Dead Jealous

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Back to the abduction. People saw Josie and the child at the park? What was she doing? Did she play with Jessica on any of the equipment, the swings? Did she talk to anyone, any of the other mothers?”

  “No. Jessica was sleeping. Josie sat on a bench with the kid in her pushchair. She said she spent the time reading a magazine.”

  “Did any of the witnesses recall actually seeing Jessica, either awake or asleep?”

  “People remembered all sorts of things. Josie, the pushchair, the fact that it was a nice day and very busy.” Calladine thought for a few seconds. “I’ll have to check the statements from the time, but no, I don’t think anyone said anything about actually seeing the child for themselves. With it being sunny and Jessica being asleep, Josie had the hood up, and one of those sunshade things hanging over the front.”

  Ruth looked at him. “In that case you have to consider that the child might never have been there in the first place.”

  Calladine’s stomach did that little flip thing which happened when he realised he’d missed something important. Why had no one picked up on that at the time? They’d all been blinded by the horror of a missing child. Taken in by the mother’s shock. Calladine shook himself. This was stupid. The child had been with her mother in the park. It had happened like Josie said. Nothing else made any sense. Did it?

  “Her reactions might have seemed a little strange as time went on,” Calladine explained, “but that day Josie was genuinely shocked when she found her child gone. Her immediate reaction was what you’d expect. Witnesses were shocked too. We all thought her story had to be genuine. Subdued and cowed by her sister she might have become, but Josie was genuinely distraught that day. She wept buckets.”

  “If it’s all the same, I’ll keep an open mind for the time being.”

  When they reached the Duggan Centre car park, Calladine sat for a few minutes with the engine off. He sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy either. How many times have we seen Julian since . . . well, since he came back to work?”

  “All he wants is normal,” Ruth reminded him. “He said so the last time we were here, don’t you remember? No fuss, no soppy stuff. We had that chat.”

  It sounded fine the way Ruth put it. But now that they were here, how would it work in practice? “I can barely look at him,” Calladine admitted. “Do you think he blames me?”

  Ruth shook her head. “If he blames anyone, then it’s got to be me. I was the one who took no notice of the information Nigel Hallam gave me. If I had . . .”

  This was no good. They could blame themselves for what happened to Imogen, but it would get them nowhere. They had to at least make an effort. Julian Batho was the man they went to at times like this. He was the expert, and they needed him. Calladine turned to Ruth and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Who are we kidding? We both know who is really to blame for Imogen’s murder.”

  “So stop beating yourself up. Donnelly is back behind bars, where he belongs.”

  Inside, the pair walked down the corridor towards Julian Batho’s lab. They could see him through the glass-panelled wall, working. White coat on, head down, eyes glued to a slide under his microscope.

  Calladine put on a smile. “Julian! Got something for you.”

  Julian looked up and regarded the pair for a few seconds. His expression didn’t change. He looked miserable. Calladine consoled himself with the fact that Julian invariably looked like that. He had a long face and irregular features. He didn’t smile easily and rarely cracked a joke. Best just get on with it.

  “This little lot was found bricked up behind a fireplace in Leesdon. I strongly suspect that the blanket and hairslide belonged to a child called Jessica Wilkins. You won’t remember, it was before your time, but she disappeared about seventeen years ago. She wasn’t quite two years old.”

  Julian took the ginger jar containing the ashes from Calladine’s hands. He took the lid off and looked at them. “You think that these are her ashes?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Julian pointed. “These are in reasonable condition. Were they wrapped?”

  “No. The ginger jar was wrapped in the blanket. Do you think you can get any DNA from the ashes?”

  “If I find bone or teeth, yes, but it will take a while. I may get something from the blanket.”

  “We’re going to see her mother next. If she’s up to it, I plan to bring her in to look at these.” Calladine pointed to the slide and blanket. “It’s a tricky one. Much as I’d like to save her from the heartache, there’s not a lot I can do.”

  Julian coughed and turned away. “Heartache is a fact of life, I’m afraid.”

