DEAD SORRY a totally addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Calladine & Bayliss Mystery Book 11)

by Helen H. Durrant

  “We could split the team into two halves,” Greco said at last. “You lead one and continue with the O’Brien case and I’ll lead the other and deal with Lazarov.”

  It could work. Greco was a good detective. If anyone could catch Lazarov, it was him. “Okay, that suits me. Who d’you want to work with?”

  More silence. “Ruth,” he said finally, “and you take Rocco. Alice can work on the background stuff for both cases.”

  Not a solution Calladine was keen on. Ruth was his right arm, and he wasn’t used to working without her. “We’ve got Joyce, too,” he said hopefully, reminding Greco about their information assistant. “Don’t forget her, she’s damned good, knows her stuff.”

  “Alice and Joyce then, between them they should be able to get the background info we need, chase up alibis and the like,” Greco said.

  Calladine pulled a face. “You really want Ruth to work with you?”

  Greco smiled. “I know you have a special relationship but she’s not your personal property, you know. Ruth’s a good officer and I need her with me. She knows the area well and has a way with people, both assets I’m sadly lacking in.”

  He was nothing if not honest. “Sorry, Stephen. It’s just that I’m so used to having her at my side. But needs must and all that.”

  Greco checked the time. “I’ll leave you to tell them and we’ll make a start after lunch. We’ll chase up Maggie Cox, the forensics found in that flat and go from there.”

  Calladine left him to it. Given the shortage of manpower, it wasn’t a bad plan. It was just that losing Ruth made him ill at ease.

  * * *

  “Should I be flattered that he wants me to work with him?” Ruth said.

  Calladine, helping himself to a free copy of the local paper from the stand in the canteen, made a face. “Please yourself. But you know what he’s like. Most likely he’ll drive you to drink before you’re through.”

  Ruth ignored the jibe. She thought Greco was okay, and that everyone misunderstood him, particularly Calladine. Greco was a fair man. Ruth eyed the lunch menu and sighed. “Doesn’t get any better, does it? I thought that by now there’d be more of a move towards healthy eating. All I see is one measly plate of salad.”

  Calladine took no notice, he was immersed in the newspaper headline. “The Leesworth Hoard’s coming back. They’ve plastered all the details across the front page — dates, where it will be on display . . . an invite to every bloody reprobate in the area.”

  “Greco told me about that. It’ll be fine, it’s coming complete with its own security.”

  “Just so long as it doesn’t involve us,” Calladine said.

  “The Hoard was found round here, and here it should stay,” she said. “D’you know, Jake had to take twenty teenagers on a trip to London to see it. The school paid but the expense was crippling. Now they can see it for free right on their doorstep.”

  “Lot of fuss about a load of old jewels. Council should sell it, fill the coffers, do some well-needed repairs to the local roads.”

  “Philistine. It’s Leesworth’s history. It’s important, never mind selling it off.”

  “Leesworth’s history is woollen mills, poverty and bloody hard work. That gold was left buried in the hills by the Celts on their way to wherever they came from hundreds of years ago. I’m sure they intended to come back for it. If they had, we wouldn’t have the problem.”

  Ruth ignored the remark. “What’re you having? I’ll have the salad, minus that ham, it looks a bit fatty.”

  “Sod that. I’m having pie, chips and mushy peas with loads of gravy.”

  Ruth pulled a face. “Don’t you ever consider what all that rubbish is doing to your body?”

  “Nope. Better things to stress about. Anyway, you’ve no room to talk. You were the one who bought me a chippy tea, remember?”

  They sat at a table by the window, not that the car park was much of a view, but Ruth liked to watch the birds. “I’ve put a feeder over there on a branch of that tree.” She pointed. “The blue tits and nuthatches really like it.” She watched Calladine tuck into his plate of stodge and sighed. “You need taking in hand.”

  “What’s a nuthatch?” he asked.

  She smiled. “A small woodland bird with a pointy beak. I always think they look like little darts.”

  “And there’s some over there.” He nodded.

