Текст книги "Dead Silent"

Автор книги: Helen H. Durrant

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DEAD SILENT

A gripping detective thriller full of suspense

(DI Calladine & DS Bayliss Book 2)

HELEN H. DURRANT

First published 2015

Joffe Books, London www.joffebooks.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

©Helen H. Durrant

Glossary of English TERMS & Slang for US readers

Charity Shop: thrift store

Carrier bag: plastic bag from supermarket

Care Home: an institution where old people are cared for

Chat-up: flirt, trying to pick up someone with witty banter or compliments

Comprehensive School (Comp.): High school

Childminder: someone who looks after children for money

Council: local government

Deck: one of the landings on a floor of a tower block

DI: detective inspector

DS: detective sergeant

ED: accident and emergency department of hospital

Early dart: to leave work early

Estate: public/social housing estate (similar to housing projects)

Estate agent: realtor (US)

Fag: cigarette

Garden Centre: a business where plants and gardening equipment are sold

GP: general practitioner, a doctor based in the community

Handy Man case: the case Calladine and Bayliss dealt with described in Dead Wrong.

Home: care home for elderly or sick people

Inne: isn’t he

Into care: a child taken away from their family by the social services

Lad: young man

Nick: police station (as verb: to arrest)

Nowt: nothing

Nutter: insane person

Nursery: a place which grows plants, shrubs and trees for sale

(often wholesale)

PC: police constable

Piss off: as exclamation, go away (rude). Also can mean annoy.

Planning Department: the local authority department which issues licences to build and develop property

Randy: horny

Scroat: low-life

Semi: Semi-detached house, house with another house joined to it on one side only

Solicitor: lawyer

Sweeting: endearment, like sweetheart

Tea: Dinner (Northern English)

Till: cash register

Torch: flashlight

Tutor: university teacher

Tower block: tall building containing apartments (usually social housing)

CHARACTER LIST

Detective Inspector Tom Calladine

He is single, just past fifty. He is tall, slim build but with reasonable muscle tone, his hair used to be dark but is now greying and is cut close to his head. His daughter is called Zoe, she resulted from his short-lived marriage and he only found about her recently.

Detective Sergeant Ruth Bayliss

She is single in Dead Wrong but has now met someone—teacher Jake Ireson. She’s in her mid-thirties, likes birdwatching.

Detective Constable Simon Rockliffe—Rocco

A solid team member. He works hard and gets results. He is tipped to go far. He was attacked on the Hobfield in Dead Wrong.

Detective Constable Imogen Goode

She is the IT expert of the team. She is intense—very keen on her work—a bit of a nerd. She is being eyed up by Julian—the forensics expert.

Acting Detective Chief Inspector George Jones

A mediocre stand-in at best. He considers himself overworked and can’t handle the pressure. Runs the nick on a day-to-day basis.

Detective Inspector Brad Long

Overweight, and generally lazy—the other team leader in the police station.

Detective Sergeant Don Thorpe

Works with Long and has picked up his bad habits.

Doctor Sebastian Hoyle

Pathologist. Often referred to as the doc.

Forensic scientist—Doctor Julian Batho.

Unmarried, hard-working. Not particularly good-looking.

Monika Smith

Care home manager and sometime girlfriend of Calladine.

Freda Calladine

Tom’s mother—resident in the care home run by Monika.

Lydia Holden

Reporter seeking the big time. She is a glamorous blonde who uses her looks to get what she wants. Calladine falls for her. She was a reporter for the Leesworth Echo in the case described in Dead

Wrong.

Ray Fallon

Calladine’s cousin on his mother’s side. One of Manchester’s most notorious gangsters—drugs, gun running—whatever he can make money at. His gang provides the drugs for the local housing estate

–the Hobfield.

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Prologue

In the thick fog of an early morning, a small white van could just be seen, weaving through the pouring rain along a distant country road.

“You’ve let me down, Vida. We were doing just fine, but that wasn’t good enough for you. Was it?”

The man driving slammed his fist down on the dashboard. There were hot tears running down his face. He brushed a rough hand over his cheek. He could hardly see a thing—what with the tears, the rain pelting down hard and the fog, he was really up against it.

