Dead Wrong Page 12

  “Yes I know he does. I’m going to arrange for an officer to keep an eye out — watch the block. If you hear from Malcolm, ring me straight away.” Ruth handed over a card.

  “If Cuba’s been shot, then my Malcolm might be lying hurt somewhere. You must find him, Sergeant. You must bring him home to me.”

  Chapter 15

  “Detective!” Lydia’s seductive voice trilled in his ear. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

  “Go on, upset me.” Given what she’d already been sent, bad probably meant really bad.

  “I’ve received some photos this time — some rather nasty photos at that, and with some rather angry words to go with them. The angry words are directed at me, so I’m feeling somewhat edgy.”

  “Are you at the newspaper offices?”

  “No, I’m waiting in your reception area at the station.”

  “I’ll be with you shortly. Don’t go anywhere; wait for me.”

  * * *

  He met with Ruth and Rocco by the car park outside the community centre, and they swapped results.

  “Mash didn’t come home last night. His mother is desperate for us to find him,” Ruth said.

  “We’ve drawn a blank with the Foxleys too. I don’t think they’ve anything to do with this, and I don’t think it’ll take much work to prove it,” Rocco reported.

  “What now? We could check on Kelly again,” Ruth asked.

  “Okay, do that, but I’ve got to get back. Have another look around — see what forensics has turned up in that alley, see if they’ve got anything else. I’ll send a car to pick you up. Our man has sent Lydia some more stuff — photos this time. I’ll look at them and see you back at the station.”

  “Watch your step, sir. You do realise that you and the blonde are the nick’s current hot topic?”

  “I can’t imagine why that would be, Sergeant — unless you’ve been blabbing.” He narrowed his eyes in an effort to appear fierce.

  “Me, sir? Soul of discretion, me. You know that.” She nudged Rocco.

  “I’m serious, Ruth,” he said taking her to one side, out of Rocco’s earshot. “Both you and me are skating on thin ice — you and the teacher and me with Lydia.”

  “Bring it on, that’s what I say,” she grinned. “Personally I’m quite enjoying myself and something tells me you are too.”

  “Just keep it quiet,” he warned. “I don’t want the team gossiping and stuff getting back to Jones, or worse.”

  Ruth tapped the side of her nose. “I’ll dampen things down the moment I get back. It’ll be a pleasure because it’ll cheer Joyce up no end.”

  Pep talk over

  Ruth and Rocco went into the community centre, chatting and laughing. So much for trying to keep your private life under wraps. Calladine shook his head.

  Why Lydia? He didn’t understand that one. How did the murderer know about her? She’d been there, yesterday, on the common. Had she been seen? Come to think about it, how had she known to go to the common in the first place? The crowd had only gathered because they’d seen the police tents. He’d not asked her, but perhaps he should do so before their relationship went any further.

  * * *

  “Show me.” There was no time for small talk. “We’ve got a young man missing, so this could be important.” She sighed, seeing his frown, and rearranged her belongings.

  “I don’t think you quite appreciate what I’m giving up for you, Detective. This story could make me.”

  He couldn’t understand who would want such a thing. Who’d want to make a name for themselves on the back of such hideous brutality? He watched as she delved into a folder and pulled out the contents. What was her angle? So, she wanted the story, and he would try to help her. He’d put off holding a press briefing because he didn’t want to cause panic on the estate, but this delay also gave her a head start. To date she was the only member of the press who had any clue as to what had happened.

  “Another horrific montage, I’m afraid.” She spread a number of photos along the bench she’d been sitting on, face up. “Your missing victim, perhaps?”

  The photos were taken from various angles, showing what looked like human guts splattered on concrete flooring. Malcolm Masheda? He could only hope not.

  “What did he write?” Calladine’s voice was harsh, and he rubbed a hand over his weary head.

  Lydia handed him a printed sheet. “There’s not much, but what there is, it’s to the point, don’t you think?”

  Why haven’t you printed what I sent you, bitch! I won’t warn you again.

