DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Helen H. Durrant

  Jack Naden ran his hand over the oak finish of the wall. “There’s a cupboard in this panel,” he said, pushing slightly. It swung open, revealing a small space behind it.

  The air was suddenly full of dust, making Annie cough.

  “Look at that!”

  Annie peered forward through a haze of dust. In the bottom of the cupboard lay a school satchel. Her husband bent forward and lifted it out.

  “Something the kids didn’t find and ruin. It’s one of those old-fashioned leather ones. Look! It has those shoulder straps so it can be worn on the back.”

  “It’s filthy,” Annie said, brushing off some of the dirt. “There’s a name on the front. It’s been written on a piece of card and stuck into the see-through pocket. I can’t make it out.”

  “It must have been there years. It’ll have belonged to someone long gone.” Jack pushed back the panel. “Perhaps someone who lived in the cottage at one time.”

  “Do you think there’s anything inside it?”

  He gave the thing a shake, raising a cloud of dust. “Books, probably.” He handed it back and walked away towards the kitchen.

  Annie knelt on the floor and opened up the satchel. “The schoolbooks are still inside!” she shouted to her husband. “They’re in really good condition too.”

  Annie took them out one by one. All the exercise books had covers made of wallpaper. She smiled. Her teachers had made them do the same. She read the name on the inside of the satchel: Carol Rhodes. Annie wondered if she was still around in the area, perhaps she could give it back. Her parents-in-law might know. They had lived for nearly fifty years in the farm a few hundred yards away.

  There was nothing of much interest in the books. Carol obviously hadn’t been a particularly good student. Her work was covered with scathing comments in red ink. Annie was about to give up when she spotted another smaller book tucked into a pocket. It was a diary.

  It was pink with a lock that had long since rusted away. Annie flicked it open. The writing was in thick black pen and was easy to read.

  Annie couldn’t help feeling guilty. She was prying into the world of a teenage girl who’d long since grown up. This was her diary, her personal world, and these were her secrets. How would she feel about someone reading her diary?

  Carol Rhodes was now probably old enough to be Annie’s mother. But she’d been only fifteen years old when she’d written this. Back then, her head was full of clothes, boys and leaving school. No thought of staying on in education in those days. Apparently a job had already been earmarked for her at Leesdon paper mill. The entries rambled on at length about how she couldn’t wait to leave that summer and what she’d do with the money. A holiday: ‘Spain’ was circled in red with the letter ‘E’ beside it. ‘E’ featured on almost every page. She must have been Carol’s best friend, or a boyfriend perhaps. They were going to a concert — a pop group Annie had never heard of were playing in Oldston. Then Annie spotted the hearts, two of them. One had ‘Caro’ and ‘?’ written inside it; the other, ‘E’ and ‘Ken.’

  She wrote every day, pages of the stuff. Then suddenly it stopped. After the sixth of May 1969 Caro wrote no more. The last entry was simple. It read: ‘pregnant.’

  * * *

  “Who was she?” Rocco asked Imogen, his mouth still open. “She’s got some balls, ordering the DCI about like that.”

  “She’ll be the DCI we’ve been promised from Daneside,” Imogen told him. “She’s here to help with the murder. I reckon the Costello angle has got them all fired up. I bet he’s the real reason she’s here.”

  “What has Costello got to do with Emily Blackwell’s murder?”

  “Nothing. But if Costello is currently operating on our patch, then Daneside and the new MIT would be interested. And they’d want to watch him,” Imogen explained.

  “She didn’t sound like Daneside to me. That was a Yorkshire accent.”

  “So? What does it matter where she’s from?”

  Joyce interrupted. “Did you give the inspector his message?”

  “No, I forgot.” Imogen read the note on her pad. It was from Ruth Bayliss, the detective sergeant who usually worked with Calladine. “Ruth knows how fraught things get. She’ll understand. Did she say what she wanted him for?”

  “No. Just that it was important.”

