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

by Helen H. Durrant

  Higgs lit a cigarette. He took several deep drags and, looking at Calladine long and hard, began to speak. “The foreign man — he was throwing his weight around, forcing the lads on the estate to work for him. I had to keep my head down. He was dangerous, carried a gun and, as you know, was happy to use it. I have a regular supplier who drops stuff off and I have a round of customers I see to. I don’t do much dealing, just enough to keep me in food and fags, you know how it is. The foreigner threatened me, said all that had to stop and that I was working for him now.”

  “How did you react?” Calladine asked.

  “How d’you think? I dropped out of sight for a while. That’s why I was so worried about Becca the night she died. I knew that if I couldn’t sort her out, she’d get in touch with the new crew.”

  “You said the stuff being touted around was cheap, and whoever was responsible had plenty of muscle to call on.”

  “That’s right, Mr Calladine. I never actually saw anything for myself, but I asked around. My usual customers had seen some rough stuff and one bloke got beat up for refusing to buy from them. You say he’s dead. That figures. Since yesterday, it’s all gone quiet and right now the estate is trouble-free. That’s how I like to operate.”

  Calladine nodded. “Thanks, Johnno, that’s been a great help.”

  They stood and watched him slope off into the tower block.

  “D’you believe him?” Ruth asked. “Or was all that just Johnno Higgs covering his tracks?”

  “He’s got a good thing going — small-time, but he’s always operated that way. He doesn’t want any trouble. No, Lazarov started this and whoever he’s working for decided to put a stop to it, effectively ending the impending drugs war. He’s got some other motive for being here.” He heaved a deep sigh. “What we have to do now is work out what it is.”

  “Want to go back to the station and eat?” Ruth asked.

  “You go. Take the car, I need a walk, give myself a chance to think. But you can do one thing. Ask Alice to have a go at finding the third girl, Karen Thornton.”

  * * *

  Calladine headed back along the canal towpath, through the park and out on to the road that ran through Leesdon centre. The place was busy. He waved at a couple of people he knew, including an elderly woman who’d been a friend of Freda’s.

  “I’m told you’ve got a new grandchild,” she called out. “Congratulations. Freda would be proud.”

  Calladine smiled and nodded. She was right there.

  “Who’d have thought it, you a grandad.” The voice came from behind him. “I envy you, Tom. I’ll never have grandchildren now.”

  He swung round and came face to face with Marilyn Fallon. “What are you doing here?” He was surprised to find her wandering around the town free as a bird. “I thought Debra Weller would drop you off, or at least contact me first.”

  “I’m out on parole, remember? You were told. And Debra did drop me off, but you weren’t in. Debra got an urgent call and had to take off. I was on my way to the station to find you.”

  Marilyn looked well, slimmer than he remembered. He noted her smart jacket and the fact that she was wearing make-up. “I’m just on my way home for a spot of lunch and to take Sam for a walk.”

  “He barked at me.” She sounded put out. “I tapped on the window and he responded with a nasty growl. I swear he doesn’t remember who I am.”

  “He will. He’s a good lad is Sam. And dogs don’t forget.”

  They turned into Calladine’s street of identical stone-built terraced houses.

  “Don’t you ever fancy a change?” Marilyn asked, glancing at the small front garden. “You’ve got a good job, surely you can afford to live somewhere better?”

  “I like it here, it suits me. Anyway, I was born on this street, six doors up. Ray too. Francis, Freda’s sister and Ray’s mother, stayed with Freda while she was pregnant with Ray. She gave birth here and then went to live with that loser of a man she took up with.”

  “I don’t know much about Ray’s background, he never told me. Perhaps you could fill me in sometime.”

  The last thing Calladine wanted to do was spend hours talking about Ray Fallon. As far as he was concerned, Ray was better off consigned to history and never mentioned again.

