A Deadly Imperfection: Calladine & Bayliss 3

by HH Durrant

  He might as well be speaking in a foreign language.

  ‘So you think Gail is a man, but you’ve no proof?’

  ‘Experience and instinct, Inspector. This person is looking for small children, particularly blonde haired girls between four and six years. Both Isla Prideau and Leah Cassidy fit the profile.’

  ‘So how do we catch the bastard?’

  Stephen Greco shot Calladine a look that plainly said he disapproved of his language.

  ‘We find out who the account belongs to – really belongs to. We trace the service provider then trace the IP address. I’ll get on with it and keep you posted.’

  He turned to Imogen – she got a smile, Calladine noticed. ‘I’m grateful for your help – don’t worry, we’ll get this one, the odds are stacking up against him now.’

  ‘Hold on Inspector – Isla Prideau is our case. She disappeared from our patch and for all we know this Gail person operates from Leesworth too.’

  ‘This is no time to get parochial, DI Calladine. The girls need finding and you don’t have the time or the resources, so be sensible. I’ll continue the investigation and keep you informed.’

  Cheeky bugger! With that Stephen Greco left them to it. Calladine made his mind up that moment that he didn’t like the man. He was pushy - he seemed to think that no one else was as capable as he was. Well he’d just have to learn the hard way.

  ‘Imogen set up our own incident board for the missing girls – stick everything we’ve got on it.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘If there’s anything you or Jane don’t want just sell it on,’ Harriet suggested. ‘Make a bob or two, I’m sure you’ve no objection to that, have you Gordon?’

  They were standing in Lessing’s kitchen. Harriet was sipping on the mug of hot coffee he’d just handed her. He hadn’t joined her but instead was looking through a pile of letters. He was in his shirt sleeves and lightweight trousers. Dressed like that he’d soon get very cold in that cellar of his.

  ‘It’s good of you to bring them over,’ he conceded looking up. ‘Jane will be very grateful that you thought of her. She’s a sentimental girl,’ he smiled.

  She’d get that from her mother, Harriet thought. She doubted Lessing had ever had a sentimental or compassionate thought in his entire life. Harriet wondered if she could have found it in her heart to forgive him if she wasn’t going to die. She shuddered. What he’d done to Sybil was bad enough, but the children – that was something else, and he’d been at it for ages. No, she could never forgive the cruel bastard, not if she lived to be a hundred.

  ‘I’ve left the stuff in a box in the boot of my car,’ she lied. ‘I’ll get it for you later. Could I have a look at what props you’ve got first?’

  ‘Sure – everything’s downstairs in the cellar. I keep meaning to sort it out, exhibit some of the pieces properly in the spare room upstairs but I never seem to get round to it.’

  ‘You’ve certainly got plenty of room,’ she said looking around. ‘The house must seem very empty without…, well, without Sybil, and with Jane being away at college such a lot.’

  ‘I get by,’ he smiled. ‘Nothing else I can do, is there?’

  Who was he kidding – the way things were now would suit him perfectly. There was no one to bother him or interrupt his pursuits. But that would work in her favour too because no one would miss him either – not for a while anyway.

  Gordon Lessing lived in a huge house on the outskirts of Leesdon. It stood on its own in a large garden bounded by a six foot stone wall. It was a perfect place to get forgotten in, and that was exactly what was going to happen. . Once she got him down those cellar steps he wasn’t coming up again. Gordon Lessing would breathe his last in the cold and the dark, just like her sister – in abject agony.

  ‘How are you doing anyway? You don’t look so good, the treatment is it?’

  ‘Yes, chemo is a killer I’m afraid, but the prognosis is good,’ she lied.

  He accepted that with a nod and put his mail back on the dresser and the empty mug in the sink.

  ‘Come on then, we’ll take a look,’ he said leading the way. ‘It’s all been down here for ages. Everything’s a bit old and dusty, and you’ll have to take it away yourself in your car,’ he told her. ‘So don’t go choosing anything too big.’

