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

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Thanks, Kitty, well remembered. On the one hand what you’ve just told me was helpful, but on the other, you’ve just given me a huge problem.”

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Calladine asked the team, including Greco, to meet him in the main office. There, he said, “I’ve just confirmed with the Duggan that Lazarov was shot on the Wednesday night. Sinclair denies that they killed him and reckons they have alibis.” He waited for their reactions.

  Greco looked puzzled. “Marilyn denied the murder too,” he said.

  “They were partying with a couple of friends in the flat above the museum. I’ll get their names and they can be interviewed. If everything checks out, that means we still don’t have Lazarov’s killer.”

  “I was so sure it was her,” Greco said. “She’s a strong woman, and in my opinion, quite capable of killing.”

  “She is. Marilyn did for Ray,” Calladine said. “I’ll speak to Sinclair some more and get the names of the people who were there that night. If the pair didn’t kill Lazarov or the lads and haven’t actually stolen the Hoard yet, you’ll have to have a think about what charges we might level against them.”

  “Marilyn Fallon won her appeal on the basis of perjury. That’ll do to start with,” Greco said. “Maggie Cox was an accomplice.”

  “And Sinclair?”

  Calladine saw the look on Greco’s face. “Fraud. He faked qualifications and got the job at the museum on false pretences.”

  * * *

  “Ronan, I’m inclined to believe you about not killing Lazarov.” Calladine passed him a pen and paper. “Write down the names of all the people who were in your flat that Wednesday night.”

  “Will you speak to them?” Sinclair asked.

  “Oh yes. We want chapter and verse. Your freedom depends on it.”

  Sinclair returned the paper with the names on it, and Calladine handed it to a uniformed officer. “Give that to DC Rockliffe straight away.”

  He turned back to Sinclair. “You said you found Lazarov dead, shot in the head. Tell me more about that.”

  “We turned up early that morning, we were taking him some supplies. We went into the workshop and there he was, dead on the floor. Marilyn reckoned he’d been there all night.”

  “What did you do?” Calladine asked.

  Sinclair looked sheepish. “We hid him,” he mumbled. “We bundled him into an old freezer and covered it with a tarpaulin. Marilyn said it could be years before anyone found him.”

  “What about the gun?” Calladine asked.

  “No idea. We didn’t find it.”

  “You’re sure, Ronan? Marilyn didn’t take it?”

  Sinclair shook his head emphatically. “Not her style.”

  “Why Gorse House?” Calladine said.

  “That outbuilding, the old workshop. It’s abandoned but still in good nick. No one ever goes up there, the locals think it’s haunted. More important, there’s only one road up, and that only goes to the workshop, so no one uses it, no point.”

  “Whose idea was it to go there?”

  “Mine. We needed somewhere for Lazarov to lie low. He was to help us get the Hoard and then leave the country — well, that was the plan anyway.”

  “Didn’t work out that way though, did it? Lazarov has always been a dealer and the Leesworth area was going begging, just waiting for someone like him to move in. He couldn’t help himself.”

  “Marilyn was always telling him to rein it in, but he sneaked off at night, stalked that bloody estate under cover of darkness. He set up a small network, forced people to work for him. Marilyn was scared that if he was caught, he’d talk, tell you lot what we were planning. When he shot those kids, it was the final straw. I know Marilyn had had enough, but it really wasn’t us who killed him.”

  “Do you know if he was ever followed back to the workshop after these excursions?”

  “I think he was, but I only know about the one instance,” Sinclair said. “I didn’t dare say anything to Marilyn, she’d have hit the roof.”

  “D’you know who it was?”

  “No, just that he was young. I’d gone up there at the crack of dawn to take Lazarov some supplies. I caught a glimpse of him, hiding among the trees.”

  “Thanks, Ronan, you’ll be staying with us for now. We’ll talk again later.”

  Chapter Fifty-six

  When Calladine returned to the main office, Rocco was waiting for him.

  “Sinclair’s alibis check out, sir,” he said. “Apparently, they were playing poker until the small hours and crashed there because they’d drunk too much. One of the blokes who stayed over was the local mayor. I’d say that was pretty cast-iron.”

