by HH Durrant
‘No, I live up there,’ she said pointing to the first floor. ‘I have a lovely flat above my shop. Fancy a drink, Tom,’ she smiled again. She had that look in her eyes again, the one that he felt sure could see into his very soul. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Tom, do you?’
She was still staring, her gaze holding him. No he certainly didn’t, she could call him anything she wanted. He was attracted to her, but not just that, there was something else too, for now he’d put it down to fascination.
‘You look…. troubled,’ she decided. ‘You almost walked right past,’ she frowned. ‘Work, is it – case getting you down?’
‘Something like that,’ he replied following her into the shop.
‘You should learn how to relax. Perhaps I could show you some techniques.’
‘Like what?’
‘Relaxation, you could even come here and try a reiki session.’
Something else he didn’t understand.
‘What did you mean – development session? What is it that’s being developed?’
She laughed and picked up a bottle from the table. It was a vodka bottle but the fluid inside was pink. He was staring again – was nothing about this woman ordinary?
‘My special cranberry vodka,’ she told him. ‘Here, try some. It’s lovely at this time of year, warming and festive.’ Her eyes twinkled as she handed him a generous glass full.
Calladine sipped the pink liquid as if it was some mystic potion but she was right, it was delicious.
‘Some of my customers show potential, for example in healing or mediumship,’ she explained. ‘I hold workshops, invite a guest speaker and we go from there.’
‘You’ve been busy then?’
‘Oh yes, Tom, that’s what it’s all about. Every session I hold here helps to generate business for my shop. But by far the most popular are the Tarot readings.’
Still clutching the vodka he’d followed her upstairs to her flat. The sitting room was a delight – a cosy oasis from the busy high street. She had the place decorated in subtle tones of pale green with bead curtains between the rooms. She had a number of paintings on her walls, some a little esoteric looking and one fabulous nude. His gaze fell on it and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The woman was posing on a fur mat, nothing was left to the imagination and her hair fell long and lustrous down her back. But it was her eyes, that searching look that finally made him turn and face her quizzically.
‘Yes,’ she nodded, a smile hovering on those full lips. ‘That is me, a good few years ago now though.’
He’d anticipated as much. She was a truly gorgeous woman, the painting simply confirmed it. Calladine sat on the sofa, sinking into the deep, lush cushions. He checked his mobile – nothing, no messages and no missed calls. He turned the thing off – it wouldn’t harm for once. The vodka warmed him and somewhere in the background there was soft music playing. He yawned, the day’s problems slipping away as he closed his eyes.
***
Thursday
‘What the hell have you been doing? You’ve been gone all night, no word, nothing,’ an angry Lydia greeted him.
She was stood in his kitchen, dressed for work in a crisp suit, her hands on her hips as she glared at him. Her blonde hair was loose and brushing over her shoulders, she looked glorious.
‘I told you, I went to Ruth’s… we had a lot to discuss,’ he explained with a shrug as if it was no big deal. But, of course he knew very well it was – it was a very big deal in fact because Amaris Dean had got to him. That would explain why he felt like a naughty teenager!
‘You left about ten, I rang her. And you turned your mobile off – you never turn your mobile off, Tom. So what’s going on?’ She demanded angrily. ‘So, I’ll ask again, where have you been all night?’
‘I fell asleep,’ he replied lamely. It was true after all. He’d drunk the vodka and fallen asleep on Amaris’s sofa. But he could hardly tell Lydia that – she’d no idea about Amaris. Anyway, it wasn’t as if Amaris was a rival for his affections or anything. Who was he kidding!
‘It’s not good enough, Tom. None of it is and I can’t go on like this anymore.’
Alarm bells were going off inside his head.
‘You don’t come home, you don’t want to help with my work, our relationship is crashing and you don’t give a damn, do you?’
‘Of course I do,’ he was struggling. ‘I had a lot of thinking to do, things I discussed with Ruth.’ Not a lie, what about the Eve Buckley problem, he reminded himself.
‘You’re always talking to Ruth. Don’t you ever consider talking things over with me, for a change?’
‘I don’t want to burden you, apart from you she’s one of the few people I can talk to.’
‘You never tell me anything and you don’t take me anywhere anymore. You’ve become a huge bore, Tom Calladine and it’s not good enough, not by a long way.’ With that she turned on her heel and flounced off into the kitchen.
What had he done - nothing much at all in his book, but she wasn’t going to believe any explanation he gave her. Perhaps he should take her out more, make a fuss of her but the truth was at the end of a hard day he didn’t have the energy. That was the age gap rearing its ugly head as he knew, inevitably, one day it was sure to. Calladine had no idea what was going on but he hadn’t the will to work it out. He needed to shower and change and get off to work. Lydia was fast becoming an irritation he could do without.
‘It’s six thirty, and I’m off soon. You’d better drink this,’ she handed him a mug of hot coffee.
He took the drink gratefully and downed it. He had to get his head together, today was a big day. He rubbed his face and yawned.
