Dead Nasty

by Helen H. Durrant

  “If it does, and this isn’t down to him, he’s getting serious grief from someone,” Rocco replied.

  Calladine took this up. “And that someone has got himself a sample of Donnelly’s blood? Where from? How? And if he has, then the killer has to know Donnelly.”

  Imogen handed Calladine the office phone. “Julian for you, guv.”

  “We found grey cat fur in Elsa Ramsden’s hair. Persian, to be precise. As you know, the girl was allergic to cats and a number of other things. Given the state of her air passages I’d say the cat had been in close proximity to her for most of her imprisonment.”

  “So the killer has a cat?”

  “Looks that way. The hair trapped in the loop of the earring was Elsa’s. However, it had been taken before she died. There isn’t much but the individual hairs look freshly cut.”

  “Clippings from the hairdressers?”

  “Could be. She hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours or so, but she had been given a cocktail of drugs — tranquilisers washed down with milk, and we found puncture marks in her arm from injections of morphine. The blood on the note was Elsa’s too. The note was hand-written on a scrap torn from a sheet of printer paper. The pen — a common or garden biro.”

  “Do we have an image of the note left in the Annabelle Roper killing? The words were the same. I’m thinking about comparing the writing.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Julian.”

  “Anything useful?” asked Ruth.

  “Our killer has a cat. A long-haired Persian type. There are cats at the vicarage. We need to find out what variety of cat they are. Any volunteers?”

  Imogen offered. “I’ll ring and ask the vicar in the morning.”

  “It can’t be official. Make something up, and make it sound casual,” Calladine suggested.

  Ruth offered to find out which hairdresser Elsa went to. “You never know, someone might have been watching her. But for now, I’m going to have to call it a day. Sorry, folks, but I’ve got to go.”

  Calladine nodded. “Rocco, the laptops, Elsa’s and Megan’s. Get onto the Duggan and push them for results. We badly need a lead on this Aiden bloke.”

  Ruth put on her coat. “Have you considered that this Aiden might be Jason Kent? Just an idea. But it does look like Kent is the one taking the girls off the streets. He wears a disguise. That might be because they know him.”

  “Good thinking. That makes us getting a lead on him all the more important.”

  Ruth had just gone through the office door when the phone rang. It was the desk downstairs.

  “We’ve got a Mrs Hayes here, Inspector. She says her daughter, Rachel, hasn’t come home from school.”

  Calladine’s stomach turned over. “Show her into the soft interview room, get her some tea, and I’ll be down right away.”

  Imogen was shaking her head. “Not another one? He’s not wasting any time, is he?”

  “We’d better go and talk to her, and I’m not looking forward to that one bit. Before you join us, would you check with the school? See if Rachel attended today. If she did, find out what time she left.”

  Chapter 16

  The look on her face said it all. She was pacing the floor of the room, tea untouched on the table. Rachel’s mother was expecting the worst.

  She looked at Calladine, tears running down her face. “Rachel is usually home by four. If she’s going to be late, she rings me. Today — nothing. I’m worried sick. Do you think he’s got her? It’s making me ill. If anything happens to Rachel, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “We mustn’t jump to conclusions, Mrs Hayes. Rachel could have gone to visit a friend, a boy perhaps.”

  “She wouldn’t waste her time with boys. She spends all her time with those friends of hers. Well, she used to. Before they got killed.” Rachel’s mother burst into tears.

  Calladine patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “We don’t know what has happened to Megan yet.”

  She pulled away. “You haven’t got a clue what’s going on, have you? My Rachel will end up dead too if you don’t do something!”

  Calladine was about to offer more words and reassurances when Imogen joined them from the incident room. She shook her head. “Rachel wasn’t in school today, guv. Were you aware of that, Mrs Hayes?”

  When she heard this, Mrs Hayes sank into a chair and sobbed her heart out. “No! She left this morning just like she always did. There was nothing wrong. Rachel was fine. Said she was meeting Sophie on the High Street.”

