Dead Jealous

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Did he give you that?” Calladine asked.

  “It was an accident. I knocked it with a pan at work, it’s nothing serious.”

  Calladine doubted that was the truth. But if the lad wouldn’t make a complaint, there was nothing he could do. For now, he needed to check their statements. “I want the truth about when you found Flora last night. I want to know where you’d all been, and if anyone else was with you.”

  Dean Roberts gave him a shifty, sideways glance. “That other copper wrote it all down. We wasn’t telling lies, and we didn’t hurt Flora neither. You can’t pin anything on us.”

  Calladine sat down and smiled at them. “That’s not what this is about. You are here because there are inconsistences in your statements. So we’ll go over the events again. You can start by telling me where you met up last night.”

  The three lads looked at one another. Jack Cope shrugged. “We were hanging out around the estate.”

  “It was a dreadful night. Can’t have been much fun.” Calladine looked from one to the other. “You must have met up for a reason.”

  No response.

  “So what took you across the estate to that car?”

  Ruth returned with the statements. Calladine took them and gestured for her to sit down. “Kyle, it says here that you called for Dean, and then you wandered around the estate until you happened across the car.”

  Kyle Logan fidgeted on his seat, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  Again it was Jack who spoke. “It was me and Dean that met up first.”

  After a few seconds, Kyle added, “Got mixed up, didn’t I? I mean, we’d just found a dead ’un in the boot. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Where were you, Kyle? How did the others happen across you?”

  He frowned. “I’d just finished my shift at the Pheasant. The car was only a stone’s throw away. It had been there for ages. I know for a fact that Marshal leaves it unlocked and the key under the seat. We fancied a ride, that’s all.”

  Calladine looked sternly at them. “That’s theft.”

  “Marshal wouldn’t have been bothered. He wants it gone. Got no money for repairs or insurance.”

  “So who was going for this ride?”

  “Me, Jack, Dean. And the girl.”

  Calladine scanned the statements again. “There is no mention of a girl in any of your statements. Who is she, Kyle?”

  “Isla Prentice,” he replied. “She was Flora’s bestie. She was with us because her and Flora had fallen out, and she has a thing for Ricky.”

  “Ricky Hopwood? There’s no mention of him either.”

  Dean sat forward. “He wasn’t with us. Isla’s wasting her time mooning after him. Ricky couldn’t give a stuff about her. He’d no intention of meeting up. Besides, he was still working.”

  “So why did you leave her out?” Calladine waved the statements in their faces. “All of you.”

  “Like I said, we was all in shock,” Kyle mumbled.

  “We didn’t think it mattered,” Dean added. “She didn’t do anything or touch the car. She was just there. She complained about the smell.”

  “She wasn’t there when the police turned up either. There was just the three of you.”

  “She felt sick. So we said she should go home,” Jack said.

  Calladine had a sneaking suspicion that something else was going on here. He decided to leave it for now. “So tell me what led up to you finding Flora.”

  “We were going to take Isla for a run, but she kept going on about the smell,” Dean told him. “It was disgusting. But Marshal is a mucky sod. He could have left anything rotting away inside that car.”

  “Which one of you opened the boot?”

  “That was me,” admitted Jack.

  Calladine grimaced, a sympathetic look. “That can’t have been pleasant.”

  Jack shook his head. “It was bloody awful. The body — Flora — was stuffed in there like rubbish. Her skin looked black and it was falling off. She was covered in blood and flies. I couldn’t take it in. He threw up.” He grinned and nodded towards Dean. “Isla kept jumping around, waving her arms at the flies. When she saw what was in the boot, she lost it. Started screeching and carrying on. We had to let her go home.”

  Ruth interjected, “Was Flora friendly with you lot? Did she used to hang around with you?”

  “Nah, she was too busy down the Pheasant.”

  Calladine looked at them. The Pheasant kept coming up in this enquiry. “Why that pub? What was the attraction?”

  The lads looked at each other again. No one said anything.

  “It was Ricky,” Kyle said at last. “That’s where he goes.”