  “You want to know about family history, get yourself down to the library,” he told her. “My head’s too full of other stuff.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Calladine sat in front of the fire with a cup of tea in his hand and Sam at his feet. The dog had taken no notice of Marilyn at all. She’d patted his head, tickled him behind his ears, but he remained indifferent. Miffed at her reception, she’d disappeared upstairs to sort out her stuff.

  Calladine needed a rest, some space to go over the complexities and mysteries of this case in his head. Lazarov had been up to his old tricks and had been shot dead for his trouble, but by who? Someone who wasn’t keen on starting a new drugs war, that’s who. If he was right, what were they after? His reverie was interrupted by the reappearance of Marilyn.

  “The wallpaper in that back bedroom is the same as when I was last here. You haven’t touched the place in years, Tom.”

  “I like things as they are,” he said. “I don’t do change for its own sake.”

  “It’s old-fashioned, and as for the furniture, well, very forties. Even the junk shop wouldn’t give it houseroom.”

  “It came from Freda’s. If it suited her then it suits me.”

  “I’m not surprised you never got married again,” she said. “What woman would put up with your stuck-in-a-rut ways? No one I know, that’s for sure.”

  That was a relief. There was no way he’d be interested in any friend of Marilyn’s. He listened to her mutter to herself as she went out to the kitchen. He’d have to learn to switch her off or it’d drive him mad. Calladine gave Sam another pat, leaned back and closed his eyes.

  If the case wasn’t about dealing, then what was it about? What was important enough that the local police had to be kept so busy and tied up in knots that they didn’t have time to draw breath or think straight? Someone who didn’t want their plans interfering with.

  “I’m going for a walk,” Marilyn announced. She looked at the dog. “Sam? Want to come?”

  The dog didn’t so much as twitch. He wasn’t interested. Calladine couldn’t be more pleased. “No, he doesn’t want to go. Leave him. You’ll need a key. I might not be here when you get back.” He tossed her one off the sideboard. “Get yourself some food, I’ll sort my own.”

  “Are you always like this, Tom?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Preoccupied. Boring. Falling asleep in the afternoon. When did that start? You’re turning into an old man, Tom Calladine.”

  Calladine was heartily relieved when she finally walked out the door. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if he kept out of her way, he might last out.

  His mobile rang. It was Julian.

  “I think we need a meeting to discuss findings so far. I have several things to report on and it would be easier to explain if you, Ruth and the others met me in the lab.”

  “When?” Calladine asked him.

  “We are fast-tracking some of the samples collected from the workshop at Gorse House, and there are results from the O’Brien flat. Tomorrow after lunch will be fine.”

  “Okay. Will you ring Ruth and get her to tell the others?”

  It was something at least. Julian was the best. If anyone could find them the evidence to break this case, it would be him. Calladine was about to leave the house when his phone rang again. This time it was Kitty.

  “I’ve got serious withdrawal,” she purred. “I want to see you, and soon. Our last date never happened, if you remember. We didn’t even get a chance to eat. What about tonight?”

  What with the case and Marilyn he wasn’t really in the mood, but the food in that restaurant was top-notch. He liked Kitty, plus she was far better company than Marilyn. “Okay
, I’ll come to yours for 8 p.m.,” he said.

  “I’m looking forward to it, and don’t be late.”

  It would be a welcome break from the harpy and her criticisms of his lifestyle. It wasn’t late, still mid-afternoon. Calladine decided to return to the station and look through the reports and statements again.

  He patted the dog. “Want to go see Ryan across the road? He’ll take you for walkies.” Calladine knew the lad would look after him — he liked Sam — and he’d pick him up at the end of the evening on his way back from Kitty’s. Better all round if Sam was kept out of Marilyn’s clutches.

  Chapter Forty

  “I didn’t expect you back,” Ruth said. “Sorted your head out?”

  “Not really, but I’ll get there eventually. Anything come in?”

  “Only the meeting with Julian tomorrow. He wants Greco there, too.”

