Bayliss & Calladine Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Because now you can chase after Amaris Dean with a clear conscience. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You are an idiot, Tom Calladine. Don’t you ever want to settle down?”

  “Lydia was never the settling down type. You warned me often enough.”

  “Lydia’s good for you. I know she can be single-minded and likes to get her own way but my advice is, make that grand gesture: forget all about Amaris Dean. Can you do that?”

  Instead of replying he wandered over to the incident board. It was a good job they were alone in here. He wouldn’t want the others hearing any of this.

  “You told anyone your news yet?”

  “No, and don’t you, either. It’s too soon; we will tell folk after the first scan.”

  “You told me.”

  “You’re not folk, are you?” She gave him another stern look. “You’re practically family; and I trust you to keep it shut. And it’s because I care about you that I’m telling you to put things straight with Lydia. Get Amaris Dean out of your head because she’ll only give you trouble.”

  Ruth’s advice was too late. Amaris Dean was already giving him trouble. She was in his head and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he didn’t want to discuss it any more.

  “Who’s going to see Samantha Hurst?” he asked.

  “I though you and me would go. She’s got a clinic until eleven and then she’s free.”

  “I can’t go, can I?”

  “Why not? You’ve got to meet her sometime.”

  “I can’t go because she’s a relative, and she could end up a suspect in a murder case. You’ll have to take Rocco with you.”

  “She’s not likely to be involved, not really, is she?”

  At that moment both Imogen and Rocco entered the incident room, so they took the conversation into Calladine’s office.

  “Rocco will wonder what’s going on. Interviewing Samantha Hurst is too important for him not to,” she said, closing the door.

  “Never mind all that and for heaven’s sake don’t tell him anything. Just ascertain the nature of the relationship between her and Ahmed. It looks like she’s the only person who knew Doctor Ahmed well enough to give us any information. She can probably determine if anything is missing from his house. Take her there, walk her around and see what she says.”

  “And you? What are your plans for the morning?”

  “I’d thought I go see Doc Hoyle and check what forensics has turned up. I should tell Julian about Samantha. Ask if she’ll volunteer a DNA sample and fingerprints when you see her.”

  “Okay then, I’ll take Rocco, but the minute she ceases to be of interest to the case you face up to things.”

  His face was grey again, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He knew Ruth was right but he couldn’t face meeting his newly discovered family, not yet. And if he saw anyone first then it would have to be Eve Buckley herself.

  * * *

  Two mugs of coffee and a quick look at the Cassidy/Prideau files provided more questions than answers. What were Thorpe and his lot doing about the missing girl? She was only four years old for God’s sake, and she’d been gone for nearly a week. Imogen’s research had thrown up a very real possibility, too, so why weren’t those goons on the other team taking any notice?

  “Imogen, have you spoken to Oldston nick about this?” Calladine asked, placing the file back on her desk. “Because I think you should. Your research and theories have merit, and that lead you got can’t just be ignored.”

  “You mean the mutual friends thing on the social media site?”

  “Yep, exactly that.”

  “I did give the DI dealing with the Leah Cassidy case a ring but he was out and he hasn’t got back to me.”

  “Well, ring him again and keep on ringing until you get somewhere. The two missing girls are linked. Whoever took Leah Cassidy also took Isla Prideau, I’ll bet on it. This needs sorting before some other poor kid goes missing.”

  Apart from him, Imogen and Joyce, the room was empty. Ruth and Rocco had gone. He should feel relieved but he didn’t; he just felt as though he’d let Ruth down. He knew he’d have to face up to this sooner or later. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and gazed at the incident board.

  What was it telling him — the faces, the methods, and then the mystery of those strange cards? What was it Amaris had suggested — that the killer was matching cards to victims? And was that really their killer — that blurry image of an elderly woman walking along the avenue Ahmed had lived on? It seemed unlikely. But if they could find her, perhaps she could give them something. She could have seen someone, a car, heard shouting, anything.