  Calladine made a note of this. “Quite the ladies’ man is our Ricky, isn’t he? Were they seeing each other?”

  Kyle shrugged. “Dunno. He can be dead secretive sometimes, can Ricky.”

  Chapter 7

  Back in the incident room Calladine gave the amended statements to Joyce, to put in the case file, and then updated the incident board. “We need to speak to Ken Marshal, Isla Prentice, and Wallace — the landlord of the Pheasant.” He counted them off on his fingers. “We’ll see Isla first. She lives on Circle Road.”

  Nigel Hallam was not at his desk. Calladine turned to Joyce. “Has Nigel made any headway on finding out who used to live at Beardsell Terrace?”

  Joyce shrugged. “He was doing some research earlier but he didn’t say if he’d got anything.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” asked Calladine.

  “He says very little to me. He grabbed his notes about an hour ago and went out.”

  Calladine was all for his team using their own initiative, but it was usual for them to leave word about what they were up to. “If he comes back, get him to ring me.”

  “Would you see what you can find out about the Prentice family and text me?” Ruth asked Joyce. “It might help to have some background.”

  * * *

  Circle Road ran three quarters of the way around the outside of the Hobfield Estate. The houses were in neat blocks of six with small front gardens. Most of them looked out towards the tower blocks, but some were lucky enough to have a view over the common and the hills beyond.

  The Prentice home was one of these. It looked well-kept. The square of lawn was freshly mown, with a flower border running round it.

  Ruth read from the text Joyce had sent her. “Isla lives with her mother. The father is dead, apparently. The mother works for Leesworth Council.”

  “Same as Tracy Wilkins,” Calladine remarked. “Wonder if they know each other?”

  Ruth sighed. “One case at a time, please, Tom. We’re pushed enough as it is. Rocco is away and Nigel Hallam is off the boil. I think something is bothering him. Has he said anything to you?”

  Calladine shook his head. Ruth was right about Nigel — and the workload. Nothing was happening with the Jessica Wilkins case at the moment, but that was only until Julian came up with his findings. Then they would be rushed off their feet.

  “Let’s get these done and dusted, then we can call it a day.”

  Isla herself answered the door. She was a pretty girl, pale with auburn hair. She stared at them, and her face flushed red when they showed her their badges. Ruth gave her a smile. “Is your mum in? We’d like a word about last night.”

  “She’s doing tea.” Isla stood aside to let them in. “Was it . . . Flora in that car?” Her voice shook. “People are saying it was. They’re saying she’s been murdered. It was awful. I’ve never seen a dead body before.”

  “Yes, it was your friend,” Ruth replied gently. “But we don’t know what happened to her yet.”

  Isla’s mum, Joan Prentice, emerged from the kitchen. She was a tall woman and thin. She had very short hair which did her long face no favours. She nodded towards the sitting room. “We’ll sit in here.”

  They all sat down, Joan and Isla on the edge of their chairs. Joan looked from Calladine to Ruth. “This has really
upset Isla and no mistake. I don’t know what she can tell you.”

  Calladine turned to the girl. “Well, for starters, can you tell me who you were with last night?”

  “Kyle, Dean and Jack.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Ricky was supposed to be there too, but he couldn’t make it.”

  “Ricky Hopwood?” Ruth compressed her lips. “He’s quite a bit older than you, isn’t he, Isla?”

  “I don’t care.” She gave her mother a defiant look. “He went out with Flora, and she was my age. They were close for months. I know he likes me. He and Flora were having problems anyway.”

  Mrs Prentice shook her head. “Don’t for one second think that I approve. The boy’s a bad ’un. That brother of his is a rogue, and Ricky’s no better.”

  “When did you last see Flora?” Calladine asked.

  Mrs Prentice answered. “Flora was here on the Friday. The pair of them were upstairs in Isla’s bedroom until late. That damn festival was on Saturday, and she was trying to persuade Isla to go with her. But I had put my foot down. In my opinion they were both too young.”

  “I thought Flora was going with a boy,” Ruth chipped in. “That he’d booked and paid for the event.”

