Dead Guilty Page 4

  “We don’t need to beat them to a pulp. A short, sharp lesson is all they need. The scum of this town will soon get the message,” Wells said.

  “You’re wrong,” Geddes spat. “Give an inch and they’ll walk all over you.”

  “We don’t want trouble from the law,” Wells whispered. “That lad knows some of us.”

  “Pack of bloody fairies, that’s what you are,” Geddes said. “With that attitude you won’t frighten anyone. The villains will laugh at you.”

  “Let the lad go. He’s had a thumping. What if he goes to the police?”

  “Wouldn’t dare,” Geddes said. “What’s he going to say? That we beat him up for being a druggie! No chance. He’ll scuttle off home, lick his wounds and if we’ve done our job right, think twice before using in future.”

  He could hear the group muttering as they started to walk away. No one had complained earlier in the pub when he’d laid out exactly what they had to do. We’ll beat the buggers black and blue, that’ll teach them. They’d all agreed, no dissenters. But out on the streets, with one in their grasp, it was a different matter. Most of them were simply not cut out for it.

  Jim Paterson tapped him on the shoulder. He was holding his mobile phone. “Just read on WhatsApp about tools being taken from a shed on Hobson Street. The owner caught the bastard on his CCTV. Take a look?”

  The image showed a shadowy figure making off with a holdall. Geddes nodded. “You lot go. I’ve had enough for one night.” He looked round at the others. “Get it right lads. It’s up to us — the police are no help. We have to look out for ourselves.”

  “I know who that is.” Another of the group piped up, looking at the grainy image. “He lives in Heron House.”

  “Okay. Get round there and hang about until he returns.” Geddes regarded them. “This is important. The thieving bastards need sorting or they’ll take over.”

  Geddes had said his piece. Giving the lad one last kick, he turned and walked off.

  * * *

  “I got us a takeaway. Fish and chips do you?” Layla said.

  Calladine watched Layla put the food on the warm plates. “Thought we were going for healthy this week?” he queried, tearing off a chunk of fish and squirting brown sauce over it.

  “Wait! You’re dropping it all over the floor,” she shouted at him. “You’ve got some dreadful habits, d’you know that.”

  “Sorry, I’m hungry. Need my tea.”

  “Well, it’s this or nowt. You were in late and so was I. I’m not a bloody miracle worker and I presume you’re not either. So, for tonight, we make do.” As a paramedic with Oldston Ambulance Service, Layla often worked long, unsocial hours.

  “Your shift ended over an hour ago. What happened?” The words were out before he could sensor them. They made it sound as if she was responsible for the meals, which, of course, she wasn’t.

  Calladine held his breath, waiting for the fiery blast, but she let it go. “We attended an incident on the bypass. A teenage girl hit by a car. Fortunately not badly hurt, but she refused to go to the infirmary. By the time we’d convinced her to get checked out, our shift was well over.”

  “Couldn’t you just let her go home, finish on time?”

  She was annoyed by his comment. “No, Tom, she had a leg injury, could hardly walk. For all we knew she might have broken something. Best if the doctors take a look.”

  “Brad Long’s had a heart attack. He’s in Wythenshawe.”

  “Oh, that’s why you’re criticising the food. We’ll go back to the diet tomorrow. Fixing him, are they?”

  “Apparently so, and I’m not criticising the food.”

  Layla took a plate of food and sat down by the fire. She looked preoccupied. Something was wrong, and it was down to more than his eating habits.

  “Something’s up,” he said at last. “Whatever it is, out with it. Does no good to let stuff fester.”

  “It’s us. This,” she pointed to him and then herself. “Where are we going, Tom? What future does this relationship have?”

  That had come out of the blue. He was expecting something more about his eating habits. He looked at her. “Why this? Why now? And do we have to go anywhere? I don’t like change, and I thought things were fine as they are.”

  “Well, they’re not,” she retorted. “Not for me anyway. You don’t seem to notice or even care, but make no mistake, we’re in a rut. I have no intention of carrying on like this. I’ve got the chance of promotion, working with the air ambulance service, but it will mean a move.”