  “This looks very much like a threat to me, Tom. I could be in danger. You will protect me, Detective?” She purred, cuddling up close to him. “Keep me under lock and key if you want, your lock and key, of course.” She smiled, batting her long lashes at him.

  “This is no joke, Lydia, so don’t treat it as such. This man has murdered people in the most awful way. Look at this.” He pointed to one of the photos. “Probably the latest victim — his guts all over the floor. I’ll have to check with the doc but I expect he died slowly and painfully. Our man is a sadistic bastard, so imagine, just for a moment, the possibilities if he got hold of you.”

  “You’re being a drama queen, Tom. How would he get hold of me? Go on tell me — because I’m rarely alone.”

  Bravado, he was sure of it, because she’d just delivered those words along with a meaningful shudder.

  “You live in that apartment block alone. In fact most of those flats are still empty — too damned expensive.”

  “We have security — alarms, cameras — so I’m quite safe. Believe me, Tom, I take no risks.”

  “I’ll have you watched. I’ll put an officer outside your door.”

  “Perhaps I should just print it. Give him what he wants.”

  “Don’t you dare! And don’t even think of crossing me on this one. Do you understand, Lydia? I will feed the press what they need to know in small chunks, and I certainly won’t embellish what I tell them with images like this.” He waved one of the photos in front of her face.

  What was going on inside this bastard’s head? Why did he want his crimes plastered across the front page?

  “You hold everything until you get my say-so. But what I will do is hold a press briefing. Tell the lot of you a little of what’s happened. Perhaps that’ll hold him off for a while.”

  “Don’t tell too much, please.” She snuggled close again. “You know I want this. It’s going to mark me out as the one to watch.”

  “If we’re not careful you’ll be marked out alright — marked out for murder. How did you know anyway? Yesterday morning? Who told you to go to the common?”

  “I have my sources.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m not divulging them, because if I do I won’t get anything else.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Lydia. For reasons I can’t work out yet, our man wants publicity, and he’s trying to use you to get it. That’s why he’s sent you this stuff, and he chose well too. You’re so damned hungry for a leg up that if I hadn’t moderated your actions you would have printed this.”

  “You’ve no idea how all this works, Detective. I need people to talk to me — like you. I’m widely read. I have written several headline pieces lately, and I have a weekly column. People know me, Tom, and they know what I’m after. So they tell me things.”

  He wanted to ask her more, but his mobile rang.

  “Sir?” Calladine greeted his boss, warily polite.

  “Incident room, Tom. I want an update on your visit to the Hobfield. Now.”

  “I’ve got to go up. Get in your car and go straight back to your office. I’ll arrange that briefing and ring you later. Don’t leave work until we’ve spoken. This is no joke, Lydia.” He gathered the photos together. “This guy, whoever he is, is one mean bastard and you don’t want to be in his sights for next victim.”

  * * *

  “So where are they, Tom?” Jones glared at him. “I said to bring them
in and they’re not in the cells.”

  “Not at home, and according to their mother all of them have just returned from Spain — been there for weeks working for Fallon. They’d be stupid to lie about something like that when it can be so easily checked out. So we’re probably barking up the wrong tree.”

  “You’ve actually checked have you, before making that assumption?”

  Jones wasn’t impressed. His foot was tapping impatiently on the incident room floor.

  “Imogen! How did you get on with Border Control?” Calladine called out to the DC, who was seated at her desk, head buried in some paperwork.

  “Their systems are playing up, sir. They’re going to ring me back.”

  Just what he needed. Now Jones would go in for the kill.

  “Stop mucking about, Tom. Go and get them, and no excuses this time. I want those two in our cells within the next couple of hours, and I want Masheda found. Do I make myself clear?”

  The red-faced DCI turned on his heel and strode back to his office He’d been one of them a few months ago, but now he wanted to impose his will on the station.

  * * *

  “Rocco, are you still on the estate?” Calladine asked.

  “Yes, sir, we’re in the community centre.”

