Dead lost, p.5
Dead Lost, page 5
“Close the door behind you.” Far too severe looking. Calladine didn’t like women in positions of power who tried to be like men, and DCI Birch was doing just that, from the masculine haircut to the heavy shoes.
“Sit down, Inspector.” Calladine pulled up a chair and sat facing her.
“What are your plans for the future?” She tried to smile but failed. Her wide mouth made a thin line and the frown came back. This woman didn’t like him. “For example, where do you see yourself in five years’ time?”
The words, none of your bloody business sprang to Calladine’s mind, but he bit back the words. Instead he said, “I imagine I’ll still be working, ma’am, still catching criminals and murderers and doing my best to keep Leesdon’s streets safe.”
“Not particularly ambitious, is it?”
“Personally I think it’s worthwhile. I do a good job. I have a good clear-up rate and there’s been no complaints.”
“Complaints, no . . . but some cause for concern.”
Calladine looked back at her long and hard. What was this?
“What are you trying to say? Exactly who has concerns, ma’am?” Surely it couldn’t be a member of his own team, so that only left Brad Long and his cronies. Long had been running the place for the last few months, but he had no cause to complain about anything.
“The Chief Superintendent, Inspector.”
She delivered the words with a distinctly satisfied look. He hadn’t seen that one coming. The chief worked from Oldston nick and, as far as Calladine was concerned, he could stay there. Interaction between him and Leesdon was rare. So why in the world would the chief be interested in him? Calladine racked his brain. What could he have possibly done to attract the chief super’s attention? But more to the point, what did it mean for Calladine’s future with the force?
“Ray Fallon is in court next week.”
Calladine blinked. Him again! How long was this nonsense about his cousin going to go on for? He wasn’t even really Calladine’s cousin by blood, as he’d found out recently, but he wasn’t going to explain that to this woman. “Yes and the bastard’s up for murder.”
Birch tutted at his language and then tried to smile again. She was deliberately baiting him. Well, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Nonetheless his stomach did a flip. Fallon was his Achilles heel. He should have realised that his damn cousin was at the root of this. His mind was racing. He’d done everything right, all according to the book. It had been Calladine who’d gathered the evidence that would finally convict Fallon. So what had happened to cause ‘concern?’
“Fallon has hired a top-notch, very expensive brief.”
Calladine shrugged. “Exactly what I would have expected. He’s always got off in the past and he imagines he can do the same thing this time. But there is no denying the evidence. He won’t wriggle out of this one so easily.”
Calladine knew that Fallon shouldn’t wriggle out of this at all. The evidence was irrefutable.
“That’s where you could be wrong, Inspector. There is every possibility that he will.”
Calladine couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The chief would like you to consider a period of extended leave for the duration of the case.”
Calladine shook his head. “Absolutely not! I’m not giving up my job just because that slimeball has hired some fancy lawyer.”
“It’s not about the lawyer; it’s your relationship with Fallon. And you’ll be called to give evidence. You will need time off anyway, Inspector.”
“One or two afternoons, tops. There’s no way I’m going on leave, extended or otherwise.”
“I was hoping to persuade you. The chief is worried that during the case your position on the force — as the officer who provided the evidence against Fallon — will be compromised.”
“I don’t see how.”
“The defence will suggest that you had ample time to fix the evidence — plant it; the blood on the flowers for example.”
Calladine was astonished.
“You were at the same funeral—”
“Because I was burying my own mother, for God’s sake! And Fallon was there because she brought him up. He was her aunt: family!”
“Nevertheless you were there and you had access to the body in the boot. And you had access to the flowers.”
Calladine couldn’t believe they were serious. “So I crept out of the church when no one was looking, did I? I went to that thug’s car, lifted the boot, helped myself to blood from a dead body — a body, I should point out, that I had no idea was there, and daubed it all over an arrangement of roses? I did all that and no one saw. I was the principle mourner! Are you telling me that no one noticed when I ducked out for a while?” He stood up, ready to leave. “You seem like a bright woman; surely you see how ludicrous that is?”
“Nonetheless, it will plant some seeds of doubt in the jury’s minds. You also knew the owner of the care home very well. You did arrange for her to have some of the funeral flowers.”
“Because it was pissing down and they’d have been ruined outside!”
“Don’t use that language with me, Inspector.”
But Calladine wasn’t listening. He was already out of the door and halfway down the corridor.
He was seething. He’d no idea what was going on. And how come Rhona Birch was so knowledgeable about every detail of that day? Even more intriguing, how come she knew what Fallon’s defence team intended to do with that detail? He was going home. He needed to think.
* * *
Calladine sat in front of his sitting-room fire with a scotch in his hand. Amy had said she wanted to see him but he wasn’t in the mood. All he wanted to do was get drunk, go to sleep and forget the whole damn thing. Birch had annoyed him to the point that he’d be poor company anyway. She’d put forward Fallon’s defence as if she believed it herself. Surely, everyone in the nick knew him better than that? As much as he hated the man he had not fitted him up, tempting as it might have been. So why the questions about his integrity now?