  Harriet clutched the shopping bag she’d brought with her tight and made her way down the steep, stone steps carefully, she didn’t want to fall. He’d put a light on but the enclosed space still looked dark and there was a musty smell. Obviously not much fresh air got in here.

  ‘Where do we start?’ Harriet asked looking at the array of different sized boxes piled up all over the floor. ‘Do any of these contain costumes?’

  ‘There’s some over there,’ he pointed to a long wooden trunk. ‘I can’t vouch for the condition but with a wash they should be fine. The boxes in that far corner have some magician’s tricks in them – worth a look, take what you want from them.’

  ‘Do you have a torch, Gordon? Even with the light on it’s still difficult to see.’

  He was lurking near the steps – she needed him to come in and help. She wanted him in the centre of the room - there was a large free area on the floor. That’s where he’d lie when she’d finished with him, unable to move or to summon help. She placed her bag down beside the trunk making sure the zipper along the top was fastened tight. The bag contained everything she’d need to keep him in here so she didn’t want him peeking.

  ‘This trunk is heavy – could you give me a hand?’

  Finally he was beside her. He handed her a large torch in a heavy metal case as he rolled up his sleeves preparing to help – just what she needed.

  ‘I’m expecting an important call,’ he explained placing his mobile phone on a shelf. ‘My business phone, I need to keep it handy. I could have somewhere to go at short notice – a new customer,’ he lied.

  ‘There’s some great stuff in here – the Theatre Company will be thrilled. It’s very good of you to let us have it, Gordon,’ she trilled. ‘D’you think you could pull it out from the wall so I can get a better look.

  He bent over grabbing the edge of the trunk – now she had him. He was off balance, hunkered down on his toes fishing around in the trunk. One blow and he’d be on the ground. Harriet gripped the torch tight and raised it high. She’d get one shot at this. Lessing was a big man and strong. If she failed then he’d have her, and then it would be her that remained cold and forgotten down here.

  With all the strength she could muster Harriet brought the torch crashing down against his right temple. He wobbled for a moment then fell heavily to the floor on his side. He wasn’t quite out of it, more stunned, so she didn’t have long.

  Harriet hit him again, this time a lot harder so much so that the torch fell apart in her hand. He groaned then rolled onto his back – perfect.

  She would have to work fast – he was out, and although it had been quite a blow she’d inflicted, Harriet wasn’t strong, so he’d most likely come round again soon. She took a cable tie, a strong thick one from her bag and fastened both his wrists together. He mumbled something, his body jolting as he tried to move. Harriet stood back staring at the injured man. The only way to ensure he couldn’t escape was to do his legs. She had to render him immobile.

  To keep him still she took the rope from her bag and bound his ankles together– it was done. She had him. It was just a shame that he didn’t realise what was going on, what was about to happen.

  Harriet hummed to herself as she picked through the boxes looking for something to use on his legs. She needed something to hit him with. Poor Sybil had suffered with a broken her leg for days before she was found. The same fate must befall him. It was the least she could do now –so she needed to find something heavy to hit his knees with.

  Do it, the voice urged. Do it now before he comes round properly. You’ll never get another chance like this – take it!

  The voice was such a comfort – al
ways on her side. Harriet looked around for something then spotted an axe lying amongst a pile of rusting tools. She picked it up, felt it sit cold and heavy in the palm of her hand. She could do this, she had to do this - the voice demanded it.

  Harriet lifted the axe high with both hands. She aimed for his right kneecap then closed her eyes.

  Despite her weak state the blow had power fuelled with rage behind it, and landed with a dull sort of thud on his leg. She heard the thud then a crack, and then the room was alive with his shrieks as Gordon Lessing screamed in agony.

  ‘Stop, what the fuck ….’ His garbled words were intermingled with gasps of pain. He wanted to grab his knee but he couldn’t, the bitch had him tied somehow. ‘Let me go, come on woman, have you gone mad?’ He screamed again, the pain was unbearable.

  Harriet could see blood seeping through his trousers and there was a small pool forming on the floor where he lay. It must hurt like hell - he was still yelping and swearing.