  “Wait there. I’m coming back. Jones wants them brought in regardless.”

  Calladine thought Jones was a fool. He couldn’t see what was staring him in the eye. Last year he’d have been fine with the theory that this wasn’t a drugs war. He’d have helped — sent his own team to scout around. But a promotion had stifled what little detective instinct he’d had, and there was nothing left. Just as well he spent most of his time sitting behind that desk, because he sure as hell wasn’t fit for anything else.

  Calladine found Ruth and Rocco drinking coffee in the community centre café.

  “Back to the Foxleys’ flat.” Their faces fell. “Jones’s idea, not mine. Border Control are dragging their feet, so I’ve got nothing to throw at him but my instinct — and we all know what he thinks of that.”

  “No worries, sir.” Rocco tossed his coffee down his throat. “We’ll go back up and wait for the tearaways to return.”

  God knows when they’d be home. It was early evening, and already dark. The tenth floor deck was deserted and cold. It acted like a wind tunnel for the icy blasts blowing all kinds of rubbish around in little whirlpools of debris. The boom of music, the sound of television programmes and a barking dog echoed around the bleak space. How long? Calladine wondered. And had Imogen got the information he needed yet? Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he texted her. No, she hadn’t.

  Ruth waited in the stairwell, her collar up against the harsh chill, clapping her gloved hands together for warmth. She looked pissed off. Voices carried round the corner — loud, male and heavy with expletives.

  “I think they’re coming.”

  The two youths passed her. She was huddled down in her coat, and they didn’t give her a second look. Once they’d passed, she gave Calladine the thumbs up.

  “Liam Foxley, Josh Foxley,” Calladine walked forward to greet them. “Detective Inspector Calladine, Leesworth Police. This is DC Rockliffe. Can we have a word? Won’t keep you long. Just a little help with some enquiries we’re making.”

  “Get lost.” Liam Foxley spat onto the deck. “Don’t talk to coppers, so do one.”

  “It’s in your own interests to talk to us this time, son.” Calladine was trying hard not to get riled.

  “He said get lost, so go on, fuck off!” Their mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. She stood, framed against the pool of light from inside, hanging onto the leash of a huge dog. It was trying hard to pull her out, almost winning the battle.

  “Go on. Leave us alone or I’ll let the dog off.”

  “Mrs Foxley, I don’t think you understand. As it is I just want to clear one or two things up, but if you persist with this attitude then things will get a lot heavier.”

  “Too bloody right they will.” She stepped out onto the deck, allowing the beast of a dog to lunge forward. “Now get lost or I’ll do for you.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Mrs Foxley.”

  “I’ve had enough, heard enough and got better things to do. Sling your hook!” She produced a vodka bottle from behind her back. “Go on — fuck off, the bloody lot of you!”

  Rocco made to move forward — whether to warn her again, or remonstrate with her, Calladine had no idea, but in one swift movement she struck him across the side of the head. He fell heavily to the ground. Josh Foxley let out a yell, and kicked Rocco viciously in the stomach as he leapt past him to follow his mother and brother inside.

  Calladine was on his mobile instantly, as Ruth rushed forward to kneel beside Rocco.

  “Backup and ambulance needed, floor ten, Heron House, officer down!” Then he crouched beside his stricken colleague.

  “Rocco?” Ruth whispered, dabbing his bleeding head with a tissue. “Can you hear me? Help’s coming. We’ll get you to hospital. It won’t be long. Hang in there, Rocco.”

  Ruth looked into Calladine’s face with eyes that were full of tears. Rocco hadn’t deserved this. He wasn’t moving; he was out cold, and the lurching in his stomach told him it was bad. The inspector slipped off his overcoat and placed it over the DC.

  * * *

  Ruth went to the hospital with Rocco, sitting beside him holding his hand all the way. Calladine took his car and went back to the station. There was nothing left to do on the Hobfield. Backup had arrived, battered down the Foxleys’ front door and carted the three of them off in handcuffs.

