DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Helen H. Durrant

  Eliza lived by the sea on the East Yorkshire coast. After her divorce she’d wanted somewhere quieter for her girls, somewhere not contaminated with the memories of her toxic marriage. The village she’d chosen was a tranquil backwater, away from the resorts of Scarborough and Whitby. But given what was happening with Jade she’d still got it wrong. She’d not moved far enough away from Harvey Evans.

  Grange Street was pleasant enough, two neat rows of terraced houses with their own parking spots. Eliza crossed her fingers that he hadn’t lied about his address and knocked at number five. A middle-aged woman, who she took to be his mother, opened the door.

  The woman looked her up and down. “Is your son in?” asked Eliza.

  “No. Why? Who are you?”

  “Just a friend.” Eliza smiled. “He said to pop round if I was ever in town.”

  The look on the woman’s face was doubtful. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. And that suits me just fine.”

  Not what Eliza wanted to hear.

  “So if you do find the toerag just be sure to tell him to stay away. Life’s a helluva lot simpler without that waste of space under my feet.” She banged the door shut.

  This was bad. Eliza knocked again.

  “I have to talk to him. Do you know where he hangs out, or a friend he might be staying with?” For the informant’s safety, she did not want to broadcast the fact that she was police.

  “No, love. I can’t help.” She looked at Eliza suspiciously. “I don’t know what this is about, or who you are. But my advice is to stay away.”

  “This is really important,” Eliza said.

  “The last time I saw him he was with a crowd of his mates on the Hobfield. Try there. He’ll be shacked up in some dump of a flat, high as a kite.”

  The Hobfield. Calladine territory. She might have no choice but to ask the DI for help.

  * * *

  Kayne Archer gave his mate a chilling smile and held the gun aloft. “This useful piece of kit will give us the edge we need. A present from our new benefactor. With his help we’re going to run the estate. Any aggro from Costello’s mob, and this little beauty will help us sort it. There’ll be no more shootings on our patch unless it’s us pointing the gun.” He passed it to Mick Garrett. “You need to learn how to handle it.” His mate examined the weapon tentatively and he laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not loaded.”

  “You’re not serious, Archer?” said Mick. “I didn’t get into this to do no killing. What happened to Wayne shook me up. The drugs are one thing, but guns . . .”

  Archer smiled back. “Think of it as protection, then. Wayne getting it like that has shown us how much we need to stay on our toes.”

  “What do we do for bullets?” Mick asked.

  “I’m seeing someone later. All arranged by the new big boss. For a trade, he’ll provide all the ammo we need.”

  “What trade?”

  “The weed. We supply him and in return, he’ll supply us.”

  “Where did you get it — the gun?”

  Archer tapped the side of his nose. “Told you, I was given it. We’re not on our own anymore. We have friends who will provide.”

  “Come on. Where did it come from? Folk don’t give guns away.”

  “Think of it as payment in advance,” Archer told him.

  “In advance of what?”

  “The work we’ll be doing. Work we’ll get well paid for. Leave the questions, Mick. You knew what we were getting into.”

  “There’s something written on here.” Mick was examining the barrel. “I think it’s a name. The letters are worn and old. Can this be traced?”

  “No, fool, of course it can’t.” Archer snatched the weapon from Mick.

  “If it belonged to someone else, it could get you into trouble.”

  Archer sneered. “You really are going soft. I reckon this baby will keep us out of trouble. The bloke who gave me this guaranteed it was clean.”

  “What bloke? Why don’t I know him? You didn’t nick it, did you?”

  “Stop asking stupid bloody questions. I told you. We need the gun. This isn’t a school playground. It’s down to us to watch this patch.”

  “You must be mad. We can’t take on Costello with one empty pistol. Is this new boss you’re on about for real?”

  “Look, Mick, he knows what he’s doing. He’ll make sure Costello has other things to worry about until we’ve got the estate sewn up.”

  “Used guns can be traced. It might have killed someone. We don’t want the blame for that.”

  Archer pushed his face into Mick Garrett’s. “I didn’t pinch this and no one is coming looking. No one is getting blamed for anything. Understand? The people we’re working for will watch our backs.”

  “As long as you understand that having that thing in your pocket puts us in a very different game.”

  “We’ll talk later. I’ve got someone to see now.” Archer checked the time on his mobile. “You’ve got work to do, haven’t you? The weed won’t sell itself.”

  “Who are you meeting?”

  “Better you keep out of it for now.”

  Archer was reluctant to tell his mate too much. On one hand he could do with the back-up. Wayne Davey being shot like that was a blow he hadn’t anticipated. But on the other hand there was money to be made and he didn’t fancy sharing.

  “Sure you don’t want me to come along? Get your back?”

  “It’s best if you keep out of it.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  * * *

  By the time Archer reached the meeting place it was dark. He was nervous. He didn’t like waiting and the man was late. Bar one other time, up until tonight they’d only communicated via the pay-as-you-go mobile he’d given him.

  The meet had been the man’s idea, as had the place — under the viaduct. Archer stood in the shadows cast by one of the huge stone pillars, where he couldn’t be seen. For extra reassurance he kept a tight grip on the gun in his pocket. Didn’t know and didn’t trust. If things got heavy he’d get one in first.