  “Yes, those trees also border the park.” She smiled. “You should open your eyes, give nature a look in.”

  “Birdwatching’s your thing. I’ve not got the energy for watching owt but telly these days,” he said.

  “It doesn’t take energy, just a pair of eyes. It’s relaxing, and you need something to take your mind off work. So, I’ve got Greco, who’re you working with?”

  “I think it’s more a case of Greco’s got you,” he said. “I’m working the O’Brien case with Rocco. Alice will cover all our research needs with Joyce.”

  Ruth laughed. “She’ll love that. You know what’s she’s like, much prefers the sharp end does Alice.”

  “She’ll cope, we’ll all have to.”

  “Oh dear, you are feeling sorry for yourself,” she said. “C’mon then, what’s up?”

  “Lazarov wants me dead,” he said simply. “So make sure you get him before he gets me.”

  “The man really has got to you,” she said.

  “He’s threatened my family, Ruth, and now he imagines he can go around this town killing people as he thinks fit.” He pushed the half-eaten plate of food to one side. His appetite had vanished. “He’s told me to back off chasing him and sort out his competition instead. I’m to ensure he has a clear run at this new drug-supply business of his.”

  “He rang you?” she said.

  “Yes, that’s another thing, how come he knows my mobile number?”

  Ruth held out her hand. “Give it here.”

  Calladine passed his phone over.

  “Mind if I keep this? I’ll get Roxy to take a look.”

  “But I need it. What do I do now?” he said.

  “You get issued with another one. It’s no big deal, Tom. And I promise not to look at anything personal.”

  “Personal? I should be so lucky,” he said.

  “You’ve put Zoe somewhere safe, haven’t you?” Ruth asked.

  “Yes, but I’ve got other family, and friends.” He smiled at her. “And Lazarov isn’t all of it, there’s also Marilyn. She’s threatened to take Sam back if I don’t let her stay with me.”

  “I don’t understand what she’s doing out of prison in the first place. She killed Ray — she planned it, took the poison with her on a visit, for goodness’ sake. What does it take?”

  “She’s done a deal,” Calladine said. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. She spouted a load of crap about killing him out of fear, but that’s not true. Marilyn’s never been scared of anything, and particularly not Ray.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “No doubt she told them where to find money never recovered, about jobs Ray did that were never cleared up. You know the stuff. Marilyn must have a wealth of information on Ray that the police would be happy to get hold of.”

  “But why you?” Ruth asked.

  “There’s no one else,” he said. “She has to stay local for a while. Long-term she intends to go to Cumbria, be with her sister.”

  “And Sam?”

  Calladine shook his head. “I can’t lose him, Ruth. Sam’s what keeps me sane.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Greco negotiated the heavy traffic in central Manchester, heading for the address in Hulme that they’d been given for Maggie Cox. “That’s the street there,” Ruth said. He indicated and checked in the mirror for the two vans following them — backup in case of trouble. Lazarov was a killer. For all they knew, he could be here, and Greco wasn’t taking any chances.

  He slowed down to take the turn-off and a bus behind them blasted its horn. “Busy place,” he sa
id. “No one gives an inch.”

  “Not like Leesdon,” Ruth said. “We can park up here, it’s only a few metres further along. There’s plenty of room for the vans over there.”

  They were on a road of red-brick terraced houses. Behind, four grey tower blocks rose to meet the grey sky.

  “And I thought Leesdon was bad. I don’t envy our colleagues who police this little lot,” Greco said. “Let’s get on with it.” He got out of the car, straightened his tie and smoothed his blond hair.

  Ruth grinned. “All neat and tidy.”

  Greco gave her a small, tight smile. “Can’t help it. I’m afraid it’s just the way I am.”

  “I’m not being critical, it’s just that you’re so different from Tom. I mean, let’s face it, the man’s a first-class slob. I’m always having to sponge the remnants of his lunch from his clothes.” She laughed.

  Greco glanced briefly at his own pristine white shirt. He looked horrified. “He’s a damn good detective though.”

