Dead Jealous

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Given that she fought with her attacker, will you be able to get anything from under her fingernails?” Ruth asked.

  Natasha tilted her head. “Decomposition allowing, we’ll try. Forensics are examining her clothing, and of course the car. However, there was no handbag or mobile found.”

  Ruth nodded. “The killer may have taken it. Perhaps they sent that text to her mother.”

  “The clothing was in a state, I’m afraid. Blood had soaked into everything,” said Natasha.

  Calladine had had enough. He touched Ruth’s arm. “I’m going to go and have that word with Julian. I’ll meet you outside.”

  * * *

  Julian was in his lab. He had the ashes spread out on a table and had removed several larger pieces of bone to study through his microscope.

  He looked up at Calladine. “You’re looking very grey.”

  Calladine shook his head. “Is it any wonder? I’ve just come from Flora Appleton’s PM. She was stabbed and left in the boot of that car. All I have to do now is find the bastard that did it.”

  “We are looking at the car along with the girl’s things, Tom. I’ll have something for you very soon. In the meantime, here’s something else to think about.” He gestured to the table. “There was bone among those ashes you brought me, so we should get DNA. But I’ve found something else, something important.” He pointed to a particular sample. “What you’re looking at is part of the skull, see the slight curve and the thinness of the bone?”

  Calladine peered down at it. The bone was a few centimetres in size. A regular semi-circular piece on one edge was missing.

  Julian pointed at it. “I’m trying to find more, but it’s a bit like doing a jigsaw puzzle. There are dozens of bits of bone but I doubt I’ll find a match for that particular one.”

  Calladine grimaced. “A grisly jigsaw. What is so significant about it?”

  “The slice out of the piece you’re looking at was made by a bullet. It’s an entry wound.”

  Calladine shook his head. This didn’t make any sense. “What? Who would shoot a toddler? Are you absolutely sure, Julian?”

  “I can’t see what else would have left such a regular hole. You’ve seen enough bullet holes in your time. What do you think?”

  “What I’m thinking is, who would want to put a gun to a child’s head? It beggars belief.” The disappearance of Jessica Wilkins had haunted him for years. But this! Julian’s discovery added yet another horrific dimension to the case. “The child was supposed to have disappeared from Leesdon Park. Now it looks as if whoever took her shot her through the head. It’s certainly not what I expected.”

  “It entered the skull about here.” Ignoring these remarks, Julian pointed to his own forehead. “And exited at the back. The exit wound would have shattered the skull, but the entry wound is quite neat. I’ve also found parts of the femur and one or two bits of vertebrae. We’re lucky that particular piece of skull was still intact.”

  This news was huge. Calladine couldn’t risk it getting out. “We’ll keep this to ourselves for the time being. Can you imagine what the press would make of it?” Again, there was no comment from Julian.

  Instead, he said, “We are still searching the house on Beardsell Terrace.”

  “Anything?”

  “Early days. CSI officers have brought a few things back. Mostly rubble from around where the jar was found, plus these.” Julian passed him several evidence bags containing pieces of pink silk fabric. “It looks as if these were used as packing around the container. Expensive fabric. Someone took a great deal of care to ensure it stayed safe. The officers also found this.” He handed Calladine a bag containing a gold crucifix. “It’s eighteen carat, also expensive. But there is no inscription unfortunately.”

  “All carefully placed and left with this.” Calladine held up the bag. “It suggests someone who cared for the child. And why that house? I wonder what its significance is.”

  Julian shrugged. “Your department, I think. I’m working on the DNA, but it will be a while. The blanket yielded three infant hairs, blonde.”

  Calladine nodded. Little Jessica had been blonde. “Thanks, Julian. I’ll get back now. Keep this quiet. If those are Jessica’s ashes, it means that someone shot her. I just can’t get my head around that one. Who would do such a thing for a start? Over the last two decades there have been three children murdered in Oldston. All different killers, but on each occasion the child was smothered. I’ve never heard of a shooting.”