  “Archer!” a voice hissed. “You alone?”

  Archer spun around. He couldn’t see him properly. He too was in the shadows. The man was like him — wary. But he could tell that he was older, by a good few years, plus he was wearing a suit.

  “Yeah, as agreed. What d’you want?”

  “I want results.” The man spoke into the darkness between them. “We had an agreement. You haven’t kept to it.”

  “My mate Wayne got shot. It scared the hell out of me. It set us back. We’re now a man down.”

  “What happened to Wayne was unfortunate. But things will settle. Costello won’t win this. He’s losing his edge. You have to keep your nerve. You just make sure everyone understands who’s in charge around here. It’s time you threw your weight about more. You’ll get no arguments from me. Once Costello sees the estate is secure, he’ll back off.”

  “Costello had Wayne shot?” Archer suddenly felt cold.

  “He knows what’s happening. What did you expect him to do?”

  “Wayne didn’t deserve that. Problem is, if the police push him, Wayne will talk. He’ll drop us all in it.”

  “Then get on with the job and stop pissing me about.”

  “What happened to Wayne — it changes things. Makes things too risky. Perhaps you should up the payment.”

  “You’re getting paid too much as it is.”

  “We can’t take on Costello without resources. We need a show of muscle around the estate. More money and I can convince others to join us.”

  “Bad idea. Before we can blink we’ll have a turf war on our hands. We do this quietly. We move in, take the lot and leave Costello wondering what happened. You’ve done everything I told you about the other thing?”

  Archer nodded.

  “Good. Word will have reached Costello by now. It’ll give him something to worry about. Time to drop it. Don’t contact the police again — got it?”
>
  “I could get my head blown off for what I’ve done.”

  “Keep out of sight. Get the others to do the running.”

  “Getting shot wasn’t in the agreement.”

  The man came a little closer. “Get on with what you’re paid for and don’t cross me, Archer.”

  “What if the police ask questions? They’re bound to after what happened to Wayne.”

  The man grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “You’re winding me up. Don’t become a liability.”

  “Let me go! I can’t breathe.”

  Archer lowered his eyes. The man had half of his little finger missing on one hand. Archer was gasping but he couldn’t take his eyes off it. How had that happened?

  “So far you’ve done a good job. Keep your mouth shut and your head down, and we’re onto a winner.” Finally the man threw him to the ground.

  “If the police ask questions, what do I tell them?”

  “They know it wasn’t you shot your friend. There’s plenty of talk going round. They know Costello wants to come back and what he’s capable of.”

  Archer took the gun from his pocket. “I don’t want this anymore. If I’m picked up, and the police find it . . .” He pushed the gun towards the man.

  “You need it. It might save your life. Go back to the flat and do what we pay you for.” He handed Archer a couple of notes. “This will keep you going for a while.”

  Archer shook his head and put the gun back in his pocket. Two fifty quid notes. “That won’t keep me for long.”

  “Be creative.”

  “I need more. I’ve got to pay Addy.”

  “Don’t wind me up, kid. You don’t want to end up like your friend Wayne.”

  A shiver flew down Archer’s spine.

  “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. You wanted to be part of this. In means exactly that. You can’t pick and choose.” He grabbed hold of Archer again. “It’s quite simple. You follow instructions. If you want to live.”

  And then he was gone. Archer watched him until he disappeared. He took the mobile from his pocket, removed the sim card and threw them both into the river. The man could stuff his plans. Taking on Costello was far too dangerous. After what happened to Wayne, he had no intention of hanging around.

  “What you up to, Archer?”

  It was Mick Garrett.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I followed you,” he replied. “You’re up to something. I won’t be sidelined. If there’s a deal going down for the weed, then I’m in.”

  “Not here and not now, mate,” Archer said, squinting into the gloom. “You’ll get your share. We agreed — remember?”

  “What you doing here?”

  “None of your business. This is private stuff.”

  Garrett grabbed Archer’s arm. “If you are going behind my back, I’ll do you.”

  “Don’t be stupid. The bloke I’ve just met will only deal with me.”

  “Is that the bloke who gave you the gun?”

  “Wait in the flat. I’ll come and find you in a while,” said Archer.

  “The police have been all over the estate. They won’t be finished yet.”

  “The shooting wasn’t down to us.”

  “You’ve got a gun, remember?”

  “I didn’t have it then, did I?” Archer hissed.

  “So who shot him?”

  “One of Costello’s lot.”

  “You’re a stupid bastard, Archer. We can’t take him on. The man’s evil. We’ll all end up dead. The police will come looking, but they’re pussycats compared to that one.”

  “Let the police look. We’ll be fine. We didn’t do for Wayne. Don’t talk about the gun to anyone — got it?” Archer cast a furtive glance into the blackness. “I’ll text you later. We’ll meet up.”

  “No way. I’m getting out and so should you. If what happened to Wayne is down to Costello, then we’d be better off with the police on our backs.”

  “Keep your mouth shut, Mick.”

