DEAD SORRY a totally addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Calladine & Bayliss Mystery Book 11)

by Helen H. Durrant

  It sounded plausible and she had no problem relating the tale. There was no stumbling or awkwardness when she told him.

  “Is it that important? Don’t you want me if I’m scarred? Damaged goods?” she said, making light of it.

  “It’s not that.” Calladine was too afraid to confront her with it. He couldn’t do it, not now, to her, not just yet. He didn’t want to believe what his reason was telling him must be the case. “Look, I’m sorry but I have to go. I’ll make it up to you another time.” He grabbed his overcoat and without a backward glance, fled down the stairs. Out on Lowermill High Street, he gasped for breath. Was this a panic attack? Was he ill? He had no idea, and right now he didn’t care. He was just pleased to be out of there and away from Kitty.

  “I thought you were staying for supper,” someone said from behind him. “Kitty’s talked about little else all day.”

  Calladine looked round. It was the man from the museum next door, Ronan Sinclair. There were a number of cardboard boxes by the door, and he was picking them up and taking them inside.

  The man smiled. “I’m the curator here — well, curator, dogsbody, anything and everything that’s required really.”

  He was a smartly dressed man, tall, with iron-grey hair. He was older than Calladine had imagined, his own age at least.

  Ronan moved closer. “You don’t look right. Want to come inside, get your breath back?”

  Calladine did feel shaky, which wasn’t like him at all. He nodded. He’d take a few minutes to recover and then get off home. “I’ve not been here in years,” he said.

  “We’ve moved on in recent times. We put on events and displays to attract the schools and bring in the locals. We’re aiming to be the hub of the community. I think the museum is more popular now than it ever was.”

  “And you’re getting the Hoard back, that’ll cause some interest,” Calladine said.

  “It certainly will.” He grinned. “Security will be a pain though. We had to spend money and go through hoops to satisfy the people in London before they’d let us have it.”

  “Worth it though. It’ll bring in folk from all round Greater Manchester, not just locals.”

  Ronan Sinclair picked up one of the battered cardboard boxes left by the door and placed it on a table in the centre of the room. “The people around here bring us all sorts of things,” he said. “They turn out their attics and drawers and imagine we’ll be happy to find a home for all their old junk. I mean, what’s this?”

  Calladine looked at the object Sinclair held up and couldn’t believe he’d asked the question. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  Sinclair tossed it back in the box. “No, mate, I haven’t a clue.”

  Calladine shoved his hands in his coat pockets, nodded a goodbye and left. The evening had been a disaster on the Kitty front and now he had something else to think about. Ronan Sinclair was a fraud.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Day Six

  “Question for you,” he said to Ruth the following morning. “How come the curator of the local museum has no idea what a wooden pirn is?”

  “A pirn?”

  “You know, they used them in weaving. The bit you wind the woollen thread on to and stick into the shuttle. There’s loads of them cluttering up the junk shops and car boots around here, along with other weaving paraphernalia.”

  “I know what they are,” she said. “I’m trying to understand what you’re getting at.”

  Without explaining, he turned to Alice. “Ronan Sinclair, the curator of Lowermill museum — find out how long he’s been in post and where he came from.”

  “Is it important?” Ruth asked. “Only right now we’ve got the odd murder on our plates, among other puzzles.”

  “I think it’s key, Ruth.” Calladine disappeared into his office and shut the door behind him. An hour of quiet would do him good. They had the meeting with Julian later, and it was important he stay awake. When Julian was in full flow, he tended to drone. It could send anyone to sleep, tired or not.

  Calladine had had a bad night going over the previous evening in his head. He should have tackled Kitty properly, asked her outright, but he’d wimped out. Understandable, he supposed. He liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It was something he’d have to get over and quick, because if his theory was right, she was a killer. Then there was bumping into Sinclair and the conversation they had had. Then, sometime between three and four in the morning, he’d had a eureka moment.

