DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Helen H. Durrant

  They were standing by Agnes Jackson’s grave. Fresh flowers had been left that morning.

  “I’m puzzled, that’s all. She had no one, so who’s leaving these?”

  “Soon find out.” Ruth ducked down and read the card that had been left. “My one true love,” she read. “There you are then — an old boyfriend.”

  “Not Agnes. She lost her husband when she was in her fifties and was glad to be rid. She wouldn’t get involved again.”

  Ruth took a closer look at the inscription on the headstone. “There are two of them in there. Agnes Jackson, who died a year ago and her mother, Doris, who died in 1969. Perhaps the flowers are meant for her.”

  “I doubt it. How old would the old codger have to be? Agnes’s mother was sixty when she died.”

  “It’s bugging you, isn’t it?”

  “It’s weird, that’s all. If Agnes was still alive I could have asked her. I don’t know who would know now.”

  “It could be a simple mix-up. A case of the wrong grave.” Ruth noted down the names and the dates. “I’ll ask the vicar later. He might be able to tell me something.”

  * * *

  Kayne Archer was shown to an interview room to wait. He was edgy. He kept looking round as if expecting to meet someone he didn’t want to see.

  “She in yet?” Rocco asked Calladine as they watched him through the two way window.

  “No — and she’d better not have done one with my dog either.”

  “You think Archer is her informant?”

  Calladine nodded.

  “How does that work then? What can he possibly know about Costello?”

  “I’m not sure that he knows anything, Rocco. All I do know is that he and his mates have upset someone. Costello? A rival firm making a play for the Hobfield? Who knows? He had a gun on him too. It’s gone to the Duggan. Julian should be able to tell us if it was the one that killed Emily and shot Wayne Davey.”

  “She won’t like it if we muscle in.”

  “In that case, Rocco, she should get in on time. Come on then. Let’s get this started.”

  “Mr Archer,” Calladine began with a smile. “Careless of you, getting picked up like that. Didn’t you realise you were a marked man?”

  Kayne Archer was tall and thick-set. His complexion was swarthy and pock-marked and he looked older than his nineteen years. He wore the regulation denims and hoodie of most of the crew off the estate. The hood was pulled over his head. He looked as though he didn’t want to be seen. Who could he be afraid of here in the nick?

  “Davey and Garrett are dead,” he grunted.

  “How do you know about Garrett?”

  “Word’s out. Some rival gang got them both.”

  Calladine smiled. “Rival to who? Costello? You must have got that wrong. Whoever killed your mates doesn’t have a beef with Costello. He rarely operates around here these days.

  “I’ll be next. I need protection.”

  Short and sweet. And avoiding an answer.

  “Why? Who are you afraid of?”

  “The whole bloody lot of them.” There was real fear in his eyes. “Costello, because he thinks I’m a grass. The firm who want to take over, because I’m in the way.”

  “Costello has no interest in you.”

  “He’ll come after me. He thinks I know things. He wants to shut me up.”

  “Who have you been working for, Kayne?”

  “I don’t know. This rival gang — whoever!”

  Calladine knew that Archer wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to the police like this. He’d try his best to get away with saying very little. He was only here at all because it was safer than being on the street.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  Archer appeared to wrestle with this for a few moments.

  “We could bail you — send you back out there and see what happens,” added Calladine.

  “Costello wants the estate.”

  “Why? Who told you that?”

  “A bloke said he could use the three of us. We stood to make a lot of money.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “He works for Costello.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Archer nodded. “He knew things, about jobs Costello and him had worked on.”

  “Tell me about the gun, Kayne. Start with where you got it from.”

  “He gave it to me.”

  “The bloke who works for Costello? Does he have a name?” Calladine asked. “And think carefully because it could make all the difference to where you spend the next few decades of your life.”

  Archer’s head shot up. He looked Calladine in the eye. “I didn’t use it. I never shot anybody. No bullets, you see. We were going to do a trade for the weed, but things never got that far.”

  “Not much use, is it, a gun without bullets. Who was this bloke who gave it to you?”

  “I dunno.”

  Calladine tried another tack. “You said Costello thinks you know things. What things, Kayne?”

  The lad looked Calladine in the eye. “That’s just it — I don’t. It’s all one big scam. I was paid to contact the police. I was told to talk to a DI King. I was to make out that I knew stuff, something that’d stitch Costello up good and proper.”

  That much Calladine could believe; it was why Eliza King was here. But who would gain from this charade?

  “Who told you to do this, Kayne?”

  “Never gave me no name. Said it didn’t matter.”

  “The same bloke who gave you the gun?”

  “No. It was a woman.”

  “You’d been recruited by Costello’s people. Why double-cross him? You must have realised that was a dangerous game to play.”

  “I thought I could handle it. She offered me a lot of money too.”

  “Did you get paid?”

  Archer shook his head. “Only a bit. I was supposed to get the remainder once it was done.”

  “When did you know it was a scam?” Calladine asked.

  “When I couldn’t contact her anymore.”

  “Do you even know if there is such information?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “Who is she, Kayne?”