  ‘Shush Gordon, you need to listen to me,’ she soothed. ‘You’re injured, quite badly too and I don’t think you’re going to make it. In fact I know you’re not going to make it,’ she grinned at him.

  The man shrieked in terror, the woman had lost it.

  ‘Whatever this is about, we can sort it,’ he shot at her between gasps for breath.

  ‘This is for Sybil,’ she told him patiently with a look of satisfaction on her face as she took the axe to his other knee.

  At that Gordon Lessing lost consciousness. Harriet took a long silk scarf from the costumes box and wrapped it tight around his mouth. She felt exhausted and needed to rest now, she’d come back later to make sure he was still suffering.

  But she’d done it, served him right, heartless bastard that he was. She felt nothing – no pity, no remorse. Why was that - she wasn’t a killer? It was the illness. The cancer had not only eaten away at her body but it had eaten away all inhibition, all conscience too. She could kill with impunity – what power that was, she realised with a sudden rush of joy.

  The phone, Harriet, take his phone, the voice urged. Good idea – she doubted he could reach it but she shouldn’t take any chances. Snatching it from the shelf, she put it in her bag.

  Chapter 12

  ‘I’ve got something, Guv,’ Imogen told Calladine excitedly. ‘Jayden North, you know, Albert North’s nephew – he found the body on the common? Well, he’s awaiting trial for breaking into Tariq Ahmed’s car. Apparently he was looking for drugs.’

  Now that was something, but what did it mean. If the boy had a beef with Doctor Ahmed what did that have to do with his uncle ending up dead on the common?

  ‘Bring him in,’ Calladine decided. ‘Take Rocco with you when he comes back.’

  ‘They’ve just pulled into the car park, Guv, so I’ll get my coat.’

  It might be nothing but it was odd nonetheless. What it meant – Calladine could only guess at. But it was a link, and the only one they had, between the North family and Ahmed.

  ‘You should have come – she’s nice,’ Ruth said sticking her nose around his door.

  ‘Did she say anything, in front of Rocco I mean?’

  Ruth gave him another of her looks then shook her head.

  ‘It’s difficult to say whether she knows or not. She didn’t seem surprised to see us and she was more than happy to talk. She did admit that they were having an affair, her and the good Doctor. It was a secret – apparently Ahmed was coy about announcing it their colleagues. Samantha Hurst is a cool cookie though. She showed little emotion, she certainly didn’t strike me as someone devastated by her lover’s death.’

  ‘Imogen and Rocco have gone to bring Jayden North in. He broke into Ahmed’s car looking for drugs,’ he told her. ‘I’m sat here trying to piece it together but I can’t make the leap between that and the two deaths.’

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t try – perhaps there is no link and it’s simple coincidence.’

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidence as you well know.’

  Just at that moment Calladine’s mobile rang – it was his daughter, Zoe.

  ‘What’s going on with you and Lydia,’ she began, without even saying ‘hello’. ‘Only she’s been stuck on our sofa crying her heart out since this morning and I haven’t a clue what to do with her.’

  ‘I don’t know what you think I can do about it. She walked out on me. It’s not my fault if I don’t come up to expectations. Leaving was her decision, I didn’t tell her to go or anything. She’s in a bad mood, that’s all, she’ll come round.’

  ‘You really are a piece of work where women are concerned,’ Zoe scoffed down the phone. ‘Bad mood my …, well you know what I mean. You’ve done something, said something, but whatever it is you’ve got her rattled.’

  ‘She’ll sort herself out, you’ll see. Lydia’s tough – she doesn’t need me, not really.’

  At that Zoe laughed. ‘I had this relationship down as you needing her! So, come on, what’s happened, because it’s plain that something has.’

  ‘It’s work, that’s all. It gets in the way. She wants to do things and I can’t. I’m up to my eyes in a big case currently, late hours, not much fun, you know how it is.’

  ‘So what do I do with her? She mooching about our house like a lost soul – can’t you come and get her? Buy her something, take her out tonight?’

