advice.’
‘Did he say how he came by his injuries?’ Kate asked.
The doctor slid the medical record across the table, pointing at a handwritten note on the bottom, confirming it was hers, entered contemporaneously: Patient evasive and
uncooperative – refused offer of police assistance.
13
T he phone on Kate’s desk rang before she’d even sat down. She stopped chewing, glanced at a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, coffee in the other, and placed them
down in order to answer.
‘DCI Daniels.’ Kate listened but no one spoke. Background traffic noise suggested the call was coming from a public phone box.
Towner.
For a moment, she thought he’d bottled it. Finally, he came on the line, telling her that he had information and was willing to trade it in exchange for immunity from prosecution. Fair
enough. Kate never went back on her word. He sounded nervous, understandably so. Whoever was dishing out the torture wouldn’t think twice about seeing him off. He told her that Terry Allen
had been given a right going-over last month. It was the first corroboration of what she already knew. Proof that he wasn’t lying.
Her instincts had paid off.
‘So, he got jumped,’ she said. ‘Thugs have a tendency to make enemies occasionally. You know I need more than that. Where exactly did this take place?’
‘Grant’s.’
‘Nightclub?’
‘Yeah.’
Kate picked up her pen. ‘Who attacked him?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Stop wasting my time!’
‘I don’t, I swear.’ Towner hesitated. ‘Look, all I know is he’s been lying low ever since. Word on the street is, he was lucky to survive. The heavies doing the
kicking backed off when his mates arrived mob-handed, tipped off by a hooker who’d seen it happen. The guys who got hold of him weren’t arsed about Terry. They were searching for
John.’
Yes!
‘Why?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Which hooker?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Try harder.’
No response.
‘Fine, enjoy the rest of your day. It’ll be your last in the sunshine—’
‘Calls herself Sky,’ Towner blurted out. ‘I swear, that’s all I have.’
‘That was the right call,’ Kate said. ‘Next time you’re on a church roof, say three Hail Marys for me.’ She cut him off.
Making a note on a message pad for entry on to HOLMES, Kate timed and dated the form. In the bottom corner there was a box to fill in with the name of the person from whom the information had
come. It appeared to get larger the more she stared at it. Lifting her pen from the paper, she paused, then scribbled four words: Anon Female/Sunderland
accent.
S he finished her tea before joining the rest of the team in the incident room for the early evening briefing. Carmichael kicked off the meeting. She’d been in touch with
the Serious Organized Crime Agency. A list of known associates had gone out to Division for further investigation. It seemed that the Allen crew were not averse to crossing force boundaries to
carry out their business. They operated in several cities: Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow among them.
Kate went next, disclosing her new intelligence on Terry Allen’s hospitalization six weeks earlier. Then, as cool as you like, she shared her more recent tip-off, the fact that the assault
may well have been witnessed by a hooker named Sky, information she believed might move the enquiry along a pace.
‘Where did that come from?’ DS Robson was often too bright for his own good. As statement reader, he was the linchpin of the murder enquiry. All statements passed over his desk and
he was telling everyone that he didn’t recall any mention of Sky. His focus was on the DCI. He was waiting for an answer she’d rather not give.
‘It didn’t come in a statement,’ Kate explained. ‘It was a phone call. I took it myself.’
That truth seemed to satisfy him. But on the opposite side of the room, it wasn’t fooling Hank who, it had to be said, was a lot more switched on than Robbo would ever be. Feeling his
‘Did he say how he came by his injuries?’ Kate asked.
The doctor slid the medical record across the table, pointing at a handwritten note on the bottom, confirming it was hers, entered contemporaneously: Patient evasive and
uncooperative – refused offer of police assistance.
13
T he phone on Kate’s desk rang before she’d even sat down. She stopped chewing, glanced at a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, coffee in the other, and placed them
down in order to answer.
‘DCI Daniels.’ Kate listened but no one spoke. Background traffic noise suggested the call was coming from a public phone box.
Towner.
For a moment, she thought he’d bottled it. Finally, he came on the line, telling her that he had information and was willing to trade it in exchange for immunity from prosecution. Fair
enough. Kate never went back on her word. He sounded nervous, understandably so. Whoever was dishing out the torture wouldn’t think twice about seeing him off. He told her that Terry Allen
had been given a right going-over last month. It was the first corroboration of what she already knew. Proof that he wasn’t lying.
Her instincts had paid off.
‘So, he got jumped,’ she said. ‘Thugs have a tendency to make enemies occasionally. You know I need more than that. Where exactly did this take place?’
‘Grant’s.’
‘Nightclub?’
‘Yeah.’
Kate picked up her pen. ‘Who attacked him?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Stop wasting my time!’
‘I don’t, I swear.’ Towner hesitated. ‘Look, all I know is he’s been lying low ever since. Word on the street is, he was lucky to survive. The heavies doing the
kicking backed off when his mates arrived mob-handed, tipped off by a hooker who’d seen it happen. The guys who got hold of him weren’t arsed about Terry. They were searching for
John.’
Yes!
‘Why?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Which hooker?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Try harder.’
No response.
‘Fine, enjoy the rest of your day. It’ll be your last in the sunshine—’
‘Calls herself Sky,’ Towner blurted out. ‘I swear, that’s all I have.’
‘That was the right call,’ Kate said. ‘Next time you’re on a church roof, say three Hail Marys for me.’ She cut him off.
Making a note on a message pad for entry on to HOLMES, Kate timed and dated the form. In the bottom corner there was a box to fill in with the name of the person from whom the information had
come. It appeared to get larger the more she stared at it. Lifting her pen from the paper, she paused, then scribbled four words: Anon Female/Sunderland
accent.
S he finished her tea before joining the rest of the team in the incident room for the early evening briefing. Carmichael kicked off the meeting. She’d been in touch with
the Serious Organized Crime Agency. A list of known associates had gone out to Division for further investigation. It seemed that the Allen crew were not averse to crossing force boundaries to
carry out their business. They operated in several cities: Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow among them.
Kate went next, disclosing her new intelligence on Terry Allen’s hospitalization six weeks earlier. Then, as cool as you like, she shared her more recent tip-off, the fact that the assault
may well have been witnessed by a hooker named Sky, information she believed might move the enquiry along a pace.
‘Where did that come from?’ DS Robson was often too bright for his own good. As statement reader, he was the linchpin of the murder enquiry. All statements passed over his desk and
he was telling everyone that he didn’t recall any mention of Sky. His focus was on the DCI. He was waiting for an answer she’d rather not give.
‘It didn’t come in a statement,’ Kate explained. ‘It was a phone call. I took it myself.’
That truth seemed to satisfy him. But on the opposite side of the room, it wasn’t fooling Hank who, it had to be said, was a lot more switched on than Robbo would ever be. Feeling his
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