  “A disappearing act needs money.”

  “The weed’s not ready yet. Addy will let me know and I’ll be in touch.”

  “So we’re broke. Where am I supposed to go, Archer?”

  “I don’t know. Use your head.”

  “You’re up to summat. If you’re double-dealing, squeezing me out of what I’ve earned, I’ll make life difficult,” said Garrett.

  “It’s not what you think. The bloke I met has nothing to do with you or Wayne. But he’ll be pissed off if he finds out I’ve spoken to you.”

  “Be careful, Archer. If I find out you’ve dropped me in it, I’ll tell the police everything I know.”

  “Just do one.”

  Archer watched his mate walk away. His figure blended with the shadows for a few seconds and then he was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Wednesday

  “Oddly quiet, don’t you think, sir?”

  “It’s only eight. Most of the folk on this estate are jobless. They lie in bed all morning sleeping off the night before.”

  Calladine and Rocco were sitting in the snack bar at the Hobfield community centre, drinking tea.

  “Did you see Ruth?”

  “I did as it happens. I took the baby out for a stroll last night so that she could get some rest.”

  “Are you missing her, guv?”

  “Yes, Rocco. Work isn’t the same without her, is it?”

  “She’ll be back before you know it. You know what she’s like — can’t stay away from the job.”

  Calladine shook his head. “Stiff competition, a baby.”

  Rocco smiled. “They do a mean bacon butty here. Just listen to the sizzle coming from behind that counter. Lift anyone’s mood that.”

  Calladine swallowed his tea. “No time. We’ve got to go.” Then he sniffed. The smell of frying bacon filled the room. “We might come back later, see how things go.”

  “Thought you might be on a health kick after yesterday, sir.”

  “So why tempt me with the prospect of bacon? I might do something with Ruth. She fancies the gym too. It’s all about finding the time.”

  “You should go for it — the pair of you.”

  “We’ll see. It’s not come to that yet.” But it was getting perilously close, he knew. He wasn’t carrying his fifty-one years at all well. The sum total of his exercise was walking the dog down to the common and back each evening. What was that, half a mile? Not enough to stop the rot. Perhaps when this little lot was sorted he would try the gym. Couldn’t do any harm, could it? He was due a health check anyway. He couldn’t afford any problems. His job depended on it.

  They walked towards the tower blocks.

  “None of this makes any sense,” Rocco said. “Why kill Emily Blackwell and why would someone like Costello target a scally like Wayne Davey?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t down to Costello,” Calladine replied.

  “Then who?”

  “Could be anyone. Some bloody fool making a play for the action and mistakenly thinking Davey was the rival to beat.”

  A cleaner at the community centre had told them that the squat was on floor ten of Egret House, the tallest of the blocks. The detectives decided to visit the flat together — safety in numbers. Then Rocco would go and speak to Emily’s neighbours.

  Calladine hauled himself up the last couple of floors. He was gasping, mouth open, chest aching. He leaned against the wall for a few minutes. His heart was pounding.

  Rocco nodded. “Told you. You need to reel it in a bit.”

  Calladine was bent over, his hands on his knees, still breathing heavily. “I do a bit. I’ve got the dog now, the one I’m looking after for Marilyn.”

  Rocco chuckled. “Looking after! Marilyn’s banged up for the foreseeable. That dog is yours now, sir. No wriggling out of it.”

  “Alright, I’ll walk him a little further. But like I said, problem is finding the time.”

  “The booze, precious little exercise, you know
the drill. I’m only saying because Ruth isn’t here. She’d be on you like a ton of bricks if she saw you in this state.”

  “Has she been talking to you?”

  “We talked last night. She didn’t like the look of you yesterday.”

  So that’s how it was. No Ruth, so Rocco was his appointed conscience. Ruth Bayliss had a lot to answer for. After he’d taken the infant off her hands too. “Next time, the pair of you can tell me to my face,” he huffed.

  Calladine was still panting as Rocco walked along the deck, banging on all the doors. The tenth-floor flats were mostly boarded up. They were allegedly part of the refurbishment programme, but it looked to Calladine as if the council had totally forgotten about them.

  A lone voice shouted out from behind one of the doors. “Get lost!”

  Calladine positioned himself outside. “Police. Kayne Archer in there?”

  He heard the squeal of bolts and then the door opened an inch or two. A youth stuck his head out. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. From what they could see of him, he looked scruffy, in a stained T-shirt and ripped jeans.

  Calladine smiled. “Kayne Archer or Mick Garrett.”

  “They’re not here. They went out last night and didn’t come back.”

  “Have you tried their phones?” Calladine asked.

  “Neither of them’s answering. Weird that. Usually they’re never off the buggers.”

  “Are they living here?”

  The lad shrugged.

  Calladine didn’t have time for this. “I can always drag you down to the station. See if that loosens your tongue.”

  The boy opened the door a little wider. A gust of hot air hit Calladine in the face. The smell was unmistakable.

  “What’s going on in there?” He tried to see past the boy but he moved, blocking Calladine’s view.

  “Archer’s been here a week or so,” he admitted. “Mick stays sometimes but he does go home.”