Текст книги "Dead Silent"

Автор книги: Helen H. Durrant

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 17

“You took your time, Tom Calladine. I was beginning to think you were seriously indisposed or something.”

Calladine gasped, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. But the woman who stood on his doorstep was real enough. She smiled again, batted her long lashes and pushed past him into his hallway.

“Well if you won’t ask me in, Detective, then I’ll just have to be a little more forward.” She walked through to the sitting room, dropped the suitcase she was carrying onto the floor and stood staring at him. She cocked her lovely head to one side, winked, and then opened her arms wide. “Come here, stupid man. Come and give me a hug.”

She wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t a hallucination brought on by stress—she was real. But it wasn’t until he had her grasped tight in his arms, with his lips firmly pressed to hers, that he actually believed it.

Lydia was back.

The lovely creature he’d lost his heart to—his dream woman—was actually here. She was standing in his house with her arms wrapped around him.

“So you are glad to see me. From the way you looked at the door, I wondered. But whatever you think, I’ve missed you, Tom Calladine, missed you like crazy. No word from you, nothing, for weeks—not even a text.” She slapped his arm.

“You could have rung me. It’s not all one-sided, you know.”

“You’d think I was chasing you! Can’t have that, can we, Detective? You’ll get all big-headed and start thinking you’re God’s gift.”

“Stupid woman. You know I’ve only got eyes for you …” And he kissed her again. “It really is good to see you, Lydia. I was beginning to think you’d never come back, not after what happened to you.”

“I’ve had to work on that, believe me, Tom. What that man did to me left mental scars—but I’m dealing with them, and not doing too bad either. The key is work, work, work then more work. I immersed myself and it’s sorted my head out.”

“It should never have happened.” He traced his fingers down her cheek. “Another instance of Jones’s penny-pinching stupidity. You should have had someone watching you.”

“Let’s not rake all that up now. It’s in its place.” She tapped her head. “It’s dealt with, and that’s that. I take risks; it comes with the job, so I have to live with the consequences.”

“So what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone for good, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Like I said, I went off and licked my wounds, but now I’m back and raring to go. The job I took in Edinburgh wasn’t right for me and, anyway, Scotland’s too cold. I’ve got a new job now, so here I am.”

“Are you back with the Echo?”

“What—that rag? No fear—that’s small fry. No, Detective. I’ve had a sniff of the big time, and now I want more. Investigative journalism—that’s where my future is. I wrote a piece for one of nationals after the Handy Man case and the fee was amazing. Since then I’ve done a few more—chased up on all the juicy cases I could find. Robberies mostly. I investigated the goings on behind that big jewellery robbery in London last month.”

“So why Leesworth?”

“Because of you. I can see from the look on your face that you don’t believe me, but it’s true, every word. I’m not spinning you a yarn, Detective. I’ve really missed you, and I reached the point where I just had to come back and catch up.”

“I’m flattered, Lydia, I really am. But there is an angle, isn’t there? With you, there’s got to be. I’m flattered, but I’m not that stupid. I mean—look at you, then take a real good look at me.” He shook his head. He was feeling it again—that slightly ill at ease

‘what’s she up to’ feeling. Investigative journalism…She needed him for something.

“That hurts, it really does. I like you, Tom. You know I do, and I wouldn’t use you. I’m not that sort of woman.”

“Lydia, you’re exactly that sort of woman.” He chuckled. “But right now I just don’t care. It’s so good to have you back, to see you standing in front of me looking wonderful, still so very lovely.”

“You’ll have me blushing. Let’s not get into the whys and wherefores right now. Let’s eat and talk and have a real good catch up.”

“We’ll do that later. First tell me what it is you’re investigating round here.”

“Can’t that wait, Tom? If I tell you, then you’ll just get annoyed, and bang goes our wonderful evening.”

“Just tell me what you want, Lydia. I’m a busy man and I don’t have time to let you run circles around me.”

“Can I just say that I will need your help, Detective? I simply don’t know enough about the person I’m chasing.”

Why did that send a cold shiver down his spine?

“So you do want something—and you know I won’t approve.”

“Yes, but all I want is a few pointers; clarification on one or two things—that’s all. Oh and Tom, I’d like to stay here too.”

