Dead Guilty

by Helen H. Durrant

  Alice was driving. “Shouldn’t we speak to the young villain who attacked Ruth, sir? We need to know a lot more about that group he was with and this person ‘Street,’ who leads them.”

  Calladine wanted that too. But the Alder case was bugging him. He intended to have a word with the CPS, find out what they could charge Annie Alder with, if anything. Sophie was her child, so not abduction. Apart from wasting police time, he couldn’t come up with anything. But it had been an elaborate plan — why was that necessary? What was she was running from?

  “A quick stop off at Heron House and then back to the nick to sort out that hooligan. Don’t worry,” he told Alice, “Dean Laycock isn’t going anywhere.”

  * * *

  Alf Alder lived on the second floor of Heron House, one of the tower blocks on the Hobfield estate. He was a man old before his time. He’d been a smoker since his teens and coughed between each sentence he spoke.

  “I haven’t seen him for a day or two. Buggered off, he has. Taken that lass with him. Stupid fool. Our Rick’ll have him for dinner!” Alf said.

  “Did Billy have a computer, or a mobile phone that he might have left behind?” Calladine asked.

  Alf shrugged. “He had an old one. Kept it in his room. Billy never bothered much with computers. As for a mobile, I suppose he must have, but he never rang me.”

  They’d gone somewhere, Billy, Annie and Sophie, and that took planning. “Did he talk about going away lately, perhaps on a holiday?” Alice suggested.

  “Not that I remember. Kept his thoughts to himself, did Billy. If you find him, tell him to get home. Them kids drive me mad most nights and that’s his fault too.”

  “Why’s that, Alf?” Calladine asked.

  “Dunno. Summat do with footie I suppose. But they’re a rough set of little buggers. Scare me half to death.”

  “How did Billy get on with his brother?”

  “Hated our Rick. Didn’t much like the way he lorded it over him. When Rick gave him that garage job, it were final straw. The two had a big bust up. Our Rick saw’th light. He gave Billy the title of transport manager, not that he had any experience. It were just to keep peace.” The man coughed again. “Don’t know what he expected. He’s got no qualifications, our Billy, just good with engines. He’s damn lucky to have Rick to crawl to.”

  Calladine had a quick look round the small flat. Billy’s room was tidy. There wasn’t much, just a bed, empty wardrobe and chest of drawers with a few clothes still in it. He picked up the laptop from the bedside table. Billy’s wallet was lying on it too. It didn’t look like Billy Alder had gone very far.

  “Sir,” Alice called. “What d’you reckon to this lot?”

  She was holding a pile of newspapers.

  “They’re fairly recent but not local. Several are Welsh papers. It would seem that Billy was looking at property there. You can see from the pages he’s left them open at.”

  “I doubt they’re important, but bring them along just in case.” Calladine turned to Alf. “Okay if we take them?”

  “Help yourself. Save me taking them down to’th recycling bin.”

  “We’ve got Billy’s laptop too. If he comes back, let us know at once will you?” Alf was sitting in an armchair by the fire. He looked frail. “Here, take this.” Calladine handed him his card. “It’s got my direct line on it. Any trouble, give us a ring.”

  Chapter 21

  Back at the station, Calladine decided he and Rocco would interview Dean Laycock.

  “How old is he?” he asked Rocco as they walked down the corridor to the interview room.

  “He’s eighteen, so old enough, and his solicitor is with him. Odd that. The guy is expensive. I can’t see Laycock or his family affording him.”

  “Drug money? Or something more sinister?”

  Rocco looked at him. “What d’you mean, guv?”

  “That there’s someone behind all this pulling the strings. The individual known as ‘Street,’ for example.”

  “If he exists. We can’t find any trace of him.”

  “Oh, he exists alright. I can feel it in my gut. Besides, as Alice told us, the kids know him.”

  The two detectives sat down opposite Dean and his solicitor. James Delaney was from a large practice in Oldston. He did not look impressed and had put several feet between him and Laycock. Not his usual bill of fare? That begged the question, who had hired him?