  “She’ll be missing us,” Rocco piped up.

  “I doubt that. Ruth’ll have her hands full. It’s no picnic looking after a tiny infant, you know,” Joyce said.

  “How hard can it be? They eat, sleep a lot and you push them around in a pram.” He shrugged. “Piece of cake.”

  “I’d like to see you coping, Rocco.”

  “Well, he couldn’t, could he?” Imogen smiled. “He’s all talk, this one.”

  “I’ll ring her later,” Joyce told them. “Tell her what we’re up to.”

  “What d’you reckon then, about the redhead? Trouble, or what?” Imogen asked.

  “I’m sure she’ll be okay once we get used to her,” said Rocco.

  A pretty face, thought Imogen. Typical. “She won’t be okay if she persists with that attitude. DCI or not, Birch won’t like being put in her place like that in front of the team. Personally, I think she’s going to be a problem,” she said.

  * * *

  “How can you be so sure Costello wasn’t responsible for shooting that lad?” Birch asked the woman.

  “Because my team had him under surveillance. He hasn’t left his house in Harrogate for over a week. And that car — it wasn’t his. It was a company car. Any one of his employees, or their family members, could have been driving it.”

  “Costello always takes a back seat while someone else pulls the trigger. It’s called having other people do your dirty work.” Calladine smiled glibly. “You must know that. You’re not that naïve, surely?”

  “If there’s one thing I’m not, Inspector, it’s naïve. It really pisses me off when male colleagues start with that sort of thing.”

  Birch cleared her throat. “My inspector saw the car himself,” she told her.

  “Did you see who pulled the trigger?”

  Calladine shook his head.

  “Then why blame Costello?”

  “The car,” Calladine repeated. “If Costello is staking his claim to the Hobfield and Davey crossed him, he would dive in with a gesture exactly like that. At the very least we should ask ourselves why the car was there. Can you explain why there was a shooting within minutes of it turning up?”

  “No, and I’m not even going to try.”

  “I think you should at least give it a go, DCI . . . ?”

  “King,” she replied. “I’m DCI Eliza King, from the Yorkshire MIT. I’ve been seconded to the new MIT for Leesworth area for a while.”

  “We’re not sure we are.” Calladine smiled. “Party to anything I mean. The boys upstairs haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, I’m here regardless.”

  “Because of the murder or because of Costello?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “We don’t like riddles, DCI King,” Birch told her. “This is a shooting on our patch, so we will investigate. Currently we’re investigating a murder too. DI Calladine will interview anyone he considers has something to offer.”

  “You are wasting your time. I know where Costello has been for every hour of last week. Why bring him in to have him laugh in your faces? He’ll make you look like a bunch of bloody fools. And do you want to know how he’ll do it?” She waited, her hands on her hips, and her dark eyes moved from one to the other. “He’ll feed you some tale about that car being stolen and he’ll provide a police report to prove it. I don’t want to get heavy about this, but I will if you don’t back off.”

  Her attitude rankled both Birch and Calladine. This was their nick. Birch’s expression said it all.

  “So we leave him alone, do we?” Rhona Birch said. “We just let him shoot and terrorise the people of Leesdon?”

  “That w
on’t happen. My team won’t let it.”

  “It is already happening,” Calladine said.

  “We are gathering evidence that will finally nail him.”

  Calladine snorted. “Fat chance of that. It’s been tried before and it failed.” He paused, studying the woman. “You do know who you’re dealing with?”

  No response.

  “You are not helping, DCI King,” said Birch. “DI Calladine has a point. You are here to support the investigation into the murder that took place today. That, surely, is your priority.”

  “Unless the murder has something to do with Costello,” added Calladine. “Is that it? Do you suspect him of killing Emily Blackwell too?”

  “No . . .” She hesitated. “But they both lived around here once and could have known each other.”

  “The shooting and the murder are two completely different matters,” Birch told her. “We know a vehicle belonging to his firm was on the estate. If you have explored any links between him and Emily, you should tell us what you’ve found.”

