DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Helen H. Durrant

  “The Nadens got it. But it was tough going. Some woman was fighting Jacob Naden tooth and nail.”

  “You’ll find something,” Calladine assured her. “Why not speak to Zoe’s partner, Jo. She’s an estate agent. I’m sure she’ll help.”

  “Actually that’s not a bad idea.”

  Zoe was Calladine’s daughter. She was a solicitor and her partner, Jo Brandon, was an estate agent. Between the two of them they more or less had the Leesdon property market sewn up.

  As they left, Calladine heard Imogen on the phone to Julian. She was suggesting exactly that.

  “Wonder what she did to end up dead, sir,” Rocco said to Calladine.

  “Crossed some scroat — easy to do when you live where she did.”

  “She didn’t look the type to live on the Hobfield. She looked too classy.”

  “Classy clothes — doesn’t mean she was a classy woman. She probably had some money to spare, that’s all. And money to spare can be a dangerous thing on that estate.”

  “DI Calladine!” Rhona Birch called out as they passed her office door.

  He rolled his eyes. “Give me a minute, Rocco. You go sort the car.”

  Calladine poked his head through the half-open door. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Come in. Take a seat. I’ve had Superintendent McCabe on from Daneside.”

  “What have we done to interest him?”

  “We have a body, as well you know. He is heading up the new Major Incident Team, so it’s his job to be interested.”

  “I thought they’d decided to leave us out. I read the memo. It said the team would only involve Oldston, Daneside and parts of East Manchester.”

  “That might be the case eventually, but for now they’re still making up their minds.” She paused for a moment, a frown creasing her masculine features “I have to say their interest has aroused my curiosity. We’ve had incidents recently that they have completely ignored. So what could be different about this one?”

  “Perhaps they’re short of something to do.”

  Rhona Birch didn’t look amused.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open, Inspector, and keep me informed.” The look she gave him could freeze the soul. “And be warned. If they do send someone, it’ll be a DCI.”

  In that case he’d keep his fingers crossed that it wasn’t the newly promoted DCI Greco.

  Chapter 2

  The punch landed hard. The young man fell back onto the concrete floor, banging his head. He ran a tentative hand over his face — blood. The bastard had bust his nose.

  “You let us down,” Kayne Archer said, kicking his leg. “You were asked to do a simple job. You got it wrong and that’s no good to me. Get stuff wrong again and I’ll take you apart.”

  “I can’t do it. I’d be no good at it,” Ricky said. He shuffled away, on his backside.

  “You’ll be fine. You need to toughen up.”

  “I’m not like you. I can’t get away when I want to.”

  “In that case you’d better make some changes. I want you on the team. Refuse again and you’ll suffer.”

  “No,” Ricky said, holding the bottom of his T-shirt against his nose. “I don’t want any part of it.” Ricky was terrified. He’d never faced up to Archer and his crew before. They could do him some serious harm. He decided to chance it. “Mr Costello wouldn’t like it.” He’d heard his mother whispering to her sister about someone called Costello. He’d no idea who he was, only that he was trouble. But he had no other defence against this lot. There were three of them — Mick Garrett and Wayne Davey, but it was Archer who was baying for blood. Ricky’s eyes flitted over their faces. Archer wanted to lamp him one. He had his fist ready, poised behind his head.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game.” Archer’s arm came down and he flexed his fingers. He poked Blackwell’s chest instead of caving his skull in.

  That had been close. Ricky Blackwell felt sick.

  “Don’t take Costello’s name in vain,” warned Archer. “You need to be careful. You never know who’s listening.”

  It had worked, though. Archer gave him a long, hard look, grunted an expletive and took off with the two others behind him.

  Ricky Blackwell struggled to his feet. He felt dizzy. His head hurt and blood from his nose had stained his clothes. But he’d got off lightly. Whoever Costello was, Ricky owed him.