‘Off where?’ He queried. ‘Not back to the prison, surely. You’re not going back to see that villain. He’s playing you, you shouldn’t go near him.’
‘I’ll do what I like, Tom Calladine,’ she said sticking her nose in the air. ‘But I’m not going to see Fallon today; instead I’m going to find myself an apartment to rent.’
He looked at her. She was stood clutching a suitcase in each hand. ‘Just like that?’
‘No – not just like that. We’ve both seen this coming. You’ve got your work back now, and you’ve fallen back into your old habits. Work, booze, sleep, that’s your life, Tom. You don’t have room for romance, and you certainly don’t have room for me.’
‘That’s not true – we’re good together. You looked after me while I was ill. I thought we had something, were going somewhere,’ he looked shocked.
‘Going where, exactly, Detective, because I’m not for settling down, not yet awhile. And when I do decide to, my life will be a lot different from the one you seem to be offering.’
‘My job’s very demanding,’ he mumbled back.
‘So’s mine, and they’re not compatible.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Like I said, I’m looking for a flat, but in the meantime Zoe and Jo have said I can have their spare room.’
Bloody good that – his own daughter taking in his estranged lover!
Chapter 9
‘It’s barely seven in the morning, why so early, can’t it wait, Harriet,’ Gordon Lessing asked with annoyance? ‘I’ve got work. My haulage business won’t run itself. This is most inconvenient.’
More inconvenient than he realises, the voice purred in Harriet’s head.
‘You know how ill I am, and this won’t wait. I still have things that belonged to Sybil. You should have them, jewellery and other items she gave me.’
He didn’t reply but she could almost hear his thought processes. He would want Sybil’s stuff if he thought it might be valuable. He was a miserly sod so the thought of getting something for nothing, something he could sell on, that was the hook she needed.
‘You know how I’m fixed, Gordon. I’m trying to leave things straight,’ she cleared her throat. ‘It’s all good quality; most of it belonged to our mother. Your Jane gave it to me after Sybil died.
But it should go to her now – I’ve no use for it. There’re some family papers too, Jane is into all that genealogy stuff so she’ll appreciate it.’
Jane was his and Sybil’s only child – she was now the last of the line.
‘Do you want me to come and collect it?’
‘No I’ll bring it round in the car later. You said you had some props we could borrow for the show at the Church Hall, remember, the magician’s paraphernalia. I thought I could take a look while I’m at it. You’ve no idea how difficult it is to get that sort of stuff.’
‘Yes I suppose that’s alright. I’m here this morning until about ten but then I have to go out.’
‘Thank you, Gordon - I’ll come round within the hour.’
Harriet knew that her brother-in-law had been an avid collector of theatrical bits and pieces for years, the older and the more unusual the better. He kept it all in his cellar – exactly where she needed him to be.
He’ll take you down there but he won’t be leaving, the voice reminded her in a gleeful tone.
Harriet was excited – Gordon Lessing was the big one. She’d get him to take her down into that dark, damp cellar of his and there he’d breathe his last, cold, battered, and in agony.
Serves him right – d’you think Sybil wasn’t cold when he did what he did to her?
The voice was right. Sybil had been trapped for days in the dead of winter with a head injury, a broken femur and with no way of calling for help. Lessing had done that. When she was found her poor sister was very close to death because of hypothermia. She’d also lost a lot of blood, and had stood little chance of survival despite the hospital’s best efforts. The medics dismissed what she’d told them as delirium, but Harriet knew different.
Sybil had told her weeks before that Lessing wanted her dead and that she was scared. At the time Harriet had reassured her that he wouldn’t dare – he had too much to lose. Nonetheless she never once doubted that her sister was wrong. Gordon Lessing was an evil man and as far as Harriet was concerned – capable of anything. But Sybil was on her guard, and she’d have told him as much. However Lessing was a clever man. No one could find any evidence that Sybil’s death had anything to do with him.
After her death Harriet had pieced it together. She knew he’d driven them both to their caravan by the coast. They’d stayed for the weekend then he’d said he had to return home alone because of work and that Sybil had wanted to stay. But Harriet couldn’t understand that. Sybil hated being alone and it being winter, the park would be deserted.
Given her injuries, he must have hit her with a heavy object. He must have taken a wrench or something similar to her head and her leg then left her for dead. He’d been clever too, he’d set things up so it looked like a robbery gone wrong. He’d told the police that when she didn’t ring he’d become worried and gone to find out what had happened.
Poor Sybil, poor dead Sybil – Harriet was finally going to make him pay. She was going to make him talk too. She’d beat a confession out of him and record it for the police – cruel bastard that he was.
***
‘You look awful,’ Ruth said raising her head from the pile of papers on her desk. ‘The result of going walkabout last night, I presume. Want to tell me about it?’
‘Can’t look that bad,’ he replied rubbing his chin.