  Calladine believed he was right in his suspicion. This case wasn’t about drugs at all. It might have been for Lazarov, but he was out of it now anyway. Calladine wanted more information to prove his theory before he discussed it with the team.

  Alice knocked on the door and he beckoned her in. “I can’t find a single trace of Karen Thornton, sir,” she said.

  “Forget her for the moment and concentrate on Sinclair. Oh, and do me a personal favour. Find out everything you can about Kitty Lake, the manager of the new restaurant in Lowermill, Mother’s Kitchen, and keep it to yourself. Get anything, don’t discuss it, come to me direct.”

  Alice nodded and left the room.

  His mobile rang. It was Marilyn. “Sam has just growled at me again. Can you believe that? The way I used to spoil him, too. Ungrateful mutt.”

  “What d’you want, Marilyn?” he asked.

  “You left this morning and never even said goodbye. I was hoping we could chat over breakfast and you might give me the grand tour, show me what’s changed around here in my absence.”

  He didn’t have time for this. Fine, she could stay, but no way was he entertaining or babysitting her. “Sorry, no time. Isn’t there someone else you can bother?”

  “Ray was right about you, you’re rude and you’ve no time for anyone. Family has always come last where you’re concerned. Are you aware that your attitude broke Freda’s heart?”

  “You know precious little about Freda and you’re not family either,” he snapped. “Neither was Ray, come to that.”

  “Rubbish. Freda raised the both of you. Now, where can I find Zoe? I’d like to have a look at that infant of hers.”

  “You’re out of luck, they’ve gone away for a few days,” he said.

  “At this time of year and with a new babe? Won’t be much of a break. Hard work if you ask me.”

  “Look, Marilyn, I’ve got to go, I’ve a mountain of stuff to get through. Catch you later.”

  Calladine finished the call and went to find Ruth.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” she asked.

  “Marilyn’s being a pain already,” he said. “She thinks I’ve nowt better to do than run her around town.”

  “Fancy going down to the canteen for a coffee?” she asked.

  Not a bad idea, might help him stay awake.

  “You look ropey again,” she said on their way down.

  “Lack of sleep and having Marilyn under my feet.”

  “Good night at Kitty’s, was it?”

  “No, I left early again.”

  “What is it with you and that woman? For reasons I can’t fathom, she likes you, but the minute she tries to get close, you do one.”

  He ignored the comment. “D’you think you’d still recognize Millie Reed if you saw her today?”

  She blinked. “I’m not with you.”

  “Suppose those aren’t her bones. Suppose they belong to someone else. What if Millie came back to Leesworth for some reason? Would you know it was her?”

  Ruth looked mystified. “I might, but I didn’t know her that well in the first place and it’s been a lot of years. Some folk don’t change much, but others do.” She gave him a funny look. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Calladine took a last swig of his coffee and helped himself to a biscuit. “You said Kitty deliberately ran into me that day on the Hobfield.”

  “She did. I saw it plain as day. It was no accident, Tom.”

  “She hasn’t met you,” he said though
tfully. “Would you visit the restaurant this morning, Mother’s Kitchen? Don’t say who you are, have a good look at Kitty, then come back here and tell me what you think.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she shook her head. “You’re not serious. Surely you don’t think Kitty Lake is Millie? When did you dream that one up?”

  “I think it’s a possibility and I want you to help me make up my mind. Not a word to the others, mind, or to Greco. For the time being, it’s just between you and me.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Ruth had just parked up in Lowermill and was crossing the road when she spotted Jake Ireson coming towards her. She and Jake had lived together as a couple and had a son, but were currently estranged. Several months ago, he’d had an affair with a colleague at the school where he taught and was now living with her. Initially, Ruth had been upset, then, realizing that they hadn’t been getting on for a while, she resigned herself to the situation. But as the weeks passed, she began to think again. There was a time when she’d loved Jake, and if she was honest with herself, she’d like those times back.