“Here? With me?”

“Well yes. You do live here, don’t you?”

“Yes I do, but I’m not here alone anymore.”

“You have another woman in your life—yes, I know, and I have to say I’m surprised, so soon after me …”

“There is another woman, but it’s not what you think.”

“She’s very pretty, and young too. Is this her?” Lydia took out a sheaf of photos from her briefcase.

“Yes, that’s me and Zoe.” He blinked, not quite taking in what it was she was showing him. “Where did you get these? That’s my mother’s funeral. Why would you want photos of that?” He thought for a moment, and then realised. “You must have been there, watching—but why? And why not come and speak to me?”

“It didn’t seem the right thing to do, Tom.” She pointed to Zoe, who was holding his hand in one of the pictures. “So who’s the woman then?”

“My daughter, Zoe.”

“You have a daughter?” She sounded incredulous. “A grown-up daughter? Where did she come from? You certainly didn’t have her last time I saw you.”

“It’s a long story, but she is mine—mine and Rachel’s. She came looking for me when her mum died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay with her living here?”

“Yep. It suits me just fine.” He looked a little closer at the images, trying to work out why she’d taken them. Then it hit him—like a brick between the eyes.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He pointed at the image of his cousin. “You’re bloody well investigating him!”

The perfectly shaped eyebrows rose a little, and those baby blue eyes flashed with annoyance.

“He’s big news, Detective—or he will be once you lot get your fingers out and slap the cuffs on him.”

What on earth was she up to? Whatever it was it had to stop.

She obviously had no idea what she was getting into. If Fallon got the merest whiff that Lydia was about to dish the dirt on him, he’d retaliate. She’d simply disappear. He’d have her killed and Calladine would never be able to find out how or where.

“Keep away, Lydia. Fallon is bad news. Michael Morpeth was a pussycat in comparison to my damn cousin.”

“Don’t be like that.” She rubbed his arm. “It’s all going to come out about him soon. He’s started making mistakes. And with me doing the story, you can be kept out of it.”

“I’m not involved.” Now he was really angry. What did she think he was? “Since we reached adulthood I’ve had nothing to do with the bastard. And, like I keep telling people, neither should anyone else.”

“So. You won’t help me?” Lydia Holden stood glowering at him with her hands on her hips—those delicate, manicured hands of hers that could be so gentle, so giving.

“No, I won’t help you, because I would be signing your death warrant. You’ll get hurt, Lydia—you’ll be picked up by one of his thugs so fast your feet won’t touch. We’d never find your body.

We’d never find anything.”

“Then you need to up your game, Detective.”

“Smart-assed comments won’t get you anywhere either, Lydia.”

He still couldn’t believe it. Lydia Holden here, in his sitting room, calling the shots and looking so damn sexy he was helpless. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

“Well, if this is how you’re going to be, if you’re going to be all tight-lipped about Fallon, then I’ll go ask elsewhere. But I have to say, you surprise me, Detective. I thought you, of all people, would be only too happy to dish the dirt on your errant kin.”

“Look, Lydia, I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you now—”

“Well, come to bed and argue with me there instead. Come on, Detective, I know you want to.” She moved forward, and nuzzled in close. She was a siren, a weakness he couldn’t resist. “Don’t play hard to get, Detective. We both know it’s not your style.”

Their lips met long and hard. Could he take time out for this?

More to the point, should he take time out for this woman? Her hands roamed over his chest, flipping open his shirt buttons.

“We should make up for lost time…Don’t you want me, Tom?

Want me like before—you do remember how it was, don’t you, lover?”

Of course he remembered. How could he forget?

Their lips met again and this time the passion overpowered everything else in his head—the case, the problems, her need for his help. He pulled away from her. “Those pictures. Show them to me again.”

Lydia groaned and reached for her folder. “‘Here you go, Tom, and don’t take long. This girl is hungry.”

Calladine looked carefully at each one until he found it. Lydia had snapped Fallon as he stood by his car. He’d just got out and was making towards him. But it was his goon that caught his attention. The camera had caught him at the moment he lifted the arrangement of roses from the boot.

That could be it—the piece of the puzzle that would nail the bastard.

