times of stress, she couldn’t cope with
Hank’s sympathy. His sarcasm had always been much easier to take.

Naylor looked tanned and relaxed after a recent holiday on the Greek island of Mykonos, spent in a luxury apartment owned by one of his many friends. He was discussing her forced entry into
Theresa Allen’s penthouse, an action he supported unreservedly.

‘There was nothing in the flat of any interest, guv.’

‘No hint of where she might’ve gone?’

‘According to the search team, no.’

‘And she’s a woman of considerable means?’

‘The kit in her apartment would suggest so, yes.’

‘Passport?’

Kate shook her head. ‘That was the first thing we looked for when we discovered she’d packed her toothbrush. I have to accept that she could be out of the country by now.’

Naylor shrugged. ‘There’s not much you can do about that, except keep your eyes and ears open.’

‘I’ll try Vicky Masters again.’ Kate felt calmer now, her panic attack a thing of the past. ‘She’s proving to be the weak link in the Allen family chain.’

A tap on the door made her stop talking.

Hank walked in, a sheepish look on his face.

Kate asked him what he was doing back, even though she knew the answer. She couldn’t say so in front of Naylor but – however well-intentioned – Hank’s interference was
beginning to piss her off. She didn’t need, much less want, a babysitter.

‘Julie’s out on the town, so I’m off the hook.’ He smiled at Naylor. No point smiling at Kate; she wasn’t buying his bullshit
.
‘I didn’t want
to leave in the first place, guv. Kate insisted. I know she’s trying to give my relationship a half-chance of survival, but I’ve always been a bugger for punishment. The wife and I are
doing OK anyhow. So far so good.’

Their guv’nor wasn’t fooled any more than Kate was. ‘You didn’t want to miss anything, more like.’

‘So where’s Julie gone?’ Kate asked.

‘No idea.’ Hank shrugged. ‘I dropped her off in the Bigg Market. She wants picking up at eleven. Can’t go home and sink a few, can I? May as well put in a couple more
hours here.’

Kate looked at him. He could lie, but not to her. He was worried about her. Unable to bear the heat of her gaze, he quickly changed the subject, telling Naylor that Chelsea had beaten Newcastle
two nil so he’d lost all interest in watching
Match of the Day
. Not a footy fan himself, Naylor had nothing to contribute. Then, having exhausted the topic, Hank slung his hook,
grumbling about the woes of being a Toon supporter as he left the room.

Intending to follow suit, Kate got up.

Naylor shook his head, waved her back into her seat. Cupping his hands behind his head, he leaned against the backrest, running his eyes over her, making her feel self-conscious. She wanted to
get back to work, but he ordered her to go home. ‘Have a long, hot soak in the tub and a few hours’ kip and come to the case fresh in the morning. You’re useless to me burnt out.
And you need to be in early tomorrow. Bright’s coming in.’

‘To see me?’ She was suddenly on the back foot. ‘On a Sunday?’

Naylor nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’

‘He thinks I’m losing my touch, is that it?’

‘Hey, why so defensive? He told me it was something he could only convey face-to-face. And, before you ask, I told him nothing. I know nothing, do I? Unless there’s something you
haven’t told me . . . ?’

‘No, guv.’

So he knew
. Although it wasn’t Naylor’s style to mention it to Bright, it didn’t mean that the head of CID hadn’t heard about her little drama in the incident
room from elsewhere. A loose tongue in the canteen could expedite a rumour to HQ quicker than a Boeing. It would reach his ears eventually, as most things did. And, if it did, she’d have some
explaining to do.