  “Ruth!” he called out. “I was going to ring you. Can we talk? Soon?”

  She looked at him. He had that earnest look on his face, the one that smacked of him wanting something.

  “Work, Jake. Remember that? Well, I’m up to my ears right now.” She immediately regretted the put-off. Why, whenever she saw him face to face, did she always react this way? Orla Gray, that was why, and the fact that Jake had fallen so easily for her.

  “Don’t be so antagonistic towards me, Ruth. I only want a chat.”

  He had that little-boy-lost look, the one he did so well. Her resolve melted. She missed him and so did their son, Harry. She nodded at the Mother’s Kitchen restaurant. “Okay. How about now? You can take me for a pot of tea in there.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do and it’s work, so no mention of me being a detective, got it?”

  They found a table and sat down. “What’s this about?” he whispered.

  “I can’t say, so don’t ask. How’s Orla?” A snide comment and another one she regretted. Oh well, she’d asked now. Ruth could see from his face that the question threw him. “I won’t pretend she doesn’t exist. After all, she’s the reason you left us.”

  “Don’t spare my feelings,” he said. “Throw it all in my face why don’t you.”

  “You didn’t spare mine, Jake. You took off at a moment’s notice, didn’t give me or Harry a second thought as I recall.”

  “You’re right, Ruth.” He looked crestfallen. “I can’t pretend Orla didn’t happen. She came along when I was at a weak moment. I’m not making excuses, I was looking for something — change, anything, and there she was.”

  Ruth laughed. “Poor you, a weak moment. Couldn’t help yourself I suppose. Not your fault at all, you just couldn’t resist her.”

  “If you’re going to be like this, I’m leaving you to it,” he snapped.

  “Like what?”

  “Bitter, Ruth, and it doesn’t suit you. We need to talk, properly, like adults. All this sniping will get us nowhere.”

  “Quiet, the waiter’s here. Order the tea and let me look around.”

  Ruth saw a woman standing behind the reception counter who had to be Kitty. Ruth stood up, went over and asked for the ladies.

  The woman was facing Ruth, so she had a good look at her. Beneath the dark hair, she saw high cheekbones and full lips. There was no mole now, but there was the faintest scar where it would have been.

  “Well that sorts that,” Ruth said. “Give me a moment and then we’ll talk.” Turning her back on Jake, Ruth took her mobile from her pocket and rang Calladine. “I can’t be sure. There are similarities. Same height, and she does have a scar. The blonde hair’s gone but that’s easy enough to see to. Sorry, Tom, that’s the best I can give you.”

  “Nothing certain, then?”

  “I wish I could remember something definitive about her, apart from that mole, but I can’t. For now, the jury is out.” Ruth put her mobile back in her pocket and sat down opposite Jake. “Right then, how are we going to sort this?”

  “I want you back,” he said, surprising her. “You and Harry. I want us to be a family again.”

  “I’m not sure if I can trust you now, Jake,” she said doubtfully. “You dumped us once, and for no other reason than a pretty face as far as I can see. You could do it again, and neither me nor Harry could take that. He’s getting older. Soon he’ll understand what’s going on.”

  “This is no spur-of-the-moment thing, Ruth. I’ve lain awake nights thinking it over. I made a mistake. I was wrong and I deeply regret it. I want you back, simple as that.”

  His voice shook, he sounded emotional, which was unusual for him. She saw that he meant every word. This was decision time for Ruth. Part of her wanted to send him packing, pay him back for what he’d done to her, but what would that solve? She still loved him and so did Harry.

  “Me and Harry need a commitment from you. So what do we get?”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “Not good enough,” she said. Ruth watched him. His hands were shaking so much he spilled sugar on the table. He was really nervous, obviously there was a lot riding on her response.

  “Okay, I understand, and you’re right,” he said. “If we sort this, then we do it properly.” He took her hand. “I mean, make it legal. Marry me, Ruth.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Ruth was silent all the way to the Duggan. Calladine pulled into the car park and turned to her. “What’s the matter? Is it the Kitty thing? You knew her once and I trust your judgement, which is why I asked.”

