How had this happened anyway? A few months ago he’d been a loner — the place was his own, his refuge from the stress of work. Now all that had changed, and his tiny little cottage was full of women, each one with an axe to grind. Zoe had no idea what Lydia was like. She might very well be the most gorgeous woman in creation, but she took some keeping in check — and where her livelihood was concerned, she had a complete disregard for her own safety
“Devon rang earlier. He wants to speak to you again,” Jo told him, coming into the sitting room to join them. That meant he probably had something — hopefully something he could use.
“Okay. I’ll take the laptop into the kitchen, Skype him and see what he’s got — then perhaps we can eat.” Calladine was glad of the chance to disappear for a while.
“We’ll have to send out for something,” Zoe called after him. “We’ve not had time to sort anything food-wise.”
“Make it Chinese, then.” One day they’d have to sort out a proper shopping and cooking rota. All these takeaway meals, convenient as they were, weren’t doing him any good.
“Tom! Nice to touch base again.”
Devon DeAngelo looked a little smarter than the last time they’d spoken. He was wearing a grey suit and a shirt and tie.
“Have I got you at a bad time? Are you going out?”
“I’m off to court. Homicide case we worked on. I’ll be glad to get the whole thing out of the way; the damn case was driving me insane — but you know that feeling, I bet. Now it just has to go right in court and I’ll cross my fingers that we get the result we want. The shit will hit the fan if the bastard walks.”
Shades of Fallon there. Calladine understood that feeling very well.
“Anyway, I’ve had your list checked and we can account for all the names, bar six.”
“Six! I don’t think we’re looking for that many — well, I hope we’re not.”
“I’ve emailed them over, plus the DNA profiles for four of them. If you find any more bodies you’ll have something to check against. Let me know what you find, then, if necessary, I’ll contact the families and break the bad news.”
“You’ve been a great help, Devon. There’s no way we could have come up with that information so quick. I’ll do my best and get back to you as soon as. Best of luck in court. Hope it works in your favour.”
Calladine closed the Skype window and accessed his email and looked down the list. There were six names — all on Alice’s original list, and all of them missing from home back in the States. As well as the DNA profiles, Devon had made notes beside each name — a brief sketch of their home lives, not good in the main. He wasn’t surprised some of them hadn’t gone back.
“Chinese it is then. Want your usual?” Zoe shouted through. “I think me and Jo will go over to hers for the night — give you and Lydia some space. A little quiet time to sort out your differences.”
“There’s no need. You can both stay; we don’t mind.”
“You speak for yourself, Tom Calladine.” Lydia stood in the kitchen doorway. She’d showered and was wearing a skimpy robe. “I have a night of wine and debauchery planned for us both, so perhaps it would be better if your daughter was elsewhere.”
Zoe and Jo laughed at that. Why fight it? “See you tomorrow, then!” he called out as they left.
He sent the list to his printer. “I have a little work to do, and by the time I’m finished, the food should have arrived and we can eat. After that — we’ll see where the night takes us.”
“You know very well where the night will take us, so don’t be coy. You do what you have to while I fix my hair. Keep the food warm when it arrives.”
He’d given Lydia the back bedroom, but she had no intention of using it. After she’d blow-dried her hair, they shared the food and took a bottle of red wine and two glasses up to Calladine’s bedroom.
“I like your house — it’s cosy.”
“You mean it’s small.”
“No, I said cosy. Sort of warm and comforting.” She ran her fingertips down his naked chest. “This bed is cosy too, and I like the way you’ve done the room.”
“It wasn’t me. My mother did most of the decorating in the house, ages ago.”
“Well, I guess it does all look a little dated . . .”
“Dated!”
“Yes, Tom, dated. Very eighties — or is it even seventies? I mean, just look at the wallpaper and all this furniture. Dark wood, sturdy and very ancient.”
“It suits me. Moments ago you said you liked it. You’ve become a very hard woman to please, Lydia Holden. Time away has done you no good at all.”
“I never saw your place the last time, did I? A girl doesn’t like to be rude, but perhaps you could do with a makeover? I could help.”
“Perhaps — but not yet. We’ve both got too much on.”
“Case giving you trouble?”
“Yep, and a number of other things too. You for instance.” He turned so that he was looking at her full in the face. “I want you to leave the Fallon thing alone. It’s good advice, and for your own safety you should heed it.”
“That is the problem, Tom. I find that people are always giving me advice, mostly what suits them. So I don’t take too much notice. I’m too single-minded, I thought you realised that.”
“Leave Fallon alone, Lydia. He’s a ruthless bastard and he’s going to get what he deserves very soon. I don’t want you being any part of it.”
“So you do know something! Go on, tell me. I won’t write anything — well not yet — but one way or another I intend to find out what I need.”
“Not from me you won’t. This is no joke, Lydia. Fallon’s a killer. Get in his way and he’ll think nothing of getting rid of you.”
“It’s no use going on at me, Tom. We’re going around in circles. It’s just so much white noise in my head. All I’m working on is a human interest story, nothing heavy.”