  “Imogen, contact Sophie Griggs right away and find out what happened.”

  Calladine turned to the woman. “Mrs Hayes, do you have any idea who Rachel talks to online?”

  She shook her head.

  “We believe it’s a man called Aiden. Has she spoken about him to you?”

  She seemed genuinely surprised. “It’s a man she talks to? She told me it was one of those chat rooms for school kids. She was speaking to other students like her. She spent ages up in her room. I’d have stopped her if I’d known. Those children don’t understand the dangers. I saw a programme about it on the telly. There are some bad buggers out there.”

  Imogen returned. “Sophie waited but Rachel never showed up. They’d arranged to meet in a café on the High Street, called The Steaming Cuppa.’ Sophie says she rang Rachel’s mobile but got no reply. She texted too. That was at eight fifteen.”

  “What route does Rachel take of a morning, Mrs Hayes?”

  “Through the estate, down Circle Road, then through the ginnel onto the High Street.”

  “Ginnel? Do you mean the alley, Byron’s Lane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Imogen, get forensics back out there. Get uniform to tape the area off again. Then arrange for a car to take Mrs Hayes home and a FLO to sit with her until we have more news.” Calladine turned to the woman. “Rest assured, Mrs Hayes, we will do everything we can to get Rachel back for you.”

  Rachel’s mother didn’t look at all convinced. “He’s taken her, hasn’t he? I’m never going to see my Rachel again!”

  * * *

  Alan Reynolds lived off the Huddersfield Road in one of a row of terraced cottages that had originally been built for mill workers. The cotton mill had long since shut down and nothing remained of it but a skeletal hulk on the skyline. The cottages had been refurbished and sold on.

  The problem was getting up there. Calladine left the main road and took a narrow lane that led up the hill. Halfway along, the road opened up into a parking area and you had to walk the rest of the way, all uphill. He wasn’t surprised Reynolds didn’t make it into town much. His legs probably weren’t up to it.

  It was dark by the time Calladine reached the houses. Fortunately most of them had outside lights so he was able to pick his way along the uneven flagstones. Reynolds lived at the far end. Calladine could hear the TV blaring from where he stood. At least Reynolds hadn’t gone to bed.

  Alan Reynolds greeted him with a broad smile. “Sergeant! It’s been a long time, lad. Come in. What brings you up here?”

  Calladine smiled back. “Actually it’s ‘Inspector’ these days, Alan. I thought we might have a chat.”

  Reynolds looked older than his seventy-two years. His face was heavily lined, and he walked with the aid of a stick. He looked as if he carried all the worries of the world on his shoulders.

  “I read in the paper about the girl, and about Donnelly being out. I thought I might see you. Bad business. Have you got him locked up?” He showed Calladine to a chair by an open fire.

  “No. Not enough evidence to make anything stick.”

  Reynolds shook his head. “He’s a tricky bugger that one. Don’t let him wriggle off the hook.”

  “Things are a bit different this time. The MO, for example. It’s not quite the same. To be honest, Alan, we’re struggling. And I’ve been warned off by the ACC. If I go near Donnelly again, well . . . they could have my job.”

  “The ACC
— that would be Kennet?”

  Calladine nodded. “I don’t remember much about him. What was he like to work for?”

  Reynolds waved his hand from side to side. “Tricky. You had to watch your back.”

  Calladine noticed a photo of Kate on the mantelpiece. He decided to broach the subject cautiously. “Is your daughter not here?”

  “No, she’s working away for a few days. Kate comes and goes. I don’t trouble her. That job of hers takes her all over the place.”

  Alan Reynolds had spoken about his daughter easily enough. There was no fear in his face, and he wasn’t guarded. He mustn’t have been contacted. So he didn’t know.

  “Does she ring you? You’re a bit out of the way up here.”

  Reynolds put another log on the fire. “She left me a voicemail a couple of days ago.” He reached over to a small table, picked up his mobile, and handed it to Calladine. “She’s off somewhere in Wales. She says the reception will be bad, and not to worry. Why so interested in Kate, anyway?”