There was a knock on his front door — Amy, he presumed. He’d have to tell her, perhaps arrange something for tomorrow. But the person standing on his doorstep wasn’t Amy. It was Eve Buckley.
“Can I come in?”
Without a word Calladine stood aside to make way for her. What was the use? He couldn’t hold off all this family stuff forever.
“I’m sorry to call unannounced. To be honest I’ve been plucking up the courage to come round for ages.”
She looked as smart as ever. Her dark hair was neatly styled, her make-up perfect and she was wearing a pair of well-cut denims and a shirt. She certainly didn’t look like a woman in her early seventies. In fact, on a bad day he probably looked older than she did — and she was his mother! The thought made him smile. Eve Buckley was so utterly different from Freda, the woman who’d raised him and who he’d always believed was his mother.
“Is it a bad time?”
“Work problem.”
“You look ashen. Is it a major problem?”
“Big enough. A new DCI who’s just ruined my day.”
“I doubt I can help with that, but I might be able to cheer you up a little. I’m here because of tonight. I know it’s short notice but nothing was arranged at home until this afternoon. It’s Sam’s birthday — you know, Samantha, my daughter, your—”
“Yes, I know who she is.”
“We’re having a small do for her. Nothing fancy, just nibbles and wine, about nine tonight and I’d love you to come. Bring your daughter, if you wish.”
“Zoe . . . Perhaps next time.” It was too soon to involve Zoe at this point — too many questions he couldn’t answer. “Her and Jo, her partner, are up to their eyes decorating their house. And I really don’t feel like socialising after the day I’ve had.” He could see from her face that Eve wasn’t going to be fobbed off with excuses.
“But you have to come. Bring that lady friend of yours, the one I met at the art exhibition; the one with the lovely shop.”
He didn’t have the heart. It had taken a lot of courage for Eve Buckley to come here, and that made her much braver than he was. There was no way he’d have gone knocking on her front door, mother or not. Anyway he had to take the plunge one day and he would have Amy at his side for moral support. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll ring her and arrange it. About nine? At yours?”
Her smile revealed her perfect white teeth. “Yes. You know where we live.”
Indeed he did. His birth mother lived in some splendour on a hillside abutting the Pennines on the Huddersfield road.
She looked around. “I like your home. It’s like you, in an odd sort of way.”
“You mean it’s old and tired.”
“No, not at all.”
Now he’d embarrassed her, fool that he was.
“What I mean is, it’s a home, a real home, log fire and all.”
“I like it. I live like I’ve always lived. My parents’ old house is only a few doors up. I was raised on this street.”
She was gazing at him. What was going through her mind, he wondered. Was she thinking how different both their lives might have been if she’d kept him?
“We still haven’t had that talk . . .”
“We will, but not tonight.”
Eve Buckley nodded. “See you both later, then. Dress is casual. Don’t go to any trouble.”
Calladine wondered if that meant the Buckleys hosted formal evenings too. If they did, and he was ever invited, he’d be a real fish out of water.
“Later, then.” She reached forward and kissed his cheek.
It was a natural sign of affection from a mother, but for some reason it rattled him. He didn’t know how to respond. “I must ring Amy. Let her know about the change of plan.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
Would it, though? Eve, her children and God knows who else. He’d be right out of his comfort zone.
As soon as she left he called Amy. “I’ll see your friend tomorrow. In the meantime, get your glad rags on and I’ll pick you up about eight thirty.”
Amy didn’t sound put out. In fact she seemed quite pleased that he was finally making an effort where Eve was concerned.
Showered and dressed, Calladine rang Ruth and told her about his talk with Rhona Birch. “I think she actually believes that’s what I did.” He was becoming angry again.
“Don’t be daft. It’s all in your imagination. She’s just playing devil’s advocate. She’s telling you what the defence will make of it, and she’s right. You know that Fallon will hire the best. You said as much yourself.”
“They want me to go walkabout for the duration. That can’t be right. It’s hardly supportive, is it?”
Ruth went silent.
“Come on then — what’s going on in that shrewd head of yours?”
“I’m just wondering what would happen if he did actually get off. It would make your position at the nick rather difficult.”
“That’s putting it mildly. If Fallon gets off because the jury believes all this bullshit, then my career is stuffed. Folk might really think I tried to stitch him up and came off worst.”
“Look, it’s got a long way to go yet so calm down. Go meet Amy and enjoy yourself. It’s about time you hobnobbed with Eve and her crowd.”
Chapter 7
With only a sliver of moon the night was almost pitch black. Just how he liked it. But he’d still have to be careful. During the day he could do nothing — too many people knew him and too many eyes watched. To do what he needed to do, he had to be alone. The camp attracted attention. It wasn’t just the homeless; others came too. All day and after work there were people bringing stuff — food, clothing and bedding for the homeless. Stupid, deluded fools. He needed them to stop. He needed the camp to disappear. He needed this place to be quiet again.
