Dead Jealous

by Helen H. Durrant

  “So your Kyle was home by eight this morning?” Hopwood had been attacked at about nine thirty.

  “He’d been in bed at least an hour by then,” said Logan.

  Calladine looked closer at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Course I’m bloody sure!”

  “When did you see Sean Hopwood last?” Calladine asked him.

  Logan averted his eyes. “Yesterday afternoon when he came knocking for money. I told him straight, I’ve got nowt. Said I’d try to pay something next week. He seemed happy enough and buggered off.”

  “And he didn’t come back last night, and leave you with that?” Calladine nodded at Logan’s face.

  “No. Like I said before, I fell.”

  “Anyone see that, Mr Logan?” asked Nigel.

  “No, son. I fell over my big feet climbing up the steps in this pile of crap.”

  Calladine’s mobile rang. It was Ruth. He went out onto the deck to take the call.

  “Dolly has disappeared,” she told him. “Of course she could be shopping or something, but it seems odd.”

  “I’ve got nothing fresh out of Logan either. Anyone talk to you?”

  “Nothing useful. No one’s sorry. You should see the smiles when I tell them what’s happened.”

  Calladine went back inside. Kyle Logan had joined his father. He looked dishevelled in tracksuit bottoms, his hair messy. “You been in all day, lad?”

  “I got home about eight and I’ve been in bed since,” said Kyle.

  “And your dad?”

  “He’s been here too. He’s not right yet, needs his rest.”

  “If you do remember anything about your ‘accident,’ and want to talk, give me a ring.” Calladine handed Bernie Logan a card, and they left the flat.

  “What d’you think?” Nigel asked when they were outside.

  “I think he got a pasting from Hopwood and is frightened to say, in case we pin the killing on him. We can’t rule him out, but given the state of him, it’s unlikely. It would be handy if we could find a witness to the assault who is prepared to talk.”

  Calladine decided to return to the Pheasant, in order to check out Kyle Logan’s story.

  * * *

  There were just a couple of solitary drinkers in the pub.

  Mark Wallace glowered at them from behind the bar. “What do you two want?”

  Calladine forced a smile. “A couple more questions. The time Kyle Logan knocked off will do for starters.”

  “Why, what’s he done?”

  Calladine moved to a nearby table and sat down. Nigel remained at the bar, talking to one of the regulars.

  “He reckons you had a lock-in.” Calladine shouted across to the landlord.

  Mark Wallace gave him a long, hard look. “My business. I had a few friends stay behind and we’d a game of cards. Nothing wrong in that.”

  “Back to Kyle.”

  Wallace stalked across and sat down at the table. “Look, copper, I don’t want any aggro from you lot. Making a living in this shithole is hard enough as it is.”

  Calladine stared at him. “Just answer the question.”

  “Stupid lad fell asleep. Just before eight, I found him kipping on the sofa in the back room. I told him to go home.”

  “You’re sure about the time?”

  “Yep. The news was on the radio. They’d just done a time check.”

  “See how easy it is when you try?” Calladine smiled. “Did you give him the black eye?”

  Wallace sat up straight. “Is that what he said? I’ll bloody kill him!”

  “It was his father said it actually. Well, did you?”

  “No! It’s not on to assault the staff. They tend to leave you in the lurch when you do that.” He gave a slight chuckle.

  “The car Flora was dumped in was found just over there, on that bit of spare ground.” Calladine pointed to the empty space he could see through the window.

  “Look, Kyle’s damn eye, that girl, none of it had owt do with anyone here. We see nowt and we say nowt. Safer that way.”

  “What are you afraid of, Mr Wallace?” Nigel sat down at the table.

  Wallace got to his feet and drew himself up to his full height. He was way over six foot and about eighteen stone.

  “I’m afraid of bugger all, lad,” he growled. “You’d do well to remember that, and get lost. There’s nothing for you here.”

  Calladine and Nigel decided to take his advice.

  Outside, Nigel asked, “Get anything useful, sir?”