  “Well, if neither Sinclair nor Marilyn left his flat the night Lazarov was killed, it can’t have been them. Frankly, I’m all out of ideas,” Calladine admitted. “This case is doing my head in. I was so sure we had them. What about Julian? Have we heard anything from him?”

  Rocco shook his head. “Who else could have done it? There’s no one on the radar.”

  “Sinclair told me he saw someone hanging around in the woods,” Calladine said. “He reckons that whoever it was followed Lazarov up from town. The villain had taken to hanging out on the Hobfield after dark.”

  “That’s not what Johnno Higgs said,” Rocco reminded him. “You too, remember? All was quiet, you said, no sign of any dealing.”

  Calladine sat down. “First there was dealing activity and then there wasn’t. I decided it was a sham, someone out to misdirect us, but I could have been wrong. What if we were being played? What if someone was out to take the Hobfield for himself and just when that was about to happen, Lazarov turns up?”

  “It’s a nice theory,” Ruth said, “but we have no proof. No suspects either, come to that.”

  Calladine leafed through the case notes. There had to be something. “Darren Heap told his girlfriend Josie that Johnno Higgs would sort the new man out.”

  “Bravado on Johnno’s part I’d say. He’s not got the bottle,” Rocco said.

  “Is it worth speaking to Arran Hughes again, pressing him to tell us where the drugs he was found with came from?”

  “I really don’t think he knows,” Rocco said.

  Rocco was right. The lad was after making some quick money but had wimped out. Near the top of the mounting pile of paperwork was the latest report from Julian — his findings about the muddy boot print caught Calladine’s eye. “What was Lazarov doing in Becca O’Brien’s flat?”

  “Hoping to sell her some dope?” Ruth suggested.

  “She was dead, but there was mud on every floor in the place, the bedroom too.” Calladine’s eyes narrowed. Something had just occurred to him. “He was looking for someone but it wasn’t Becca, he’ll have seen straight away that she was dead. So why walk through every room? Who else did he expect to find in her flat?”

  “No idea.”

  “The only other person living there, the one dossing down in the corner, was Johnno Higgs,” Calladine said. He turned to Rocco. “Find him, and bring him in.”

  “You think Johnno shot Lazarov?” Ruth asked. “He’s not got it in him, surely.”

  But Calladine was on the phone to Julian. “D’you have anything else that might help me find who killed Lazarov?”

  “Lazarov’s clothing is interesting,” Julian said. “Dirty, as you might expect with someone living rough. His jacket was ripped in places. I think he may have been in a fight prior to his death. His knuckles are slightly grazed but there are no bruises on his face or body, so I’d say the other person came off worst.”

  “Thanks, that could be useful,” Calladine said.

  “What is even more useful is that we’ve done more work on Lazarov’s clothing. We’ve found more of those black fibres on his jacket,” Julian said. “Lazarov was a big man. Someone shorter than him swung a punch and missed his face, the fist only hit him in the chest.”

  “The same fibres as in Becca’s flat?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, Tom. I’d say they came from gloves. Find them and you have Lazarov’s killer.”

  This was important evidence. Calladine looked towards Rocco’s vacant desk. “Has he left?”

  Ruth nodded. “He’s trying the Hobfield first.”

  “Get a couple of uniforms to follow him. There might be trouble.”

  “We’ve spoken to Higgs a number of times,” Ruth said. “I still don’t see him shooting anyone.”

  “Perhaps he was scared,” Calladine said. “Lazarov threatened him, and he saw his chance.”

  “What was he doing up at Gorse House in the first place?” she asked.

  “I think he followed Lazarov up there. He knew it was him who was trying to take over and wanted to stop him. Sinclair told me he’d seen someone watching the workshop from the trees.” Calladine checked his email. Julian had sent through the report on Lazarov’s clothing and the fibres he’d found. “I’ll pop along the corridor and bring Greco up to date,” he said. “When Higgs is brought in, keep him happy until I’m ready for him.”

