Greco was at his desk, elbow deep in paperwork, when Calladine entered his office. For once, the usually impeccably dressed DCI had his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. “What is it, Tom?” he asked, looking annoyed at the interruption. “They want this lot sorted by five. Promotion! Huh. I’ve become nothing more than a glorified office boy.”
Exactly how Calladine had felt when he’d done the job on a temporary basis. He smiled to himself. How long would Greco keep this up before he threw in the towel? At least all the papers were in neat piles and he was sifting through them in some sort of order. Calladine had never admitted it but when he’d been behind that desk, he’d binned a fair amount. “My new granddaughter has received a gift from Lazarov, a flash teddy in a box.”
Greco’s head shot up and he stared at Calladine. “Andrei Lazarov? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Made my heart miss a beat, I can tell you. Do we know anything about what he’s up to these days?”
Greco’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve not had any intel. He was living with his mother on the outskirts of Huddersfield, but he’s not been there for a while. I know the West Yorkshire force are still looking for him, but without success. D’you think the gift could be a hoax?” he asked.
“From someone else, you mean? Who knows?” Calladine said. “But if it’s genuine, it means the villain knows about my private life, down to the fact that I’m now a grandfather. That smacks of research, and I worry that he’s planning something nasty.”
“Like I said, it could be someone winding you up,” Greco suggested. “When Lazarov slipped through the net, the grapevine had him back in Bulgaria and nothing’s been heard since. But there’s bound to be members of his gang still lurking in our neck of the woods. Perhaps one of them is to blame?”
“All I know, Stephen, is that the man is evil, and he holds me responsible for the collapse of his many lucrative activities around here. He lost a lot of money, and in Lazarov’s eyes that means I owe him. Doesn’t make for a quiet night’s sleep, I can tell you.
“What have you done with the toy?” Greco asked.
“I’ve given it to Roxy to examine properly. You know Julian. If he finds out, he’ll go ballistic and not leave the baby’s side.”
“We’ll see what Dr Atkins finds first, and if the toy is in any way dangerous we’ll think again,” Greco said. “Meanwhile, I’ll look out for any intel that’s floating around.”
Seemed reasonable enough. But in the meantime, Calladine would make his own arrangements. He’d never forgive himself if the job and the villains he dealt with were to harm his family.
* * *
Calladine pulled into the Hobfield estate and parked up. Two ageing tower blocks loomed above him like twin portents of doom. He hated this place. As far back as he could remember, nothing good had come out of the Hobfield. In one way or another, most of the cases he dealt with involved this estate and he was growing weary of it. He just hoped that whatever was waiting for him wasn’t bad enough to turn his stomach. To make matters worse, the lift was broken as usual, so he had to trudge up six flights of stone stairs.
“It’s definitely murder,” Ruth told Calladine as soon as he arrived, panting, on the sixth-floor deck of Heron House. “A frenzied attack, Natasha reckons. The poor woman’s been beaten to death. The blow that did it smashed her skull in so that you can see the brain.”
Calladine was still gasping for breath. “Just what we need,” he wheezed. “Any initial ideas? A drug deal gone wrong perhaps?”
“We’ll soon know. Natasha and Julian are looking at the flat now.” Ruth looked him up and down. “You don’t look too clever. What’s going on?”
“Just something with Zoe, nothing important.” Calladine didn’t want to discuss the toy or his fears just yet, not even with Ruth, and anyway, Julian could appear at any moment. As Greco had suggested, they’d wait for Roxy’s results.
“Never mind Zoe, I’m talking about the grey tinge to your face and the fact that you’re totally out of breath.”
“I’m just tired,” he said. Which wasn’t a lie. He had been feeling fragile recently, nothing he could find a reason for, so he put it down to age.
“You should take a holiday. You haven’t been away in years,” she said.
“I’m fine, and who wants a holiday at this time of year? Anyway, I’ve no one to take.”
“You don’t need anyone,” Ruth said. “You could go abroad, a cruise or something. You’d have a great time, a man on his own. You’d have women flocking round you.”
Calladine shook his head. “I’ve promised Zoe I’ll give her a hand with the little one. She and Jo are splitting the maternity leave so they can keep the businesses going. I’ll step in on the days they’re both tied up.”
“They’re young women, they’ve got tons more energy than you. Anyway, what d’you know about running an estate agent’s or being a solicitor? My advice — leave them to it. You look as if you need all the rest you can get.”
“I can look after the little one, answer the phone and take messages. I’m not useless, you know, and I’ve told you, I’m fine.”
“You’re still breathless.”
“Six flights of stairs will do that.”
“You should get yourself checked out. Why not have a word with Doc Hoyle?” Ruth suggested.
“The doc is a busy man. He won’t want me banging on about a bit of breathlessness.”
Ruth gave him one of her unimpressed looks. “I’d give the childminding duties another thought if I were you.”
“But I want to be involved,” he insisted. “I missed out on Zoe, didn’t even know she existed. Little Maisie gives me a second chance.”
“Is that her name then?”
“Zoe likes it, but not a word to Julian.”