  Archer and his cronies had collared him in an alleyway across the square from Heron House where he lived. Like most people his age on the Hobfield, they didn’t like him.

  Ricky tried to keep his head down. It was a matter of self-preservation. He was a natural target for any would-be villain who fancied his chances. He was twenty-two years old but looked at least five years younger. He was small, thin and pale and had a reputation as a mummy’s boy.

  Despite treating him as some sort of joke, Kayne Archer was trying to recruit him. He wanted him to run drugs — become a delivery boy. The idea was that Archer would give him the drugs and then Ricky would ride round the estate on his bike, delivering and collecting the money. Ricky would get a cut. But it wouldn’t be long before Archer was feeding him drugs too. Then the money would stop and payment would be made in his drug of choice. Ricky’s mother had warned him. She’d forbidden him to have anything to do with the likes of Archer. But it wasn’t easy.

  Ricky brushed himself down. He’d straighten himself out when he got to work. He had been promised a shift at the café on Leesdon High Street. With a bit of luck he could sponge the blood from his clothes. He didn’t want his mother worrying. Mind you, the worrying worked both ways. She’d gone out early this morning, saying she’d be gone all day. He wasn’t daft. He knew she was seeing someone and she didn’t want him finding out.

  * * *

  “What d’you reckon that lot have been up to?” Calladine had spotted the knot of young men emerging from the alleyway.

  “The tall one’s Kayne Archer, sir — right tearaway. Rumour has it he’s dealing dope on the estate, but we don’t know who for.”

  “Get uniform to keep an eye out. The first hint that he is — drag him in. Fallon’s death has left a huge gap. All the villains in Greater Manchester must be falling over themselves to fill it. It’s only a matter of time before one of them becomes head man around here. Who are the other two?”

  “Mick Garrett — another right hothead, and Wayne Davey. Davey wouldn’t be trouble on his own but put him with that pair and anything’s possible.”

  “So they’re the next generation of trouble we’ve to contend with.”

  “Who do you reckon is ahead — for the post of top dog, sir? One of them?”

  “It could be anyone. The Manchester villains will all be in the running.”

  “Anyone in mind?”

  “No, Rocco, but that doesn’t stop me from having a bad feeling. Sooner or later someone will show their hand. This estate is literally going begging.”

  “Should we stop them, sir? Have a word?”

  “No, Rocco, leave them for now. It’s not the right time.”

  The two detectives made their way up to the second floor of the tower block. Number twelve looked okay. Like the body at the scene, it looked well kept. There were decent curtains at the windows and the paintwork was fresh and clean. Whoever Emily Blackwell had been, she’d had her standards.

  Rocco knocked and they waited.

  “No one in, sir,”

  “We could do with finding him.” Calladine looked up and down the deck. “I’ll try next door.”

  A woman answered. Calladine showed her his badge.

  “We’re looking for Ricky Blackwell. Do you have any idea where we can find him?”

  “Ricky? He went out earlier. He might have gone to work or the job centre.”

  “Where does he work? It’s important we speak to him.”

  “He gets the odd hour at the café on the High Street. He might be there. Is Ricky in trouble?”

  “No.”

  “So what d
o you want him for? His mum shouldn’t be long.”

  “Do you know Ricky’s mum well?” Calladine asked.

  “She’s my sister.”

  * * *

  “We now have a positive identification,” Calladine told the team. “The woman killed on the hillside was Emily Blackwell. Rocco and I went to her flat on the Hobfield looking for the son, Ricky, but we couldn’t find him. We’ll go back shortly. His aunt, Emily’s sister, is going to collect him from work. She agreed to do the identification and I’ve just come from taking her to the Duggan. She confirmed the body is that of her Emily and gave me a current photo.” He pinned it to the incident board.

  Imogen looked up from her usual place behind her computer. “I’ve already started some background searches. Emily is divorced. We looked at her bank account and she didn’t have a fortune coming in. Oldston Council paid her salary each month so I presume she worked for them. But there is something else.”