  He coughed and moved a little closer. A thought occurred to him, took form and became a distinct possibility in his mind. Why hadn’t he seen it before? But it was obvious now that he’d realised.

  The old feeling was back — that feeling he got when he spotted something significant. The murderer wasn’t just matching the cards to the victims — it was also the way they were killed. That was the link. The way each victim died was somehow meaningful to the bastard. So it was about revenge after all.

  “Joyce, could you do something? Look back in the records and see if there is anything that links Albert North to a fatality involving fire.”

  Chapter 10

  “Heavy night?” was the doctor’s greeting. “You look as if you should consider doing something else too.”

  “What do you mean, ‘too’?” Calladine asked as the doctor pushed a pamphlet at him.

  “Retirement made easy,” the doc smiled knowingly, “for folk like you and me — of a certain age and wedded to the job.”

  “I’m not ready for all that bollocks just yet,” was the inspector’s scathingly reply. “I lay on that sofa of mine for weeks on end, and it was no way to live, I’m telling you.”

  “You must have hobbies, Tom, something you like to do in your free time?”

  “No — that’s just it, Doc, I’m a cop. I get up a cop and go to bed a cop. My head’s permanently full of cop stuff, so no, I don’t do hobbies. I leave that up to Ruth.” He smiled. “Do you know she spent her last spot of leave watching some bloody birds in the centre of Manchester?”

  “That’d be the peregrines,” he replied knowingly. “Success story, that one, Tom.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not for me.”

  Doc Hoyle sighed heavily. “That’s what I suspected. This isn’t the answer for either of us, is it?” He tossed the pamphlet into the bin. “I’d go mad without my work, so who am I kidding?”

  “Well, that’s sorted then. No more talk of retirement. It’s a dirty word as far as I’m concerned. And as for the heavy night, it’s a long one so I won’t bore you with the details.”

  “It’ll involve a woman, bound to. You’re something of a Casanova on the quiet, so I’m told,” said the doctor.

  “That’s a bloody lie! I like women and I’ve had some unfortunate relationships, that’s all. And you shouldn’t listen to gossip — it’ll all be exaggerated.”

  The pathologist laughed and gestured for him to sit down.

  “Wish I had your misfortune, Tom. That Lydia of yours is lovely — and young too. You’re a lucky man; don’t know how you do it.”

  “Your Pat would kill you if she heard what you’d just said,” Calladine warned him. “Me and Lydia, we’ve had a bit of a spat, hence the way I look. I had too much to drink and stayed out all night with a friend, and now Lydia’s moved into Zoe’s place.”

  “Well, at least you know where she is. Get a bunch of flowers, pile on the charm, she’ll come back.”

  Yes, she probably would, but that was part of the problem.

  “Anyway, enough of my love life, have you got anything else from the post-mortems, Doc? Did Rocco tell you about Doctor Ahmed and the walking stick theory?”

  “Yes he rang me, Tom, and I think he may be right. It’s the narrow track of the blade and the depth of penetration. As I said, it sliced into his
heart and right through his aorta — the poor man had no chance. There would have been absolutely nothing anyone could have done for him; he’d have bled out in no time.”

  Calladine winced. Poor sod. What had he done to deserve that? he wondered. What injustice was their killer trying to right with that one?

  “Forensics?”

  “We fared a little better there. Julian is still looking at the hair from the wig and he’s got something from the beaker he found on the common. Have a word with him before you leave and he’ll give you an update.”

  “We could do with something to give us a clue on this one. I think our killer is working through a list. I also think the method of killing is significant.”

  “Are you saying that your killer has a sort of bucket list of victims?”

  That wasn’t a bad way of putting it. “Exactly that, Doc.”

  “People usually have a bucket list when they are coming up to a milestone, Tom. A list of things to achieve before a major birthday, or . . .” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Or before they die.” He looked up at the detective. “Have you considered that one? That your killer may have a terminal illness — cancer for example? Perhaps he or she was even one of Doctor Ahmed’s patients.”