“Sorry, Lydia—I have to go out.” He was fastening his shirt and grabbing his suit jacket as he moved. “Stay. Settle in. Take the back bedroom; get yourself some food. I’ll be back later and we’ll talk.”

With that he was gone, banging the front door behind him.

* * *

Calladine pulled into the care-home car park. He took a quick look in the mirror to make sure he didn’t have Lydia’s lipstick all over his face, and made for the door. He had to knock. Since his mother’s death he no longer had a key card.

“Is Monika here?” he asked the young woman at the reception desk.

“She’s with some of the residents in the dining room. Go on through, Inspector.”

Monika looked up as he entered the room. She didn’t smile—but she didn’t frown or tell him to get lost either.

“Sorry, Monika. I should have come before…Look—we could do with having a proper talk at some time. Clear the air. But for now—this is business.”

She stood up from where she had been kneeling beside an elderly woman.

“I don’t think we’ve anything much to say, do you, Tom?

Actions, as they say, speak louder than words; and your actions over the past weeks have spoken volumes. You haven’t been near me for weeks—you didn’t even speak to me at your mother’s funeral. A perfect opportunity I would have thought.” She nodded towards her office. “In there, if you want to talk. Not in public, if you don’t mind.”

He couldn’t blame her. He’d been a first-class bastard.

“It’s the funeral I want to speak to you about. I know Zoe had a word. She suggested you brought some of the flowers back here. It was a filthy day—all that rain, and they’d only have been ruined if we left them on the grave.”

“Yes, she did offer—and I took her up on it. I didn’t touch the arrangement from you and Zoe, but I did take some of the bouquets. They are in vases around the rooms. You don’t want them back, do you?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. I’m only interested in the roses—that elaborate concoction from Fallon that spelt out ‘Auntie Freda’”

“Yes, I think we did take those. I can check. But before we do anything there’s something I need to do. Your mother instructed me to give you this.” She reached down and retrieved an envelope from a safe bolted to the floor. “She left this for you. She gave it to me the day she moved in here and said I was to only give it to you once she’d gone. She made me promise not to say anything, so I had no choice—I had to respect her wishes. She was fully aware of what she was doing when she gave it to me.”

“Do you know what it is?” He gave the large brown envelope a shake. There was something inside. He could feel it moving around.

“I’ve no idea. She didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Apparently there’s a letter, so that should explain it all. Now—the flowers you wanted.”

This was a mystery he hadn’t expected. He shook the envelope some more as he followed Monika along the corridor. Whatever it contained wasn’t very big.

“We’ll walk around and check all the vases.”

“You haven’t thrown any away?”

“I really couldn’t say, Tom. I had no idea I was supposed to hang on to them. What’s this all about?”

“Evidence, Monika. Evidence. Enough to nail that bastard cousin of mine with any luck.”

“We must have put them in the conservatory. You’re in luck—here are your roses. Shall I wrap them?” She was being facetious and it didn’t suit her.

“No. In fact, don’t touch them. Don’t let anyone in here until I’ve checked these out.”

The roses had large heads and were the purest white. Having been indoors for several days in a warm environment, the flowers had opened up. Calladine snapped on a pair of gloves, bent down and moved one or two of the heads with the end of a pen. Bingo!

On the underside of several of them were what looked like blood stains. It looked as if the roses had picked up a very fine spray and their delicate petals had drunk it in. With a bit of luck, that fine spray of blood would turn out to be from the witness, as he was thrown in the boot of Fallon’s car and shot. Calladine could only hope so.

“I’m going to get our SOCO team down here. Don’t let anyone in this room, Monika, and don’t touch these. If I’m right, then I’ve got him—at long last.”

But who to tell? Should he ring Central? It was their case after all. If he did that, then it would be their SOCO team he should call.

He tapped in Jones’s number.

“Sir, that trouble with Fallon earlier in the week. I’ve got some evidence that could put the dead witness in the boot of Fallon’s car.”

There was silence.

“Sir? Did you hear that? I need forensics down here as soon as, and I can’t decide how to call it—us or Central.”

He heard Jones clear his throat. “Us, Tom. Keep this with us for now. Call Batho, get him started, and then come in and report to me.”

Not Central, then. Was that a mistake?