  “Well, he is SIO on the Lazarov case. The remit might have changed — now he’s looking for his killer instead of trying to bring him in — but there’s still plenty of work to do.”

  He left Ruth and went into his office. On the desk were two stacks of paperwork — one connected with Millie Reed and the other the murder of Becca O’Brien.

  He started on the Reed pile and went through the notes yet again. There was a photograph showing a blonde girl, pretty but with a prominent mole or birthmark on the upper half of her right cheek. He stared at it. She’d be the same age as she was in the photo Sarah Cromwell had shown them.

  He went out into the main office. “Ruth. You knew Millie at school. What was she like?”

  “Clever, pretty, and bullied by Jade and her mates.”

  “The birthmark on her face. Was she teased about that?” he asked.

  “Yes, they made fun of her all time because of it. She was very aware of it and believed it spoiled her looks. But it wasn’t a birthmark, more a sizeable mole. Personally, I thought it suited her — you know, like a beauty spot. But Jade and her gang used it to torment her. If she’d lived, Millie could have had it removed no problem.”

  “Sarah told us that Jade had a go at the mole with a Stanley knife.” Ruth winced. “I didn’t get close enough to her that day to see if she was injured or not, but she must have been, and there’d have been blood. Perhaps that’s when some of it got on to her skirt.”

  “If she’d lived, there would have been a scar, too. How bad is anyone’s guess, we don’t know how deep the cut was,” Ruth said.

  “Eve said she had a hellish temper,” Calladine said. “Did you ever see anything of that?”

  Ruth looked puzzled. “No. I always thought her a sweet girl, older than me but young for her age if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re sure? No sudden outbursts? Shows of violence?”

  Ruth laughed. “What are you getting at? Even if the girl was all those things, what difference would it make now? She’s long gone. It’s not Millie Reed who’s been going around Leesworth killing people.”

  But Calladine wasn’t so sure. He said nothing. There were things he needed to check first. Something had niggled at the back of his mind ever since he’d seen the photo Sarah had shown them. He looked at Ruth. He couldn’t say anything to her until he was absolutely sure. “You’re right. It’s me, I’m clutching at straws.”

  “There’s not a lot going on here. Rocco is still up at Gorse House with Greco and Julian is busy with whatever his team have collected. Alice is working on the Karen Thornton thing, so why don’t you go home, get an early night?”

  He nodded. “I might just do that. I’ve looked through those reports so many times I know them off by heart. You make an early dart too — get off home and spend some time with that lad of yours.”

  “Are you letting Zoe come home?” she asked as he put his coat on.

  “Not yet. Call me overcautious, but I believe the danger is still out there.”

  * * *

  Calladine decided not to go home before going to Kitty’s but to pay another visit to Eve, his mother. When she’d said Millie had a temper, he hadn’t thought about it at the time, but now he was curious.

  “Twice in one week, I am honoured,” she said. “But it’ll be work. I don’t flatter myself that you’d trail up here for a catch-up. Come through, I’ll get us a pot of tea and you can bore me to tears with your latest case.”

  He forced a laugh. “I’m not that bad, am I? It’s just another run-of-the-mill murder — well murders actually — and the man we had down as the main suspect has turned up dead himself. How’s that for a major setback?”

  She looked at him, frowning. “Oh dear, you are down, aren’t you? But you shouldn’t be. You’ll work it out, Tom, you usually do.”

  He flopped into one of her armchairs that had a view out into the back garden. It looked wild and windswept, all bare branches and no leaves left on the trees. “Millie Reed,” he began. “Tell me about her.”

  Eve Buckley sat down opposite her son and shrugged. “Not a lot to tell really. A serious girl, small for her age, though I always thought she had hidden depths. You know the type, all meek and sweet on the surface but churning away underneath.”

  “You said she had a temper,” he said.

  “Indeed she did. I witnessed it myself and I saw the bruises on Agnes. Her arms were covered in them, her face too a couple of times. That can only have been down to Millie — there was only the two of them up at that house. She must have packed quite a punch for such a delicate-looking child.”