  “A damn good detective who looks as if he’s got the world on his shoulders right now,” she said.

  Maggie Cox’s house was near the end of the row. Greco rang the bell and they waited. After a few minutes, a young dark-haired woman came to the door and smiled at them.

  Greco showed her his badge. “We’d like a word about Andrei Lazarov.”

  The smile disappeared, and she backed into the hallway. “Come in, it’s better if no one overhears us. Andrei was here for a couple of weeks, but he upset the neighbours. One night he got violent with one of them, lost it completely, so I told him to go. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Were you aware that he’s a wanted criminal?” Ruth asked.

  She shook her head. “Not at first, but after a while I did suspect. I knew he wasn’t exactly whiter than white but I’d no idea you lot were looking for him, until the house was raided. After that I knew exactly what he was.”

  “D’you know where he’s gone?” Greco asked.

  “No, and I haven’t heard from him either. No call, no text, nothing.”

  “When did he leave?” Ruth asked.

  “About a month ago, after he attacked my neighbour. We had a row and he left. He didn’t say where he was going and frankly, I didn’t care. I’d had enough.”

  “What was your relationship with Lazarov?” Greco asked.

  “For a while we were lovers,” she said. “We met in a club in Huddersfield a few months ago. I was with friends at a birthday party. We got on, he rang me a few times and things went from there.”

  “You invited him to stay with you?” Ruth asked.

  “Andrei said he had business around here and asked if I could put him up. I had no reason to refuse, I liked him.”

  “And you’re sure you haven’t heard from him?” Greco said.

  “Positive. It was good while it lasted, but Andrei has a temper on him. The way he lost it with the neighbour, it shocked me.”

  “Do you know any of his associates? Did anyone ever come here to see him?” Greco asked.

  “No, but people did ring him. He’d often speak to them in his own language, Bulgarian. I never pried but I got the feeling from his tone that all wasn’t well.” She stared at them both. “What’s happened? Andrei hasn’t been hurt, has he?”

  “No, Ms Cox, quite the reverse,” Greco said. “Did he leave any of his belongings behind?”

  “That’s how I knew he wouldn’t be back. He took absolutely everything with him.”

  “Do you have his address in Huddersfield?” Greco asked.

  “He said that up until moving in with me, he’d been living with his mother in Lockwood.”

  That was consistent anyway. Greco nodded. “Okay, that’ll do for now, but I may want to talk to you again.”

  Ruth returned to the car while Greco, somewhat relieved, had a quick word with the team in the backup vans. They’d had a wasted journey, but had Lazarov been in that house, things could have gone very differently. The man was a killer, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to fight his way out.

  “On the way back we’ll call in at the Duggan, see if Professor Batho has anything for us,” Greco said, climbing in beside Ruth.

  “Call him Julian, not professor, we all do,” she said. “He’s big-headed enough as it is.”

  * * *

  “There was a large amount of blood and brain tissue splattered over the wall behind where the victims were seated — the bullet exit wounds. There were no footprints or fingerprints to follow up,” Julian said.

  “What about the bullets?” Greco asked.

  “We managed to retrieve both bullets from the wall. They were fired from the same gun. Find it and I should be able to match the striations to the barrel,” Julian said.

  “We need proof,” Ruth said. “Something that puts Lazarov in that flat and the gun in his hand.”

  Greco shook his head. “Julian can’t give you what he hasn’t got.”

  “There was something else. I was just coming to it.” Julian glanced up to the clock on the wall. “Tom will be here shortly. He should hear this too.”

  “Tom isn’t part of this investigation,” Greco said firmly.

  “The evidence I’ve found might change that,” Julian said.

  “What evidence? You just ran through it and basically, you’ve got nothing that helps. What about the tape used to bind them? Wasn’t there anything on that?”

  Julian shook his head. “No, there are no prints on the tape — I presume the killer wore gloves. However, I did find something.”

  Julian had that look on his face, the one that said he was about to show his hand and what he had in it was a winner. “Mud,” he said finally. “The floor of that flat was covered in it.”