  It was a reference to his own state of mind, had to be. Calladine ignored the comment. Dealing with Julian was difficult enough at the best of times. Currently it was way beyond him. “The house they were found in. We could do with a forensic team having a look.”

  “I agree. Leave the address and I’ll organise it. Although what we’ll be able to find after all these years is anybody’s guess.”

  “Thanks, Julian.” Calladine scribbled down the details for him.

  “You okay?” Ruth asked.

  Calladine caught her eye. Asking Julian that was a bit like lighting the blue touch paper.

  But Julian was candid. “No, but I’m coping. I’ve put the house on the market. I’ve decided to go back into Leesdon centre. I’m moving into a flat in that block that overlooks the park.”

  Ruth nodded. “A fresh start.”

  “That, and the fact that I can’t stand the house now that Imogen’s not in it.”

  Ruth rubbed his arm. “You’re not alone there. We feel a bit like that about the incident room. Rocco has done one. Got himself on a course in Wales just to be rid of the place.”

  “I’m hoping it’ll get better,” Julian admitted. “Feeling like this can’t go on forever, surely?”

  “Anytime you want to talk to us, Julian, just say. We all loved Imogen and we all miss her. We are the ones who know how you feel.” She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  Calladine felt a little envious. All this sympathy stuff, knowing what to say, it came so naturally to Ruth. She was warm, and people responded to her.

  * * *

  Natasha Barrington called out to Calladine and Ruth just as they were about to exit through the front door. “I’m planning on doing the PM on the girl first thing in the morning. I’d do it sooner but they’re backing up in here, I’m afraid.”

  “We’ll be there.” Calladine gave a slight shudder. The idea of bodies backing up disturbed him. “Have you managed to estimate how long Flora had been dead?”

  “At a guess, I’d say she’d been in the boot of that car for about a week. But it’s tricky. The weather has been hot, and decomposition is advanced. Professor Batho is looking at the maggot life we found in the body. That will help us work things out.”

  “Anything on where she was killed?”

  “We’re doing a sweep of the immediate area. I’ll keep you posted.”

  They made their way back to the car. “Poor kid,” Ruth said. “Killed and stuffed in the boot of an old car. Folk have been walking past it all week. With the heat, you’d have thought someone would have smelled something. And I can’t believe her mother didn’t report her missing. A whole week! How old was she — sixteen or so? Flora’s mum should have been banging on our door after a matter of hours.”

  Calladine nodded. “She wouldn’t have been found even now if those kids hadn’t been messing with the car. We’ll have to speak to them later. Their statements don’t make much sense. Too many contradictions. And we need to know a lot more about Flora’s life and what she was up to. If her mother won’t tell us, then we urgently need to find someone who will.”

  “Of course, the fact that Dolly Appleton did nothing about her missing daughter might mean she has something to hide,” Ruth suggested.

  “Or they’d had some almighty row,” Calladine added. “It’ll come out. We�
�ll be speaking to her soon. Would you get Nigel to meet us at Heron House? It might be an idea to get a family liaison officer there too.”

  “It never stops in that place, does it? Bloody Hobfield. The place should be razed to the ground,” Ruth said.

  Chapter 4

  The young man checked his reflection in the window of one of the flats. He stopped for a moment and straightened his tie. Smart, good-looking, he was a lifetime away from the scruffy kid that used to live here on the Hobfield. That incarnation of Ricky Hopwood was gone for good. In his place, had emerged a man with ambition, a man who would not be held back. A man who was going to make this hell-hole work for him.

  Ricky was standing on the tenth deck of Heron House, outside number fifty. He banged on the door. “I know you’re in, Mrs Appleton!” he shouted. “Make me wait any longer and next time it’ll be my brother come knocking.” That usually did the trick. People around here were terrified of getting a visit from Sean Hopwood. He liked to solve every problem with his fists. A little moronic for Ricky’s taste, but it got results, and for that Sean had to be respected.

  Ricky heard footsteps. She was standing behind the door, sobbing.

  “I have nothing for you. Go away!” the woman shouted. Her voice cracked.