  Isla nodded. “Ricky.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Calladine.

  “They had been seeing each other but like I said, he’d lost interest. At the last minute he pulled out. He was telling anyone who’d listen that he was sick of her. She was too possessive, and he wanted rid.”

  Ruth looked at her. “So you didn’t go with her?”

  Mrs Prentice interjected. “There was no way I’d let her! An event like that is no place for two sixteen-year-olds on their own. Flora came and went as she pleased. Her mother never did have any control.”

  “Did you and Flora argue about the festival?” asked Calladine.

  Isla nodded. “Flora had a spare ticket. She said I could have it for nowt. She said I was soft for doing what my mum wanted. Anyway, I told her there was no way, and she left.”

  “Do you know where she went when she left here?”

  Isla had her eyes on her hands, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “She told me she had plans, but nothing else.”

  Calladine guessed that she was hiding something. “You won’t get into trouble for telling me what you know.”

  She was silent for a moment, then glanced up, quickly. “Flora said she was going to that pub. She thought Ricky would be there.”

  Calladine tried to catch her eye. “When the police arrived at the car on Friday night you had already left. Why was that? Why didn’t you stay with the others?”

  Isla’s mother spoke for her. “Came home in a right state, she did, and it wasn’t the first time either. Told me she’d had a row with some girls and went straight up to her room. It was those girls who set on you the week before, wasn’t it, Isla? Why don’t you tell the detectives about them? Perhaps they can have a word, make them stop.”

  Isla rounded on her mother. “I’m fine!” She turned to Calladine. “I was in shock on Friday. I couldn’t take in what we’d found.”

  “Go on, Isla.” Calladine leaned towards her.

  “I was scared. I didn’t feel up to answering all the questions. I knew my mum would find out that I’d been hanging out with those lads and she’d be angry. But they’re alright really. I enjoyed hanging out with them. Flora and the lads were fun to be with, a right laugh.”

  Mrs Prentice interrupted again. “She needs to stay away. They’re a bad lot, all of them.”

  “Okay, that’ll do for now. But we will need to speak to you again.” Calladine handed Mrs Prentice a card. “If Isla recalls anything else that might help, then ring me.”

  * * *

  When they were back in the car, Ruth asked, “What did you think?”

  “I’m wondering what they are all hiding. Those lads were holding back about something Isla did when they found Flora. She wasn’t around when uniform turned up. Now Isla herself is being cagey about Flora’s movements. I think Isla Prentice knows a lot more than she’s saying.”

  “We could do with having a word with Ricky Hopwood, couldn’t we?” Ruth said.

  Calladine nodded. “We will, and we’ll speak to that lot again. But first we should see Marshal, and speak to the landlord of that pub. We’ll leave Ricky until we see what the PM throws up.”

  * * *

  Ken Marshal lived in a ground-floor flat in Fieldfare House. Calladine banged on the door but got no response. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  A voice rang out from a neighbouring flat. “He’s gone to stay with his sister, love.”

  Calladine peered around. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Couple of days tops. He can’t stand her husband.”

  Calladine made a note. They’d have to return later in the week.

  Ruth indicated a patch of rutted, oily concrete a few feet from the building. “That’s where he left the car. The pub is only just across there.” She nodded at the dilapidated building. A sign reading, ‘Th- P-easant,’ creaked slowly in the wind. “No distance at all.”

  The two of them walked over and went in. It was gone six in the evening, but the pub was empty.

  “Wonder how popular this place is?” Calladine nodded towards the specials board on the wall. “They do food.”

  “Kyle Logan works here, so it must do some trade to afford his wages.”

  A big, burly man called to them from behind the bar. “You’re police, aren’t you? Well, you’re wasting your time. That girl hasn’t been in here for ages. So I can’t help.” He folded his thick arms.

  Calladine smiled at him, and flashed his badge. “News travels fast round here. We’ve just a few questions and then we’ll leave you in peace, Mr Wallace.”