  Calladine was impressed. “Sounds like a great opportunity. You should grab it.”

  Layla looked at him. “You don’t understand. I’ll have to go to Scotland. Inverness to be precise.”

  Calladine fell silent. That was a fair distance. No chance for any relationship if she moved up there. He didn’t want Layla to go, but he had no right to ask her to stay. She’d asked where they were going. That meant she was looking for more than the casual, when-it-suited-them-both relationship they had at present. But anything more serious than that wasn’t for him.

  “It’s your choice,” he said. “If I were in your shoes, I’d go for it.” He saw her face fall. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “It’ll mean the end of us,” she said. “I’ll move away, rarely get back, and become totally wrapped up in my new role.”

  Calladine sighed. “What do you want from me?”

  Layla was upset now, her voice rising. “You shouldn’t have to ask. I thought we had a future, but from your response it’s obvious I was wrong.” She stood up and banged the plate down on the table. “Admit it, I’m just a convenience. Someone to mind the dog and watch your house when you’re out.”

  “It works both ways. As things are, we’re okay.”

  “I’m not after okay, Tom. I want more.”

  The warning bells were going off in Calladine’s head. “I’m sorry, Layla, but I’m not the stuff of long-term. Most of my relationships have been short-lived. That’s just how it is.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be. Don’t you feel anything for me?”

  She was fast losing patience.

  “Of course I do. I like you a lot. We get on well, understand each other and the jobs we do.”

  “It’s not enough. I’m sorry, Tom, but I’m going home. I’ll bring Sam back tomorrow.” She left her food untouched. Tom heard the front door slam as she left the house.

  Calladine hadn’t seen this coming. Something had changed, but he’d no idea what or when. He knew what she wanted to hear, but when it came down to it, it wasn’t what he wanted.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door. For a moment he thought it might be Layla, coming back. But it wasn’t. Another female voice called out, “Mr Calladine!”

  Kat Barber. He opened the front door to the tearful woman.

  “It’s my Sean,” she sobbed. “He’s been found unconscious and stabbed. They’ve taken him to the hospital. He was set on by a load of louts. Beat him to a pulp and left him bleeding to death.”

  Chapter 7

  Calladine drove Kat Barber to the hospital. She was in no fit state to go alone and her sister was working. She was terrified of seeing what had been done to her son. The idea that he might be permanently disabled, or worse, was torment. Kat knew Sean was thought of as a ‘bad boy,’ a one-time gang member. But recently he’d seemed better, his moods were more even and he’d kept himself to himself. She sat beside Calladine in the car shaking and sobbing into a hankie.

  “I told him not to stay out late. There’s all sorts on them streets. It’s not safe.”

  Calladine raised his eyebrows. One of them ‘sorts,’ as she’d put it, was her own son. “This is Leesdon, there are worse places,” he told her. It was true. Nestled up against the Pennine hills, Leesdon was a stone-built village surrounded by lovely scenery. Despite the problematic Hobfield Estate, it was fast becoming a fashionable place to live. It was certainly nothing like neighbouring Old
ston. You really had to be careful after dark in that town.

  “We’ve been on our own, me and Sean, since his father left. Sean has no one to look up to. You lot don’t do enough. Folk get robbed, beaten up, have their cars trashed, and the police do nothing. Now we’ve got grown men patrolling the streets happy to lay in to any youngster that crosses their path.”

  “The vigilantes you told me about last night?”

  “Yes, a whole bunch of them. The folk who live in this town are fed up of being let down by you lot. They’re not just roughnecks, either. Some local shopkeepers and ordinary working men have joined the group.”

  “Do you have names, Mrs Barber?”

  Kat Barber shook her head. “You know I couldn’t tell you, even if I knew. And it’s Ms, I never married the bastard who fathered Sean. Anyway, you can call me Kat.”

  He chanced a smile. “You can drop the ‘Mr Calladine’ too, my name’s Tom.”

  Calladine pulled into the hospital car park. “I’ll come with you. It’s violent assault. If Sean’s awake, I’ll have a word. He might remember who attacked him.”