Why did the weather have to be so foul when he had so much to do?

“You knew I loved you. I never gave you any reason to doubt it.

We didn’t need anyone else; we agreed. So why did you do it? You could have had anything—anything at all, but that!” He was screaming now, his eyes darting to the reflection in the rear-view mirror. There was no reply from the shape lying in the back.

“We talked. You said you felt the same as I did. But you didn’t, did you? You still went and got yourself pregnant. Lying bitch! All along you had no intention of keeping our little bargain. I can’t do it, Vida!” Screaming, shaking his head, as the anger built again.

“You can’t blame anyone else for what’s happened—it’s all your own stupid fault!”

The fog was so thick that the white van was now crawling along the narrow ribbon of a road, one of the country lanes above Hopecross. He’d have been better off on the bypass.

“You can’t control yourself, that’s your trouble. That’s been the trouble with all of you stupid slags. Ten weeks, Vida, that’s all we had, before you ruined everything,” he sobbed. “After all I said. I poured my heart out, you selfish bitch. Stupid selfish bitch! You deserve what you’ve got coming—and more besides—for putting me through this!”

Almost blind with tears and rage, he swung onto the slip road that led down to the dual carriageway. It was devoid of traffic. On a normal day it would have been busy, even at this early hour of the morning. But today, in the fog, it was quiet. No need to crawl then, he decided, putting his foot down.

The van sped along towards Leesdon. He wasn’t sure where he was going, where he was going to drop Vida off. He rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t thought this through. The others had been easier—he’d simply kept them. But he didn’t want to keep this one. Things were changing, and for the worse, so he’d get rid of her. But then all the others would have to go too. He was beginning to calm down. He had to think. It wouldn’t be so bad; it’d be good to be rid of her. He wouldn’t have to look at her whining face or scrawny body ever again.

Suddenly he saw a shape looming up in front of him. A dark mass was blocking the road and the occasional flame licked across the blackened sky. What the fuck was this? A car crash? Some sort of pile-up due to the weather? He strained his eyes to see, but in the fog he could make out nothing.

He skidded to an abrupt halt behind a large saloon car. The lights were out, and the bonnet had sprung up and was all twisted and bent. Spirals of steam rose from the engine. A man was screaming in pain in the front seat.

“I’m trapped!” he yelled out, seeing the headlights behind him.

“I can’t move my legs. Ring for help, please, for God’s sake—do something!”

The van driver stood and looked at the scene in front of him.

Multiple vehicles had ploughed into each other. Apart from the one man, an eerie silence, almost as thick as the fog itself, permeated the scene. No one moved. No one was coming. This was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

“Out you get, bitch.” He pulled a woman’s body from the back of the van. He heard her feet thud hard on the tarmac, and he dragged her over to the saloon car. “This is the last time you cross me. I’ll teach you to want what you can’t have.”

He yanked open one of the rear passenger doors and bundled her inside. She didn’t make it easy for him; right to the end she was a pain in the backside. She was so heavy. A dead weight.

“Good riddance.”

He riffled through the back of his van for a few minutes and returned with a petrol can. He casually emptied the contents under the saloon car, to increasing shrieks and screams for help from the trapped man. Surely he’d got it by now. There was no help coming.

Enough of this noise. He had things to do, places to go. He struck a match, casually flicked it under the car and walked away.

Within a split second the vehicle was ablaze.

Like all the rest, Vida was now history.

Chapter 1

Day One

The weather had done its worst. Two late autumnal storms had brought down the last of the leaves, and underfoot the entire churchyard was a wet, slippery mess. At least the fog had mostly cleared. Some low swirling mist remained, clinging to the bleak hilltops.

Detective Inspector Tom Calladine stood silent, his daughter at his side, as the undertakers took his mother’s coffin from the hearse. He must pull himself together. He had to get through this somehow. It had arrived; the day he’d pushed to the back of his mind, the event he hadn’t wanted to think about. But now he had no choice. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through it, but he had to hold it together for Zoe. She’d no sooner found her grandmother than she’d lost her again. This dying business was so final.