  “Come on now, Mrs Appleton. This won’t do. The debt is growing by the day. You need to show willing. Pay off something at least.”

  Suddenly the door was wrenched open. The woman facing him looked distraught. Her dark hair was dishevelled and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.”

  “My Flora is dead! Don’t you know that? So bugger off and leave me alone. You can tell that bastard brother of yours to keep away too!”

  “Whoa . . .” Ricky took several steps backwards. Word had travelled fast. The man in the newsagents had told Ricky. He was surprised the police weren’t there. “I had nothing to do with your Flora,” he said.

  “You’re a lying bastard! Both you and your brother. Most of what goes wrong around here has something to do with you two! If it’s not you and Sean, it’s you and them estate lads. You’re always hanging around here making trouble.”

  “I’m sorry about your Flora, but the debt still needs paying. I had nothing to do with her death, so stick the blame elsewhere, Mrs Appleton. That’s way out of order.”

  The look she gave him was poisonous. Her red eyes were full of hatred. “She was seeing one of you lot. She told me as much. She said the lad was taking her to a music festival, and that he’d paid for the tickets and everything. Do you know who that was?”

  Ricky Hopwood shrugged. “I’ve no idea, Mrs Appleton, and you’re wrong about me hanging out on the estate with the lads. I gave that up a long time ago.”

  “You’re wasting your time here. I’ve got nothing for you.” With that, Dolly Appleton slammed the door shut in his face.

  Ricky Hopwood tutted and took his notebook from a suit pocket. He had no choice. Distasteful as it was, a visit from his brother was needed. Ricky left the rough stuff to him. The woman was way out of line. She deserved what was coming to her.

  * * *

  Calladine and Ruth got out of the lift just in time to hear the spat between Ricky and Dolly Appleton. They hurried along the tenth deck of Heron House towards the noise.

  Calladine barred Ricky’s way. “What’s going on? We could hear you down on the ground floor.”

  Ricky shrugged. “Wasn’t me. It was that woman shouting her head off. It was her throwing the foul language about. I’m just doing my job. It’s not my fault if the punters won’t pay up.”

  Calladine tried the door. It was locked. “Who’re you chasing anyway?”

  “Mrs Appleton. Payment’s due today and she won’t cough up.”

  Calladine wanted to grab the lad and shake him. Had he no compassion? “Dolly Appleton’s daughter has just been found dead, for goodness’ sake! The last thing she needs is a bloodsucking bastard like you on her back.”

  “Like I said, I’ve got a job to do.”

  “If I find you leaning on the people round here, I’ll be on you like a ton of bricks.” Calladine stepped closer to the young man and looked him straight in the eye. “Continue to prey on the vulnerable, and sooner or later, you and me are going to get serious.”

  Ricky Hopwood’s smile was knowing. “You might be police but I’ve got the law on my side, copper. We are legal moneylenders. We have a licence, and we operate well within the guidelines. Try talking to this lot instead. Make them understand. They don’t pay as agreed, we have no choice but to lean a little. It’s either that or the bailiffs.”

  Ricky Hopwood walked off.

  “Cheeky little—” Calladine spat.

  “Moneylending?” Ruth pulled a face. “Bet they’ve got this place sewn up. The Hopwoods have been operating for years. Half of the estate owes them money.”

  Calladine shook his head. “First time I’ve seen Ricky since he was a kid. Now he’s in cahoots with his big brother and I don’t like it. It’s a recipe for trouble.”

  “His brother? I haven’t heard anything about Sean Hopwood in ages,” Ruth said. “Sure he’s still involved?”

  “Oh, he’s involved alright. Not being visible doesn’t make him any less dangerous, just more careful. That one there,” he nodded at the retreating figure of Ricky in his sharp suit, “is the acceptable face of their grubby little business. They need watching. Mark my words, it won’t end well.” He watched Ricky for a few moments. “Look at him! He’s knocking on every door on the deck. Those loan sharks have certainly got the place under their thumb.”

  “Ruth! I thought it was you,” a voice called out.

  Calladine nudged her and nodded at the bloke walking along the deck towards them. He was tall, about the same age as Ruth and evidently in a hurry to speak to her.

