Ricky Blackwell shook his head but didn’t answer.
“I need to ask you about your mother, son,” Calladine said kindly.
“Go through and sit down,” Enid offered. “I’ll make some tea.”
The two detectives followed Ricky through to the sitting room. The place was clean and nicely furnished. Not what they were used to seeing on the Hobfield.
“You’re staying with your auntie then, Ricky?”
“Yeah. I won’t be able to keep the flat on. The rent’s too much.”
“Do you know where your mum was going today?” Calladine asked.
He shook his head. “Work, I thought.”
“Do you know why your mum would have gone up to Clough Bottom?”
He rubbed his good eye and shook his head. “She never went up there. She hated the place.”
“Do you know why?” Rocco asked.
“She never said. I think it had something to do with the past.”
“Do you know why Emily hated Clough Bottom, Mrs Mason?”
“It’s Miss. I never married.” She set a tea tray down and looked at Ricky. “Who told you that?”
“Mum always said she couldn’t stand the place. We never went up there for picnics or anything when I was little.”
“It’s all in his head, Inspector,” Enid insisted. “Emily had no reason to hate any place round here. It was her home, where she came from.”
“Was Emily seeing anyone?” Calladine asked.
“No!” Enid sounded as if the idea was preposterous. “There’s been no one for years. Not since she ditched that no-good husband of hers.”
Ricky said nothing.
“Where did she work?” asked Rocco.
Enid turned to him. “She worked in the council tax department. It was a simple admin job, nothing complicated. She’d been there years.”
“Have you ever heard of Jet Holdings?” Calladine added.
“No,” she replied at once. “No idea. Why?”
“They were sending Emily money every month.”
She didn’t react but Ricky stared curiously at Calladine for a moment. Calladine got the impression that if his aunt hadn’t been there, he’d have asked about it.
“It must be a company she worked for in the past, an investment, something like that.” She looked nervously at Ricky as she spoke. Calladine suspected she wasn’t telling them everything. Was she hoping the boy would keep his mouth shut?
“Tell me about Emily’s ex-husband, Ricky’s father,” Calladine asked.
The woman shook her head. “He left them. I don’t know why and I never pried,” she practically whispered. “Look, Inspector. Do we have to talk about this now? Isn’t Ricky upset enough already?”
“Do you see him, Ricky?”
The lad shook his head.
“Ricky hasn’t seen his dad in years. The no-good waste of space never sent any money for him either. Emily raised him alone.”
“How long since he left?”
“It’s been seven, maybe eight years. He was real aggro, Inspector. Emily couldn’t stand the strain. He’d stay out all night. He got into fights and mixed with a right bad crowd. Emily was thankful to be rid.”
“Anyone in particular he fought with? Do you remember any names from that time?”
Enid Mason shook her head.
“Was Emily afraid of anyone? Had anyone made threats against her recently?”
“My goodness, no! We keep ourselves to ourselves, Inspector. We go to work and neither of us has ever mixed much. I don’t think Emily had an enemy in the world.”
Well, she had at least one, thought Calladine. The woman was being evasive. Did she have something to hide or was she simply protecting the boy?
“Did Emily have a mobile? We haven’t found a handbag or a phone.”
“She had a black shoulder bag. She kept her life in it, and her phone.”
“You should ring the bank and cancel her debit or credit cards,” Calladine advised. “Ricky, if you think of anything, or if Archer and his crew give you grief, let me know.”
The lad nodded without much enthusiasm.
Suddenly there was an ear-splitting ‘crack’ from outside, followed immediately by another.
Rocco sprang to his feet. “That’s gunshot!”
Calladine’s pulse began to race. The DC had to be mistaken. The Hobfield wasn’t perfect but there’d been no gun crime here for a long time. The two detectives went to the front door and stood on the deck. Below them a group of people were gathered around a figure lying on the concrete.
Ricky Blackwell came out onto the deck. “That’s Wayne!” he gasped.
Calladine and Rocco raced for the stairs. They’d only been talking to the lad a matter of minutes ago.
“Has someone called an ambulance?” Rocco shouted, flashing his badge at the growing crowd.
Wayne Davey was lying on his back. They had heard him screaming but now he was only semi-conscious. Both legs were bleeding profusely.
“They’ve blasted his kneecaps, sir,” Rocco whispered to Calladine. “Poor bugger.”
Calladine pushed his way forward. “Did anyone see who did this?” Nothing but some vague mutterings. He bent down beside Davey. He was rambling, falling in and out of consciousness. “Who did this to you?”
Rocco tapped Calladine’s shoulder. “The ambulance is here, sir.”
“Speak to me, lad.”
His eyes opened. They were glazed over. He must be in excruciating pain, thought Calladine. He doubted the boy’d say anything. This was a warning. His life was on the line and he wasn’t stupid.
They waited until Wayne Davey had been taken away. “That limo’s disappeared,” he said to Rocco. “When we’re back at the nick we must find out who it belonged to. And have a PC keep an eye on him at the hospital.”
He looked around. The area had emptied suddenly. No one would talk. Davey had crossed someone, but who was it?