He turned to Monika. “There’ll be a team down here very soon.

They’ll take the flowers; that’s all, and they won’t disturb the residents.”

“So when do we talk, Tom? When do we decide what to do about this disaster of a relationship of ours? Or is it a matter of rounding things off as neatly as we can before calling it a day?”

She was looking at him strangely. He wanted to nod and tell her she’d got it right, but she didn’t look at all happy. Up until the point

–just about an hour ago—when Lydia had exploded into his life again, he’d have been only too happy to fling his arms around her and try again—but not now. Lydia had her claws in deep, and whatever was going on with her was just going to have to run its course.

“There is no relationship between us anymore, Monika. There hasn’t been for some time. You know that as well as I do. We should settle for friendship. I’d like that. I don’t like not speaking to you and having to pussyfoot around whenever we meet.”

He could tell from the look on her face that this wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

“Get out of here, Tom Calladine! You’re a shambles and a disgrace. Get out of my sight and don’t come back. I don’t want to talk to you and I certainly don’t want to be your friend.”

So much for that.

Chapter 18

Calladine didn’t go back to his cottage—he’d leave that little treat for later. He went to the hospital—straight to Julian’s lab. He wanted a quick word before the scientist got his hands on those roses.

Julian Batho was getting his gear together as the DI knocked on his door.

“Got something else for me, Inspector. A bunch of flowers, I believe.”

“There’s blood on some of them. You are aware that a witness who was due to testify against Ray Fallon, was found dead at the beginning of the week?”

Julian nodded; all attention.

“I’d like you to check the blood on the roses against that of the witness.”

“You expect it to match? Blood on a bunch of roses from the care home? Well, I’m intrigued. How does that happen, Inspector?”

“It’s complicated.” Calladine frowned. He didn’t fancy having to explain how he knew Fallon—and particularly not to Julian.

“I’m not going anywhere; I’ve got time. I’ve sent a team. I’ll do the analysis once they return and I’ll have the results promptly. So go on—indulge me. How did this little gem present itself to you?”

“It’s a combination of things. Fallon is the chief suspect, but he has a cast-iron alibi. So the clever money is on the witness being put in the boot of Fallon’s car and shot there. Fallon ensures his alibi’s secure, then he dumps the body on the M62.”

“It’d make a nice fairy tale, Inspector. How do you make the leap from Fallon’s car boot to roses turning up in the care home?”

“There are things I’m not prepared to say just yet, so back off.”

“Tut tut, we are touchy, aren’t we?” He looked at the DI long and hard. “You know what people will say, don’t you? It’s already being rumoured that Fallon is getting inside intelligence from a copper, and given you know so much about all this, the finger will point at you.”

“It can point long and hard—I don’t care. I wouldn’t give that bastard the time of day, never mind information. So don’t go spreading rumours you can’t back up, Julian. I know what I know because of a link I’m not prepared to disclose, but it has nothing to do with being in Fallon’s pocket.”

“But you do know him. You went to see him in hospital during the Handy Man case.”

“How do you know that?” Calladine had told no one but the DCI and Ruth about that particular little visit.

“I know because I have contacts of my own, Inspector.” Julian Batho thought for a moment. “Roses—then the care home—so what’s the link? Come on, Calladine, I’m the soul of discretion.”

“Piss off, Julian. Curiosity like that can get you into serious trouble. You’d do better to get me those damn photos from the pub instead of trying to wind me up.”

Calladine left, slamming the door behind him. Julian Batho was no fool—he’d make the leap soon enough. He’d realise that the link he was looking for was Freda Calladine’s funeral.

* * *

He’d said they should reconvene back at the nick at five, but he was late. No matter, the team were still hard at it. Calladine went to his office, dumped his overcoat and went back into the incident room where he looked at the board, his hands in his trouser pockets.

“We could do with a quick appraisal—see what we’ve got.” He clapped his hands.

Imogen looked up from the laptop she was working on. Alice was sitting quietly by her side.

“When do you all stop?” Alice whispered to Imogen.

“When the job’s done. Why? You’re not bored with us already, are you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, you’re all so dedicated. What about a private life?”