  “Can’t,” Eliza King said. “Not yet anyway.”

  Dislike was written all over Rhona Birch’s face. “We don’t have time for this,” she told King.

  “I’m here because of the murder,” she insisted. “About the shooting — I don’t know yet. That happened while I was still on the M62. I’ve only just caught up with events. Superintendent McCabe suggested Emily Blackwell might have known Costello and told me to keep an open mind.”

  “So why would he kill her?” Calladine asked.

  “I’ve no idea.” She looked at Calladine. “And it wasn’t him personally, because I know exactly where he was.”

  “But you acknowledge that he could have been behind it,” Birch added. “I repeat, it was one of his cars at the scene. That given, you can’t go getting upset when Calladine drags the miscreant in.”

  “That would ruin months of work.” Eliza looked at Birch and then at the DI, her eyes narrowing angrily. “We want Costello. He is top of our hit list. He’s being monitored and he’s unaware of it. I don’t want him rattled.”

  “You want him! He’s a Manchester villain. If any force is hounding Costello then it should be us.”

  “For the last few years his people have been running a drug-dealing operation on the East Yorkshire coast. We’ve taken down three of them. They were crucial but we need Costello. Only then will the gang become fragmented enough for it to cease existence.”

  Calladine shook his head. “You’re fooling yourself. Costello is a sharp operator, sharper than a lot of detectives.” This was pointed. “Are you sure he’s not running rings around you?”

  She gave him a look. Her eyes flared.

  “Look, let’s all calm down, shall we?” Birch said.

  Calladine could see that King wasn’t happy. She’d obviously expected to swan in here and just take over. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to know a lot more about her first. How much experience did she have in dealing with villains like Costello? The woman looked so young. Eliza King was wearing denim jeans, a hoodie and a pair of what he knew to be expensive Converse trainers. He’d bought Zoe a pair just like them at Christmas. Practically all the female DCIs he’d met so far were in the style of Birch — suited and smart. This one looked as if she’d be more at home on the Hobfield!

  Calladine watched King move over to the office window. He would really like to know how a young woman like her had made DCI already. What was she? Late twenties, early thirties? Certainly no more than that.

  “What is your role while you’re with us?” Birch asked. “We have a murder and the shooting to investigate. We’re one officer down, so we need all the help we can get.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Eliza King shot Calladine a wary look. “But Costello must be left alone. For the time being anyway.”

  “But why?” Calladine reiterated.

  “Blunder into this and months of work will go down the tubes.” This was said with feeling.

  “Will you share what you’ve got on him?”

  “No. It would serve no purpose at this time.”

  “So, shooting or not, he’s free to do as he pleases.”

  “No. Our efforts are about to pay off, Inspector. Finally we have someone who will testify against him. Until we have all the evidence in the bag, we leave Costello well alone.”

  Calladine shook his head. “The reality is, you have nothing. You’re here on a wild goose chase.” He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Why do you think anyone would forfeit their life to help the police?”

  “Costello is losing his grip. Something has happened to shake things up.”

  “Want to elaborate?”

  “No. Perhaps a little further down the line.”

  Calladine suspected she had no idea. She was here on a fishing trip.

  “If he’s operating in Yorkshire, why are you chasing an informant in our neck of the woods?”

  “Because this is where he lives,” she told him patiently.

  “There you have it, Calladine. The Hobfield connection.”

  “I’m still not sure, ma’am. I’m curious why someone from Leesdon would contact the Yorkshire force to squeal about Costello. Did McCabe enlighten you?”

  Eliza King was still angry. “All you need to know is that we have an opportunity to get him. You don’t want to be the detective who puts a spoke in that particular wheel, do you? Where the informant comes from is totally irrelevant.”

  Calladine tried another tack. “You have to trust us. You will need help. At the very least Costello or one of his people was witness to a shooting today.”