  “Bernie Logan’s alibi stands up. He said he was home in bed and so was Kyle when Hopwood was stabbed. In effect, they are providing an alibi for each other.”

  “Do we still suspect Bernie Logan then?”

  “We’ll keep an open mind,” Calladine replied. “We only have the Logans’ word that they were both in and asleep. Kyle is hardly going to stand up against his dad, is he?”

  “We’re not doing very well, are we, sir?”

  “No, Nigel, we’re not. Apart from one dodgy alibi, we’ve got nothing. People won’t talk. No one saw anything. No one knows anything. No one can hazard a guess at who might have wanted Hopwood dead. They’re lying, the bloody lot of ’em.” Calladine rubbed his head.

  Chapter 17

  Calladine and Nigel walked back towards Heron House. Calladine was in despair. They could knock on doors all day and night, but he knew they’d get nowhere. “We need a breakthrough, but it’s going to be down to forensics.”

  His mobile rang.

  “Inspector, would you care to come in and tell me what you’re up to? Apart from Joyce, the place is empty.” DCI Rhona Birch sounded distinctly annoyed.

  Calladine rolled his eyes. Birch seemed to think they were all out on some jolly. “We’ve got a couple of murders on our hands, ma’am. Yesterday, the body of a girl was found, the lass had been killed the week before. Then a man was stabbed and killed on the Hobfield this morning. Consequently we’re mob handed on the estate while it’s fresh in the memory. Problem is, the dead man was universally hated, so we’re getting nowhere.”

  “So you can spare me some time then? Come in. I could do with a word.”

  Three months off and still no better for it. DCI Birch was issuing orders like she’d never been away.

  He turned to Nigel. “Keep at it, lad. Take one of the uniforms and continue going door to door. See what you can get. I’ve got to go back to the nick. Our great leader has shown her face at last.”

  Calladine had just got into the car when his mobile rang again. It was Julian, calling from the Duggan.

  “I think I may have found something of interest,” he began. “Apart from re-examining the items taken from Josie Wilkins’s flat and the pushchair at the time of the child’s disappearance, I am looking again at the DNA results. There is plenty of DNA belonging to Josie, Tracy and the child, but certain other items have traces of DNA from two other people. A child’s beaker — one of those with a spout — has unspecified DNA on it, plus a glass that once held whiskey.”

  “Neither of the two women mentioned anyone else being in their flat that day. Could the samples be from some other time? The days just before the child’s disappearance, for example?”

  “I can’t say. You will need to investigate that.”

  “Okay, I’ll check the photos and evidence logs. Thanks for the heads up, Julian.”

  It was something at least. Calladine drove back to the nick, racking his brains. Why hadn’t either Josie or Tracy said anything about other people? Had these others been there when Josie left for the park with Jessica? The more he raked around in this case, the more anomalies turned up.

  Back in his office, Calladine retrieved the heavy file from the bottom drawer of his desk. He was concerned. Neither he nor anyone else had been curious about these items at the time, or their significance. They should have been. Then he looked at the clock. Birch wouldn’t wait much longer. With a weary sigh, he left the file for later. He’d better go and get
it over with.

  * * *

  “You’re looking very well, ma’am. A tan suits you,” Calladine said.

  Rhona Birch had lost a bit of weight too, and her short, no-nonsense hairstyle had highlights where the sun had bleached it.

  “I had plenty of time to acquire one. That stupid son of mine led me a right merry dance,” she said.

  “But you found him?”

  She nodded.

  “Safe and well?”

  “He was shacked up with some slip of a girl in a remote holiday village in Queensland.” She sighed heavily and shifted on her chair. “I’ve had to leave him behind. Had no choice. He’s a big lad now, and he doesn’t want to come home. He’s got himself a job of sorts, and they’ve found somewhere to live. What can I do?” She held out her hands, palms up. “He’s got a damn good degree that didn’t come cheap. Now he’s quite happy to throw it all away and waste his life working in some beach café!”