  “No, it’s not that, though I do think your reasoning is a bit weird. Millie Reed is dead, Kitty has a scar on her face. You can’t investigate every woman with a scar.”

  “Point taken, but I saw a photo in her flat of her as a young teenager. She looked very like the Reed girl, blonde hair and all.”

  “A lot of kids have blonde hair.”

  “Okay, we’ll drop it for now. If not Kitty, what is it then? You’re in a strange mood.”

  She was smiling. “I bumped into Jake. We went to the restaurant together, talked things through.”

  “About bloody time. Cleared the air between you I hope.”

  “Oh we did that all right. The short version is he’s asked me to marry him.”

  Ruth got out of the car and crossed the tarmac ahead of him. Calladine was delighted. At last. Jake Ireson had taken long enough to get it together. He was glad he’d finally seen sense.

  “Hold up,” he called to her. “Before we go in, don’t say a word to the others about the Kitty thing.”

  “Afraid you’ll look foolish?” she said.

  “No, well, perhaps. I’m still not sure.”

  “And you can keep my news just between us too. Deal?” Calladine nodded. “Once Julian has finished with us, you can tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours and where these wild ideas about Kitty have come from.”

  “The photos started it,” he admitted.

  “They’re old, Tom, taken at a distance and blurry. How can they tell you anything?”

  “You think I’m mistaken?” he said.

  “I do,” she said, “and I hope that whatever mess you made of this fledgling relationship last night is repairable.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Marilyn behaving now?” she asked.

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Her turning up like this is very odd, don’t you think? Where did she get the money for the appeal for starters?”

  “I’ve no idea. Perhaps I should ask.”

  “Debra Weller is a partner in a firm of top-notch lawyers and doesn’t come cheap, and then there’s the barrister to pay for plus a load of other expenses. I thought Marilyn was broke. All Ray’s money and goods were confiscated — proceeds of crime and all that.”

  Ruth was right. And
Calladine hadn’t even thought about it.

  * * *

  Calladine, Ruth, Rocco and Greco sat on one side of the table with Julian, Roxy and Natasha on the other. Julian handed each of them a document of several pages.

  “I’ll give you our findings in more detail, but I’ve summarized them for you while you’re waiting for the official report,” he said.

  Roxy handed Calladine his mobile. “We have the number of the person who rang you — Lazarov you said. Needless to say, the phone was our old friend, a pay-as-you-go. I rang the number back yesterday and a man answered. He said only one word, ‘yes’. I made up some tale about wanting to know train times. He cottoned on and finished the call pretty quick, but it was enough to ping the mast in Lowermill. I did try again but the number is no longer responding.”

  “Someone has Lazarov’s phone and he’s local,” Calladine said.

  “It would appear so,” Roxy said.

  “We’ve done a sweep of the workshop at Gorse House,” Julian said. “We didn’t find any prints on the freezer or the locks. I suspect they were wiped clean. There is evidence that someone has been camping out there. We found a sleeping bag and basic cooking equipment stashed under that bench. We also found a black bin bag full of rubbish — empty sandwich cartons, water bottles and beer cans. Initial DNA tests show that most of it was consumed by Lazarov. However, on one of the cans we found DNA that we have no match for.”

  That was something at least and might be the breakthrough they needed.

  “Someone was up there with Lazarov,” Julian said. “But I can’t understand why he would choose that location as a hiding place. How would he know the place even existed?”

  He was right. Calladine had also wondered what had prompted Lazarov to stay up there. Someone must have told him about the place, that was the only explanation.

  “Remember, he was a wanted man,” Ruth said. “He’d operated in this area before, so someone might have recognized him if he was seen around town.”

  “When you found him, Andrei Lazarov had been dead anywhere between thirty and forty hours,” Natasha added.