  She turned towards him, her expression hard. “I know he’s a villain. The bastard kills people. He ruins lives.” Now there was hatred in her dark eyes. “No one wants him locked up more than I do.”

  That look spoke volumes. “This is personal, isn’t it?” Calladine looked at Birch. Surely she must see it too? “Personal means mistakes. What is it between you and Costello?”

  “Now you’re being dramatic, Inspector,” Birch intervened with a half-smile.

  “You’re here because your little project is in danger of failing, isn’t it? You have a problem.” He was guessing. Eliza King’s face remained impassive. “That’s what’s really pissed you off. That’s what’s brought you here. Someone’s stopped playing ball.”

  “This isn’t a game, Inspector,” she snapped back. “You can sit there and make up fairy tales all day. But I won’t tell you any more than I already have. The informant makes contact through me. You have to back off.”

  “Look at the Fallon case,” said Calladine. “You have heard of Ray Fallon, I take it?”

  She nodded.

  “That was meticulously planned. An informant determined to give evidence was put into witness protection. But Fallon found out and had the poor bugger killed.” Eliza King said nothing. “Costello will be aware of every move you make. God help anyone you rope into this because if Costello is anything like Fallon then you’ll never even get close.”

  Eliza King gave him a filthy look. “We don’t do things that way. My force has done its homework. We’ve kept this operation tight. I was transferred to Daneside specifically to wind this up.”

  She’s shown her hand, thought Calladine.

  “Not the murder, then? You are looking for someone on our patch.”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Does the poor sod know you’re coming for him?”

  She nodded. “Arrangements have been made. Our informant will be in witness protection very soon.”

  “So where is he now? Wandering the streets of Leesdon, jumping out of his skin at every shadow?” He could see that Birch was wrestling with her temper. She was as disturbed as he was by what Eliza King was telling them.

  “Will you need help?” Birch asked her.

  “If I do, I’ll ask. Superintendent McCabe promised me your full cooperation.”

  “There is
still the shooting to clear up.”

  “DI Calladine is right,” said Birch. “I still think someone should be interviewed about that.” Birch met the DCI’s gaze. “Costello will think it odd if he is not approached. It was definitely his car on that estate this afternoon.”

  Eliza King seemed to be considering this. “One of his people, Gavin Trent,” she said, handing Birch a card. “He rang me a while ago. Costello was interviewed after a robbery and wanted to sue for harassment. We sorted things out. He seems like a reasonable guy. Ring him and he’ll set things up. But if he spins you a yarn then accept it — for now.” She turned to Calladine. “Speak to him only about the shooting, nothing else. Do you understand?”

  And Eliza King walked out of the room.

  Calladine looked at Birch and exhaled. “A force to be reckoned with, that one.”

  “I’m just as much in the dark as you are,” Birch said. “But she’s only with us until the end of this week, so I’ve been told.”

  That was a relief. It meant she wouldn’t be on their backs for long. “The Emily Blackwell case has to be our priority, ma’am, followed by the shooting. I was on the Hobfield speaking to the victim’s son when Wayne Davey was shot. Despite what that harridan out there thinks, Costello has to be approached. We will speak to everyone who was out and about on the estate at that time. His car was parked in full view. There is no way we can ignore that.”

  “I agree . . . but please don’t refer to her as a ‘harridan.’ She is a DCI and therefore your senior. Grit your teeth and give her at least a modicum of respect.”

  But Birch was smiling.

  He smiled back. “Softly-softly it is.”

  Chapter 5

  “You’re going to need somewhere to work.”

  Eliza King was pacing the corridor, deep in conversation on her mobile phone. He smiled. “Currently we have a spare desk in the incident room.”

  Pocketing her phone she followed him in.

  “It won’t do. The stuff I’m working on is . . . sensitive. I need a space of my own. Who’s in there?” She nodded towards the door of Calladine’s office.

  “Me.”

  She put her hand on the back of Ruth’s chair. “The empty desk here?”