  Julian didn’t react at all. “If I discover anything further, I’ll let you know.”

  It was a strange one and no mistake. Julian was a worry too. He’d kept it all so business-like. Not that he’d ever been overly chatty, but they could usually get something out of him.

  He found the PM room locked. Ruth was coming out of the toilets. She looked as white as a sheet.

  She coughed. “Afraid I’ve lost my breakfast. That one has to go to the top of the list. Natasha has finished. She says the report will be up later today, bar the results of the forensic tests.”

  “I’ve decided to speak to a couple of people again with regard to the Jessica Wilkins case. I’ll give you a lift back to the station first though. You look a bit ropey.”

  “I’ll be fine. It was a combination of a late night, the smell in there, and the fact that she was so young. Did Julian tell you anything interesting?”

  Calladine decided that now wasn’t the time. Ruth had had enough for one morning. “It might be something. I’ll tell you later. You sure you’re alright?”

  “I’ll be fine. A strong cuppa will sort me out.”

  Chapter 12

  Calladine decided to call and see Monika once he’d dropped Ruth off at the station. He wanted to ask her to run through her version of that afternoon’s events one more time. Monika and he had history. They had been close once, and he’d even considered marrying her. But each time it looked as if they might make a go of it, another woman came along and turned his head. Ruth despaired of him.

  Monika Smith was the manager of a care home on the outskirts of Leesdon. Calladine’s mother had spent the last few years of her life there, and back then he had been a regular visitor. Today, the place felt alien. He strode across the car park and rang the front door bell, feeling nervous. The last time he’d seen Monika it hadn’t gone well. The woman who answered the door smiled at him somewhat frostily.

  Calladine returned her smile. “Is Monika in?”

  “She is, but I’m not sure if she’ll want to see you.”

  So Monika hadn’t held back on telling her colleagues all the gory details of their on-off relationship. His smile faded. “Tell her it’s police business.”

  “Wait in there.” She pointed to a small waiting room.

  Calladine went in. He stared out of the window with his hands in his overcoat pockets, wishing he hadn’t come.

  “What do you want?”

  Monika stood in the doorway, staring at him, her arms folded. Calladine felt like a naughty child. “Hello, Monika. I’m sorry to interrupt if you’re busy, but I wondered if you’d help me with something.”

  “With what, exactly? I am rather busy. Running this place for one.”

  She looked good. She’d lost weight and had her hair done in a new style. It was longer, reaching her chin, and it suited her. She obviously wasn’t pleased to see him. Her voice was sharp, her body language, well, unwelcoming. He should have left well alone.

  “Well, come on. I haven’t got all day,” she said.

  “The Jessica Wilkins case. You gave a statement.”

  Her face fell. “That was years ago, Tom.” She came into the room and closed the door behind her. “Why rake all that up? It’ll just cause more pain. That poor woman. I can still see her now, running round frantically, screaming her head off.”

  Calladine looked at her. Would she be able to help? “So you remember that day?” She nodded. “How well, exactly? How much of the detail can you re
call? Did you actually see the child, for example?”

  “No, I didn’t. Read the statement. The child was sleeping in her pushchair.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Monika looked puzzled. “What do you mean, Tom? It’s obvious, isn’t it? Josie Wilkins comes onto the park. She sits down with the pushchair beside her. I don’t know how long she stayed. I was busy. We’d taken some of the residents there for some fresh air and Mr Johnson went walkabout. I spent a good thirty minutes or so looking for him. By the time I got back, it was all cracking off.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  Monika tutted. “In the Wheatsheaf, with a double whiskey in his fist. Made him as sick as a dog. Didn’t agree with his medication. Silly old fool!”

  “And there’s nothing else?”

  “No. Much later we heard on the local news that the child had been taken. I wish I could recall something useful, Tom, I really do. At the time I racked my brain, went over it several times. But neither I nor the nurse who was with me saw anything untoward.”