  “Tell me what happened last night at Mr Hopkins’ house on Orchard Close,” Calladine began.

  “No comment,” came the smug reply.

  Laycock tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. He was jittery. If this was about drugs, perhaps the lad needed a fix. This was par for the course for the detectives, but Calladine could see that Laycock was irritating the solicitor.

  “You had some friends round, had the music playing loud, and opened a few cans. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  An unflinching stare followed by another, “No comment.”

  Calladine sighed. The lad was playing the hard man. “Okay, Dean, have it your way. At this rate we’ll be here all night and I’ve got better things to do.” He turned to the solicitor. But Delaney merely shrugged.

  “I’m being well paid for my services. I’m in no hurry.” He smiled.

  Calladine turned his attention back to Laycock. “You attacked one of my officers. You deliberately went for her with a blade. She was injured, she could’ve been killed.” Calladine paused to give the lad a chance to say his piece. Nothing. “You won’t talk to me, so I won’t waste my time. You will be charged with attempted murder.”

  “You can’t keep me here!” Laycock barked back. “I need to get out.”

  “Getting twitchy, Dean? Last dose of whatever rubbish you’re taking wearing off, is it? Well, hard luck.”

  “Bail?” Delaney asked.

  “Refused. Your client is a dangerous young man. Time spent in the cells will give him the opportunity to think.” He looked at the lad. “I want to know about last night. I also want to know about the individual known as ‘Street.’ Cooperate and things might go easier for you.”

  “Charge him,” he said to Rocco as he walked through the door.

  Back in the incident room, Calladine studied the board. “Do we have an update on the PM on Sean Barber?”

  “Apparently the Duggan has been busy. Not a nice thought.” Alice shuddered. “Dr Barrington left a message. She wants you to ring her.”

  Calladine picked up the phone. He was curious about what sort of blade had killed Barber.

  “It was long and narrow,” Natasha confirmed. “I suspected you’d be curious, want to know if it was similar to the one that Ruth was attacked with. I visited her in the infirmary. The blade Ruth was slashed with had a serrated edge. A kitchen knife, for example. The killer’s blade was more of a stiletto.” He knew these knives — they had long, slender blades with a needle-like point.

  “Not a match then. I suppose that’s something. We’re going with the Barber killing being down to vigilantes. Ruth’s attack was something else.”

  “I have already started the PM on Sean Barber. He’s covered in bruises, as you’d expect from someone who was beaten up. He also has a fractured skull. But apart from that and the knife wound, there’s not a lot else. I’ll send the report through to you when I’m finished. Save you a trip here.”

  “Okay, thanks, but if you do find anything else, let me know immediately, will you? Also, once you’ve finished, will you release the body? I know his mother and she’ll be anxious to sort the funeral.”

  “No problem, Tom. Forensics are scouring Mr Hopkins’ house on Orchard Close. They’ve found white powder all over the place, we’re presuming its cocaine, although we’ve only tested a small sample. If the rest turns out to be cocaine, then there must have been a fortune in drugs in that house. I’m at a loss to understand what’s going on. They’re kids. Where on earth are they getting it from?”

  That was exactly what Calladine wan
ted to know. “We’re working on the assumption that the house was being used as a temporary drugs den. The same with the flat belonging to Alex Geddes and an elderly woman called Rowena Hargreaves. The group moves in and takes the place over.”

  Natasha sounded thoughtful. “I’ve read about that. If what you say is right then you’re looking for whoever is organising the group or groups at the top.”

  “All we have is a nickname — ‘Street.’ Ring any bells with you?”

  He heard Natasha laugh. “No, sorry. Not my scene, I’m afraid.”

  “DI Calladine, a word in my office.”

  It was DCI Birch. She was standing at the doorway and she did not look happy. Calladine ended the call to Natasha and followed her down the corridor, wondering what he’d done now.

  “I’ve had DCS Chesworth on the phone again. He wants this mess sorting and quick.”

  “We’re doing our best, ma’am. We now believe that the child abduction was a scam instigated by the mother. She’s run off with Billy Alder. We may need to find them.”

