DEAD BAD a gripping crime mystery full of twists Read online

  DEAD BAD

  A gripping crime mystery full of twists

  (DI Calladine & DS Bayliss Book 8)

  Helen H. Durrant

  First published 2018

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

  ©Helen H. Durrant

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  http://www.joffebooks.com/contact/

  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

  For my parents, Harry and May. If they were still around, I know they would be proud.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  ALSO BY HELEN H. DURRANT

  Glossary of English Slang for US readers

  FREE KINDLE BOOKS

  CHARACTER LIST (contains spoilers if you haven’t read previous books in the series)

  Prologue

  The man paused in the hallway, checked his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. He had been expecting the visitor. She was young, slim and tall, with glossy dark hair brushing her shoulders. A vision of delight, and perfect for what he had in mind.

  “Come in. You found the place alright, then?” He’d worried about that, not knowing how far she’d have to travel.

  She brushed past him and clipped across the parquet floor. The smell of cheap perfume made him want to gag. The man shook his head. High heels. Hardly suitable attire for a cleaner.

  In the kitchen, she stood and faced him. “You know the deal. It was all in the ad I placed. A hundred, and I don’t stay more than an hour. What do you want me to do first?”

  The man licked his lips. Short and to the point. She had a foreign accent that he couldn’t quite place. Well, no matter. An hour? Not very long for the money. It didn’t bother him, he’d got the girl here under false pretences anyway. Whatever she usually did for her clients, the service he required tonight was of a quite different sort. She wasn’t here to clean. She was here to suffer. And finally, when he tired of her, to die.

  “I thought you could start in here.” He glanced around the kitchen.

  “If we must.” She turned her back on him, took out an overall from her bag and with a wriggle, pulled it over her slim frame.

  In the corner, a rack of shelves. Perched on the middle shelf, and trained on the large, battered kitchen table, sat a small camera. He didn’t collect trophies. He preferred to film the proceedings. Later, when it was all over, he would sit with a comforting nip of whiskey and savour every moment, again and again. He wanted nothing more from life than simple pleasures such as these.

  She stood waiting, ready to begin.

  “The money. I don’t do anything until I see hard cash.”

  She had a good figure under that nylon overall, and the foreign accent was rather sexy. Tonight’s encounter held promise.

  “Give me a moment.” Quick, don’t arouse her suspicions. He reached into a cupboard behind her and picked out the claw hammer.

  One swing to the side of her head. That’s all it took. It connected with a sickening crunch, and the girl toppled like a felled pine.

  It wasn’t hard to manhandle her up onto the table. She was slight, and he was strong. She lay on her back, blood oozing from the head wound. A soft moan escaped her lips and she stirred slightly. Soon she would regain consciousness. He didn’t want to hear her screams, not yet. He stuffed her mouth with a dishcloth.

  He lifted the bag onto the table and took out its contents, one by one. A mobile, which he switched off. A bag with make-up in it. A purse, containing a fiver in change, and in the inside flap, a photo. A small child, smiling happily at the camera. A little girl no more than two years old, with blonde curls and not a care in the world.

  He looked at the camera. Smiled. “She’s a mum,” he murmured. This was better than he’d expected. A single mother, down on her luck. A young woman who’d do anything to earn a crust. The perfect victim. The child’s photo aroused no feelings of tenderness, or anything else. He had a task to complete, and the young woman on the table was simply another tick on his list.

  He shook himself. He must get on. The voice in his head wouldn’t be still until it got what it wanted.

  Do it! Get her to that place you’ve found, and have some fun.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later

  Henry Johns pointed the gun at the locked door. “Shut it, kid!”

  Chloe Addison whimpered. She cowered, hunched in on herself against the wall, with a terrified expression on her young face.

  They were holed up in a disused church about half a mile from Leesdon High Street. The place was closed to the public because it was badly in need of repair and deemed to be dangerous. Several ceiling beams had fallen in. Look up, and you could see the sky through the holes where the roofing slates were missing. The stone floor slabs were rutted, strewn with bits of slate and brickwork that had fallen to the ground amongst the litter. It was slippery underfoot, covered in slimy moss. The council had secured the place, or so they thought. The door was solid oak and still intact, and a padlock had been fitted. Job done. But around the back of the church were several gaping holes in the stone wall. The place had become the estate’s favourite dump site.

  Johns put his eye to the keyhole and squinted through. A crowd had gathered, but he could see only one policeman. “Get lost, copper!” he screamed. “Do one or I’ll shoot the girl.” Still holding the gun, he grabbed Chloe by her long hair. “Tell them. Tell them I mean it.”

  But Chloe couldn’t speak. She was crying, her teeth chattering and her small form shaking with fear.