  “You’ll have seen the incident board?” Calladine changed the subject hastily. He had never been comfortable with the notion of Birch and motherhood. He just couldn’t reconcile the two. “We’ve got a dead teenage girl, a thug of a moneylender has been killed on the Hobfield, and we’ve got a cold case come back to life — with complications.”

  “Did you know that Nigel Hallam has asked for a transfer?”

  Calladine stared at her. How come she knew and he didn’t? But it came as no surprise that the DC wanted to leave them. “Has he changed his mind about CID, ma’am?” From what he remembered, CID was all the young man had ever wanted. What had gone wrong?

  “No. Apparently it’s down to you lot.”

  Calladine didn’t like the look she gave him one bit. Those beady eyes of hers were boring into his skull. She was looking for answers.

  “The sensitive soul doesn’t feel he’s fitting in,” Birch said at last. “He is convinced that the team resent him, that he’s being left out.” She paused, no doubt waiting for Calladine to protest. But how could he? Birch was right. Nigel Hallam didn’t fit in.

  “Did you know that one of the superintendents at Central is Hallam’s uncle?”

  No, he hadn’t, was the short answer to that.

  “He has gone blubbing to him,” Birch continued. “So the super in question has had a word in my ear. He thinks the poor lad needs a second chance, somewhere different.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Since when did policing get so touchy-feely? I’m at a loss, I really am. In my opinion, he hasn’t given it long enough, and I told him so. But it did no good. He wants to go as soon as possible”

  Calladine had picked up on none of this. He knew the team were a tad cagey around Nigel, and he had his own reservations about him. But all that could change, given time. They just needed to see what the lad was made of.

  “He has replaced Imogen, ma’am. Surely he’s not stupid. He’s got to be aware of how we all feel about her. But that doesn’t mean we dislike him. We simply don’t know him well enough. That will come when we’ve worked together a little longer. I keep hoping that sooner or later, he’ll gel.”

  “Well, I don’t think he will. We’re flogging a dead horse with this one. His transfer has been confirmed. Nigel Hallam is going to join Central as from Monday next.”

  “So what do we do, ma’am? We’re a man down and busy. We need a replacement, and quick.”

  “There is someone earmarked for your team. She recently joined CID after doing two years with uniform in Sheffield. She graduated from Manchester University with a very good degree in criminology.”

  Calladine rolled his eyes. “Graduate entry. I suppose she expects to be chief constable within a decade. What’s she like? I imagine she thinks she knows it all, having a degree and all that.”

  “I met her once. She struck me as being the straightforward type. She fully intends to settle in Leesdon, and to give the job her all.”

  “Do we have a name?”

  “Sorry, I don’t have the paperwork to hand. But she’s an intense young woman with a sharp, analytical mind. She’s tipped to go far. Make her welcome. And please try a little harder with this one. We don’t want to get a reputation, do we?”

  “Of course not, ma’am. When does she arrive?”

  “The day after tomorrow. Make good use of her, Calladine. Let’s see some progress on the cases you’re working on.”

  * * *

  Everyone was still out, gathering information on the Hobfield. Apart from Joyce, who was hammering away on her keyboard, the incident room was empty. Calladine sat quietly in his office with the Jessica Wilkins file. He needed to think.

  Julian had said to look at the photos. Those showing the inside of the flat had been enlarged, and he could clearly see a draining board stacked with washed pots in the kitchen. The items Julian had mentioned were on a small coffee table in the sitting room. The feeding bottle and mug belonging to Jessica and Josie, plus the beaker and glass that Julian was now examining. Calladine turned back to the draining board and the pile of clean pots. It looked like four people had had a drink that day, prior to leaving the house and after Josie had washed up.

  He scanned through the report. After Jessica went missing, a woman police officer had taken Josie straight to the station from the park. She was very distressed. They had rung Tracy on her mobile and asked her to come to the station. The flat was then searched. The PC had sat with both Josie and Tracy at the station while they were questioned. That meant no one had gone back to the flat. It was exactly as Josie had left it to take Jessica to the park.