Calladine turned to Rocco. “That ambulance turned up bloody quick. Check on that too when we get back. I’ve a sneaking suspicion it was called out before the lad was shot.”
* * *
“A shooting?” DCI Birch sounded incredulous. “Gang war, here in Leesdon?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It might be an isolated incident. We’ve had them before. The fact is, no one will talk to us — not yet anyway. Something is wrong on that estate. I’ll go and see Wayne Davey in the hospital once he’s come out of surgery. He might speak to me, given what’s happened.”
“Does Davey belong to a gang?”
“Highly likely. Most young men do. But the gangs on the Hobfield have been fragmented since Fallon’s death.”
“A fight for supremacy, then. Is that what we’ve got?”
It was a possibility. Just as Calladine was about to voice his opinion, Imogen interrupted.
“Sir! That car. It belongs to Rose Argent Enterprises Ltd.”
Calladine felt his stomach tighten.
“Costello.”
He could see from the blank faces that the team didn’t know the name, or what it meant. They’d not been in the force as long as he had.
Since the shooting, Calladine had been mentally sifting through the possible culprits. Potentially that included most of the Manchester underworld. But the name Vincent Costello hadn’t even figured. The Hobfield was small fry. A villain like Costello wouldn’t be interested.
“Costello is old school,” he told the team. “He’s made a fortune from his criminal activities. These days he hides under a veneer of respectability. His team have worked hard to airbrush out his dodgy past. But in his time he was a vicious killer.”
“I’ve never heard of the man, sir,” Rocco said.
“No reason you should have. He was long before your time, before mine too. He must be in his late sixties by now. His PR people have done a first-class job. The transformation into good guy has been so complete I almost believe the hype myself.”
“And you think h
e’s behind the shooting? You think he’s making a play for the Hobfield?” Birch asked.
Calladine stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was thinking about what Wayne Davey had said. “Costello wouldn’t be interested in that cash-starved estate. Word has been circulating for a while that he’s retired. But if he did venture back into a life of crime, it would be something far more lucrative than a bit of dealing on the Hobfield.”
“So why was that limo there?”
“I’ve no idea, ma’am. But we have to find out.”
“I’ve found something, sir.”
“Go on then, Imogen.”
“Rose Argent is a sizable concern. It comprises a number of companies,” she told them. “The accounts are up to date and filed each year on time. All of them are in the black.”
“I’d expect nothing else,” said Calladine. “These companies he runs, profitable are they?”
“Yes, sir. He’s doing very nicely. He’s certainly not short of a bob or two.”
Calladine spoke to DCI Birch. “But don’t be misled. Costello is a villain. Just because he’s old and wealthy doesn’t make him any less dangerous than he ever was. If, and it’s a big if, this is down to him, we’ve got a huge problem. The man’s past is so bloody the Hobfield would become a war zone.”
“One of his cars was on that estate. You both saw it with your own eyes,” Birch reminded them. “He’ll have been sizing the place up.”
“He doesn’t need the aggro. The Hobfield isn’t worth the effort. Not to a man like Costello.”
Birch was looking at Imogen’s screen. “This all looks fine to me.”
“Of course it does,” said Calladine. “His life today will be totally above board. He’s clever. I don’t believe he wants the Hobfield but I’m not taken in. His organisation may be big and profitable, but it’s nothing but a smokescreen for his murderous past. Despite the big house in the country, the private school for the kids, he’s still a capable villain.”
“So what are we missing? What would he gain from running the Hobfield?”
“Nothing that I can see, ma’am. But if he was involved in that shooting today, then it sends the case spiralling into a whole new dimension.”
“Perhaps he’s being challenged.”
“No one would dare. He might stay in the background these days but he still heads one of Manchester’s largest and most prolific gangs.” Calladine scratched his head. “He has his own security team. If there was any challenge it would be quashed at birth.
“Perhaps someone wants us to think it was Costello,” Rocco suggested.
“We’re back to that limo. It is registered to his company,” said Birch.
Calladine was still puzzled. “It would have to be something big to drag him into the limelight again.”
“So what could have brought him to our patch?” Rocco asked.
“It’s vacant after the demise of Ray Fallon,” Birch pointed out.
“That’s not nearly enough,” Calladine told them. “It has to be about something else.”
Rocco was studying the information on Imogen’s screen. “It was alleged that he was behind that bank robbery in Cheshire about a year ago. The gang got away with an absolute fortune.”
“That was merely speculation, DC Rockliffe,” Birch said. “Nothing was proven against him. We can’t know for sure that Costello was behind that robbery.”
Calladine sighed. “Nothing is ever proven against him, ma’am. Costello is a past master at getting away with things. He greases palms and intimidates. Cross him and you’re dead. He has a team of goons to do his dirty work and an expensive brief by his side at all times. Central used to call him ‘Fortress Costello.’”
“I remember CID at Central talking about it at the time,” Birch said. “They suspected Costello. Someone leaked information to the local police. A member of his gang was suspected. Problem was, the witness disappeared without trace so no charges could be brought against Costello. I recall he was interviewed though.”
“Do we know who that gang member was?”
“No, Inspector. Whoever gave the information didn’t give a name.”
