DEAD GUILTY
A totally addictive crime thriller with a huge twist
(DI Calladine & DS Bayliss Book 9)
Helen H. Durrant
First published 2019
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
©Helen H. Durrant
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
ALSO BY HELEN H. DURRANT
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
FREE KINDLE BOOKS
CHARACTER LIST (contains spoilers if you haven’t read previous books in the series)
Dedicated to Jasper, my brilliant publisher, for all his encouragement and efforts over the last few years.
Prologue
They were as guilty as sin, and one way or another, he’d get even.
But in order to work out the detail, Bill Geddes needed peace and quiet to think. That was the difficult bit, what with the constant stream of well-wishers. For the umpteenth time that morning a stranger was at his side.
“Sorry, mate, I really am. You might not know me — I’m John Wells from the end of the street. Would have said something before, but I only heard this morning.”
A clap on the shoulder, a gesture of sympathy. Save it, Geddes was tempted to reply. But he said nothing.
“You must have gone through hell these last days. I can’t imagine how it feels.”
He was right there. No one could. “I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about it. The rawness still claws at my guts. Best if I just get on with things as usual.”
A tight smile. The man appeared to understand. “When is the, you know, the . . . ?”
“The funeral?” No sense wrapping it up, that’s what it was. “They tell me it can be as soon as the end of the week.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. I’m pushing for another post-mortem. They’ve missed something, I know it. My boy was murdered. I’ve told them, but no one will listen.”
He saw doubt cloud the sympathiser’s face. Why did everyone find it so hard to believe?
“That’s quite an accusation, mate.”
“He was murdered. Those bastards knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Surely if that was true the police would have done more?”
Geddes laughed derisively. “They’re useless! They haven’t even looked for the culprits.”
“Surely you told them about the . . . you know?”
“They’re not interested. No real proof.”
“Shame, but what can you do? Best thing is to put it all behind you. Lay your lad to rest and get on with your life.”
“He deserves justice,” Geddes replied angrily. “And I intend to make sure he gets it.”
Wells made it sound simple. But it wasn’t. The funeral wasn’t the end of it. For everyone else the grieving would stop and things would go back to normal. But not for him. Normal was an indulgence, and he wouldn’t waste time on grief either. Instead he would nurture the hate. In the end, it was that that would get him through.
Wells came a little closer. Geddes noticed that the man had a limp. “Some of us have been talking. You’re right, the police are bloody useless. It’s time we looked after ourselves. Give the bastards a taste of what they’re short of. We meet in the Pheasant pub on the Hobfield a couple of times a week. Just give me a shout if you want in.”
A nod goodbye, and he was gone. That was something else, people didn’t hang about. They found conversation with him difficult. Geddes understood that. He didn’t give a toss anyway. Let folk think what they wanted. They had no idea. No one had.
Chapter 1
Two weeks later
Tom Calladine’s eyes snapped open.
A loud bang from downstairs had woken him. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him it was three thirty in the morning. What on earth! Getting out of bed, he pulled a bathrobe around his thickening frame and staggered onto the landing. He groaned, his bones felt stiff and his back ached. Layla, his paramedic girlfriend who lived across the road, had dragged him and the dog onto the moors above Leesdon yesterday. All this healthy living stuff was killing him. Despite what Layla would have him believe, he was too old for hill walking.
Listening in the dark, Calladine could hear footsteps downstairs. Someone was in the house. He’d lived in this small terraced house for donkey’s years and never had any bother. But things were changing. Layla was constantly showing him posts on social media about local crimes, as if he needed telling! He’d read the statistics, he knew the score. It made her nervous so Sam, his dog, was staying at hers for the time being. Calladine felt suddenly outraged. This wasn’t on. How dare someone break into his home! Time to confront the villain.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, creeping up behind the little scroat, who was rifling through his bureau. He grabbed the lad by the hood, snatching it from his head. “I know you. You’re Kat Barber’s boy.” Calladine had seen the lad working with a local builder. Now he was robbing houses. “Labouring not lucrative enough for you?”
“Let go!” Barber squirmed and hit Calladine with a metal object.
Calladine yelped in pain. As if his body didn’t hurt enough! He grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and threw him to the ground. The weapon, a metal torch, spun out of reach.
Barber lay on his back. “Stay still,” Calladine ordered, and pressed his foot on the lad’s chest. “I take it you’ve got a phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Ring your mother. Now!”
“Why would I do that, loser?”
The cheek of it! “If you don’t, then I’ll arrest you. You don’t recognise me, do you? I’m a policeman, you idiot! Detective Inspector Calladine.”