  Henry turned to her and jerked his head. “Get back there. Find something to barricade this door.”

  Someone in the crowd outside shouted, “Let the child go, Henry. This has gone far enough.”

  “This is all your fault! Interfering bastards. I wasn’t doing nothing wrong. I went in that shop to ask about booze for Saturday’s party. It’s my ma’s birthday. Bob shouldn’t have shouted at me like that.”

  “Henry, let the girl come outside and we’ll talk about it. You�
�re not a bad lad, we know that. You have a short fuse, that’s all. Your temper runs away with you.”

  The policeman banged on the door again. The noise tore at Henry’s nerve ends. The crowd shouted and shrieked obscenities, chanting his name. And on top of it all, the kid was wailing her heart out. It was all too much.

  Chloe seemed to be trying to tell him something. She tugged at the hem of his hoodie. He batted her away like a fly. The kid was only six years old, her parents would be frantic. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this.

  “Why did Bob press that alarm? Why?” Henry screamed at the door. “He knows me, does Bob. He knows damn well I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  * * *

  PC Phil Seaton had radioed in for backup and an armed response unit. That was over fifteen minutes ago. The crowd was getting ugly, and he was on his own. If they put their minds to it, they could be inside that church within minutes. God help Henry Johns then. Gun or not, they’d bloody lynch him.

  “Come on, Henry. The police’ll be here any second. They’ll have guns, the whole works. It’ll go better for you if you come out willingly.”

  Henry was still shouting. “It’s all gone wrong! I didn’t mean to snatch the girl! You have to tell ’em. Make it right again. It were them kids, not me. They gave me the gun. They dared me to do it.”

  “I’ll tell them, Henry. Let Chloe come out first, and we’ll talk. It’ll be better to do it before the others get here.” PC Seaton turned to the crowd and tried to usher them back. He’d strung a length of police tape in front of the church, but it was being universally disregarded. “If the girl’s gonna stand any chance, you get back and stay quiet,” he ordered them sharply.

  As a rule, Henry was harmless, but recently he’d been a bundle of nerves. He’d become mixed up with a gang of young lads, the latest bunch of Hobfield troublemakers. They egged him on, dared him to do things he’d ordinarily never even think of. This gun, the trouble in the off license, were a case in point.

  At last, Seaton heard the sirens. Three cars tore down the main road and screeched to a halt by the church gates. This was it. Time was up for Henry.

  A sergeant strode towards him.

  “I think I can get him to come out,” PC Seaton called to him. “He knows me. We can’t take any risks. He’s got a child in there, a little girl. We’ve been talking. He knows he can’t hold out.”

  But the sergeant didn’t look like he wanted to wait. Someone handed him a megaphone and he addressed the church door.

  “Open the door now. Toss the gun out first, then come out with your hands up.”

  The crowd had fallen back at the approach of the police. Silence, not even a whisper. This was no longer the local beat bobby and the estate clown providing free entertainment. This was serious.

  A single shot rang out.

  Like greyhounds from the starting box, several police officers raced towards the door.

  “Chloe!” PC Seaton shouted, his heart thumping. Surely Henry wouldn’t be so stupid? “Are you okay?”

  The little girl cried out. PC Seaton closed his eyes in relief. “Stand away from the door, Chloe!”

  A uniformed officer broke the door down with an enforcer and seconds later, they were in. Henry Johns lay on the ground in a pool of blood, the gun still in his hand.

  PC Seaton bent down and felt for a pulse. “He’s still alive!”

  The ambulance had just arrived, and two paramedics ran in and knelt by Henry. Chloe Addison was shaking, and her dirty face was streaked with tears. PC Seaton scooped her up and carried her outside.

  “I was frightened,” she sobbed. “Henry didn’t hurt me, but the lady looked horrible. I didn’t want to stay in there with her.”

  The lady? The words made no sense. “Is the child okay?” a paramedic asked.

  PC Seaton put Chloe on her feet, and looked her up and down. Her clothes were dishevelled and dirty, but she seemed to be unharmed.

  She pulled at PC Seaton’s arm. “You’ve gotta look at the lady. She’s all black and bony. She’s stuck on that beam, and there’s nails coming out of her.”

  The sergeant peered inside and bellowed at his men. “Get forensics down here! Looks like the kid is right.”

  PC Seaton handed Chloe to the paramedic and went to look for himself. Behind the altar, half-hidden by panelling, the body of a woman was propped up against one of the supporting oak beams. Her hands and feet had been nailed to the wood.

  The sergeant grimaced. “Been here a while. The rats have been at her too. Look, her feet are on the floor and they’ve nibbled her toes.”

  “How come no one noticed?” PC Seaton asked. “Folk come here a lot. They dump rubbish. There was a homeless bloke dossing down here for a while.”