  He didn’t know, should Calladine tell him? “I’m seeing Shelley Mortimer, Kate’s boss. She wondered if I knew Kate, her living in Leesdon. When Shez told me her name I put two and two together and realised she must be your daughter.”

  “She’s a good girl. She does her best by me.”

  Calladine listened to the message. The young woman sounded okay. “That is her voice?”

  Reynolds nodded. “She reckons she’ll be back after the weekend. Why do you want to know, Tom? This is more than just casual interest, isn’t it?”

  Calladine sighed. “We think Kate’s been kidnapped, Alan.”

  His face paled. “Kidnapped! Are you sure? Who’d want to take Kate? Have they asked for money? Because if they do, I’ve got nowt to give them.”

  “They are leaning on Shelley. We are working on it. Have you tried ringing her back?”

  “Her phone’s switched off.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “What are you doing to find her? Have you spoken to her friends? Don’t let anything happen to my girl, Tom. She’s all I’ve got.”

  “We’re giving it everything,” Calladine assured him. “We expect the kidnapper to contact Shelley anytime. When he does, we’ll be on it. The team are good. I’ll make sure they keep you up to speed.”

  Reynolds changed the subject. “That bastard, Donnelly. Why can’t you nail him?”

  “We’re trying. Just when we think we’ve got him, the evidence turns out to be false.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Just like the last time.”

  It was a few seconds before Calladine took in the implications of this. “What do you mean, Alan? I don’t recall any false evidence. Everything we got was straightforward.”

  “I meant nothing, lad. Don’t go worrying about all that stuff now. It’s history.”

  “But I do worry. I’ve got members of my team who think Donnelly didn’t kill Annabelle Roper. They’re beginning to think we got it wrong, and that he was fitted up.” Alan Reynolds didn’t reply. “We didn’t get it wrong, did we? Tell me we got the right man, Alan.”

  Reynolds struggled to his feet and shuffled through to the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “I’d rather you sat down and spoke to me.”

  Reynolds turned round and faced Calladine. “Kennet wanted him to go down. He was convinced that Donnelly was as guilty as sin. The problem was proving it. Then suddenly we find one of Donnelly’s shoes with Annabelle’s blood on it. I never knew how that happened and I didn’t ask.”

  “Are you saying it was planted?”

  “No, I’m saying the memory is hazy. Take my advice, son, and keep it that way.”

  “So was he guilty?”

  “No doubt about it. He killed that girl. I’d stake my life on it. But without that shoe and the necklace, Donnelly was set to walk. It was driving Kennet insane. He knew the score.”

  “Can you think of any reason why Kennet would want me to leave Donnelly out of it? To look elsewhere.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s big mates with Livings, the vicar who took Donnelly in. He’s afraid Livings will try to get Donnelly’s conviction declared unsafe. He’s a clever man, and greedy despite his religion. If that conviction goes down the tubes, Donnelly could get a fortune in compensation.”

  “What would be the grounds?”

  “False Evidence. We had a blood-stained shoe. Good job we did. It swung the jury. But Donnelly said he hadn’t worn that pair in years. They were found at the back of his wardrobe in a plastic bag.”

  “He was lying?”

  “The shoes were expensive, black leather going-out shoes. Not what you’d wear to do what was done to Annabelle. His wife said the last time he’d worn them was at her sister’s wedding a decade or so before. She wasn’t protecting him. There was no love lost between them, but she was adamant. So how does that happen?”

  “You think Kennet was responsible?”

  Reynolds shook his head. “I didn’t say that. But something wasn’t right. You didn’t tamper with the evidence, and neither did I.” He fell silent. “Make sure you find my Kate. Keep me posted. I’m up here on my own and I hear nowt. Anything happens, you ring me yourself.”

  “I will, Alan. We will find her,” Calladine said.