Zoe Calladine took hold of his hand and tugged it gently. “We should be going in,” she whispered. “They’re waiting for your signal.”

He was dragging his heels, delaying things. He didn’t want to admit that his mother was finally gone. She had slipped away in the dead of night without so much as a whimper. Why hadn’t she fought? She wasn’t really that old, not by today’s standards. Surely there’d been a good few years still left in her?

He looked down at the young woman by his side. His daughter.

Two months ago he hadn’t been aware that she even existed. She’d come into his life like a bolt from the blue and was already leaving her mark. She planned to stay too, a decision she’d made with no prompting from him, and he was chuffed to bits about it.

She was still living with him but no doubt that’d change in time.

Zoe was a solicitor, so she’d be able to afford a place of her own soon enough. She had studied law, got her degree and gained experience with a firm in Bristol. Now a local practice had taken her on.

Her help in organising all this had been invaluable. She’d dealt with the undertakers, as well as the wake at the Leesworth Hotel afterwards. In fact she’d done it all. As usual—stupid bugger that he was—he’d used the pressure of work as an excuse for failing to contribute.

She had made sure that all Freda’s old friends knew. They were all here, too, and transport had been arranged for them. Monika had come, representing the care home his mother had lived in for the past few months. Monika looked drawn and nervous, every bit as upset as he was. She was shuffling about from one foot to another, and kept glancing at him. He caught her eye, but she merely nodded a curt greeting. He should have done things differently. She should have been standing with him. After all she was more than just his mother’s carer, much more. God, he’d messed up there. Despite everything, he missed her.

But Lydia Holden had been the final straw that broke their relationship. It was true that it had been floundering for a while—not enough input from him—but after Lydia, Monika could barely bring herself to speak to him. He’d been trying to work out how to tell her about the beautiful reporter, but in the end he didn’t have to. Monika had simply read Lydia’s piece in the paper. She’d asked a few salient questions and no doubt quizzed Ruth, his sergeant, and worked out the rest for herself. Tom Calladine didn’t love her, simple as that. How could he if his head could be turned so easily?

He looked towards the black-suited men who were arranging the flowers over the coffin. White lilies: traditional. His mother would have approved. He’d stood here before, almost on this same spot in fact, when he was twelve or thirteen, after his father died. He didn’t remember feeling anything, really. He recalled hating having to wear a new suit, and that he’d been itching to get home to watch some telly programme or other—daft kid that he’d been back then.

His reverie was broken as a car on the drive caught his attention. A latecomer? He was about to go and meet whoever it was, but then swore under his breath. The car smoothing its way towards them was a sleek, black Bentley. That could mean only one thing.

Ray Fallon.

How the hell had he found out? More to the point, what did he think he was doing here? He hadn’t bothered to visit when she’d been in the care home, so why attend her funeral? Apart from that, Ray Fallon knew damn well he wouldn’t be wanted here.

“Thomas!”

Fallon was immaculate in what looked like an Italian designer suit, and a cashmere overcoat with a velvet collar. Last time they’d met, Fallon had been lying in a hospital bed following a major heart attack. Look at him now. The Devil surely did look after his own.

Calladine stepped forward to meet his cousin. What was the use?

He supposed his mother would have wanted him here. She’d practically raised him, after all.

“Well, Thomas. Sad day.” Fallon held out a hand, which Calladine ignored.

One of his goons leaned into the boot and handed across to the undertakers a huge arrangement of white roses that spelled out

Auntie Freda. Over the top and totally unnecessary.

“They’re all waiting. We’d better do this, Thomas.” Fallon gestured his men forward. Three more black-suited goons got out of the car and made for the coffin. “You and I will take the front—you on the right, me on the left. Sort of apt, don’t you think?”

Calladine didn’t laugh. Ray Fallon was one of Manchester’s most infamous villains. The only reason he wasn’t doing life was because the team at Manchester Central weren’t smart enough to nail him.