  In that case, Josie must have had visitors earlier on. A child and an adult. The child had drunk juice or milk, and the adult had had a whiskey. So who were they? And why hadn’t either Josie or Tracy said anything about them? Tracy had stated that she’d been at work, so she couldn’t have known who had called at Josie’s flat.

  The other odd thing in the statement was that Josie had insisted she’d taken Jessica to the park because she was fed up with being in by herself. It was a nice day, and she fancied some company, a chat with the other mums. That meant her statement was at odds with the cups on the table. Plus, as the witnesses had said, Josie hadn’t spoken to anyone that afternoon. Far from chatting to the other people in the park, she’d sat alone, reading a magazine. So why lie? What had she been trying to hide, and why wasn’t she questioned about her behaviour? Even Calladine hadn’t seen any significance in this contradiction back then.

  He picked up the phone and rang Julian. “You’re right,” he began. “And I think what you’ve spotted is important. What I don’t understand is why no one pieced this together back then. The photos are clear enough, and the items on that coffee table are listed as being bagged and taken. Why weren’t questions asked?”

  “DNA tests were done on them, but no matches were found. The items were not seen as significant, Tom. Remember, the team were looking for the person who’d kidnapped the child from the park. You had no reason to suspect that anything untoward had happened in that flat.”

  “You’re right, Julian. But perhaps the questions should have been asked, if only in the interests of being thorough. We are only interested now because of what has been found — the ashes, slide and blanket. Plus, how the little girl was killed. It all happened before Ruth’s time. She is a fresh pair of eyes and has already spotted several anomalies. I think she could have something. No one actually saw Jessica in her pushchair that day. This case may not be a straightforward snatch — if there is such a thing.”

  “I plan to run the DNA taken from those items through the database again,” Julian said. “With luck, it might tell you who else was in the flat that day.”

  “I suppose I could just ask Josie?” Calladine said.

  “You could, but if something untoward did happen she is unlikely to be helpful.”

  “And if there’s no match on the database?”

  “Then you can ask.”

  Calladine was thinking hard. “There might be a perfectly simp
le explanation. A neighbour or a friend brings a child round, the kids play, then the grownups have a drink before they leave.”

  “And Josie Wilkins dishes out whiskey? In the middle of the afternoon?” Julian sounded scornful.

  Calladine rubbed his head. “This has got me curious and no mistake. Thanks, Julian. I’ll get back to you.”

  On its own the possibility that Josie might have had visitors in her flat that afternoon was innocent enough. But why not say so? Was she hiding a huge secret about what had actually happened to little Jessica?

  Chapter 18

  Dolly couldn’t leave things as they were. It had happened in the block she lived in. For all she knew, the others would think she was responsible for what happened to Hopwood. Gossip was rife. Some said he’d been stabbed. But he’d also fallen or been pushed from the first floor to the ground below. That was no accident. Someone had wanted to make sure. Had it been one of the group? Dolly had to speak to the others, find out what they knew. Once she’d calmed down, she made her way to Frank’s allotment. At this time of year, he was always there during the hours of daylight. She needed to discuss what had happened to Hopwood.

  The Leesdon allotments were on a tract of land to one side of Leesdon Park. There were dozens of them. The entire area was dotted with sheds and small picket fences. Where to start?

  She made her way up the main path. “Who d’you want?” shouted a man digging amidst his potatoes.

  “Frank Chadwick,” she replied.

  He pointed into the distance. “Far end, love. Can’t miss it. The one with the greenhouse that’s got no glass.”

  Had Frank heard? Dolly wondered. Hopwood’s murder hadn’t even made the local news yet. Dolly tramped between the fences, trying to work things out. Had one of the group taken it upon themselves to solve the problem of Hopwood? She hoped not. If that was the case, they would have to meet again to sort out the alibis the nurse had talked about.

  All of them were on Hopwood’s ‘hot’ list. If the police did get wind of the meeting, they’d have to all tell the same story. The police would be told they’d met to discuss their common problem, that of the debt they owed to the Hopwoods. Once Frank knew, he’d tell the others, and anything incriminating would be removed from the locker. Then, all would be as it should, and no one would be any the wiser.