  The thing was, he knew it could all have been avoided. If Jones had listened — listened to reason — instead of wanting him to dive head first into that bear pit, then Rocco wouldn’t have been injured.

  “Border Control got back,” Imogen told him as she fastened up her coat in preparation to leave for the day. “You were right. They’ve all been in Spain the last six months.”

  Calladine grabbed the short printout, along with the newspaper page from Lydia, and marched into Jones’s office.

  “This is a bloody mess. Do you realise DC Rockliffe has been carted off unconscious because of our run in with that damn family? When are you going to start listening to reason, Jones? I told you it wasn’t them from the off.”

  “Watch your tongue, Detective Inspector. Regrettable, but I had no way of knowing how volatile that family was.”

  “Regrettable. Is that all you’ve got to say? It’s a bloody farce, that’s what it is. I told you they’ve been working for Fallon. They’ve been in Spain like they said.”

  Calladine thrust the printout into the DCI’s face and then dealt out the photos from Lydia as if they were a pack of cards.

  “What do I have to produce to convince you? The Foxleys weren’t even in the country. It wasn’t them, alright? The photos — highly likely that’s Malcolm Masheda — see, same MO, guts all over the place. They were sent to Lydia Holden within the last few hours.”

  He stood back, shaking with anger and pent up frustration. The man was a damned fool!

  “She needs watching too. She’s been threatened. I want an officer outside her door.”

  “That can’t happen I’m afraid. We haven’t the manpower and even if we had, there’s the cost implication.”

  “What? How do you put a cost on a young woman’s life? We’re dealing with a brutal killer. I don’t know what’s at the back of all this, but Lydia Holden has been picked out as his mouthpiece for the publicity he wants. She hasn’t delivered, so she’s in danger. What do you want, sir? Another mutilated dead body — or this?” He shook the front page mock-up.

  Jones’s face went ashen. “That can’t go out,” he mumbled, and coughed his throat clear.

  “Well that’s what he wants, and Lydia Holden is supposed to print it.”

  “Call a press conference for tomorrow morning. We’ll give them something, but not that.” Jones’s eyes were glazed a
s he stared at the details. “I’d better have a look at the case notes, and review what you’ve got so far.”

  “What we’ve got is nothing, but the one thing I am sure of is that this isn’t to do with gangs or drugs. The victims are being picked off for a reason. I’ve still got enquiries to make, and Doc Hoyle hasn’t finished with the bodies yet, so we have to stay hopeful. But whoever is doing this is clever, sir. I don’t think it’s random. Something links these three. I just have to find out what that something is.”

  Chapter 16

  “I’ve got those names, sir.” Dodgy placed a printed list on Calladine’s desk.

  He’d wanted to leave early to check on Lydia; make sure she was okay, given that the police could offer no proper protection. However, both the day and the night were disappearing fast. Now he’d have to check through the list and follow up any possible leads it might give. They were running out of time.

  “Thanks.” He nodded to the young officer, already scanning down the column of names.

  “I think I’m going mad!” he exclaimed, holding his head in his hands. “My own mother’s on this list.” What was going on? Calladine picked up the phone and dialled Monika’s number.

  “You never told me my mother’s on Aricept. I’m looking at a list, and she’s the only one in the home taking the drug. Why’s that?”

  “And hi to you too, Tom. She’s on it because your mother is a good candidate for the drug. It’s not for every case of Alzheimer’s. She’s still in the early stages, you see, and it’s hoped that the Aricept will hold it at bay for a while and improve her quality of life in the long term.”

  Long term? She is eighty-five for heaven’s sake!

  “But shouldn’t you have told me?”

  “Why? You’ve never shown an interest in what she takes before. From time to time she’s on a number of different drugs — painkillers, antibiotics — you know the type of thing. I rarely tell you about any of those.”

  “Does she take Risedronate?”

  “No, she doesn’t, but it is dispensed to some of our other residents. Unlike the Aricept it’s a commonly prescribed drug. Is all this important, Tom? I can give you a report on what she’s had over the last twelve months if you like.”