The lad’s face was a picture, a mix of shock and disbelief. “Street reckoned an old git lived ’ere. I was told you’d be a pushover. I was told nowt about a bloody copper.”
“Then Street’s an idiot too, isn’t he?”
“She won’t be happy, my mam.”
Reluctantly, the lad made the call. It was the middle of the night so it took a few minutes before she answered. Kat Barber was angry. She was shouting so loudly that Calladine could hear her.
The lad ended the call. “She’s on her way.”
“This Street, what’s his real name?” Calladine asked.
“Telling you nowt, copper. I’m no grass.”
“What you are is a stupid kid who’ll end up inside if he’s not careful.”
“Bugger off!” Then he asked, “Can I get up?”
Calladine pressed his foot down harder onto the lad’s chest. “No. You can stay put. Dodging the question doesn’t mean I won’t keep asking, and eventually I will find out.”
“No you won’t, ’cos no one will talk. He’s real mean, a hard man, is Street. No one’s going to risk a beating.”
Kat lived on the street that ran behind Calladine’s. It only took a few minutes before she was banging on the front door.
“You can get up now,” he told the lad.
His mother was in her nightgown and slippers. “What’s our Sean done now?” She stormed in and cuffed her son across the side of his head. “Do you know what time it is? What the hell are you playing at?”
“He broke in,” Calladine said. “I caught him searching through my stuff. Not that there’s much here. No jewellery or money to speak of.”
Sean glanced around the room. “That laptop over there would have done.”
Calladine glared at him. “Reckons he’s working with a villain called Street. Did you know that?”
Kat took another swipe at the boy. This time the flat of her hand connected with his cheek. Calladine winced, she packed a hefty punch.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Get involved with that villain and you’ll end up inside.” She turned to Calladine. “I’m sick of telling him, but does he listen? Does he hell. This Street is a bad ’un, into all sorts. Got all the local lads, including this dollop, wrapped round his little finger. What with him and these vigilantes that’re wandering the streets at night, it’s bloody warfare out there. This one’s terrified of meeting them down an alley one dark night.”
“Doesn’t keep him at home though, does it?” Scared or not, Sean Barber was still robbing houses. But the idea of vigilantes was new to Calladine. “Street? Is that all you’ve got?”
Sean nodded. “No one knows his real name. But them vigilantes are real enough and deadly serious. Gave Wilco a beating the other night just because he was hanging about outside the late shop. Accused him of staking out the place.”
“And was he?”
Sean shrugged.
“How did you get in here?” Calladine asked him.
“Kitchen window. Broke it and forced the lock, sorry.”
That must have been the bang that woke him, Calladine realised.
“What’re you going do with him, Mr Calladine?” Kat asked. “Is it a night in the nick? To be honest, I could do with the rest.”
Calladine could see that she wasn’t joking. Her face was pale, the skin around her eyes dark and heavy. The lad himself had his head down, hands in his hoodie pockets. Calladine doubted he was really sorry, but dragging the pair of them down to the station would serve no purpose.
Calladine shook his head. “No, you take him home and deal with him. He can pay for the damage.”
“What with, got nowt,” came the sullen reply.
Calladine took hold of the lad by the front of his hoodie. “You’ll pay for that window by the weekend or you will go inside. Do I make myself clear?”
“I’ll make sure he does.” Kat grabbed her son’s arm. “Say thank you to Mr Calladine. He’s given you another chance. Not that you deserve it.”
The lad grunted something.
“I’ll send him round with the money, don’t you worry,” she said.
Calladine opened the front door for them.
“I’ve been in this house before, with my mum,” Kat said, glancing around. “She and your mum were good friends. They used to go to the ‘knit and natter’ group at the community centre together. Whenever I was off school my mum would take me along with her.”
Calladine smiled, he wasn’t surprised. His late mum, Freda Calladine, had been well known in the town. He turned to Sean. “This is your last chance, laddie,” Calladine warned. “Come within my sights again and I won’t be so soft. You’re only getting off this time because your mother’s a neighbour.”
Chapter 2
Day 1
Calladine arrived at Leesdon station just after seven a.m. He was the first one in. After the incident with Sean Barber in the night he hadn’t been able to sleep. This young villain, Street, had taken control of the younger element in the area, got them robbing houses and all riled up about vigilantes. Calladine didn’t like it. Task for the day — find out what was going on and who this ‘Street’ person was.
Calladine got straight to work searching for Street on the police computer system. When he found nothing, he resorted to social media. He was so deeply engrossed that he didn’t notice DCI Rhona Birch enter the office and sit her bulky frame down opposite him.