  “Did you know she was bullied at school?” Calladine said.

  “I heard that and thought it odd. Maybe she was wicked to her granny but afraid to stand up to her peers. I was only on nodding terms with Agnes, but occasionally we’d stop to chat about the weather, and that’s when I noticed the bruises. There was no husband, no one else at all, so the girl was her only companion. Agnes never complained though.”

  “Thanks. I’m not sure how it helps, but it gives me a rounder picture of the girl.”

  “Glad to help. Are you staying for tea?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got a date.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Any other time, Calladine would have looked forward to dinner with Kitty, but not tonight. Tonight, he had to decide. Was she as she appeared to be, who she said she was? It was going to make for a difficult conversation.

  He’d looked at the photo in her flat — the pretty young blonde girl in her school uniform. He’d also seen two of Millie Reed — one in the file at work and the one Sarah had shown him. It had taken all day for the penny to drop, but finally he realized that it could be the same girl in all three photos. If there was the remotest possibility that Kitty was in fact Millie Reed, then she was the prime suspect for Becca O’Brien’s murder.

  He’d discussed none of this with Ruth or the team. He wanted to make some headway before landing them with another problem. Like if not the Reed girl, then who did the bones buried up at Gorse House belong to? His money was on Karen Thornton. She’d been injured and hadn’t been seen from that day to this.

  He used the back entrance to the restaurant and took the stairs up to Kitty’s flat. He wasn’t looking forward to this evening. Either way, it would mean an end to their relationship. How could Kitty continue to trust him if within a week of meeting her he suspected her of being a fraud and a killer? If he was right, the outcome would be worse. What about the two lads and Lazarov? He knew the killings were linked. Whoever killed all three of them had been in the vicinity of those berries, which meant Gorse House.

  “Mr Policeman,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Will we get to spend time together tonight or will you cut and run as usual?”

  “I’ll do my best,” he muttered. “Have you owt to drink?” He needed Dutch courage. If he was going to accuse this woman of murder, he’d like a couple of whiskies inside him first.

  “Wine’s in the kitchen, but more important, what d’you want to eat?”

  “That steak and chips I missed out
on will do nicely, and have you got anything stronger than wine?”

  With a smile, she took a bottle of single malt from the shelf. “I’ll go down and sort the food.”

  She was trying to please, and he hated himself for his suspicions. He doubted he’d be able to eat the food when it arrived. She disappeared downstairs, leaving him pacing up and down nervously. The photo was still there. He picked it up. It still looked like a Leesdon High uniform and Kitty still looked like Millie. It had to be faced, and it didn’t augur well for the evening to come. His hand was even shaking, not like him. He had to remain cool.

  “I went to see one of those houses along the canal this morning,” she said on her return. “You weren’t around, so Ronan came with me. He was his usual helpful self, pointed out a couple of things, so provided the sellers are happy to reduce the price, I might make an offer.”

  “See a lot of Ronan?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

  “He only works next door, so, yes, I see him most days.” She smiled. “But don’t be jealous, he’s got a woman. I saw them together just this afternoon, in fact. Very close they looked, too.”

  “Did you go to Leesdon High?” He cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. It was an odd question and out of context. Kitty frowned, looking puzzled.

  “The school uniform in the photo over there? Is that what you mean?” she asked. “It’s not Leesdon High. I didn’t live here as a child, I told you, Tom, I just visited the hills, but I suppose one school uniform is much the same as another. The usual navy skirt and blazer with a white shirt.”

  He took her hand and led her over to the lamp. There, in the light, he saw it. High on her right cheek there was the faintest trace of a scar. He felt sick. His instinct had been right. He ran a finger over it, gently. “Where did you get that?”

  “An accident when I was a kid. Fell off my bike. Made a helluva mess at the time.” She grimaced. “But the hospital were wonderful, did all they could so it wouldn’t leave too much of a mark.”