Chapter Three
They’d had a quiet few weeks but Calladine, ever the realist, had known it wouldn’t last. Now it looked as if the days of keeping office hours and getting home in time for tea were finally over.
The sight that greeted him as he stood in the doorway of the flat was truly awful. The woman lay on the lino, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. It didn’t take much medical knowledge to know they were broken. Her face was fast disappearing under the close attention of dozens of maggots, and brain tissue gaped from a hole in her skull. “Do we know her?”
“No, and neither do the neighbours, or if they do, they’re not saying,” Ruth replied.
Typical Hobfield. Do nothing, say nothing — and particularly not to the police.
They both pulled on the coveralls one of Natasha’s team handed to them and went to take a look. They hesitated in the open doorway before going in. The smell coming from the flat was revolting.
Dr Natasha Barrington, the Home Office pathologist from the Duggan, was kneeling by the body. “She’s been here a while.”
“That smell — it’s making me feel sick,” Calladine said.
“That’s not like you,” Ruth said, nudging him.
“Someone left the heating on high,” Natasha said. “It might have been deliberate to accelerate decomposition and muddy the waters forensically, and it’s certainly not helped.”
Calladine took a few steps forward. The victim was lying on her back. He shuddered. “Why all the maggots?”
“She vomited shortly before death, there’s some still in her mouth, it attracted the flies.”
“Poor bugger, left here to rot. Surely someone in this godforsaken place must have noticed the smell,” he said.
“This is the Hobfield, Tom. You expect too much,” Ruth said.
“There’s a lot of blood around the head where she hit the ground. Most of it has dried on the floor, and there are splatters over that wall.” Natasha pointed them out.
“There must have been a fight of sorts,” Ruth said. “She’d at least have struggled. It would have taken time. The killer didn’t stop at one blow either. From the look of the body, they went on and on. Someone along this deck mus
t have heard something.”
“Ruth is right,” Natasha said. “She has multiple broken bones. Poor woman. She took some beating.” She pointed. “And then there’s that over there.”
They’d been so intent on the body, and the state of it, that they hadn’t seen what was on the bare wall nearest the body. The single word, sorry, and a small drawing, both written in blood. The drawing was indistinct. They took a closer look.
“What d’you make of that?” Calladine asked.
“Well, it’s interesting. It’s just not consistent with what went on,” Ruth said. “From the look of the body, they hit her over and over, so when, I wonder, did they decide they were sorry?”
Ruth had a point. “Whoever did this must have been covered in blood,” Calladine said. He went to the door and looked up and down the deck. “Someone must have heard or seen something. Do we have names for the folk who live along here?”
“Not yet, but we’ll do some digging,” Ruth said. “They won’t speak to us though. If this is drug-related they’ll see it as more than their lives are worth.”
Natasha looked up from the body. “There’s nothing on her, no mobile or bag. The flat is empty except for a sofa and that old mattress in the corner. It looks to me as if she was dossing down in here.”
“Perhaps she was, but she’ll have left the flat, even if only to score drugs.” The woman was skinny, like so many other drug users they’d seen over the years. “I’ll take a wander up the deck, see if anyone will at least tell us who she is. A name would make our job easier,” Calladine said, happy for an excuse to be out of the stifling flat.
He knocked on the door of the neighbouring flat. A woman with an infant tucked under her arm stood glaring at him defiantly.
“What now?” she demanded. “Noisy lot, aren’t you? You’ve woken the little mite here.”
“Sorry,” Calladine said. “Did you know the woman next door?”
“Nope. Saw her once, nasty piece of work. Heard her though, playing that bleeding music at all hours of the night. Off her head most of the time. I’m not surprised she’s dead.” She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “Overdose, was it?”
“We’re still investigating,” Calladine said. “Was there anyone living with her?”
“A bloke came and visited, sometimes he stayed.”
“Does he have a name?”
“No idea who he is,” she said.
“When did you hear her last?” Calladine asked.
“Three or four nights ago. It’s been like the grave since, so we all got some peace. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, a squatter she was. The family who lived in that flat left months ago, couldn’t find the rent.”
In Calladine’s opinion, asking people to find rent for one of these was an insult. The two blocks were old and poorly maintained. He knocked at doors a little further on but no one else responded. The neighbours were either out or just not answering, probably the latter. Three or four days ago was all he had until Natasha got to work. That would have to do for time of death.
“Woman next door said she hasn’t heard her these last few nights,” he said to Natasha.
“I need to get her on the slab, but that could be right, Tom, given the state of the body. You’ll have more just as soon as I’ve done some tests and analysed the insect life in those wounds on her face.”
Calladine saw Ruth shudder. Death still got to her — well, she was lucky. The older he got, the more cynical he became and, apart from the smell, the less such scenes bothered him.
“Rocco is joining us,” she said. “I’ll hang around, we’ll talk to a few more of the tenants, see what we can find out about our victim.”
Calladine nodded. “Get the names of everyone who lives on this deck. The neighbour said she played loud music every night.”
“Probably on her mobile, though we haven’t found one.”
“I’ll head back to the station, get Alice on the missing persons file.”
“PM in the morning!” Natasha called out to his retreating back.
“We’ll be there,” he said with a cheery wave.