She coughed. “We have a problem, Inspector,” she began. “DI Long has had a heart attack.”
Birch was not one for going around the houses. Calladine looked up from the screen. It took a moment or two for the words to sink in. Brad Long was younger than him, and had seemed fine last week. Mind you, he was a few stone heavier, drank a lot, and was fond of his ‘full English’ breakfasts. Or heart attack on a plate, as Layla called them.
“He collapsed yesterday while out on an investigation. Paramedics took him to Wythenshawe. He’s had a stent fitted. According to his wife, he should make a decent recovery.”
“That’s something at least. Will he return to work, ma’am?”
“I imagine so, but he’ll be on light duties for a while. No stress. You know the kind of thing.”
No stress? That was a big ask in a job like this. “A warning to us all, I suppose.” Calladine’s sober reply. “What about his workload? Is DS Thorpe able to cope?”
“No, not without guidance. Sergeant Thorpe flounders under pressure. Long was working on a new case, a big one.” She sighed. “Yesterday afternoon we received a call about a child abduction — Sophie Alder. Long was investigating. We can’t delay, you will have to take over.”
Calladine frowned. This was serious. “Abduction, ma’am? How old is the child?”
“Three. She is the daughter of Richard Alder. A well-known name about these parts, I believe. He has money and influence, and wants action fast. Not that that will have any bearing on how seriously we deal with this. Of course, a missing child always merits all our best efforts.” She heaved another sigh. “Plus, he knows the new chief super. Apparently, they are members of the same country club. If we don’t get on top of this fast, we’ll have Isaac Chesworth breathing down our necks.”
They certainly didn’t want that. Detective Chief Superintendent Chesworth had inherited the job after Angus Ford had been arrested for murder, and currently had responsibility for both Leesworth and Oldston stations.
“Chesworth aside, I’m sure any parent would be distraught,” Calladine reminded her.
Birch nodded. “Alder has been on the phone already this morning. He’s frantic with worry. I want to give him something positive, but as yet, we have nothing. Long’s theory is that whoever took the child will demand money for her safe return. Given the family’s wealth, that could well be the case. Pull out all the stops. I want headway on this urgently.” The DCI stood up and left Calladine with his thoughts.
Alder was indeed well known, although Calladine had never met him. As a boy, Richard Alder had lived on the Hobfield, a notorious housing estate in Leesdon. The place had spawned so many villains, Calladine had lost count. But Alder was an anomaly. He’d never been in trouble, an
d in recent years had made good. He’d got himself a fistful of qualifications from college, and eventually started his own business. Today he employed more people in the Leesworth area than anyone else, even Buckley Pharmaceuticals, owned by Calladine’s birth mother, Eve Buckley. He had a factory on the industrial estate, manufacturing cakes and biscuits. His products were on supermarket shelves across the country. He was generous, too. Gave large donations to local charities. Birch might be right. Alder had money, and that might well be the reason behind the kidnap.
“Have you heard about Long?” Ruth Bayliss asked. She’d just arrived. Ruth was his sergeant and long-time friend. Dumping her bag in her desk drawer, she smoothed down her skirt and sat down. “Can’t say I’m surprised. He’s a lazy sod, barely moves off his arse if he can help it.”
Calladine couldn’t help smile. She was right. “How did you find out? Birch has only just told me.”
“Jungle drums. Thorpe told Rocco and he rang me last night.”
“No one rang me,” Calladine retorted, miffed at being left out.
“Sorry, Tom, I was up to my eyes in it. We’re decorating. Tearing paper off walls is hard work.”
Calladine was pleased. Decorating meant that all was well again between Ruth and Jake. They’d been going through a tough time recently. If they split up, he knew Ruth would put on a brave face, but in reality, she’d be devastated. The couple were good together and, of course, they had their toddler son Harry. “A heart attack though, Ruth. That’s serious.”
“You should be grateful to Layla for keeping you on your toes. Without her, you’d be a Mr Blobby and at risk yourself. Mind you, you’ve slacked a bit recently.”
Calladine frowned. “My waistline’s just fine, thank you.” He glanced down at his middle. She was right, he had put some weight on. “It’s alright for you. You’re naturally slim. And I’m a good few years older. It’s hard, put it on and it won’t shift.”
“Rubbish! It’s just a matter of discipline, and it takes work,” she corrected him. “I watch what I eat and I go to the gym. You could come with me. It’s only down the road from your house.”
Dead Guilty Page 1
