Bayliss & Calladine Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  She was silent for a moment. “The victim was male and elderly,” she said at last. “So I’ll offer this — the card has links to addiction, perhaps representing a man who benefits from the failings and addictions of those who fall under his spell.”

  Calladine kept his face inexpressive, but he was amazed. How could she know this? Albert North had been a notorious drug dealer on the Hobfield and many a poor soul had fallen foul of his particular brand of wickedness — but his identity and the nature of the death weren’t generally known.

  “You think your killer is matching cards to victims — isn’t that so?” she asked.

  “It’s too early in the investigation to say. And the Tower?”

  “The querent is about to experience, or has suffered, a huge change in their life: the metaphoric ‘car crash’ that happens out of the blue and leaves everything in ruins.”

  In Tariq Ahmed’s case that was certainly true, but perhaps it was true of the killer too. Perhaps it was he or she who’d suffered that car crash?

  “So whoever left these would understand the meanings?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. Those particular cards are well known and have obvious interpretations. The meanings can be got from any book on the Tarot or even online.”

  “Do you sell many packs of these?”

  “No, not really. I sell the jewellery, the incense and candles but the Tarot and other items used for divination are not particularly popular. If my customers want to know what the Tarot can tell them then they book a reading with me.”

  “Are readings popular?”

  “Yes, very. The healing and development sessions we offer are also very popular. That is what I make most of my living from, Inspector.”

  She smiled at him and reached for a pack of tarot cards from the counter. “You are sceptical, I can tell. But no matter, I shall try to educate you.”

  Amaris Dean handed the pack to Calladine.

  “Shuffle them, Inspector, then hand me three cards — any three you like.”

  He felt weird, no, he felt nervous, like a kid who’d unexpectedly set eyes on a girl he fancied, and yet all she did was make fun of him. He glanced at Ruth, who was smirking. She knew damn well what was going on, and she was enjoying every second of his discomfort.

  Calladine couldn’t concentrate, but he managed to shuffle the cards and make a random selection. As he handed the three cards to her he wondered what she could possibly glean from them. He was all fingers and thumbs, and as he handed the pack back a single card fell to the floor. Amaris gave him another of her dazzling smiles and bent to pick it up.

  “We’ll look at this one later.”

  He watched, fascinated, as she placed the three cards face up on her counter, her long, elegant fingers skimming over the images, her expression enigmatic.

  “You have an issue you do not want to face, Inspector. It’s an issue that has a history but you’ve only become aware of it recently. It concerns a woman.” She ran her fingertips over one card in particular. “This card is the Queen of Pentacles. She is dark-haired and older than you. She is very close to you but is nonetheless a stranger.” She looked up, her eyes questioning. “She is wealthy, powerful, and she is the woman who keeps a great secret. She also feels the need to resolve what happened in the past, Inspector.”

  Was she waiting for him to say something? Calladine wondered. Well, he wasn’t going to. He shuffled uncomfortably as she placed the cards back in the pack.

  “Now — the card you dropped.”

  She flicked it over. Even a novice could understand this one, Calladine thought. It was the Lovers. He didn’t like the way this was going; she was teasing him. Her head was tilted to one side, and those eyes were making fun of him.

  “You are a passionate man, Inspector, but passions can ebb and you are about to embark on something new and exciting. That’s all I can say.”

  Chapter 6

  “What do you think?” Ruth asked.

  “Load of rubbish.” Calladine replied.

  “You can’t mean that. The things she said . . .”

  “Where the case is concerned, fine. The meanings of those cards can be got from a variety of sources and she knows her stuff.”

  “Well, I think you’re wrong. She was spot on about you. How could she possibly know those things?”

  “She’s a good psychologist. I bet with a bit of practice anyone could do it. I’m a cop and cops have complicated private lives, anyone could tell you that. I’m bound to have some dark secret in my past. And it’ll be part of her stock in trade to be expert at body language. One way or another I’ll have given her stuff. She picks up on reactions, things we don’t even notice, and I’m an open book me.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I can’t just dismiss what she told us out of hand because I can’t explain how she’d know. Psychology and body language doesn’t cut it, not with me,.”