‘Well you do,’ she hissed. ‘And I don’t know what you think you’re doing but Lydia was on phone half the night. I hardly got a wink of sleep, I was worried about you too, idiot! Why didn’t you just ring her and let her know where you were?’
‘Because I fell asleep.’
‘Are you kidding? I mean where is there to get your head down between mine and yours?’
‘I bumped into someone, a friend, we had a drink, and well…’
‘Well what, and what friend?’
He’d have to tell her. She’d go on and on until she wheedled the truth out of him, so why not just cut to the chase.
‘Amaris Dean,’ he cleared his throat.
‘I see.’
She had that expression on her face, the unimpressed one as she shook her head. As far as Ruth was concerned - he was at it again. Now he’d have to explain, in detail, because she’d want to know the lot.
‘You never learn do you? After the debacle with Monika I thought you’d do things differently but no, you carry on making the same old mistakes. You’ve still got Lydia at home, remember her? The woman you’re supposed to be nuts about. The one you don’t deserve.’
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘But still you go chasing after some other poor unsuspecting female without clearing up the problem of the old one first. She’ll find out, you know. Lydia is a smart cookie and when she does I wouldn’t want to be in the firing line.’
‘Amaris isn’t poor, and I doubt she’s unsuspecting, in fact I think she’s great. She makes great vodka too.’
‘She’s distilling it – that’s illegal.’
‘No – she steeps cranberries in it, makes a lovely mix, very moorish.’
‘So you got drunk, and slept where – in her bed?’
‘Don’t be daft, I hardly know the woman. No I dossed down on her sofa. Unintentional I should add. But when I woke up she’d taken off my shoes, plumped a couple of pillows around my head and covered me in a duvet. Lovely woman, lots of promise, I reckon she quite likes me.’
‘Then she wants her head looking at – you too. Lydia will skin you alive when she finds out.’
‘I don’t think Lydia cares anymore,’ he confessed sheepishly. ‘She’s left me.’
Ruth looked at him long and hard. How come he was able to deliver news like that with nothing more than a cursory shrug? Not so long ago Lydia Holden meant the world to him.
‘I’m sorry, and I mean that. I thought you might actually make a go of it with the woman. But I can’t say I blame her, but why she’s gone – does she know about Amaris already? You haven’t been stupid enough to tell her, have you?’
‘No, and don’t you go telling her either. She’s fed up, that’s all. She’s had enough of me not being much fun, that and my reluctance to get involved with Fallon again has sort of ruined it.’
Ruth was well aware of Calladine’s hatred of his cousin and of how much Lydia wanted to change that. But her reasons were purely selfish. Lydia still believed that Fallon could somehow benefit her career. Unlikely, in Ruth’s opinion, as she couldn’t see how involvement with the villain could help anyone – it had virtually ruined Calladine’s chances of promotion.
‘So where’s she gone?’
‘She’s staying with Zoe and Jo for the time being, can you believe that – my own daughter’s putting her up! She’ll be expecting me to make some grand gesture so that she can come back,’ he rubbed his head. ‘Trouble is I don’t know if that’s what I want. I’m all out of grand gestures where Lydia’s concerned. I know it sounds mad, given how things have been the last few months, but now that she’s gone I feel sort of relieved’
‘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?’
He didn’t reply but wandered off towards 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 early days but we will tell folk after the first scan.’
‘You told me.’
‘You’re not folk – are you?’ She said, giving him a grin. ‘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 cause you trouble.’
Ruth’s advice might be well founded but it was too late. Amaris Dean was already a problem. She was in his head - he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.
‘Who’s going to see Samantha Hurst?’ He called back.
‘I though you and me would go. She’s got a clinic until eleven then she’s free.’
‘Can’t you take Rocco with you?’
At that moment both Imogen and Rocco entered the Incident Room so Ruth took the conversation into his office.
‘Is this you wimping out again, Tom Calladine?’ She asked closing the door behind her. ‘It should be you, you know that. This is too important. We need to ascertain the nature of their relationship. Samantha Hurst could even become a suspect – have you even considered that? You need to set aside all the personal stuff and get your professional head on. You need to deal with this properly. She looks like the only person who knew Doctor Ahmed well enough to tell us anything. She can probably determine if anything is missing from his house. We need to take her there, walk her around and see what she says.’
‘I can’t go anyway, I’ve got things to do this morning, Occupational Health,’ he lied. ‘After that I’d thought I go see Doc. Hoyle, see what forensics has turned up. I should tell Julian about Samantha. Get a DNA sample and finger prints when you see her.’
‘Okay then, I’ll take Rocco, but this isn’t finished, not by a long chalk and like I’ve said before, it won’t go away. You need to face this. Samantha Hurst may not even know who you are but she’s your half sister, you can’t change that.’
His face was grey again, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He knew Ruth was right but he couldn’t face meeting his new family, not yet. And if he saw anyone first then it had to be Eve Buckley herself.
Two mugs of coffee, a quick look at the Cassidy/Prideau files and he had 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.