  “There’s spare land at the side of the Hobfield, it’s a quagmire. It could have come from there in both instances,” Ruth said.

  “It didn’t. The mud found in both the O’Brien flat and the one where the shootings took place were from the same site, they both had the same make-up.”

  “Mud’s mud, isn’t it?” Ruth shrugged.

  “No, this mud contained berry skin and juice from the fruit of a particular tree. A tree not found on the Hobfield.”

  This was totally unexpected. “I don’t understand the similarities,” Ruth said. “The two cases are very different — Becca was beaten, the two lads were shot. The killer fought with Becca; the lads were killed in an organized, clinical way. Finding berry juice in both places says there has to be a connection.”

  Julian shrugged. “I didn’t say there wasn’t. Just that the same mud was left in both flats.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ruth didn’t know what to make of it, nor did Greco. “I read the report on the mud found on the floor of the O’Brien flat,” he said. “Do we know exactly where it came from?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve got people collecting samples from likely locations,” Julian replied.

  “It can’t have been trodden in on the killer’s footwear, sir,” Ruth said. “We examined both suspects’ shoes in the O’Brien case, found blood, but no mud. Whoever trod it in must have entered that flat after Becca was killed.”

  Calladine and Rocco arrived. “Julian’s got some interesting results,” Ruth said to them. “We’re still trying to work out what it means.”

  “I’ll discuss the results that pertain only to the O’Brien case shortly,” Julian said. “But first, there’s something that is important to both cases and that I admit has me puzzled.”

  They all sat down at the table.

  “Mud was found on the floor of the flat where the lads were shot, the same mud had been found in the O’Brien flat. I tested samples from each place and found them both to contain purple juice and skin from the berry of the alder buckthorn tree.”

  Calladine and Rocco took a moment or two to process this. Calladine had no immediate explanation. Did it mean the cases were connected after all? But how? Had the shooter also been in Becca’s flat af
ter she’d been beaten to death? Perhaps it was the killer returning later to check on his handiwork. Neither Johnno nor Jade had killed Becca, so it was possible. Or was it simply a matter of cross-contamination? “There might have been mud on the deck,” Calladine said to Julian. “Perhaps some of it was trampled into that flat where the lads were shot.”

  “We checked that and found none,” Julian said.

  Greco nodded. “Well, if the killer or killers walked wherever these trees are and got mud on their footwear or clothing, it means they are local.” He turned to look at Julian. “I’d like a list of all the locations you’re aware of where these trees are found.”

  Julian nodded.

  “The idea of Lazarov being somewhere round here terrifies the bloody life out of me,” Calladine said. He turned to face Greco. “And if he is, can I suggest you find out where’s he’s staying at the earliest? Perhaps then I’ll be able to sleep at night.”

  “We’re doing all we can,” Greco said. “I want the man found every bit as much as you.” He turned to Julian. “Is that it? Only we should get on.”

  “Tests are ongoing. I get anything else, you’ll be the first to know. I’ll text you the list of locations.”

  * * *

  Something was wrong. Calladine didn’t believe the cases were connected, they couldn’t be. But Julian had found evidence. He needed time to think it through, but that wasn’t now.

  “Do you think there’s a link between these cases, Tom?” Julian asked.

  Calladine shook his head. “It’s possible I suppose, but how likely is it that both Becca O’Brien’s killer and whoever shot the lads both went for a stroll in the woods before they did the deed? Anyway, I’m still convinced that Becca’s murder was personal.” He rubbed his head. “I’m in no shape to work it out at the moment. Too much crap in my life.”

  “Sorry, Tom, you’re finding it a hard grind, I can see that. You look like you could do with a break,” Julian said.

  Calladine gave a hollow laugh. “No chance of that. This little lot needs sorting before I can even consider it.”

  “Well,” said Julian, changing the subject, “I have results for you regarding the Reed girl. The clothing, footwear and brush we found in her PE bag has yielded some DNA. It is a match to what we extracted from the blood on the skirt remnants found with the bones.”