  The receptionist told Calladine that Sean was in theatre and to wait. They walked in silence along the corridor to the seating area.

  Calladine glanced at Kat as they sat down. She looked tired, which was understandable given that she was worried sick about her son. She was an attractive woman. Calladine put her in her early forties, dark hair in a ponytail, and slim. And she’d known his mother. He wondered if she knew the truth about his parentage? He didn’t even know if there’d been rumours. Freda Calladine, who Kat said she’d known, had raised him, but she wasn’t his birth mother.

  “He will be alright, won’t he?” She broke the silence. “I couldn’t bear it if he . . . well, you know.”

  She was shaking. He took her hand. “They’ll do their very best, Kat. This is a good hospital.”

  It was late, a weeknight, and the place was eerily quiet. After a half hour wait, a surgeon walked towards them, his shoes echoing noisily on the tiled floor of the corridor. “Mrs Barber?” he asked.

  Kat stood up. “Is he okay? Can I see him?”

  Calladine knew from the look on the surgeon’s face that it wasn’t good.

  “I’m very sorry. There wasn’t much we could do, I’m afraid. Sean was stabbed in the chest and the blade severed the aorta. He bled out in minutes.”

  Calladine was shocked. This was murder on a local street. Why hadn’t someone phoned him, told him how serious the assault was? Kat Barber looked the surgeon in the eye and then with an almighty wail, dropped to her knees on the floor.

  “Sean!” she cried out. “He can’t be dead. He’s my boy!”

  Calladine lifted her gently to her feet, helped her to a chair, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Kat. I had no idea it was this bad.”

  “Well, now you do!” she spat back angrily. “There is no law out there anymore. Those men collared my boy and killed him! Murdering scum. They should be strung up!” She pushed Calladine away, her eyes full of hate. “What now, Mr Policeman? Stand by and let this go, will you? Tell us you’ve not enough resources, that my Sean deserved it because he broke into houses?”

  Calladine knew she was in shock, but he was still lost for words. At that moment he heard Rocco’s familiar voice.

  “Sir! I’ve just come from the crime scene. I’ve had the area cordoned off and got forensics on it.”

  * * *

  Rocco was surprised to find Calladine at the hospital. He’d been asked to attend because of the incident involving Sean.

  Calladine watched Kat Barber follow the surgeon along the corridor. He was concerned about her, but she had insisted on seeing her son. He turned to Rocco. “She’s the lad’s mother, and a neighbour of mine. The dead lad broke into my house last night. I thought we’d sorted him out.” He shook his head. “Stupid kid. Didn’t learn a thing, did he?”

  “He was set upon by a group of men,” Rocco said. “We’ve got some CCTV, but they’re all wrapped up, scarves, hoods and the like. But uniform thinks one of the group is John Wells, and I agree. He’s local, works up at the biscuit factory.”

  “We’d better talk to him then.” Calladine heaved a sigh. “Before we do, I want another word with Kat. Wait here for me.” He hurried to catch up with her and the surgeon. He couldn’t let her do this on her own. “You have a sister?” He followed her to a window which looked into the side room in which Sean was laid out. “I can get her for you.”

  “She’s working,” Kat said with a sob. “Why can’t I go in there, hold his hand?”

  Calladine knew that Sean would be taken to the morgue and then on to the Duggan. He was a murder victim. There would have to be a forensic post-mortem.

  “Because the experts will need to look at him. We want to find who did this.”

  “They’ll cut him up, you mean,” she said. “I don’t want that! I couldn’t bear it. He’s my boy!”

  Her son lay flat on the bed covered with a white sheet. Despite the tubes still attached to his body, he looked peaceful. The bruising on his face was slight and the blood had been wiped away.

  “He looks peaceful, as if he’s sleeping.” She grabbed Calladine’s arm and sobbed on his shoulder.

  “Where does your sister work? I’ll send a uniformed officer to fetch her for you.”

  “Buckley Pharmaceuticals,” she said. “Our Mandy’s on the night shift this week.”