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  “This has got beyond a joke now,” Johnno Higgs complained. “Why can’t you pick on someone else for a change?”

  “Calm down, Johnno, we just need to check a few things, ask a couple more questions, that’s all,” Calladine said.

  Johnno looked a lot worse than the last time he’d been brought in. He was dishevelled and dirty, and the knuckles on both hands were bruised. “Hurt yourself?” Calladine asked. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  “Fell, didn’t I? I don’t do fighting.”

  “What about shooting, Johnno? Do that, do you?” Johnno’s eyes darted around. “Still dossing down in that flat in Heron House?”

  “What of it?”

  Calladine leaned towards him. “I need to know because I’m about to get a warrant to search it,” he said. He turned to the desk sergeant. “Once he’s processed, lock him up until I get back.”

  Calladine went back to the main office. Alice had already arranged the warrant, so they were good to go. “The place will be filthy,” he warned Ruth. “We’re looking for the gun, and those black gloves.”

  “I’ll be surprised if we find them,” she said.

  “Don’t be taken in, Ruth. Johnno Higgs is no loveable rogue. His knuckles are cut up and swollen, and he’s got bruises on his face. I’d say he’s been in a fight within the last few days.”

  “Someone like Higgs is a magnet for anyone on the Hobfield that fancies a barney,” she said.

  “Indulge me,” Calladine said. “We don’t find anything, we’ll have to think again, but currently Johnno Higgs is our best bet.”

  It took only minutes to reach the Hobfield. Calladine parked directly outside the entrance to Heron House. A group of teenagers were hanging around, faces in their phones. Calladine glanced down the main corridor and saw one young lad banging on the door of Higgs’s flat.

  “The man’s locked up,” he said, moving the kid out of the way. They’d brought a uniformed officer with them, who battered the door down. Calladine and Ruth donned gloves and went inside.

  The place was a dump. Johnno didn’t have much and what he did have, mostly clothing, was heaped on an old mattress.

  “Please tell me we don’t have to rummage through that lot. Most of it’s mucky, and it smells. Stuff’s not seen a washing machine in weeks.”

  “Sorry, Ruth, we’ve no choice.”

  Ruth pulled a face but got on with it. “There could be wildlife living in this lot. I catch fleas and you’re for it, Calladine. I’ll make sure I pass ’em on.”

  But Calladine wasn’t listening. He’d pulled the cushions off an old sofa and found a package hidden underneath. He unwrapped it. “Cocaine,” he said. Worth a bit, too.”

  “We know he’s dealing,” Ruth said. “He told us.”

  “There’s enough here to deal on an industrial scale. A bit ambitious for our Johnno.”

  Ruth found an old raincoat among the clothing. It looked clean, no mud or blood on it. She was about to toss it on to the pile of things she’d gone through when she felt something in the inside pockets. She pulled them out and held them up. “Black gloves. Covered in mud and what looks like dried blood.”

  “Good, but we still need the gun.”

  “I’ve gone through this lot, and there’s certainly no gun.”

  Calladine went over and checked the mattress. It was intact, no holes or hiding places. He walked slowly around the rest of the flat. It was empty of furniture and there were no fitted cupboards. Nothing in the toilet cistern.

  Ruth joined him. “The gloves and coke are real finds—”

  “There is a gun, Ruth,” he snapped. “And if it’s here we need to find it.”

  “Don’t get like that, it doesn’t suit you. You’re getting all stressed out again. I can tell, your colour changes, you’ve gone all grey in the face.”

  Ignoring her, Calladine walked into what would have been one of the two bedrooms. It was empty, its sparseness relieved only by a bright-red mat on the floor. He lifted one end with his toe. “The floorboards under here have been cut.”

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Within the hour, Forensics were busy in Johnno’s flat. Calladine had removed one of the cut floorboards and found a gun wrapped in an old T-shirt. Removing more of the boards, one of Julian’s people also found an old pair of boots covered in mud and two mobile phones in a carrier bag. The footwear would have been what Higgs wore when he went up to Gorse House.