  “We are looking into that too. Getting the information is the tricky bit — you know what hoops we have to jump through.”

  Hoops or not, it was imperative that they did some digging. A vengeful killer with a bucket list of people to get rid of — the Doc could have something there. It was certainly worth investigating. They could start with North, and see what might connect him with one of Ahmed’s patients — someone with a grudge to settle.

  “D’you fancy a pint later, in the Wheatsheaf? Give us a chance to relax and unwind a bit before we go home and face . . .” He grimaced. “Well, before I have to go back and face up to the Lydia thing,” said Calladine.

  “Okay, Tom, I’ll see you in there about seven.”

  “Great, Doc. I’ll look forward to it. I’ll pop along and see Julian before I go. Anything else comes up, let me know.”

  “I will, Tom, and don’t you overdo it. We may be wedded to the job but at our age we need to stay on top physically.”

  Calladine walked briskly along the corridor to Julian’s lab. He felt better. Talking to Doc Hoyle and the realisation that the method of killing was important, had helped lighten his mood.

  “DI Calladine!” Julian Batho said when the inspector entered his lab. “I was going to ring you,” he told him with a rare smile on his face. “I’ve got DNA from the beaker. Albert North’s, as we would expect, and A.N. Other. They must both have drunk whiskey from it. North’s DNA is on record but we don’t have a match on the database for the other, I’m afraid. But come the day when you drag someone in. Then we’ll see.”

  “That’s great, Julian; I’m sure it’ll pay dividends. Did any of the uniform boys or the scenes of crime people find anything that would suggest a break-in?”

  “No, and we checked the place thoroughly. The killer must have been let in. Do you know whether anything was taken from the house?”

  “No, but I don’t think the motive was robbery. We’ve found someone who knew the doctor well. We’re going to get her to look around his house and see if anything is missing. We’ll try to get a DNA sample from her too.”

  “If you get anything, bring it in and I’ll see what I can find.”

  * * *

  He had walked to the hospital. It wasn’t far from the nick and although the weather was still cold it wasn’t raining and the fresh air would do him good — help clear his head. He intended to walk back to Ruth’s and pick up his car. Oh, and coincidentally his route would take him past Amaris Dean’s shop. Hopefully he’d find she was free.

  He’d left the box there this morning. He’d not meant to, but being tired and still slightly the worse for the drink of the night before, he’d forgotten all about it. He wondered whether she would have opened it.

  The shop was empty and Amaris was stacking shelves behind the counter.

  “Hello,” he greeted her sheepishly. “Thanks for last night and I’m sorry I crashed out like that on your sofa. It’s not what I’m usually like, really.”

  She turned and gave him that smile; the one that had the power to make him go all boyish. Her long dark brown hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders. She looked so young, so lovely.

  “It wasn’t a problem, Tom. You were troubled. You’re still troubled,” she said coming closer and placing her hand on his arm. “Coffee? A chat, maybe?” she suggested. “I’m a good listener.”

  He checked his watch. Mid-morning; why not?

  “Okay. Do you want me to mind the shop while you make it?”

  She walked over to the door and turned the sign to ‘closed.’ “Not necessary. We’ll take our coffee upstairs. You left your tin box here — I’ve got it safe for you.”

  She took him upstairs to her flat. It was warm, cosy and smelled of the same incense she’d been burning in the shop.

  “Sit, relax and I’ll put the coffee on.” She reached over to a set of shelves and handed him the box. “I haven’t peeked, I promise you, though I was tempted. It has a strange aura. It holds a secret that’s made you afraid.”

  She was right on that score. But he wasn’t just frightened, he was terrified. She could have looked, Calladine reasoned, then she’d know the secret. But had she? Could he believe her? He placed the box on a small table in front of the sofa.

  “Amaris!” he called through to her. “Sorry I came here like this, but I wanted to thank you, and to retrieve my box.”