“So why the Hobfield — and why now?”
“Because it’s going begging, Inspector.” Birch spoke as if it was simple logic. “He knows that if he doesn’t step in then some rival outfit will.”
“What puzzles me is how a young scally like Wayne Davey attracted his attention.”
“He either wouldn’t play ball or he’s crossed Costello in some way,” Rocco suggested.
Imogen turned to them. “That Cheshire robbery. There were two fatalities and a number of gang members injured. Because of the information given, armed police were waiting at the scene. One of the robbers was shot dead and one died later in hospital.”
“And they still got away with the money?”
“Yes, Rocco. According to the report, the money was got out through the cellar and taken into the shop next door,” Imogen told him. “The police made arrests. A small amount was recovered on one of robbers fleeing the scene. Amidst all the mayhem, the bulk of it was spirited away in a refuse truck.”
“Is that relevant?” Birch asked.
Calladine had no idea. But if it was down to Costello he would be damned annoyed at the leak. And he wouldn’t want to be in the informant’s shoes either.
“Let me have a look at his record,” Birch said to Imogen. “See what we’re up against.”
“There is nothing, ma’am. He’s spotless. He’s been arrested on a number of occasions and he’s always walked clean away. There are either no witnesses or his alibi is cast iron.”
“This one is the real deal, ma’am,” said Calladine. “He’s a far better operator than Fallon ever was. Fallon was a hothead. He got it wrong many times and ended up in prison. But not Vinny Costello. He always gets it right. That man has got away with everything from petty crime to murder, and there is never anything we can pin on him.”
“If he is responsible for maiming that lad today, then we will nail him, Inspector,” she insisted.
“I didn’t realise he was local.” Birch was looking at his record. “Born on the Hobfield too. Do you remember him, Calladine?”
“No, ma’am. He’s quite a bit older than me. But I do remember him being talked about.”
“Have you considered that that could be the reason he’s back? It’s his old stomping ground?”
“That would make him sentimental. Believe me, ma’am, Vinny Costello is a long way from being soft-hearted.”
“He, or one of his people, was driving an expensive limo.”
Calladine nodded.
“Then he’ll have been seen. Someone pulled that trigger and to do that he had to get out of the car and walk across the square.”
“You’re spot on, ma’am, but naïve about the Hobfield, if you don’t mind me saying. No one on that estate will dare speak up. They’ll have been warned. They’re not stupid. If anyone dares to breathe a word, Costello will take them out too. He is not someone you mess with.” He turned to Imogen. “Did you check on that ambulance?”
“Yes, sir. It was called a good ten minutes prior to when you said the shooting occurred. A male voice reported that there had been a shooting on the Hobfield, and then hung up.”
“Do they have the caller’s number?”
“Yes. An unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile.”
“See, ma’am? This is how it is. We end up with nothing.”
“Nonetheless, Calladine, I want you to talk to him. If he was on that estate today, we want a statement. We’ll bring him in.”
“You must not do that!” A woman’s voice shouted from the office doorway. “You can’t drag Costello in here.”
All eyes turned to look at the person who’d had the nerve to contradict Birch. For someone who sounded so full of authority, she certainly didn’t look the part. She had long red hair scraped back into a ponytail and was wearing jeans and a hooded top. She looked like a kid
you’d find hanging out on some street corner.
“Currently all dealings with Costello must go through me.” She walked into the room. “Apart from which, I don’t think he was responsible.”
Birch turned and stared at the woman who’d had the temerity to call the shots in her nick. “We’ll take this to my office now,” she glowered. “Calladine, you come too.”
Chapter 4
“Are you sure we’ve done the right thing, Jack? It needs a lot of work.” Annie Naden looked around her at the interior of Clough Cottage. It was an utter mess. “Kids have been in here. Look at the empty beer cans and rubbish on the floor.” She aimed a hearty kick. “The garden’s a state too.” She walked to the window. “What have they been doing? It looks like someone has been digging out there.”
Her husband put an arm around her waist. “We used to be the same. Remember that old barn down Hopecross way? We used to tramp all the way up there, play our music, drink and generally trash the place.”
“We were never this bad. Look, someone’s even had a go at lifting the flags in here.” The kitchen floor was still covered in the original Yorkshire stone.
Jack stamped in an effort to level one of them. “They’ll make a lovely feature cleaned up.”
“Keeping it traditional then, are we?”
Jack nodded. “I could even put an old range back in if you want. I know where there’s one going begging.”
She laughed. “Don’t think we need to go that far. I’ll have a range, but a brand-new gas one, please.”
“When do you want to start?”
“The sooner the better. I’m sick of living with your parents.” Annie began to wander through the ground floor rooms.
Walking behind her, Jack Naden nodded. “We’ll get it cleaned up a bit and live here while we fix it up, if you want.”
“What about water?” she asked. “We’ll have to get our supply from the spring, but that well out there needs attention.”
“We’ll need to sort that as well as the pumps and pipework. Don’t worry. My dad will help. We can copy the system he has up at the farm.”
Annie led the way into the sitting room. “Look at this! It had beautiful panelling on the walls in here but the little sods have kicked holes in it.”
DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 3