“Don’t get me started. Most folk in here have to put all that to one side while we investigate a case. Both Ruth and Calladine haven’t done very well with relationships. It’s what the job does, I’m afraid.”

“It’s good to be part of something so important, though, isn’t it?

It’s the sort of thing I need. I’m not good with people as a rule, but I think I could do this.”

Calladine went to incident board and looked at the array of photos. The e-fit was the best bet they had so far. Someone had to come forward—someone who knew this bastard.

“We know our man finds his victims on the net,” he began. “We know he goes for a particular type—he likes them to look a certain way. He likes them foreign—American, with no real network of friends and away from their family. They don’t know the system, or who to turn to for advice. So he chooses carefully and sets about befriending them. If we want to move this forward, we have to ask a number of questions. First of all, why does he call them all Vida?

What is it about that name? Then, why do they have to be American? As Ruth pointed out to me earlier today, it’s obviously important to him in some way. Then there’s the thing with the mouth.”

“Trophies, sir,” Rocco suggested. “It’s a common enough trait with serial killers.”

“That’s right,” Alice interrupted. “And the kind of trophy taken can sometimes be meaningful in itself.”

“What can possibly be meaningful about a few teeth?” Rocco shook his head.

“This is a man who has possibly suffered some indignity at the hands of an American woman—perhaps one called Vida. Whatever happened in the past has festered in his mind, and now it’s payback time. He’s working through his fantasy of getting even with the woman—whoever she was.”

“You’ve been working on a profile of this man?” Calladine asked.

“I thought it might help. I’ve developed it using the questions you all keep asking about his behaviour.”

“Good work. Let me have a copy to look at.”

Calladine already knew how thorough Alice was and how she liked detail. So perhaps she could come up with something they might be able to use. It was certainly worth looking at—they had nothing to lose.

“Ruth—what do you want to add?”

“Given that Serena had been buried in soil, he must have a place, a garden perhaps. It looks like that situation may be under threat—why else would he dump her like that? We’re already looking at property in the area that’s recently hit the market. It’s a long shot but you never know. If his burial place is threatened, then he may want to be rid of Patsy sooner rather than later. I’ve also looked at the phone records of Madison and Patsy. All the calls to and from both girls were made to different pay-as-you-go mobiles

–one for each girl. So there’s nothing.”

“Sir! I’ve found something,” Imogen called out. She stood up and addressed the team.

“I can see from her browsing history that Patsy Lumis made regular online requests for repeat prescriptions from a local GP surgery. The medication is Sodium Valproate.”

“That’s used to treat epilepsy,” Rocco told them. “I know because I have a friend who takes it.”

“She never said anything,” Alice added. “But she was absent from lectures a lot, and no one seemed to mind. I thought that was odd at the time. Now I know why.”

Just what they needed. Calladine sighed. Would the bastard who’d taken her realise how important her medication was and would he let her take it?

“Get on to the GP. Find out what sort of epilepsy she has and what happens if she doesn’t take her tablets. We could do with a timescale from him too.” Imogen immediately picked up the office phone.

“She has her stuff, sir,” Ruth reminded him. “Ruby Tunnicliffe remembered that she had a small suitcase with her. Surely she would have packed her pills.”

“No doubt. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let her take them, does it?”

“Sir! Patsy has what are called Tonic Clonic seizures. She’s been hospitalised several times since starting at the university. Each time she was admitted, and each time she’s needed drugs to stop the fit

–in addition to her regular medication. It doesn’t look good. If she fits and doesn’t recover within a certain time, the danger is that her heart will stop, or she might not be able to breathe properly.”

“We’re running out of time so we need to find her fast, if he hasn’t killed her already himself. Rocco, get this new information to the radio station and inform the local rag. If this gets out, and she’s alive, then Patsy just might get her pills. We can only try. The rest of you—Alice is looking at property for sale in the Leesworth area

–give her a hand and start to check them out. You can discount any without a garden. The soil found with Serena was tended—fertilised—so someone who likes plants and cares for them. It might be an idea to check the allotments. Rocco, I’ll leave that one with you to organise.”

“We’ve catalogued Madison’s photos, sir,” Imogen told him. “We can account for them all in terms of who they are. I don’t think she had one of him.”

“Careful bastard, isn’t he?”