“Nothing to do with Ray Fallon can possibly be described as ‘human interest.’”
“You’re not listening, are you? I need this. I need something big to kick start this new career of mine. After the Handy Man case and what I earned out of the story, I had a sort of epiphany — I realised where the big money is. And more than that, I discovered that I’ve a real talent, Tom. I also have a shrewd idea how much the editors of the bigger papers will pay for an exclusive on Fallon.”
He wasn’t going to win this one. He could only hope that the forensic boys would get the evidence they needed to drag Fallon in and lock him up before Lydia did something stupid.
“Isn’t all this just wasting time, Detective? I’m lying here, naked in your bed, and all you can do is talk work. Not very flattering, Tom Calladine. I want you to make love to me, not talk me to sleep.”
No answer to that. He flicked the switch on the bedside lamp and took her in his arms.
Chapter 20
Day Seven
Calladine left Lydia sleeping. He’d phone her from work and arrange something for later. Spending the night with her had done him the world of good. He was revitalised — the blood was coursing around his veins and he was raring to go. He made himself a couple of sandwiches for lunch and grabbed the envelope from his mother — a quick goodbye to Lydia, and he was gone.
Imogen called to him as he came in, “We’ve had an odd one this morning, sir. Jane Rigby rang — she has our office number from when Cassie was missing. She says her husband didn’t go home last night. What do you make of that?”
Calladine recalled the rather odd couple, and the way they behaved towards each other. Perhaps not getting Cassie back had been the final straw, and he’d left her.
“File the paperwork and pass it on to uniform. They can keep their eyes peeled. Circulate details of his car.”
He nodded to Ruth to follow him into his office.
“I’ve got the information from Devon. Six of them haven’t returned to their homes in the States, so we need to do some digging. Is Alice here yet?�
�
“She’s gone out somewhere with Rocco. They’ve been visiting the local estate agents.”
“When she returns get her to look at this.” He passed her the list.
“And you? What are your plans?”
“I need to lean on Julian for more information — the soil sample and the CCTV from the pub, for starters.”
He put his mother’s envelope on his desk.
“Something I should know about?”
“Nothing to do with the case — it’s personal.”
Ruth scrutinised the list of names. “There are six names here. I thought we were looking for three, sir.” She shuddered. “Aren’t you going to open that?”
“I’m trying to pluck up the courage. I keep putting it off; it’s something of a mystery. It’s from my mother, a letter from beyond the grave. She didn’t want me to have this until after she . . . well, until she was gone. So she left it with Monika. I went round last night and she gave it to me.”
“That’s good — you went to talk, so I presume things are better. I’m glad you took my advice. Did you get anywhere? Are you and Monika back on track? Is that why you look tons better today?”
She wasn’t going to like this. No doubt she’d think he was a right idiot.
“Er, no — not really . . . Well, no not at all. Me and Monika are definitely over for good, I’m afraid.” His face was a picture of guilt.
“I don’t understand. What went wrong? Why didn’t you make her listen? You obviously didn’t do the right sort of grovelling.”
“No, that’s not it. I changed my mind about the whole thing. I actually went to the care home for an entirely different reason.”
“So what happened? And don’t spin me a tale either, Tom, because I know you.”
What was the use? She was going to find out sooner or later.
“Lydia’s back. She turned up on my doorstep yesterday, and — I just can’t resist her.”
“The blonde bimbo? Tom! Where’s your self-control?”
“Where she’s concerned, in my boots.”
“So, why’s she back now? What does she want?”
“I’d like to say because she can’t live without me — but that’s not it. She’s chasing my bloody cousin. He’s going to be the subject of some scoop she’s planning to write. Investigative journalism, she calls it, and I’m a soft target for the information she needs, apparently.”
“So she bats her lashes and you go to mush — is that about right?”
Calladine nodded. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m a push-over where that woman is concerned. She’s a weakness I can’t control. Monika paled to insignificance the instant I saw Lydia.”
“You’re a disgrace! Lydia Holden’s bad news. Your future is with Monika and you know it. You’re not stupid. That blonde will dump you the minute she gets what she wants. You won’t know what hit you, it’ll happen so fast. Remember last time? She didn’t hang around then, did she?”
“I know all that, but having it stuffed down my throat doesn’t help. I like Lydia — really like her, so get off my back.”
Ruth knew she’d have to rein it in. “Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned, when it all comes crashing down around your ears — and it will. Anyway, you should open the envelope. That letter must contain something very important. Your mother left you that for a good reason.”
“The truth is it’s scaring the hell out of me. Why would she do this? Why couldn’t she simply tell me whatever it is, when she was alive?”
“I’ve no idea, Tom, so you should read it and then you can stop fretting.”
He picked it up and looked at the delicate handwriting. His mother’s hand. He’d not really felt the loss before, but now he felt it keenly. His stomach knotted and there was a lump in his throat. She was gone and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
My dearest Tom,
If you’re reading this then I’m no longer with you. I know how upset you’ll be but please try to temper that with the memories you have of all the lovely times we spent together. I want you to be happy, son, and I don’t want you to mourn my passing. Do things as you think fit with regards to the funeral but put me in with your dad.