Was he being too harsh on his colleagues? Fallon wasn’t only clever, he was ruthless. He was a past master at ensuring watertight alibis, even if it meant committing murder to keep them that way. So it wasn’t just about catching him. Trapping him and getting people to testify in court—that was the key. But in the meantime he continued to thrive. Not even a heart attack and bypass surgery had stopped him. The man was a menace, a pain in the arse—and, much to the inspector’s embarrassment, his damned cousin!

The six men took hold of Freda Calladine’s coffin and bore it into Leesworth Parish Church. If Mum was watching this, she’d be thrilled. But from Calladine’s point of view it was the stuff of nightmares. His mother was being taken on her final outing, accompanied by Manchester’s most dangerous gangster and his minions.

All the same, Calladine couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. There was a weird irony in all this. He was just thankful that there was no one from the nick here to witness his embarrassment.

At the church door, Calladine took a deep breath. This was it.

This was the final goodbye.

* * *

Everywhere was mad busy. It was only a few weeks until Christmas, and Leesworth appeared to be in panic mode. The shops along Leesdon High Street were enjoying a brief respite from the woes of the recession, and the garden centre was doing a roaring trade in all kinds of festive fare.

It was lunchtime and Cassie Rigby was playing up. She was hungry, and bored with being dragged around the shops. She was only four years old.

“You sit there and be a good girl.” Anna was looking warily at the long queue at the self-service counter. “I will get you something

–one of those kid’s boxes. Is that okay?”

The little girl nodded. She liked them; they included a yoghurt plus a carton of juice.

Anna Bajek looked at the queue again. If she took Cassie with her they’d lose the table. “Look—you must stay here. You mustn’t move. If you’re good, then you can have ice cream afterwards, when we’ve seen Santa.”

The child nodded and leaned back on the padded seat. Anna piled their shopping beside her and went to join the queue. She looked back and waved. The child would be okay; they were only a few feet apart.

The woman in front of Anna was arguing with the young man serving food behind the counter, hands on her broad hips. Why was there only ever one person on the job in these places?

“I ordered cottage pie. He wanted the soup with a roll.”

The waiter disappeared into the back, while the queue of people waiting began rolling their eyes and complaining. After what seemed like ages, he emerged and handed a tray of food to the woman. She delved into her bag, searching for her purse. Why hadn’t she got the money ready? Anna wondered, getting more and more annoyed. Then the woman looked behind her, calling out to someone further back. Not enough cash—more waiting! Anna swore in Polish.

Why were things always like this here? Anna looked over at Cassie and waved again. Another hour, that was all, and then she could hand the child back to her mother.

A group of teenagers stopped in front of her and began to chat and check their phones. Now Anna couldn’t see their table clearly.

She stepped to the side so she could see Cassie, and promptly lost her place in the queue. This was beyond a joke. She stamped her foot and swore again, prompting a series of angry looks from the others queuing beside her. She ranted at the teenagers in Polish, and even shook her fist at them.

She’d had enough. This entire thing had been a waste of time.

Still livid, she crossed the few feet separating her from their table.

Cassie Rigby was gone.

* * *

“That went well, Thomas. I have to say you did her proud.

Auntie Freda would be pleased with you.” Fallon clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “And who is this?”

“Zoe. Zoe Calladine, my daughter.”

“You and Rachel?” Well, I can certainly believe Rachel could produce such a lovely young woman; but you, Thomas?

“It’s none of your damn business, Ray, so back off.”

“Pleased to meet you, love.” Fallon ignored his cousin and put out his hand. “How d’you find Leesdon then? Shithole, isn’t it?” He chuckled, getting the full force of Calladine’s foot on his shin for swearing.

“Forgive me, Zoe. Your father doesn’t approve of me—poor sod never did, even when we were kids. Used to beat me black and blue, he did—bullying bastard.”

Wasn’t that the truth! And what a pity he couldn’t take a serious pop at him now.

Fallon studied the young woman for a moment or two. “I’m not sure how much you know about your family but him and me, we’re the only ones left. That being so, we should get to know each other better. I know Marilyn would love that. Marilyn’s my wife,” he explained. “We don’t live around here, though. I got out—too bloody true I did. We live in Cheshire—got quite a pile, haven’t we, Thomas?”