  “Chesworth wants you to drop it.”

  “Suits me. The Barber killing has to take priority. The Alder case is a waste of our time. The child is hers, therefore no abduction. Case closed.”

  Birch nodded her approval. “Good. No more chasing shadows. Shame we’ve been side-tracked. Sean Barber’s killer has had time to make good his escape.”

  “We don’t have much on that one, ma’am. But we know it’s linked to the drug dealing. On that front, we have to find the individual known as ‘Street.’”

  He saw Birch stiffen. “Chesworth says no on that one. He does not want him apprehending.”

  “With due respect, ma’am, I don’t think Chesworth has a clue what we’re up against. Apart from Barber, we’ve got the attack on DS Bayliss and a group of drug-dealing kids to deal with. We’re working flat out as it.” He thought for a moment. “What’s Chesworth’s interest in Street, ma’am?”

  She looked grim. “I’ve no idea. Use uniform and get Thorpe to pull his weight. That should lessen the load a little.”

  Calladine didn’t understand. “This ‘Street’ is key to several of our enquiries, ma’am. I need to bring him in.”

  Birch sat down behind her desk. “Do as you’re told, Calladine,” she said sharply. “Forget about this ‘Street.’ Instead, concentrate on finding Barber’s killer.”

  Calladine stared at her. “We can’t simply ignore the information we have about ‘Street.’ For all we know, it could be him who murdered Barber. We also believe he’s behind the distribution of drugs locally.”

  She looked at him stonily. “I will not tell you again. Forget him.”

  He knew he was chancing his luck. Birch was in no mood for an interrogation. “Is ‘Street’ an informant? Is that why you want him left alone?”

  “This conversation is over.” Birch pointed to her office door.

  Calladine had no idea what to make of all this. He returned to the incident room. He was curious about Birch’s directive regarding ‘Street.’ Originally, that had come from Chesworth. Why was the new DCS getting involved?

  “Natasha Barrington tells me that the house on Ruth’s close has cocaine residue all through it,” he told the team. “Those kids had to have been using it to both receive, cut and distribute drugs. We need to know who is behind that. Dean Laycock certainly hasn’t got the brains.” He turned to Rocco. “Did you get his phone when he was arrested?”

  “Yes, guv,” Rocco replied. “We’re getting the data from his provider.”

  Calladine nodded at him. “We could do with that quickly.”

  “There’s been no whispers, apart from the name ‘Street’ being bandied about,” Rocco told the team. “Like I said, all’s quiet on the drugs front currently.”

  “Someone is behind this. It might be this ‘Street,’ it might be someone else. We should ask ourselves where the stuff is coming from.”

  “Some big-time dealer?” Alice suggested.

  “Possibly, but who is he? I suspect those kids have been doing this for a while. That means they’ve shifted a load of cocaine in the last few months. Someone has turned over a fortune.”

  “By the way, sir, Rowena Hargreaves has identified a number of items in the haul recovered from Sean Barber’s bedroom,” Alice said. “Apparently she’s well pleased.”

  That was good news. At least someone was happy. Calladine’s mobile rang. It was Zoe.

  “Come for tea tonight,” she invited. “Jo thinks we should talk some more about the baby. There’s things you should know.”

  That piqued Calladine’s curiosity. She was pregnant, and he was pleased, so what else was there to say?

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Zo. I’m fine about the baby. You’ll make a great mum.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Dad. Come about five, and don’t be late.”

  Chapter 22

  Zoe had gone to a great deal of trouble. She’d set the table in the dining room and Calladine could smell roast beef.

  “Thought I’d make it special. Now that Layla’s gone, I bet you’re not eating much.” She pointed him towards the sitting room. “Get yourself a glass of wine. Jo’s in there with our other guest.”

  Calladine was curious. Who else was invited? He’d thought this was a family gathering to discuss the baby. He was doubly confused when he saw the other guest was Julian Batho. What was he doing here?

  “Good to see you, Julian,” he greeted the professor. “You’re looking a lot chipper than you did the other day.”