  The lad stared at his hands, which he’d placed flat on the desk top. “I don’t know her. I’ve never even seen her. She always texted me.”

  “Back to the bloke who recruited you and your mates. He gave you a gun. Handed it to you, I presume. So come on — what did he look like?”

  Archer was back staring at his hands. He didn’t want to talk. But he wasn’t stupid. Calladine was counting on him realising that if he had any hope of walking away from this, he had no choice but to give the police what they wanted.

  “He didn’t give me the gun. He left it for me. He put it in a carrier bag and left it on the common. In a bin.”

  “When was this?”

  “Same day Wayne got his kneecaps done.”

  “So come on then, what did he look like?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t see much of him. He was tall, thin and wore a suit.”

  Calladine was getting frustrated. “That description could fit half the blokes in this town. I need more, Kayne. Is there anything that’s different about him?”

  “He has half a finger missing.” Archer rubbed the little finger on his right hand.

  “How does he contact you?”

  “By mobile. He gave me one to use but I got rid of it. I don’t want anything to do with this anymore.”

  “That was a stupid thing to do. The phone could have helped us find this man.”

  “Never mind the phone. I need locking up for my own protection. I’ve got Costello’s goons after me for ducking out. Once they find out that I was working for that scary cow too, I’ll be a goner.”

  Calladine could barely restrain his laughter — a scally off the Hobfield asking to be locked up!

  “Can you tell me anything else about the woman?”

&nb
sp; “Nowt except she’s careful.”

  “Okay, Kayne. This is what we’ll do. A colleague of mine will want to talk to you. The DI King you mentioned. So we will keep you here. Get the lad a cup of tea,” Calladine told the uniformed officer.

  Calladine and Rocco returned to the incident room. “You don’t think he shot Emily, sir?”

  “No, Rocco. Archer is merely a pawn in this. It would appear that both sides are using him. But I still can’t get my head round the idea that Costello would want the Hobfield.”

  “Archer seems pretty sure, sir.”

  “He’s in a lot of trouble. If the gun was the one used to shoot Emily, and we don’t come up with an alternative, things are looking bleak for him.”

  A quick glance through the glass partition into his office told him that Eliza King still hadn’t turned up. He went to the board and drew a large question mark in the centre. Then he spent the next few minutes bringing Imogen up to speed.

  “I reckon this mystery man with the missing finger has been orchestrating events,” he said. “But unless Archer can come up with something useful to help us find him, we’re stumped. And then there is the woman. What does she hope to gain, I wonder?”

  Imogen nodded at his office. “He might speak to DCI King. They must have built some sort of relationship. In the meantime, I’m off to speak to neighbours of the Rhodes family, if I can find some.” She grabbed her bag.

  “Hi, folks — been missing me?” It was Ruth. And she was carrying Harry. “I’ve had to leave his pram downstairs — no lift.” She passed him to Joyce who was holding her arms out.

  “I’m here to see where you’ve got to with the case,” she explained.

  “I don’t think Birch is keen on you working while you’re still signed off,” said Calladine.

  “Fair enough but if I just happen to glimpse something, well, I’m bound to comment, aren’t I?”

  “In that case you can glimpse this.” He handed her the statement Tanya Mallon had made. “She interfered with Emily’s body. No explanation that holds water and she insists she didn’t take her phone or bag.”

  Ruth read and then waved it at him. “This is a load of rubbish,” she said. “You’re in a strange environment and you find a dead body. A body with a bullet hole in the chest, I should add. Not to mention with blood all over it. What would the normal reaction be?”

  “I made the same point. Tanya Mallon said she didn’t think. That she just wanted to wipe the mud from her face. She used to work for a firm of undertakers so it was no big deal.”

  “Rubbish! Most folk wouldn’t go near. They’d check whether the person was injured but once they realised they were dead, and particularly when they saw all that blood, they’d shy away. They’d most definitely call for help. They certainly wouldn’t wipe faces, touch up make-up and fiddle with hair. The woman’s lying, Tom — has to be. She knew Emily. Not only that, Emily Blackwell was someone Tanya had sympathy for.”

  “There’s nothing in their backgrounds to suggest that.”

  “I’ve told you, you’re not going back far enough.”

  Chapter 15

  “I’m DC Goode from Leesworth CID,” Imogen introduced herself to Mrs Hunter. “I’m looking for people along here who remember the Rhodes family.”

  The elderly woman frowned. “What is it with that lot? Has one of them come into money or suddenly become famous?”

  Imogen smiled. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s just part of an investigation we’re carrying out at the moment. I’m particularly interested in—”

  “Carol Rhodes. You don’t have to tell me. You and half this town it seems.”

  “Has someone else asked about her?”

  “That young woman, Annie Naden, was knocking on doors earlier in the week. She’s the one that bought Clough Cottage. She came round here twice asking questions. I can only tell you what I told her. I’ve no idea where Carol went. You lot investigated back then so you must know more than me. Her bloke was that thug, Vinny Costello. Her parents decided she’d run off with him and dropped it.”

  “Why was the woman from Clough Cottage interested?”