  ‘Can’t tonight – like I said, things are heavy at work.’

  At that Ruth, who was still in his office, rolled her eyes. Who was he trying to kid – it was more likely that Amaris Dean was getting heavy.

  ‘Give her a bit longer – she’ll be fine, I promise you.’

  ‘Okay but if she’s still here tomorrow then it’s up to you, got it?’

  ‘We’ll speak again in morning then.’

  Calladine put his mobile back in his jacket pocket and rubbed his neck. ‘Women, always on my back the bloody lot of them.’

  ‘Lydia took care of you when you were ill – you owe her an explanation, that’s the very least you can do.’

  ‘Perhaps later on in week, for the time being I’ll leave her be.’

  ‘Wimp,’ she retorted back. ‘So who’s going to interview the North lad?’

  ‘Me and you I reckon.’

  ‘Give me a couple of ticks to get straight.’

  Calladine poured himself a coffee from the pot in his office. Zoe was right and so was Ruth. He’d have to come clean sooner or later. He didn’t love Lydia, he probably never had. He’d been infatuated, flattered by her attention. He could see that now and he wanted out. Amaris Dean? The very thought of her set his nerve ends tingling. He’d have to see how that went.

  He downed the luke warm liquid and went out into the main office. The two incident boards were directly in his line of vision - two dead men on one, and on the other, the two missing girls. They should be spending their time looking for the kids. He didn’t want to think about what their parents were going through. On the plus side despite what he might think of the man personally, Greco seemed like a smart cop. He was certainly a better bet to find them than Thorpe was.

  ‘Guv,’ Ruth called out. ‘Jayden North – he didn’t just do Doctor Ahmed’s car. It seems he went on a bit of spree and did about six of them in the ‘Doctors only’ car park,’ she handed him a copy of the charge sheet. ‘It’s entirely likely that he’s telling the truth and he’d no idea who the cars belonged to. That he really was simply looking for drugs,’ she pointed out.

  She was probably right, another dead end then.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘He’s been interviewed once this week already, and he’s out on bail until he goes back to court,’ he said looking at the sheet again. ‘A lot of stuff was found on him but no drugs. He took a laptop, a phone and some cash. I don’t think it’ll get us anywhere but I’ll have a word anyway.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I can do this on my own so would you make arrangements to take Doctor Hurst to Ahmed’s house?’ With that he l
eft the office.

  Rocco and Imogen were bringing a sheepish looking Jayden North into the building as Calladine went down the corridor.

  ‘Soft interview room,’ he instructed them. ‘Are you okay, Jayden?’ He asked the lad. ‘How are you doing – getting things sorted for Albert’s send off?’

  ‘Me dad’s seeing to it,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s emptying the place, council want the flat back quick.’

  Calladine led the way into the small room and indicated for Jayden to sit on one of the upholstered chairs.

  ‘Imogen you stay here with me, Rocco go up to the office - Ruth wants you to go with her to meet Doctor Hurst.’

  ‘Sorry to drag you in, lad,’ he smiled.

  Imogen stood at the back wondering why the Inspector was using his friendly face.

  ‘I know you’re waiting to go to court for the car robbery and that you’ll have your say then, but I have a couple of questions, if that’s okay.’

  The boy shrugged – his eyes fixed on his empty hands on his lap.

  ‘Did you know that one of the cars belonged to a Doctor Tariq Ahmed?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m asking because Doctor Ahmed was murdered earlier this week.’

  At that Jayden North’s head sprung up, his eyes filled with fear as he regarded the detective. ‘You can’t pin that on me. I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know whose car I was robbing.’

  Calladine shook his head, about to reassure the boy but he butted in.

  ‘You won’t make it stick, you lot can never make anything stick against us Norths. Look at all that stuff with Uncle Albert – didn’t make that stick, did you,’ he scoffed. Evidence or not you still didn’t have enough to stitch him up for murder.’

  That little outburst really threw Calladine, not because of the boy’s anger, but because of what he’d said.

  ‘Your uncle was had up for murder?’