He made his way down the stairs to his car. It was way past lunchtime and he’d only had a coffee for breakfast. The canteen would be his first stop as soon as he got back. He’d just started the engine and pulled out when there was a loud crash and his car slewed sideways.
Chapter Four
A woman ran towards him, looked at the damage to the front left wing of Calladine’s vehicle and gasped. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I just didn’t see you. Are you all right?”
Calladine got out and examined his broken headlight and the scuff marks on the paintwork. The local garage would fix the light, they owed him a favour. As for the paintwork, he wasn’t really bothered. The car was old and not worth much. “I’m fine, there’s no need to panic,” he told the woman. “The car was hardly in the best nick in the first place. D’you want to take a minute?”
She shook her head. “I can’t, I’ve got to get back to work.” She looked up at him. “How d’you want to play this? Insurance, or what?”
“Whatever you want is fine by me. Is there much damage to your vehicle?”
“My bumper got a tiny dent, that’s all.” She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m more bothered about yours.”
“Well, don’t be, I’ll get it fixed myself.”
She rummaged in her bag and produced a card. “You must let me pay, please, I insist. It’ll make me feel so much better.”
Calladine looked at the card. Her name was Kitty Lake. She was manager of a restaurant and bar in Lowermill, Mother’s Kitchen. So, she was local. He’d never seen her before. “You really don’t have to, there’s no need to feel obligated. This old heap needs trading in anyway.” He smiled. “I’ve just held on to it because I’m too lazy.”
Kitty Lake smiled. She gave a loud sigh of relief. “Thanks for taking it this way. There are plenty who’d jump down my throat and demand a full respray at the very least.”
“Not me. I need my car for work, it’s not a status symbol.” The woman was well dressed, and her car was an expensive model. She was definitely out of place on the Hobfield. “What are you doing round here anyway?”
“I got lost. I turned into the estate intending to park up and get my bearings,” she said.
Calladine shook his head. “This estate is no place to hang around, believe me. Park for any length of time and the toerags will have your wheels.”
She looked doubtful.
“I’m not joking,” Calladine said. “The Hobfield is a dangerous place.”
“I haven’t lived around here long, I’m not familiar with the dodgy places yet,” she said.
“Well, remember this one.”
“You won’t let me pay, and we’re not involving the insurance companies, I’m really grateful. Having to go through them would really have stitched up my no-claims. Why are you being so reasonable? The car’s not stolen, is it? You’ve just said this is a dodgy place.”
Calladine gave a laugh. “God, no. Who’d want to pinch this heap? Besides, I’m a policeman. I assure you there’s nothing dodgy going on.”
This made Kitty Lake laugh too. “Okay, Mr Policeman. Well, perhaps you’ll let me take you out to dinner instead,” she said. “Only if you want to, of course, and if there isn’t a Mrs Policeman.”
Well, why not? There was no woman in his life currently and she was very attractive. “I’m single and my name’s Tom, Tom Calladine, and I’d love to have dinner with you sometime.”
“Tonight?”
Calladine hesitated. They had a murder on their hands and there was work to do.
“Even policemen have to eat,” she said. “We can go to my restaurant, ‘Mother’s Kitchen’. It’s a nice place, good wholesome northern food. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Not so nice that have I to dress up too much, I hope,” he said.
“No, it’s not that special. Wear what you want.”
/> Calladine knew the one she meant. On Lowermill High Street, it had only recently opened. He nodded. “Okay, it’s a date. Shall we say eight and meet inside?”
“Thank you, you’ve eased my conscience no end. I feel tons better now.”
He watched her drive off. She was younger than him, slender, and her long dark hair blew about her face charmingly. As for him . . . Calladine shook his head. He preferred not to think about how much he’d gone downhill of late. He wasn’t sure that the invitation was anything more than Kitty easing her guilty conscience. In any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have looked twice at him.
Calladine looked up and saw Ruth watching from the sixth-floor balcony. As soon as Kitty Lake took off in her car, she rang his mobile.
“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I? Who is she?” Ruth asked.
Calladine looked at the card again. “Kitty Lake. She manages a restaurant in Lowermill and she pranged my car.”
“So why all the smiles?”
“Because we’ve come to an arrangement. No insurance and I won’t let her pay, so she’s taking me out to dinner.” He beamed up at her.
“You amaze me. A pretty face, and common sense flies out the window.”
“I’m surprised you could see her from up there. You’re right though, she is a bit of looker. Dinner will be no hardship at all.”
Calladine gave Ruth a wave and drove off. He felt better, more positive. Meeting Kitty Lake had been just the boost he needed.
Chapter Five
Back at the station, Calladine grabbed a pack of sandwiches and a coffee in the canteen and went upstairs to his office. He found a message from Roxy on his mobile. She needed a word.
He rang her straight away. Maybe she had something on the toy he’d left with her.
“I took it apart and examined it thoroughly. There’s nothing, Tom. The toy is fine, it poses no danger at all. I’ve even managed to stitch it back together. It’s as good as new, so you can pick it up when you come in for the PM tomorrow.”
DEAD SORRY a totally addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Calladine & Bayliss Mystery Book 11) Page 2