  The sergeant shrugged. “She’s in the shadows. And that old screen blocks the view from the door.”

  One of the paramedics was peering over their shoulders. “This didn’t happen today. She’s been here for a while.”

  * * *

  “Inspector Calladine, are you still here?” DCI Rhona Birch shouted down the corridor.

  Tom Calladine winced. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “just getting my stuff together.” In fact, he was still ploughing through a load of paperwork for an impending trial. He had hoped to get in another hour at least.

  “I told you to go home.” She stood in his office doorway, hands on her ample hips. Calladine heard the irritation in her voice.

  “You are ill, Calladine. Haven’t you seen your face?”

  He avoided her gaze. “Well, yes. It is a bit of a mess. I’ll stick some cream on it when I get home. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

  “It’s shingles, man! All down one side of your cheek, and it’s weeping. You are infectious. Now will you go home before you spread the virus to the rest of the station.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t realise,” he muttered. “I’ll go now.”

  “You mustn’t come back until it’s scabbed over and dried up. Do you understand? A visit to your GP wouldn’t go amiss either. He’ll give you some antivirals.”

  Calladine sighed inwardly. “What about my workload? The preparations for the trial? What about Chief Superintendent Ford?”

  “As for your workload,” Birch said, "your team have nothing urgent on at present. You’ll only be off a day or two, and the trial is a week away. Angus Ford is not an issue. His visit will be short and sweet. He’ll be based at Oldston, not here. The powers that be might have given him responsibility for this station too, but the reality is, Oldston will take up most of his time.”

  Something to be grateful for at least. The old chief super from Oldston had moved on. Ford, the new incumbent, would be spread thin with both Oldston and Leesdon to oversee. Calladine didn’t relish the prospect. He knew Ford of old, and wondered if he was still the bad-tempered bugger he’d been back then.

  “I want you out of here in the next ten minutes.” Birch wagged a finger at him, and turned and left him in peace.

  It was gone six in the evening and growing dark. The main office was empty apart from Joyce, the admin assistant, who was packing up ready to leave for the day. Rocco and Alice were down in the canteen getting some tea. Ruth had gone with a uniform to an incident at the old church on Brookdale Road. He’d ring her later to find out what it was all about. It was no good fighting against Birch. She wanted him gone and he didn’t have the energy to resist. He shoved a pile of paperwork into his briefcase, nodded at Joyce and left without a word. It hurt his jaw to talk.

  Shingles! God knows where he’d picked that up, but it was damned painful. A couple of days on the sofa would do him good. He lived an easy walk from the station, and this morning he’d decided to do just that.

  Layla, his new girlfriend, was all for the two of them adopting a healthier lifestyle. She was a paramedic, and saw first-hand what junk food and booze did to folk by the time they reached middle age. With any luck she’d have finished her shift and would sort him out with some s
trong painkillers.

  All his life, Calladine had lived in the same Leesdon street. He now lived a few metres from the house he’d been brought up in. The stone-built terraced houses would once have accommodated Leesdon’s millworkers, and these days, much to Calladine’s surprise, were much sought after. Nestled up against the Pennine hills, Leesdon, part of an area known as Leesworth, was fast becoming a fashionable place to live.

  The new woman in his life, Layla, lived across the road. Her irregular hours as a paramedic meant she was able to look after his dog Sam. As he strolled towards his house he heard Sam barking a welcome. But there was no sign of Layla’s car. Dammit. She must still be at work.

  Calladine felt dreadful. Now he had a headache kicking in. All he wanted was a hot drink, some telly and then bed. His car was parked outside his house. He stood beside it and, fishing in his coat pocket for his house keys, bent and put down his briefcase. As he did so, someone struck the back of his neck. Calladine tried to get up, to defend himself, tackle his assailant. But a stronger blow knocked him to the ground and he fell back, unconscious.

  Chapter 2

  Day 1

  Sergeant Ruth Bayliss was in early the next morning. She and a uniformed PC had attended what was reported as an ‘incident’ late yesterday afternoon at the church on Brookside Road. Ruth hadn’t been told what to expect, and was totally unprepared for the horror that confronted her. A woman, who’d been dead for some time, left naked and nailed to one of the old beams in the church. In the absence of DI Calladine, it was down to her to brief the team. She’d bring him up to speed as soon as he turned up.

  DC Simon Rockliffe, known as Rocco, DC Alice Bolshaw, a couple of uniformed officers and Joyce gathered around the incident board.

  “A young woman,” Ruth began, “dead for some time. Exactly how she died has yet to be established. What I can tell you is that she’d had her throat slit. She was left nailed to a supporting beam at the back of the church.”