  “I think we’ve been had. Just as well we weren’t paying for the lady’s services.”

  “You can be so damn irritating at times, Tom Calladine. She said some personal stuff, specific personal stuff. How can you just dismiss that?”

  He turned to Ruth. “Quite easily. And I bet you had a hand in it. Did you set me up?” He couldn’t believe that Ruth would do that, but he did feel out of his depth here. Common sense said a big fat no, but somewhere in a far-flung corner of his mind was a huge question mark. Amaris Dean was odd — nice odd, good odd — and she came across as eminently plausible.

  “No, of course I didn’t!” Ruth protested. “You’ve got some cheek! Do you imagine I’ve got the time to go gossiping about your private life to a complete stranger just to prove a point? From that day to this I’ve not discussed your little problem with anyone.”

  He’d really put his foot in it. She sat in the passenger seat of the car, her arms folded and her face flushed.

  “Okay, I apologise,” he said hastily. “So let’s just agree to disagree for now.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Okay,” he allowed, “as far as I’m concerned, the jury is out.”

  “Where you’re concerned she got it dead right. You chose the cards; nothing was set up.”

  “Don’t mention this to anyone else.”

  “I could hardly do that even if I wanted to. It’s our little secret, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “But it really does need sorting. This whole thing about Eve Walker has been festering away between us for weeks. We need to have that talk and quick. You need to get this dealt with, get it out in the open. Your mother’s gone and so’s your dad — so I don’t see why it should be such a secret.”

  “I wonder if Eve Walker thinks like you do? She might have very good reasons for wanting to keep me out of her life. She hasn’t exactly come looking for me, has she?”

  “According to Amaris she does want you. She said that the Queen of Pentacles felt the need to resolve things. So she wants to meet up; simple.”

  “Wanting to put things right and actually doing something about it are very different things, Ruth. Eve Walker may not be in any position to accept me. I could go storming in and hit a brick wall.”

  “She isn’t Eve Walker anymore, either. She married.” Ruth hesitated for moment. “Do you want to know more?”

  “No, not yet. Save it.”

  He needed to get on with the job in hand. He’d take time to look at his personal life when they’d cracked this one. They were chasing a murderer; someone they had no clue about and who might intend to kill again.

  “We’d better get back to the nick. Amaris Dean may have given us some insight into the meaning behind those cards but we’re no further forward with the case. With any luck the CCTV will have thrown up something.”

  * * *

  And indeed it had. Back in the office, Rocco was obviously very excited about something.

  “We’ve got a break, sir,” he announced proudly. “It’s hazy, but take a look,” he said handing the inspector a photo.
/>   “A man sat in a car,” noted a puzzled Calladine, handing the photo back. “No woman, then?”

  “No, just this, but it could prove a very useful find. The car belongs to one Sandy Cole, he’s a private investigator. The plates on his car gave him away, and he has an office on the High Street.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Apparently, one of Doctor Ahmed’s neighbours is having an affair and he’s been employed by the husband to gather evidence. He was there most of the evening and on into the night, and he was talking photographs.”

  “Go and talk to him some more, Rocco. Find out what he saw. If he had his camera handy then he might have photos of our killer . . . Imogen, is there anything else on Doctor Ahmed?”

  “Nothing concrete. I spoke to the receptionist who runs his clinic and she confirmed that he wasn’t easy to get on with. She said he didn’t talk much, didn’t socialise. Patients were always ringing up because they didn’t understand what they’d been told or prescribed. He had a short fuse and didn’t do long conversations.” She shrugged. “Sounds like a right so and so; glad he was never treating anyone related to me.”

  “In that case, get his current patient list. He’s upset someone; perhaps one of them had nothing to lose and decided to make him pay.”