  “We need to know if that’s the gun that killed the two lads and Lazarov,” Calladine told Julian. “The black gloves in that evidence bag — the fingers are badly frayed, hence the fibres you found. We need to know that they match, but given that,” he nodded at the gun, “I suspect they will.”

  “We’ll finish here and take everything back to the lab. I’ll be in touch later on today,” Julian said.

  “Ruth,” Calladine called. “We should get back, interview Johnno and see what he has to say for himself.”

  “Johnno Higgs played us,” Ruth said. “All that talk about a small amount of dealing to keep himself in food and fags was nonsense.”

  “I’m wondering what else he’s lied to us about,” Calladine said.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Becca O’Brien,” he said. “He was in Heron House that night.”

  “Jade said he arrived at the flat after her,” Ruth said.

  “Yes, but who’s to say it was his first visit of the night?”

  “You think he might have killed Becca?” she asked.

  “We have to consider the possibility.”

  * * *

  When Calladine and Ruth went into the interview room, Johnno Higgs looked up and swore at them. “Whatever you think I’ve done, you can think again,” he said. “I’ve already told you, I’m not into much these days.”

  Calladine sat down, placed a file of documents on the table and took out a photo. “I found this in your flat.”

  Higgs looked at the image of the package and shrugged. “Proves nowt.”

  “It’s a small fortune in cocaine. Hardly not much. Where did you get it, Johnno?”

  “Found it.”

  Calladine took a second photo from the file. This one showed the gun. “Did you find this too?”

  Higgs looked rattled. “Look, it’s not mine. I was hiding it for someone.”

  “Who?” Calladine asked.

  “That foreign bloke, but he’s dead now, so I stuffed it under the floorboards.”

  Calladine nodded. “We’re running tests on the gun. We’ll find out if it killed the two lads, but if we also discover it killed Lazarov — the ‘foreign bloke’ — that blows your story apart. He could hardly give you the thing if he was dead.”

  Johnno Higgs stared narrowly at Calladine. “Got a bloody answer for everything, ’aven’t you?”

  “You were at Gorse House. We know that because you were seen, but
also your boots are covered in mud from there.”

  “How can you tell? What’s so special about the mud in that place?”

  “Forensically, quite a lot, Johnno, and we’ve found that same mud in a number of places you’ve been in recently.”

  The duty solicitor whispered something in Higgs’s ear.

  “He says I should tell you the truth,” Higgs said.

  “He’s right,” Calladine said. “You killed Lazarov, didn’t you?”

  Higgs nodded. “He threatened me, said if I didn’t agree to work with him, he’d kill me. He hit me, too.”

  “You followed him to Gorse House?” Calladine asked.

  “Yes. I tried to reason with him. I told him there was enough business round here for both of us, but he wouldn’t listen. He went for me, fists flying.” He rubbed his face. “I managed to dodge him — I’m smaller than him — but then he pulled a gun on me. I had to do something, or I’d have been dead.”

  “How did you get the gun off him?” Ruth asked.

  “He pushed me against the wall, aiming the gun at me. I launched out with my fist. I only hit his chest, but it sent the gun spinning out of his hand and on to the floor. I was faster than him, I made a dive for the gun and shot him. Got him in the head, too. He went down like a stone. It was self-defence. I had to fight back, or he’d have killed me.”

  A jury might well agree with him. Lazarov was a dangerous villain and twice Higgs’s size, and he did admit to pulling the trigger.

  “The cocaine we found at yours was Lazarov’s, wasn’t it? You found it in the workshop and took it with you.”

  Higgs nodded. “

  “Tell me about Becca O’Brien,” Calladine said.

  Higgs looked surprised. “What about her? Oh no, you’re not pinning that one on me.”

  “We’re still investigating, but we have found certain forensic similarities between the two cases.”

  Higgs turned to his solicitor. “What’s he on about?”

  “Your gloves,” Calladine explained. “We’re still checking but we believe that fibres from your black gloves were not only found on Lazarov’s clothing but in Becca’s flat too. Want to tell me about that?”