  “The nurse, does she still work here?”

  “No, Tom, she died three years ago. But you should have her statement.”

  “Did she go looking for Mr Johnson too?”

  “No, she stayed put,” Monika replied.

  “Do you recall if she said anything about actually seeing the child herself?”

  “She couldn’t remember. She had her hands full with me going off like that. Why are you so bothered, Tom?”

  “The case has been reopened. New evidence has come to light. I was filling Ruth in, and it was something she suggested. I did consider it at the time, but Josie Wilkins was so distraught I thought she couldn’t possibly have been making it up.”

  Monika frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “Ruth suggested that the child was never in the pushchair in the first place.”

  Monika looked at him. “Ruth thinks the park thing was staged? Part of some elaborate plan to cover up something else, perhaps what had really happened?”

  “Yes, I think that’s what she’s getting at.”

  “Clever girl, our Ruth.”

  “The trouble is, Monika, I can’t find anyone who actually saw the child in the flesh. There is nothing in the statements. So naturally it got me thinking. It’s something that should have been pursued at the time, but it wasn’t. And I still can’t work out Josie’s part in it. Everything about her reactions that day was spot on. All that emotion was real. She genuinely believed her daughter had been taken.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But you did consider her state of mind?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Josie Wilkins had problems long before her daughter went missing. Her grandfather was a resident here for a while. He wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Reckoned that most of the time, Josie was off her head on drugs. He told me that Jessica was born with heroin dependency.”

  That was twice now that someone had referred to Josie’s drug problem. Calladine knew nothing about it. “She was a single parent. We checked with social services, and there was nothing untoward. Surely something like that would have been flagged up?”

  Monika shrugged. “I’m simply telling you what the old fella told me.”

  “If Jessica had problems at birth, they would have needed sorting.”

  “You’ll have to ask at the hospital. What’s the new evidence?”

  “Jessica’s ashes have been found.”

  Monika stared at him with wide eyes. “No! After all this time? I don’t know what to say. Ashes. That’s dreadful. What on earth happened to her? Are your forensic people able to tell how she died?”

  “Yes, and that makes it doubly dreadful.” He looked at her. “I can’t say anything more. We have to keep it quiet for the time being.”

  Monika nodded, and changed the subject tactfully. “I understand. You’re looking well, Tom. Keeping up the healthy living?”

  “After a fashion. It’s walking the dog that does it. Marilyn, Ray’s wife, left me her dog, Sam, when she was banged up. I didn’t get a chance to refuse. It was either take the dog on or get him put down. He’s okay, though, no trouble at all.”

  She smiled. “The look suits you. How are Ruth and the team? Are you all coping after what happened to Imogen?”

  “Just about. It’s not easy. We miss her, simple as that.”

  “Well, I must get on. Give Ruth my best. Tell her I’ll ring her, we’re due a catch-up.”

  “Thanks, Monika. We might have to talk again.”

  “You know where I am.”

  After the initial cold reception, Monika had seemed happy enough to talk. She’d even been quite friendly. Smiled once or twice too. Calladine was confused all over again. He’d never been able to work out how he really felt about Monika.

  He drove off in the direction of Leesdon centre. He’d pay a visit to Beardsell Terrace. He ought to check out where the ashes had been found, see how forensics were getting on. He knew exactly where it was, only three streets away from his place.

  * * *

  A team of four from the Duggan, headed up by Roxy Atkins, were hard at work. The sitting room was in a state. The team certainly hadn’t held back. Where the fireplace had been was now a huge hole in the wall, made even bigger by their searching.

  Calladine surveyed the mess. “Found anything else?”

  Roxy shook her head. “Nothing. The place is clean. Interestingly, I’d say the space for the ginger jar was made deliberately. See here.” She pointed to a hole in the back wall of the fireplace. “You can literally lift out the bricks, the mortar between them is perished. But just here someone made an oblong-shaped hole, then bricked up the front. You are looking into who lived here at the time?”