  “Where does Albert North fit into that scenario?” Ruth asked.

  “Well, he doesn’t.”

  “So it’s not just Doctor Ahmed that needed teaching a lesson?”

  “Is that what you think this is all about: retribution?”

  Ruth shrugged. “It’s something to look at. Perhaps it’s a disgruntled patient with links to Albert North — someone from the Hobfield?”

  Ruth might have something there. They needed to do a lot more digging.

  “Doc Hoyle on the phone, sir,” Joyce called, holding out the handset for him.

  “What’s up, Doc?”

  “I’ve finished the autopsies on both Ahmed and North, Tom. North really wasn’t in good health. He had a failing heart and COPD.”

  “Any sign of cancer?”

  “No, but he did have whiskey in his stomach. He must have drunk it minutes before his death.”

  “Did Julian find a bottle in his clothing?”

  “No, there was nothing. Julian’s gone back to the scene for another look around. Did your lot do a thorough search?”

  “That was their job.” Calladine rubbed his forehead. “So what are you saying?”

  “No bottle on him so it could be that he was given the whiskey by his killer. Don’t know if it helps; that’s for you to work out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The wound in Ahmed’s back was caused by a long thin blade. Long because it went in a considerable distance, cutting the aorta virtually in two, and thin because the entry wound and path is narrow.”

  “A long thin knife, you say — unlikely to be one from the kitchen, then?”

  “I’ll leave that one with you too, Tom.”

  “I’ll talk to Julian — see if he’s found anything. I’m scratching my head on this one, I don’t mind admitting. I’ll consider anything, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

  Once the doctor had hung up, Calladine immediately rang Julian Batho’s mobile.

  “Inspector! What can I do for you?”

  “Are you at the scene yet, Julian?”

  “I am. I’m scrambling around the weeds and litter under the bench where North was found as we speak.”

  Somehow the image didn’t fit. Calladine couldn’t imagine the serious-minded scientist down on his knees getting dirt all over his trousers.

  “What is it you hope to find, Julian?”

  “Something that might have contained whiskey, Inspector.” His voice sounded strained, as if he was uncomfortable. “Something rather like this!” There was a brief pause and his tone became a lot lighter. “Inspector, I’ve just found the cup part of a flask. You know, the kind with a screw top, which you put hot drinks in. It was buried in the long grass under the bench where North was. It must have dropped during the attack. And it stinks of whiskey,” he added jubilantly.

  “Well done, Julian.” Calladine was impressed. “Good work. Will you get it looked at as soon as? There might be prints, DNA from the killer, anything in fact.”

  “I know my job, Inspector,” Julian replied tersely. “There were no prints on the petrol can. It looked fairly new and being a cold night, it’s probable that our killer wore gloves. I’m also analysing the wig hair for DNA. With that, and now the cup, then we’re in with a chance.”

  * * *

  “Why give him whiskey?” Ruth asked, after Calladine had relayed the new information.

  “I’ve no idea, Ruth. Julian might come up with something to help.”

  “Shepherd’s pie suit you?” she asked, flicking through the photos from the CCTV camera near Doctor Ahmed’s house. “Supper tonight. Remember? You’re coming round for a chat.”

  “The pie sounds fine, but the chat . . .” He shook his head. “I’m still not sure. I don’t want to stir things up and then regret it.”

  Ruth shook her head.

  “I know you think I’m being a real pain about this and you’d prefer me to drop it. But any normal person would want to know about their past, about their real parents. That’s what you should want — it’s what you need, and only then will you be able to deal with it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Seems simple enough to me.”

  “Do I bring Lydia?” He ignored her comment.

  “Not if you want to talk.” She shot him a look. “It won’t go away you know. It’ll eat away at the back of your mind and end up keeping you awake nights.”

  “What will?” Imogen looked up, they had been talking too loudly. “Got a problem, sir?”