  “Call me Amy,” she said, startling him as she came back into the sitting room with a tray of coffee. “Amaris is my business name — my Wicca name. Amy Dean is what’s on all my official documents, and it’s what my friends call me.”

  “Amy . . .” He pondered this for a moment. “I can understand an Amy — it’s Amaris that scares the life out of me.”

  She laughed and put the tray down in front of them.

  “What is it that scares you about my name, Tom?”

  “Well, you, the whole package. The things you do — the stuff you seem to know.”

  “But I do know things, I can’t help the way I am, can I?” She shrugged. “But you mustn’t be afraid. I want us to be friends. Nothing I know can hurt you.” Amy sat down beside him and kissed his cheek. “Do you have a woman in your life, Tom?”

  Now he felt really nervous, and coughed, clearing his throat. He’d no idea where this was going.

  “Don’t you already know the answer to that?” he asked lightly. “With all your talents, I mean.”

  “I sense a complication — emotion but also distrust. Whoever you are with is not the woman for you and I think you are just beginning to realise that.”

  He shook his head. “In that case, I suppose the only answer I can give is — perhaps,” he said throwing his arms in the air.

  She laughed. “That makes no sense. Perhaps is not an answer, so I will ask instead — are you in love with anyone?”

  Now that he could answer — no he wasn’t. He’d been infatuated with Lydia, flattered by her interest in him, but it wasn’t love. He shook his head.

  “See, in that case you’re free, emotionally free. Free perhaps to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “You want me to take you out?”

  She was smiling at him. That pretty mouth of hers, what was it saying, and what was she hinting at?

  “If you wish.” She paused, and her eyes were flashing him messages he didn’t understand. “Or we could eat here, order something in.” She took his hand in hers. “I would prefer that. I make no bones about my needs, Tom, and I’m sorry if my openness makes you uncomfortable, but I want to make love with you. I’ve wanted you since the moment you first walked into my shop.”

  Calladine was stunned. Amaris Dean wanted him! Wanted him in the biblical way as his mother would have said. He pulled his hand
free and a shiver ran through him. He’d no idea what to say to her, what to do. Had she sensed the desire in him?

  “Well, Tom?” She took hold of his hand again. “Do you want to come here tonight and make love to me? I think you do. I touch your hand and I can sense it.”

  He looked at her face. That smile still lingered and those amazing eyes were twinkling with amusement. She knew. She knew damn well what she was doing to him. She probably knew too, how much he was attracted to her. He nodded. His mouth was too dry to speak.

  “I’m a very open person and I’m sorry if it offends you, Tom. I have had many lovers, I’ve never married and I don’t have children. I am wary of close emotional attachments — you see, they drain me. That might not be what you want to hear but you need to know before we start this. I want you to be under no illusions about what you’re getting into.”

  She was very honest. Wary of emotional attachments — what was that supposed to mean? And what if he became emotionally attached?

  “We’ll see how it goes,” he managed to mumble.

  “Drink your coffee and take two of these. They’ll make you feel better.” She handed him two tablets.

  “Some weird potion, are they?”

  “Paracetamol,” she replied, suppressing a giggle. “You have a hangover and I want you fresh for later.” Then she leaned closer and kissed his mouth hard.

  * * *

  Calladine picked up his car and drove back to the nick. All this personal stuff was really messing with his head. First Eve Walker, or Buckley — and now Amaris, or Amy, Dean were whizzing around in his mind. It was all interfering with his thought processes where the case was concerned. He needed his wits about him.

  But he couldn’t forget what Amy Dean had just said to him. The way she’d spoken and her openness about what she wanted kept going round and round in his head. He should be flattered. He could hardly believe his luck — she wanted him, wanted him physically. And he wanted her too — but what to do about Lydia? She wouldn’t just pat his arm and let him go. She’d be outraged that he was seeing another woman, and she’d retaliate. He shuddered. That woman had a mean temper.