Now — to the real point of this, I have a confession to make. I have agonised over this all your life, and while you were with me I never had the courage to tell you. I knew you would be upset and I knew it would change things, which is why I decided to do it this way.
With this letter there is a key — it fits the cupboard in the back of the grandfather clock I gave you — the one in your hallway. Inside the cupboard is a box and in there you will find the documents to support what I’m going to tell you now.
Fifty-two years ago your father had an affair. It didn’t last long and I forgave him. I never reproached him about it and you never found out. However — the outcome of that affair was you, Tom. One night he came home with you in his arms. He also had a few baby clothes, your birth certificate and some photographs of your birth mother.
I hope you are sitting down to read this, son. I can only imagine the shock you must be feeling now. Anyway — I took you. Your dad and I never had any children of our own, so you were a gift I couldn’t refuse.
Despite how you’d been brought into my life, I loved you from the very moment I set eyes on you. You look very much like your father — so how could I not? He never explained to me why your birth mother gave you up and I never asked. But he assured me that she would not come looking and she never did.
Forgive me, son, and please, try to understand why I kept this to myself. I couldn’t bring myself to spoil things — the things we had as a family. Look in the box and try not to think any worse of me.
Your loving mother.
Tears blurred his vision.
Ruth looked at him tenderly. “Cup of tea, Tom.” She patted his arm and rose to go and put the kettle on.
“Stick a scotch in it . . . Well she’s really gone and done it this time, hasn’t she?”
“Look — you don’t have to tell me just because I’m here. Like you said, it’s personal and I won’t pry. But if I can help, if there’s anything I can do, then tell me.”
Calladine tossed the letter over to her. “You are one of my closest friends as well as being my work partner — so go on — read it, please. I need to share this with someone, otherwise I’ll go barmy.”
Ruth sat down again opposite him and read through the letter.
“It’s one giant confession she’s making there; one that changes everything, don’t you think?” His voice was faltering. “Why didn’t she just tell me, explain it while she could? Reading that, it’s clear that the mistake was dads, not hers. At least then I could have got used to the idea – asked all the questions.”
“Perhaps she couldn’t, she’d be protecting him. She must have loved your father very much,” Ruth looked up. “She’d know that it would inevitably change how you felt about both your parents and possibly everything else too.”
“I’m a grown man — she could have told me. What did she imagine I was going to do? Go off the rails?”
“She brought you up — from infancy, so she is still your mother, Tom,”
“Not according to that, she isn’t. Not by blood anyway.”
They both fell silent.
“But does that really matter? Freda raised you, loved you and helped to make you the man you are. Surely that must count for something?” Ruth offered.
“Yes, of course it does, I’m not daft. But all these years and I never knew — I didn’t even suspect, not once. She should have told me — they both should have told me. Everyone has a right to know the truth about their parentage.”
“Well, she’s told you now, hasn’t she? And if you think about it, she didn’t have to. So the knowledge must have been a burden for her, and it will have taken some courage to write that.”
Ruth was right. There was no date on the letter, and he wondered when she had written it.
“You need time to take this in. Why don’t you go home? Look in that box and get your head together.”
“I can’t spare the time.” He reached in his desk drawer for the whiskey bottle and poured some into his tea. “Want some?”
“No. We might have to drive somewhere. Look — spending half an hour at home won’t hold up the case. Go and settle this. I’ll take you in my car and you can get it over with.”
“Okay. As long as you stay with me while I open that damn box. I might need the voice of reason to keep me sane.”
“Hold your hand, more like. Okay, we’ll do this together. You can open Pandora’s Box and air your skeletons — then it’s straight back to the case. Alright?”
He nodded. Until he’d seen for himself what the box contained, he’d be unable to concentrate anyway.
“What I can’t understand . . .” he began, as Ruth pulled up outside his home. “. . . is why my dad never said anything. And who was this other bloody woman anyway?”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright doing this? If it’s going to bother you we could leave it.”
“See, even you’re getting cold feet now! But yep — I have to do this, like you say, get it over with.”
“Your dad will have had his reasons for keeping quiet, guilt probably. He’ll have discussed it with your mum when you were tiny, and then as you grew up, it’ll have been buried deep. That’s what families do.”
* * *
Calladine unlocked his front door and made straight for the clock. He took the key from his coat pocket, moved the clock away from the wall and unlocked the door at the back of the casing.
“Here we are then — the complete, hitherto unknown, history of Tom Calladine — the man who wasn’t who he thought he was.”
“Of course you know who you are, Tom. You’re being melodramatic now. You’re who you’ve always been — a good man, a damn good copper and a loving son.”
The box was a biscuit tin that looked as if it dated back to the fifties. He carried it through to the kitchen table and prised it open. There were a couple of letters inside, a small number of photos and the all-important birth certificate.
DEAD SILENT a gripping detective thriller full of suspense Page 15