  * * *

  It was late, almost midnight, and he was exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached from sheer physical effort. He stretched, rubbed his lower back. What he needed now was a hot bath. But it had been worth it. Just as he’d anticipated, Megan had been completely satisfying. Her lithe young body was even more exciting than he had imagined. He’d not been kind. He’d used her hard, until he was physically spent. Now she lay at his feet, naked and broken. Her blood was pooled on the floor around her head. Beside the body, a keepsake — a cup containing her tongue. He’d put it in the freezer with Elsa’s.

  “Leave off, Mog.” He gently pushed the cat away from the body. A handful of the animal’s long coat came away in his hand. “Moulting again. You’re becoming hard work, you are.” He stroked the cat affectionately.

  Shooing the cat out of the way, he laid Megan flat on her back. He stamped hard several times on her chest with the heel of his boot. There was a sickening crunch as several ribs broke. She didn’t move. She was dead. He hated the next bit — the cleaning up. Not that anyone would see the mess. No one came here but him. First he would deal with the body. Once he’d got rid, he’d come back and sluice the place down. It would be a long night.

  He donned a clean set of overalls and put on a peaked cap. If he was seen, people would simply think he was a street cleaner.

  The dustbin was ready. He had taken it from a backyard at the other end of Leesdon last week. A huge number thirty-four was painted on the side. With some effort he manhandled Megan inside. All he had to do now was return it to its owners. He chuckled. Collection day tomorrow.

  Chapter 17

  Friday

  Rachel Hayes had no idea where she was or what had happened. It was as if there were a great big hole in her memory where the day should have been. She had been dragged back to consciousness by the clunk of a door being unlocked, followed by grunting and groaning.

  Panic set in. There was someone else in this place with her. Rachel’s first instinct was to scream for help, but she could barely raise her head. A weak ray of sunlight was just visible. So it must be early morning. Rachel could recall walking to school. Was that today? Possibly not, it felt like longer. She’d been heading for the High Street to meet Sophie. What had happened after that was a mystery. She had a vague impression that she’d been in another room. But she couldn’t be sure. It had smelled bad.

  Wherever she was, it had no lighting. Rachel squinted. Metres away, a door stood ajar and a man was dragging a long bundle into the building. Silhouetted against the daylight, the man didn’t even look her way. Rachel was bound tightly to a chair and there was no way she could get free. She was groggy. Her head ached so much she thought it would burst. Sh
e knew this was a chance to call out but she didn’t have the strength. Apart from which, Rachel was scared. If she annoyed him, he might hurt her. The man was struggling with whatever he’d brought inside. He was coughing, panting with the effort of dragging the bundle.

  Now there was a different noise. Kids were shouting and laughing outside, then a can was thrown against a wall. Rachel took a breath. This was her chance. The man swore. Giving one last look at the bundle, he left hurriedly, locking the door behind him. At that moment Rachel threw up.

  The room was dark again. Rachel realised she must have passed out. She was tired and her body ached. Her wrists had been bound to the chair arms with rope and it was biting into her flesh. She had to escape, otherwise she would end up like Elsa. Rachel sobbed into the gloom. The rope was so tight it hurt. She didn’t stand a chance.

  Rachel looked towards the door. Light filtered through a gap down one side. Its pale rays fell onto the stone floor, illuminating the bundle. She wondered what it was. Her body convulsed with a shudder. Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, she saw what looked like a dead body.

  There was no way she could stay here with a dead person. Maybe she could shout for help. There had been kids outside, they might still be lurking around. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She managed one loud scream that left her throat raw and burning. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for ages and her mouth was as dry as a bone.

  Then she heard it, an almost inaudible moan. Rachel thought her imagination was playing tricks. Then the bundle moved a little. It rolled slightly to one side. Another moan, louder, followed by a whisper.

  “Who’s there?”

  It was not dead, then, and it was another girl like her.

  * * *

  “They do have cats at the vicarage, two of them. But they are the short-haired, mouser variety. Both are black and white. I told Julian, and he said the cat we’re interested in has longish grey fur.”

  “No joy there then. Thanks, Imogen.” Calladine sighed and looked at Ruth.