  “Yep, the one over there glaring at me,” he replied, pointing at Ruth. “Imogen, contact DI Greco at Oldston nick and tell him what you’ve got on the two missing girls. I’m going home for a bit to think. Don’t ring me unless it’s urgent.”

  Chapter 7

  “He wouldn’t talk to me. Not a word.” Lydia Holden slammed her briefcase down on the table and folded her arms. “He wants to see you first, Tom. He’s insisting, and he won’t give me anything until I persuade you to visit.”

  “I’ve told you before, I’m not going to see that thug in prison, so sorry, I can’t help,” Calladine said. The man had tried to kill him, here in this very room, surely she could understand? “Besides it wouldn’t do — I’m a cop, remember? When Fallon comes up for trial I’ll have to give evidence — so no, I can’t go visit him, not even for you.”

  “You won’t go, you mean. You’re just being difficult, Tom. I need this story, you know that. You know what it would mean for my career so I can’t see why you’d refuse to help me.”

  Calladine sighed. He’d known it was bound to come to this. Lydia’s obsession with his cousin had reached an all-time high. She was like a starving dog with a bone. God knows what she expected Fallon to tell her. He was hardly going to implicate himself in other crimes, was he? And that’s what talking candidly to Lydia would mean.

  “My advice is drop it — drop the story and certainly drop Fallon. You shouldn’t go back. You’ll be called to give evidence too, you know. It was you that brought him here that day.”

  “I did not!” she protested. “Well, not willingly.” She sniffed. “He hijacked me and my car. You know that, so how can you imply that I was somehow on his side?”

  “Because you deliberately went out to find him. You spoke to his wife that day. You stopped her on the street and spun her some yarn about dogs to win her trust. Just like Marilyn that; she was always far too gullible. Fallon will have a crack defence team working for him. He won’t go down without a fight, so that and your cosy little visits to Strangeways will be something they’ll use.”

  Those full pink lips pouted at him in that way that usually made him cave in. He groaned inwa
rdly. He hated arguing with her but this was something he wouldn’t compromise on.

  “You’re being much too stubborn. I don’t think you want me to be a success, do you? You want me to go back to being a provincial hack so I can be at your beck and call forever more. Well, that’s not going to happen,” she assured him, her hands on her hips. “So get used to it. I’ve had enough. And while we’re at it, what are you doing all dressed up? Where are you going?”

  “I’m not dressed up. I’ve just got my blue suit on, that’s all.” He was trying to decide between two ties, one a gift from Lydia, the other one his mother had given him. “Ruth’s asked me round for something to eat.”

  “And I am not invited?”

  “No, it’s a work thing,” he lied.

  “Well, in that case I’m going up to bed and I don’t want company!” With that she flounced off in the direction of the staircase.

  With Lydia a sulk could last for some time.

  “You’re not even going to try to put things right, are you, Tom Calladine?” she shouted down to him. “You’re an idiot you’ve let me down!”

  “I said I’d be there at seven,” he said, doing his best to ignore her diatribe. “I can’t disappoint her.” He heard the bedroom door slam shut, winced, and decided to put on the tie which his mother had given him.

  * * *

  “You’re a difficult man to pin down,” Rocco told the man, who sat at a huge desk in a dimly lit office on Leesdon High Street. “I’ve been hanging around for over an hour waiting for you to show.”

  “That’s the nature of the business, I’m afraid. I seem to spend most of my time parked up somewhere in my car, camera lens pressed against a window. But you can always get me on my mobile.” He smiled at Rocco and handed him a business card.

  Rocco pulled his warrant card from his pocket. “DC Simon Rockliffe, Leesdon CID.”

  The man stood up and proffered his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sandy Cole, private investigator,” he said proudly.

  He was a heavily built man with red hair. He had a florid face and a small moustache; and was wearing a tweed jacket, a check shirt and a bow tie. Rocco wondered why he’d never noticed him around Leesdon before.