  Calladine nodded. Buckley’s and Alder’s employed most folk in the area. Both factories were open twenty-four/seven. What he didn’t tell her was that the owner of the pharmaceutical company, Eve Buckley, was his birth mother.

  “Mandy won’t be able to come. They don’t like it if you have too much time off.”

  “I’ll sort it,” he said. A quick call to Eve, and Kat’s sister could take as much time off as was needed.

  “I’m sorry I flew at you,” she said. “It’s not your fault. You’re one of the good ones, I know that.”

  His face was solemn. “We’ll get them, Kat, I promise you. They will pay the price for what they did to Sean.”

  Chapter 8

  Day 2

  The team sat in silence in the incident room watching the CCTV recording, each pair of eyes intent on the grainy action playing out before them. A group of men giving a lad a good pasting.

  “There!” Rocco pointed. “I’m sure that’s John Wells.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Calladine. “Most of his face is covered up.”

  “He drinks in the Pheasant, sometimes the Wheatsheaf. I’ve spoken to him a couple of times when I’ve been in there myself. D’you see that limp? It’s due to a nasty fall he had a few months ago, broke his leg badly. I’d know him anywhere.”

  “Is he normally so violent?” Ruth asked. “That man is giving the lad a right going over.”

  “That’s not Wells.” Rocco frowned. “I don’t recognise him.”

  Calladine winced as he watched a boot connect hard with Sean Barber’s belly. “The violence is way over the top. Rumour has it that local people are fighting back. They’re tired of having no recourse when they get burgled, mugged, or have their cars broken into.”

  “We attend, do what we can,” Alice said.

  “It’s not enough. How often do we catch one of them, bring them to book? Play that bit of film again,” he told Rocco. He watched Sean get a beating, this time in slow motion. “Useful, but we don’t see who stabbed him.” Calladine sighed. “What about the CCTV after he’s beaten?”

  “I’ve had a look but the camera is smashed,” Rocco explained. “More than likely by the killer before he struck.”

  Calladine continued to watch the snippet of film. “It looks like the group move off before he is stabbed. Do we have Sean’s mobile?”

  “No. Forensics didn’t find one,” Rocco replied.

  “In that case the killer might have taken it. That begs the question — why?”

&nbs
p; “Are you saying this could be down to someone else, not one of that group?” Rocco asked.

  “I don’t know. The street looks empty, but that camera was smashed by someone. We need to know a great deal more about who was there, what part they all played, and where they went afterwards”. Calladine said, then addressed the team’s admin assistant. “Joyce, can you get on to Sean Barber’s phone provider, get the data for us?” He turned back to Rocco. “Any CCTV of the surrounding streets might help. It would give us a clue about who was out and about at the same time.”

  “We find Wells, lean on him, and he’ll tell us what happened,” Rocco said. “We have this bit of film and there is bound to be forensic evidence. Wells isn’t a criminal, he’ll cave under questioning.”

  They could only hope so. Calladine couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that somehow this was his fault. Sean Barber and his mother had haunted him all night. The lad was no angel but he didn’t deserve what those men had done to him. He wanted to know the motivation behind it, what they hoped to gain. Granted, Sean was a ruffian, but as far as Calladine knew, he’d never hurt anyone. Breaking into houses in the dead of night and helping himself was his thing.

  “Alice, any joy with the individual known as Street?”

  The blonde DC shook her head. “No, sir. I’m going to try the youth club on the Hobfield later. They run an after-school drop-in. Someone there might know him.”

  “Is this ‘Street’ important?” Ruth asked.

  “I don’t know, but Sean Barber did what Street told him. In fact, all the kids do, so I’m told. I want to know what they’re up to and what hold he has over them. Plus, Kat Barber told me he encouraged the kids to fight back against the vigilantes. If we’re not careful, we could have a full-blown war on our hands. I want this Street found and questioned.”

  Ruth flopped down into her chair with a sigh. “We’re not going to cope, are we? The missing Alder child, and now this. We can only spread ourselves so thin.”

  Calladine knew she was right, but they could only do their best. An air of gloom had descended on the office. They didn’t have a smile between them.