Calladine grunted his reply and made to lead Zoe away without looking at Fallon. But Zoe was having none of it.

“Thanks, Ray. I might just do that.” She smiled.

“No, you damn well won’t!” Calladine pulled Zoe towards the vicar, who was standing in the church doorway. “We’ll say our goodbyes to Reverend Buckley and then get everyone to the hotel.”

“You’re very rude,” Zoe told him. “He’s your cousin. You were close once, so why don’t you get on now? He can’t be that bad.”

She had no idea. And hopefully she’d never need to learn.

“We were never close and, no, we bloody well don’t get on. I don’t want you getting on with him either. The man’s a murdering bastard. Don’t be taken in; he’s evil. At times, when I have no choice but to be in his company, like today, I’m forced to smile and pretend, but that’s all it is. Do you understand?”

“Well, I still don’t think you were very nice. You hardly spoke to him. In fact, you were positively glacial. He can’t have felt welcome at all.”

Calladine didn’t give a toss about his cousin’s finer feelings. And Fallon must have taken the hint because he and his goons were making for the Bentley.

Fallon called out to Thomas one last time, “Can’t make the wake! But I’ve put a ton behind the bar, so have a drink on me.”

Calladine’s expression didn’t change. Who did he think he was?

“That was very kind of him. He seems nice enough from where I’m standing, and wealthy too from the look of him.”

Calladine would have liked to tell her just how he’d amassed all that wealth, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Anyway, her mobile was ringing.

“You didn’t turn yours off.”

“It’s as well I didn’t. It’s for you.”

It was his sergeant, Ruth Bayliss. “We’ve got a missing child. I know this is a difficult day for you, and I wouldn’t have rung if I’d had any choice in the matter, but she’s only four. So you needed to know at once. One minute she’s sat at a table in the garden centre café—the next she’s gone. The childminder said it was as if she literally disappeared into thin air.”

Ruth had been right to ring him. If no one had found her within a few minutes, then it was probable the child had been taken. His stomach churned. What sort of hell was in store for him now?

“Not had one of those in a while. Have you put out an alert?”

“Yes, and I’m waiting to see the parents. We need to interview them, get an up-to-date photo, and possibly even arrange a search of the house. As I said, the kid was with the childminder—a young woman called Anna Bajek. The parents, a Mr and Mrs Robert Rigby, were at work. I’ve contacted them and they’re on their way home.

I’m in the car outside the house now. Miss Bajek is still at the station, waiting to give a statement.”

“Shouldn’t you still be away? I thought that jaunt to Wales was four days,” he asked, wondering why Ruth was working when she should be on leave.

“Ray, the chap who organises the birding group, has had an accident. The silly bugger fell off a ladder and broke his leg. So, of course, Joan had to drop out and that only left two of us so we shelved the trip until later in the year.”

“Sorry about that. You were dead keen too. What was it, kites?”

“Yes, Tom, red kites, but no matter.”

“Okay. Give me the address and I’ll meet you there. Phone the nick; don’t let the childminder go until I’ve spoken to her too.”

“You can’t leave. It’s your own mother’s funeral!” Zoe Calladine was angry.

“She’s right, sir,” Ruth piped up in his ear, overhearing what Zoe had said.

“It’s fine. It’s over now, bar the boozing, anyway.’

“Okay—but don’t come unless you’re sure. I can handle things for now.”

He knew she could. Ruth Bayliss was a first-class sergeant. But they were already one man down and another of their number, DC Simon Rockliffe, was still on light duties. He’d received a head injury while investigating their last case and had only recently returned to work.

“I’m sorry.” He took Zoe to one side. “We’ve a missing child—a very young child, too. I have no choice, surely you can understand that? This is what it’s like with me, Zoe. This is the reason your mother and I stood no chance…I’ll see you later. I’ll try and get to the wake, but I can’t promise. Look—the weather’s filthy, why don’t you do something about all those lovely flowers? They’ll just go to waste if they’re left lying out on the grave in this rain. Let Monika take some to the home. I’m sure your gran would approve.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek—then he was gone.