  Calladine nodded. “DC Hallam is researching that as we speak.”

  “That’s your best bet then. I doubt we’ll get much more here.”

  “No chance of a bullet then?”

  Roxy Atkins looked at him, and frowned. “Not unless the kid was killed here. It wasn’t found in the ashes, so I expect it is still lodged wherever.”

  Calladine’s mobile rang. It was Ruth.

  “We have a nasty incident, Tom, on the Hobfield, at Heron House. It’s Sean Hopwood. He’s been stabbed and pushed from the first-floor deck.” There was a pause. “He’s dead, Tom,” Ruth said.

  “Stabbed, you said? Like Flora Appleton.”

  Chapter 13

  Dolly Appleton had walked slowly back to her flat in a daze, going over everything in her mind. They were right, the lot of them. Sean Hopwood deserved everything that was coming to him. He was a thug who gave no quarter. Dolly shuddered when she thought of what he’d done to Frank’s wife.

  She arrived home, locked the door behind her and pulled the curtains tight shut. With Flora gone, Dolly was alone. If that brute Hopwood came knocking again, it would look as if she was out. The sooner they got this over and done with, the better. There was no going back. It was already too late anyway. She’d sat down with the others and planned to commit murder. She was in this right up to her neck.

  Minutes later, and with a mug of tea in her hand, her thoughts turned to the where and the when. There remained the question of whether she was capable of doing it. Could she take another human being’s life, even if that person was Hopwood? The short answer was, no. In that case she’d have to withdraw. She’d have to tell the others she was sorry, but it had been a terrible mistake. Dolly sat down at the table and burst into tears. She was no killer, none of them were. But as the minutes ticked by and she continued to think about it, the less she could see an alternative.

  The nurse had said within a couple of days. Even as she sat here, the others were thinking about the method, the location and how to get Hopwood alone. They would need alibis, too. Dolly was shaking. If she took part in this, the police would come for her. If she was locked up and questioned she’d cave in, tell them everything. Then they’d all get locked up. />
  What Dolly needed was the guts to see it through. She closed her eyes and thought of Flora. Her daughter had been dumped in the boot of that car like a piece of rubbish. Rumours were going around the estate like a whirlwind. Word had it that Ricky Hopwood was involved somewhere. He and Flora had argued. Everyone in the Pheasant had heard them. That young man had caused untold heartache and damage, but he was walking around scot-free. He hadn’t even been interviewed by the police! Whatever those thugs Kyle Logan and his friends had told them, it would have been nothing like the truth. Neither of the Hopwood brothers had had any sympathy for poor Flora. They deserved everything that was coming.

  When Dolly reached her block, she realised something was up. About a dozen people had gathered in the square and a police car was in attendance. Ordinarily she would have gone over, found out what had happened. But she was shattered. It had been a long night, sorting her flat after the fire, finding out about Flora, and now this. She went into the sitting room and fell into a doze on the sofa.

  Dolly hadn’t been asleep for long when she was woken by the sound of voices and people shouting outside. Something must have happened earlier, hence the police car. She should go out, see what was going on, but she was too scared. What if it was Hopwood? The minutes ticked by. Dolly was jittery, and jumped at every sound. She made a cup of tea and tried to calm down. Suddenly she heard an ambulance siren. It was getting louder, coming closer. Whatever had happened must be serious. She stepped out of her front door and looked over the rail. She saw a small white tent on the ground below with a couple of policemen standing guard.

  One of the neighbours joined her. “A fight, her at the end said. She heard the bugger scream. It’s Sean Hopwood. They think someone stuck a knife in him, then pushed him over the rail.”

  “Is he dead?” Dolly asked in a shaky voice.

  “With any luck, but even if he’s not, he’ll be in a bad way.”

  “Have the police got anyone?” Dolly was really nervous now. Could it be one of the group? If it was, why hadn’t they waited and discussed it with the others?