  “She said she’d found something belonging to Carol. If you want to know more, you’ll have to go and ask her.”

  “Are there any of the Rhodes family left?”

  “Parents are dead and I’ve no idea what happened to the boy — Carol’s brother.”

  “Do you recall his name?”

  “Darren. He was a year or two older than Carol. Bad lot. He was into drugs even back then.”

  “Is there anyone else along here who would have known the family?”

  “No, love. I’m all that’s left from them days.”

  “Thanks, Mrs Hunter. You’ve been a great help.”

  Imogen had already knocked on every door on the street. Most folk were out. But from what she’d just been told they wouldn’t be able to add anything anyway. She had no choice. Like it or not she’d have to visit Clough Cottage again.

  * * *

  “Sorry about the noise!” Jack Naden bellowed at Imogen. “We’re having work done for the water supply.”

  “They’re digging a trench right down the hill?” Imogen was surprised.

  “Clough Stream doesn’t reach the well anymore,” he explained. “So we’re having water piped from my father’s source.”

  “Not on the mains?”

  He laughed. “Not up here, love. The well used to do the job. It was piped in, stored, then fed into the cottage. My dad gets the farm supply from a borehole that feeds a huge storage tank. We’ll be okay once the work’s done.”

  Imogen was relieved that she and Julian had lost the bid. Goodness knows what this little lot was costing. And if they had placed the winning bid, Jack’s father might not have been so accommodating with them.

  “I’m from Leesworth CID,” she told him, showing her badge. “It’s your wife I want to speak to.”

  “She’s in th’ house. What’s it about?”

  “A satchel she found.”

  “Bloody thing. She’s gone on about little else since she found it. Help yourself — mind the rough ground.”

  It was odd being back here with all the work going on. Imogen had come to view the cottage with Julian on a warm spring evening. It had been peaceful then. It was in a lovely spot and she’d been smitten. But they’d had a lucky escape. Perhaps there was something to be said for a semi down in Leesdon. At least it would have running water on tap.

  “Annie Naden?”

  The young woman turned around. She was about Imogen’s age and had short blonde hair. Her clothes were covered in a mix of paint and plaster.

  “Look at the state of me,” she said, trying to rub the dirt from her shirt.

  Imogen flashed her badge. “It’s about the satchel you found.”

  “I’ve been meaning to bring it in. At first I thought I might find her — Carol, the girl it belonged to. But no one knows where she is.”

  Annie went to a large pine table where the satchel lay. “Here. Everything is in there. A selection of schoolbooks but, most interesting, her diary. From what she wrote Carol Rhodes seemed like a nice enough girl. I found it in a cupboard behind the panelling over there. Someone must have hidden it all those years ago.”

  “Thanks, Annie. We’re hoping this might help with a case we’re working on. And if we’re lucky, we might find her or a relative we can give it back to.”

  “If you do, let me know. I read her diary. It’s funny but I almost feel as if I know her. She was a typical teenager — head full of boys and going out.” She smiled. “I do hope she’s okay.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “No one has seen her in years. She simply upped and left. That’s not usual for someone with a settled home life, is it?”

  “My bloke and I bid on the cottage, you know,” said Imogen, changing the subject. “You, me and that woman nobody knew.”

  “Sorry if you had your heart set. But in
a way you were lucky. When we bid, we had no idea about the problems, or the history.” She shuddered.

  “The problems I can see well enough, but I know nothing about the history of the place.”

  “A woman lived here, forty odd years ago. She wasn’t popular. Granny Slater, they called her. She carried out abortions in this very kitchen.” Annie folded her arms, shaking her head in disgust. “Possibly even right here.” She slapped her hand on the old pine table. “It’s given me nightmares, I can tell you, since I learned that. We’ve got no choice but to live here now. But if I’d known before the auction I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll make it your own. You are talking a long time ago. A lot of the old houses around here will have history.”

  “What with that and the palaver with the water it’s really hard. All that going on out there had better work. I can’t even wash. There’s nothing comes out of the taps. That was something I hadn’t thought of.”

  “Our forensic people will want to take a look at the place,” Imogen said.

  “The place is in such a mess it hardly seems worth it.”

  “You’d be surprised what they can find. It’ll be the cupboard the satchel was in that will interest them the most. I’ll let you know if we find Carol.” Imogen made to leave.

  “You don’t think she came here for a . . . you know — an abortion?” Annie asked her. “Like I said, I read her diary. Carol was pregnant. It was the last entry she made. There was nothing after that.”

  Imogen suddenly felt cold. Perhaps Annie was right and the place did have ghosts. An abortion? It was certainly possible.

  * * *

  Tanya Mallon was in the bar when Calladine and Rocco arrived.

  “You caught me, Inspector,” she said, raising a glass of red wine. “What can I do for you now?”

  “You can tell me the truth.” He nodded towards a table. “Shall we sit down?”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  She followed Calladine and Rocco to a table.

  “I’d like you to go over what happened when you saw Emily lying on the hillside for me once again.”

  “You can be a real bore at times, Inspector. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  “You recognised her. The pair of you had history.”