come good ever since.
He was thirty-eight years old going on fifty. Prolonged heavy drinking and smoking had aged him appreciably since last they met. His hair was grey and thinning, his skin an unhealthy yellow, his
eyes bloodshot, his fingers stained brown with nicotine. But the only body parts she was interested in were his ears.
‘I need your help, Towner.’
He glanced at the money. ‘It’ll cost you more than that.’
A group of girls were flirting with the young guys on the next table down, egging them on to get another round in and join them later at the Quayside. They looked joyful and healthy, the
complete reverse of the forlorn individual facing Kate.
‘How’s Margie?’ she asked.
‘She’s dead.’
Kate wasn’t surprised. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah, right. Like you care.’
It was fair comment. Apart from being a druggie, his sister had been a prolific thief who’d steal her granny’s eyes and come back for the sockets if she needed money. Kate had been
well aware that Margie was beyond help when she made a deal with her brother all those years ago. Towner liked his drink but was anti anything to do with drugs on account of what it had done to his
sister. That worked to the DCI’s advantage. His information had resulted in a drugs bust preventing hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of cocaine hitting the streets. It also led to
a commendation for a young DS before she was twenty-four years old.
‘I want information on the Allen family,’ she said.
Towner almost choked on his beer. ‘I know nowt. And if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you about it or I’d be joining our Margie downstairs.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’ Her tone was softer when she spoke again. ‘I would have thought you of all people would be celebrating today. The Allen boys were never on
your Christmas card list.’
The comment was designed to provoke a reaction. It worked. She could tell from the expression on his face that he already knew about the two deaths that had brought her here. He wouldn’t
be sorry to hear of either man’s demise. He despised the Allen brothers, John in particular; according to Towner, he’d been the one who got Margie into hard drugs in the first
place.
‘Am I a suspect?’ he asked.
She almost laughed.
‘Not your style, is it? You need a backbone for that kind of thing.’ She eyeballed him across the table, her best don’t-mess-with-me stare. ‘I know what you’re up
to, Towner. I’ve been keeping my eye on you. If you want to stay out of custody, you need to start talking to me. Fast.’
‘You know shit,’ he said.
‘I know you and your mates are thieving lead. I saw a movie of the three of you doing it a couple of months back. We detectives talk to each other y’know. I shopped the wasters you
hang out with but kept my mouth shut about you. I don’t have any lead on my roof so I’m not bloody interested. But if you don’t come across for me now, my memory of who else was
on that church roof is sure to come flooding back. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Crystal,’ he said.
‘Glad we understand each other. Have another drink, then go home to that shit-pit of yours and have a good long think. When you’ve done that, use the phone.’ She placed an
unregistered mobile on the picnic table. ‘Ring the incident room at Market Street. Ask for me and no one else. Got it? This is big. You’ve got twenty-four hours. I want to hear from
you, Towner.’
‘And if you don’t . . . ?’
Kate smiled. ‘You’re getting locked up.’
He saw off his pint, scooped the note and the phone off the table, and walked.
12
O n the way back to the incident room, Hank rang. There was more news from the RVI. A wheelchair had been found abandoned in a linen cupboard with copious amounts of blood on
the backrest that may or may not belong to Terry Allen. The chair had been collected by crime-scene investigators and sent for forensic
He was thirty-eight years old going on fifty. Prolonged heavy drinking and smoking had aged him appreciably since last they met. His hair was grey and thinning, his skin an unhealthy yellow, his
eyes bloodshot, his fingers stained brown with nicotine. But the only body parts she was interested in were his ears.
‘I need your help, Towner.’
He glanced at the money. ‘It’ll cost you more than that.’
A group of girls were flirting with the young guys on the next table down, egging them on to get another round in and join them later at the Quayside. They looked joyful and healthy, the
complete reverse of the forlorn individual facing Kate.
‘How’s Margie?’ she asked.
‘She’s dead.’
Kate wasn’t surprised. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah, right. Like you care.’
It was fair comment. Apart from being a druggie, his sister had been a prolific thief who’d steal her granny’s eyes and come back for the sockets if she needed money. Kate had been
well aware that Margie was beyond help when she made a deal with her brother all those years ago. Towner liked his drink but was anti anything to do with drugs on account of what it had done to his
sister. That worked to the DCI’s advantage. His information had resulted in a drugs bust preventing hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of cocaine hitting the streets. It also led to
a commendation for a young DS before she was twenty-four years old.
‘I want information on the Allen family,’ she said.
Towner almost choked on his beer. ‘I know nowt. And if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you about it or I’d be joining our Margie downstairs.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’ Her tone was softer when she spoke again. ‘I would have thought you of all people would be celebrating today. The Allen boys were never on
your Christmas card list.’
The comment was designed to provoke a reaction. It worked. She could tell from the expression on his face that he already knew about the two deaths that had brought her here. He wouldn’t
be sorry to hear of either man’s demise. He despised the Allen brothers, John in particular; according to Towner, he’d been the one who got Margie into hard drugs in the first
place.
‘Am I a suspect?’ he asked.
She almost laughed.
‘Not your style, is it? You need a backbone for that kind of thing.’ She eyeballed him across the table, her best don’t-mess-with-me stare. ‘I know what you’re up
to, Towner. I’ve been keeping my eye on you. If you want to stay out of custody, you need to start talking to me. Fast.’
‘You know shit,’ he said.
‘I know you and your mates are thieving lead. I saw a movie of the three of you doing it a couple of months back. We detectives talk to each other y’know. I shopped the wasters you
hang out with but kept my mouth shut about you. I don’t have any lead on my roof so I’m not bloody interested. But if you don’t come across for me now, my memory of who else was
on that church roof is sure to come flooding back. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Crystal,’ he said.
‘Glad we understand each other. Have another drink, then go home to that shit-pit of yours and have a good long think. When you’ve done that, use the phone.’ She placed an
unregistered mobile on the picnic table. ‘Ring the incident room at Market Street. Ask for me and no one else. Got it? This is big. You’ve got twenty-four hours. I want to hear from
you, Towner.’
‘And if you don’t . . . ?’
Kate smiled. ‘You’re getting locked up.’
He saw off his pint, scooped the note and the phone off the table, and walked.
12
O n the way back to the incident room, Hank rang. There was more news from the RVI. A wheelchair had been found abandoned in a linen cupboard with copious amounts of blood on
the backrest that may or may not belong to Terry Allen. The chair had been collected by crime-scene investigators and sent for forensic
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