  Calladine noted the wary look and the nervous glances towards the door that led into the kitchen. “I took this place over three months ago. I’m trying to turn it round, but few folk round ’ere have cash to spend. Still, it’s not doing too badly. The food helps keep the tills ringing. I don’t want you lot frightening away what clients I do have.”

  Calladine smiled again. “A couple of questions then we’ll be out of your hair. We’re interested in knowing when Flora Appleton was last in here.”

  Wallace coughed. “She’s underage for a start. I’ve had to tell her any number of times, and that young man of hers.”

  “Ricky Hopwood?” Ruth asked.

  “That’s him. But I can’t come down too hard because he’s one of the few around here who occasionally has money in his pocket.”

  “Only occasionally? The Hopwoods are loaded, surely?” Odd thing to say, thought Calladine. The Hopwoods were coining it in. It had to mean that Sean kept Ricky short, but why?

  “All I know is what I see. Most nights Ricky’s got empty pockets.”

  Calladine asked him again. “When did you last see Flora, Mr Wallace?”

  He shrugged. “Wednesday or Thursday, before she did one on the Saturday.”

  “Not the Friday night? She didn’t come in looking for Ricky?” asked Calladine.

  Wallace shook his head.

  “How about Ken Marshal? Have you seen him?”

  Wallace coughed again. “No. Bit of a loner that one.”

  “Okay, that’ll do for now. We’ll talk again.”

  They turned and left, to Wallace’s obvious relief.

  Outside, Calladine put his hand to his head, exasperated. “Another reluctant witness. What is it with folk around here?”

  Ruth shrugged.

  “There must be something dodgy going on. Wallace, Kyle and Ricky Hopwood could all be involved. Doesn’t help the case though, does it?”

  “Okay. I’ll take you back to the nick and we’ll knock off. It’s getting on. Will Jake have picked Harry up from nursery?”

  “If he hasn’t, Tom, I’ll kill him. I don’t ask much. I mean, it’s on his way home. It’s the least he can do.”


  Ruth and Jake’s problems bothered Calladine. He wanted Ruth to be happy. He’d encouraged her relationship with Jake. If they did split up it would hit her hard. Ruth might make with the brave words, but he knew very well that this was grinding her down.

  Calladine decided to update the board in the morning. He left Ruth in the car park and headed home. It didn’t take him long. He turned onto the High Street, then cut through the back roads. Next to his stone terraced house, a large white van was parked with its wheels half on the kerb. The house next door had been up for rent. Someone must be moving in.

  As soon as he got out of his car, a woman called out to him. “Hello! You must be my new neighbour. Or I’m yours — take your pick.” She walked towards him, wearing a big smile.

  Calladine put her at about forty. She was a little shorter than him with long deep-chestnut hair, with those highlights that Ruth liked so much. The lights from the van made them shine like gold.

  She held out her hand. “Layla Calvert. You?”

  “Tom Calladine.” He gently shook her manicured hand.

  Another big smile revealed perfect teeth. “The woman over the road said you were a policeman.”

  He nodded. “I am. I’m a detective inspector with Leesdon CID.”

  She looked impressed. “We can all feel safe in our beds in that case. Is that your dog?”

  On seeing Calladine, Sam had started to bark. He was now peering at them from the front room window. Calladine fished the house keys from his pocket. “He wants his tea.”

  “Nice dog. Does he stay in all day on his own?” she asked with concern.

  “No, the lady next door takes him out and spends some time with him. They’re great pals.” Calladine smiled.

  “I’ll see you around, then.” She gave him a grin and went back to the van.

  Chapter 8

  “What d’you call this?” Sean Hopwood was counting the cash from his brother’s money bag, and he was angry. “Heron House alone should have brought in three grand.” Ricky was going about this all wrong. At this rate they’d be out of business within the month. “You’re a waste of bloody space!” He lashed out with his fist, catching Ricky’s cheek.

  Ricky fell backwards onto the floor. He sat up and rubbed his face. “That’s twice this week you’ve landed me one. You need to rein in that temper of yours or you’ll do me some real damage!”