  Julian was chatting with Jo and had a smile on his face. A rare event — something had cheered him up.

  “This pair told you their news?” Calladine asked.

  Julian gave him an odd look. “You don’t know, do you?”

  Jo returned with Zoe in tow. “Before we all start talking at cross-purposes, we’d better explain,” she smiled. Zoe cleared her throat. “Julian is part of this too, dad,” she said. “He’s the baby’s father.”

  Calladine was momentarily shocked. He’d realised that there must be a father, a donor, but had thought it would be someone anonymous, found by the fertility clinic. So how had this pair persuaded Julian? And more to the point, how had this been achieved?

  “I can see the cogs turning.” Zoe laughed. “Everything was carried out at the clinic, and done properly. Except that we took our own donor along. The arrangement suits us all, so you can take that frown off your face.”

  Calladine hadn’t realised he was frowning. He was pleased for Zoe, but Julian as the child’s father? That was something else. “I’m just a bit taken aback, that’s all,” he said, and stepped forward to shake Julian’s hand. “This is totally unexpected. I’d no idea you wanted children.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it until I spoke to Zoe,” Julian admitted. “She asked me to recommend a clinic. After what happened to Imogen, I need something, someone, in my life. I’m struggling, if I’m honest. I have a huge hole to fill. I don’t want someone new, not yet. But this is no hasty decision. I thought long and hard, and for me it seems the perfect solution. The three of us will parent the child together. He or she will know me as its dad.”

  Calladine had his doubts. “You’re a workaholic, Julian. And I don’t mean anything by this, but what do you know about raising kids?”

  “No more or less than anyone else, Tom. But you have to appreciate that this is a done deal. The baby is a reality. In a few months he or she will be part of this family.”

  In that instant Calladine realised that Julian would be part of his family too, whether he liked it or not. “Have you told your aunt?” Amy Dean and her sister were the only family Julian had.

  “Amy is fine about it. She’s planning to visit quite soon, so you can ask her yourself.”

  Calladine’s stomach lurched. He and Amy had once been an item. He’d not known at first that she was related to Julian. Amy, or Amaris, her professional name, had run a ‘new ag
e’ shop in Leesdon. He’d asked for her help while investigating what he’d called the ‘tarot card’ murders.

  “The food’s ready,” Zoe announced. She handed Julian a bottle of red wine and smiled. “I can’t, but the rest of you enjoy.”

  Calladine watched Julian follow Jo into the kitchen for a corkscrew. The three of them seemed happy and relaxed in each other’s company. If this worked, if Julian accepted the responsibility without going overboard, it would do him the world of good.

  * * *

  Calladine arrived home later than he’d expected. Despite his earlier reservations, it had been an enjoyable evening. Zoe, Jo and Julian had chatted happily about the impending new arrival. Odd as it was, he’d actually felt like a gooseberry.

  He was ready to turn in. A quick walk around the block with Sam and he’d call it a day. He’d been home no more than five minutes when there was a knock on his front door. It was Kat Barber.

  “They’re releasing my Sean at the end of the week,” she said. “I can lay him to rest now.”

  “You’ll feel better when it’s over,” he reassured her.

  Kat smiled at him. “I know it was down to you. Thank you. You’ve been a great help and I won’t forget it.”

  Calladine was about to ask her in when his mobile rang. With Kat still standing at the door he answered it. It was Rocco.

  “There’s been another stabbing, sir,” Rocco said. “On the lane that runs along the back of the Hobfield, the one that backs onto the rough ground. Sir . . .” he paused.

  “What is it, Rocco?”

  “I’m down there now. The victim’s dead — it’s Frankie Halliwell.”

  Calladine was stunned. He was tired and didn’t want to drag himself to the scene, but he had no choice. He ended the call and turned back to Kat.

  “I’m sorry, Kat. I’d invite you in, but something’s happened and I have to go out. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  She nodded understandingly. “Come for a meal tomorrow evening, when you’ve finished work. I’ll cook us something nice.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.