  “Go on,” Calladine prompted.

  “A small amount of money was paid in each month. It has being going on for years — a company called ‘Jet Holdings.’”

  “Do we know who they are?”

  “No. Tracing them is proving difficult and it shouldn’t be. I’ll get on to the bank and see what they know.”

  “Does her bank account say who she paid her mobile phone bill to?”

  Imogen nodded.

  “Get on to the service provider for a list of calls and texts. It’s probably switched off now or run out of battery, but make sure.”

  “Emily was dressed up,” he continued. “She looked as if she was going somewhere — make-up, high heels.” Calladine was pacing up and down. “We need to know where, who with and how she got to where she was found. Was she meeting a man, for instance?”

  “Odd if she was,” Rocco chipped in. “Folk don’t usually arrange a date halfway up a hill.”

  “There was the auction today, sir,” Imogen reminded him.

  “Yes but that took place in the town. Presumably all the viewing had been done.”

  “The Nadens bought Clough Cottage but there would have been other viewings. There was a woman for example. We didn’t know her and she was a bit last minute. She was dead keen to buy the place. She looked the part too. You know, plenty of money behind her. Next thing, she gets a phone call and does one. She sounded American. She may well have looked at the cottage earlier or last night and seen something.”

  Imogen had a point. “Ring the auctioneers and check it out. See if they know who the woman was.”

  “We need to find her son, sir,” Rocco volunteered. “He may know who those payments came from and where Emily was going.”

  “Inspector!” DCI Birch came into the office and nodded at the team. “I’ve had McCabe on the phone again. He does want a member of his new team in on this but he won’t say why. He says it’s because of the murder but I’m not sure I believe him.”

  “What other reason could there be, ma’am?”

  “It could be anything. I know him of old. He’s hiding something.”

  “Does he have a particular DCI in mind?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “In that case let’s hope we can entertain him,” Calladine said lightly. “So far it’s a fairly straightforward murder — if murder can ever be described as straightforward.” He tried a smile. “So — go on. Who do we get?”

  The entire team were aware that Calladine didn’t want to work with Stephen Greco again. They waited with bated breath for Birch to reply.

  “They are sending us someone new, a DCI King.”

  There were sighs of relief.

  “So we’re to have a spy in the camp.” Calladine was trying to keep it light for the team. “That’s a new one. Perhaps the real reason is to check on our performance.”

  “She, Calladine. DCI King is a woman. And no, I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Every cloud . . .” but he pulled a face. “You never know, she might let us in on whatever’s going on.”

  “She might have to. DCI King won’t get far working alone.”

  So Birch wasn’t thrilled either. She left the room.

  “As if we didn’t have enough to think about,” Rocco said.

  Calladine looked at the incident board. It was almost empty. “Come on then. Let’s see if we can get a bit more information up there before this woman turns up. All we have so far is a name, Emily Blackwell, and a location.”

  “Sir, it was a Mrs Mallon who bid on the cottage,” Imogen interrupted.

  “Do we know anything about her?”

  “No, but she must have some money behind her. Before she got that phone call she’d doubled the existing bid — ours. She was determined to get the place.”

  “Get some background on her too,” Calladine told Imogen.

  Chapter 3

  “This place doesn’t change much, does it, sir?”

  “No, Rocco.”

  “To their credit the council does try. Look at the wall over there. At some time the parks department has put flowers in those planters.”

  “Waste of time and money. The little thugs have kicked them to shreds.

  “You have to wonder why. There’s just no sense in such mindless vandalism.”

  The two were parked at the edge of the Hobfield. They were watching a group of youngsters on push bikes. They had gathered in a circle and an older teenager was speaking to them.

  “Bet that’s nothing to do with cycling proficiency,” Rocco joked.

  “Who is that, the one in the middle?”