  “Glad I caught you. There’s an outing you might be interested in. A rare bird alert in Shrewsbury.”

  Calladine was still watching Ricky Hopwood.

  The man followed his gaze. “That’s one of them Hopwoods. He’s a bad ’un. It’s in the blood, you know.”

  Ruth smiled at him. “We’re keeping an eye out, Len.”

  “The trip’s on Saturday — like I said, Shrewsbury. Frank’s organising things with Annie. A night heron has taken up residence in a park there. It’s roosting on a small island in the centre of a pool. Come if you want.”

  “Len is a member of our birding group,” Ruth explained to Calladine.

  “It must have got lost, or been blown off track. They are a rare visitor, if we get them at all. They’re more usually found in Cyprus or Greece. Fascinating to watch, even for us old hands.” Len sounded excited.

  Ruth smiled at him. “I saw something about it on the telly. I wouldn’t mind joining you.”

  “Just let Annie know. We’re getting a minibus, need to know numbers. Who’re you going to see?”

  “Josie Wilkins,” Ruth replied.

  “Wish you well with that one. If she’s not hiding from him,” he nodded at Ricky Hopwood’s disappearing back, “she’ll most likely be off her head on the sofa.” He walked off down the deck.

  Calladine looked at Ruth. “Are you seriously thinking about going?”

  “Might do. It’ll make a change from spending the weekend shopping, cooking and seeing to Harry. Want to come?”

  “God, no! Me and a bunch of twitchers?” Calladine shook his head.

  “You might surprise yourself. They are an entertaining bunch, and there’ll be a pub somewhere along the line.”

  Calladine wasn’t to be persuaded. Instead, he said, “What did he mean, off her head?”

  “Perhaps Josie has taken to drink, or worse, since she lost her child. I wouldn’t blame her.”

  Calladine looked up and down the deck. Where was Nigel Hallam? “Let’s get this over with. I’ll have to speak to Josie. She’ll have to be taken to the Duggan to identify the items. But I need to speak to Dolly Appleton too, as soon as.”

  Ruth
nodded. “We’ll do Josie first then. Give Dolly time to settle herself down after her run-in with Hopwood. I’ll send Nigel a text, and tell him to wait outside for us. Once that’s sorted, we’ll move on to Dolly Appleton.”

  Josie Wilkins lived two floors up on the twelfth deck. The pair took the stairs. Calladine tapped lightly on the door.

  He turned to Ruth. “We’ll have to tread carefully. We can’t say for sure that it’s Jessica until we get the DNA. The first step is getting her to identify the hairslide and blanket.” He tapped again. Josie was taking her time. They saw one of the curtains twitch and seconds later, she opened the door.

  Calladine smiled at her. “Josie, how are you? It’s been a while.”

  Josie stood in the doorway, and eyed them both with suspicion.

  “This is a colleague of mine,” said Calladine, “Sergeant Ruth Bayliss. Can we come in?”

  Josie Wilkins’s face had an indoor pallor. Her face was lined, and chiselled by grief into hard planes. Her dry, dyed-blonde hair had grey roots now, and although it was way past lunchtime, she was still wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown.

  “I thought it was him prowling around, that Hopwood bloke. I’ve got nowt for him, so I didn’t answer.” She threw her fag end onto the deck and stood aside to let them in.

  The three of them made the small sitting room look crowded.

  “Something’s happened,” Calladine began.

  “Jessica? Something to do with my Jess?” Her face lit up, and her eyes were suddenly bright. “You’ve found her? You know where she is?”

  “It isn’t good news, I’m afraid.”

  Josie Wilkins shrank before their eyes. Her eyes lost their lustre. She lowered herself slowly onto the sofa. “You’ve found her body?”

  “We’re not sure,” said Ruth. “We’ve been given a jar containing some ashes. They may or may not be Jessica’s. But two other items were also found. Those, coupled with the ashes, make us think there’s a strong possibility that it’s Jessica.”

  Calladine said simply, “They are a hairslide and a child’s blanket.”