He hid in the shadows on the street leading to the camp. At one end was a scarcely used narrow track that ran alongside the mill fence. No longer maintained, it had huge ruts in the perished tarmac and the fence was full of holes. Drivers had more sense than to come this way. But his prey used it all the time. It was a shortcut and led in to the rear of the mill via a hole in the fence. They got into the camp by moving a couple of loose fence panels in the huge wooden barricade Chase had had put up.
He was coming. The man checked his watch. Always the same time, every night. He watched from the shadows as the vagrant shuffled along, limping. He was short and his head bent forward as he took care with his footing. There were no streetlights along here. All he needed was a couple of minutes; that’s all it would take. He called out. “Got a light?” He watched the man stop in his tracks and look around. “Over here! Out of the wind.”
“Do I know you? I do, don’t I? It is you. Snap said you were a bad ’un.”
“I just want a light!” There was a low muttering and then the homeless man shuffled towards him. His shoes were too big and he was almost buried in the long coat he was wearing. “Did Snap tell you anything else?”
“He saw you. He said you were dangerous. You’re the reason he left. He said I was better off not knowing it all, but I worked it out. He had nightmares and shouted out in his sleep. I told him what to do but he was a fool.” He held a lighted match to the man’s cigarette. “What you called anyway?”
“You know my name. Snap will have told you but if you can’t remember, then ‘mate’ will do. What did you tell him to do?”
The homeless man peered up at the hooded face but it was hidden in shadow. “I told him to forget it.”
“I want you to help me with some stuff I’ve been given for the camp. It’s just down here.”
The homeless man padded along after him.
It was almost too simple. Homelessness must addle their brains. Everything was going like clockwork. Snap hadn’t realised the danger, and neither would this one. The element of surprise — it always worked.
“Cop hold of that.” He pointed to a dark bundle lying on the pavement by a builder’s skip.
As the homeless man leaned over, his arm extended, the man lifted a machete that had been hidden under his top. He took aim and swept it down hard with a single powerful stroke. The blade sliced into flesh just below the shoulder. The vagrant lurched forward and fell onto the road, his partially severed arm hanging at his side. The man repositioned and struck again, this time thrusting deep into his chest. It was done.
He stared down at the bloodied mess on the road. It had been a good, clean kill but he’d have to clean up. He disappeared into the shadows for a moment and returned with a wheelbarrow. He manhandled the body onto it with some difficulty. He threw the bundle containing a crowbar and his machete on the top and made his way, nice and steady, to his special place.
He’d been watching everything and everyone for a long time now, and one night he’d come across this place. It had proved very useful, and it was where he’d put Snap. He, and now this one, would remain hidden forever. Within a few minutes he had reached an open patch of rough ground at the rear of the mill on the other side of the fence. A manhole cover was almost hidden by a grassy embankment. It led down into the sewers.
He knew others used it too. One night a few weeks ago, when he’d been exploring, he’d seen someone, a man with a large bundle — it must have been a body — and watched him shove it down this hole. These days, whenever he removed the cover the smell of death made him sick. He never looked down into that black hellhole. He imagined faces, screams. The hole in the ground could keep its secrets.
He tipped the body onto the dirt. Then he used the crowbar to remove the manhole cover. He rolled the body to the edge and pushed it down. The smell choked him, making him cough. One more down there now. He wondered who was responsible for the others. Whoever it was, he’d found the perfect place. He closed the manhole, scraped soil and weeds over it and threw the crowbar and machete into the barrow.
He wheeled it through a hole in the fence. Some of the others used it too. The useless security firm Chase employed had never noticed it. He pushed the barrow to an outhouse at the back of the mill grounds. It was one of many stashed in there along with a number of sacks, trucks and other stuff that had ceased to be of any use. He wrapped his tools in the large black sheet of cloth and carried the bundle back along the way he’d come.
It had started to rain, so he walked briskly back to the skip. There was a pool of blood on the pavement where he’d dealt with the vagrant. It would probably get washed away. But he didn’t want to take the risk. The last time he’d chanced things, it had all gone wrong. He ripped off a large piece of the black sheet and tried to mop up the blood. It wasn’t particularly effective but it would have to do. The rain had turned into a torrent — it would finish the job for him. Satisfied, he threw the bloodied rag into the skip and went on his way.
* * *
They pulled into the driveway of the Buckley residence. “We haven’t got her a card or anything,” said Amy.
“She won’t mind.”
“Just look at this place; it’s enormous. How many bedrooms d’you reckon it’s got?”
“Too many for comfort, as Freda would have said. She was dead against heating empty space. To her a big house just meant big bills.”
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. She was my mother.”
“And Eve?”
“I’ve yet to decide.”
Calladine adjusted his tie and looked around at the mansion. It had probably once been some rich mill-owner’s house. There were lights everywhere, strung from the trees, around the front, and all down the drive. He could see that it had a large garden. The Buckleys had done well. The pharmaceutical business was obviously lucrative.
“I really didn’t want to come, you know.”
“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. It’ll do you good.”
“A bad day at work. A case going nowhere. I should be at home, thinking.”