  “Wayne Davey. He’s one of Kayne Archer’s mates. We saw them earlier.”

  “Is he local?”

  “Very much so — born and raised here.”

  “How old?”

  “He must be about nineteen or twenty. He’s never had a job as far as I know. He allegedly lives with his mother. But intel from the uniform who keeps an eye out says he’s squatting with some others in an empty flat in Egret House.” He nodded towards a tower block.

  “They are up to something. Let’s take a look,” said Calladine.

  They got out of the car and walked across the barren concrete square. Davey spotted them and grinned cheekily.

  “Go on, lads, get lost. The pigs are here,” he said as the detectives approached. The pack sped off in different directions leaving him standing alone.

  “Quite a fan club you’ve got,” said Calladine.

  “Just giving them a little friendly advice. Kids on here have to know the rules.”

  “Where’s your mate — Archer?” Calladine asked.

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re rarely apart these days. But you should be careful. Archer and Garrett are a bad lot. My advice is to keep away.”

  “You don’t frighten me,” said Wayne. “I’ve done nowt and neither’s Kayne, so you can get lost.”

  “You need to learn some manners,” Calladine told him.

  The lad laughed, cleared his throat and spat onto the ground.

  “What rubbish were you feeding that crew?”

  “Telling them like it is, wasn’t I? They want something, they come to us.”

  He’d never dare be so full of it back in the Fallon era, thought Calladine.

  “Got a new big man on the block, have you?”

  The lad laughed. “Oh yeah, the biggest. You need to watch your step, copper.”

  Behind them a huge black limo with dark tinted windows pulled silently onto the spare land in front of Heron House. Davey’s face fell.

  “I’ve got to go.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over, reducing his six feet by several inches. He looked fearful. “You’re wasting your time harassing me. I don’t talk to coppers.”

  As if a switch had flicked, Davey had gone from being a cocky bugger to a frightened little boy. He was edgy and his eyes flitted around him.

  “Afraid someone will see us together, son?” Calladine turned to look at the limo. “You need to learn h
ow to relax. All that tension isn’t good for you.”

  Davey was mumbling now. “I need to go. I can’t tell you anything.”

  “Never said you could, lad. Just thought we’d say hello.” Calladine smiled and clapped Davey affably on the shoulder. He and Rocco walked towards Heron House.

  “Get the number of that car?” he asked Rocco.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ring it in to Imogen and get her to find out who owns it. I could be wrong, but I reckon it was someone taking a long, hard look.”

  “At Davey, sir?”

  “Yes. Him and the Hobfield. Weighing up the competition and what the estate has to offer.”

  By the time they reached the second floor, Calladine was panting.

  “You should consider doing more exercise, sir,” said Rocco.

  “Cheeky sod. This is the second time today I’ve climbed these damned steps, I’ll have you know. You do know how old I am?”

  “Do no harm though, would it? Age is no barrier to fitness. There’s a new gym in Leesdon, down by the swimming pool.”

  “Any good?”

  “They’ve got all the gear and some great offers.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  They knocked at the door of Emily Blackwell’s sister.

  * * *

  “He’s very upset, Inspector,” Enid Mason told him. “And I’m not too clever myself after that visit to the morgue. Seeing Emily like that — her death. It’s given us both a shock.”

  “We won’t stay long but we would like to speak to him. It’s important that we know as much about Emily’s background as we can.”

  “I can tell you anything you want to know. She only lived next door. We saw each other every day.”

  “It’s okay, Auntie. I can do this.”

  Ricky Blackwell emerged from a bedroom. He stood in front of them in loose tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. He had a cut on his lip and one eye was bruised.

  “You’ve taken quite a pasting, son,” said Calladine, moving closer to look. “Who’d you upset?”

  Ricky shrugged. “It’s nowt, honest. A run-in earlier with some idiots. They pick on everybody. Today it was my turn.”

  “Those idiots wouldn’t be Archer and his chums, would they?”