Dead Guilty Page 6

He shrugged.

  “You’re a piece of work, d’you know that?”

  Calladine was well aware of his faults. He watched Ruth walk towards her car. Her relationship with Jake wasn’t all sweetness and light. They’d had problems. But she’d stuck at the relationship, made Jake see that what they had was worth fighting for.

  “Tom!” A female voice called out. “I hoped I’d catch you.”

  Just what he needed, another of his exes. “Monika!” He was surprised. Despite living in the same town, they usually avoided each other. He wondered what had changed

  “This isn’t a social call,” she said at once. “I have a problem and hope you can help.”

  Calladine tried a smile, but inside he groaned. Spend too much time with Monika and he’d be late for Zoe.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, if you don’t know what the problem is, how am I supposed to help?”

  “Do you fancy a drink? Perhaps the Wheatsheaf?”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. As long as Monika was being straight with him. They had history. A couple of years ago they had been thinking of marriage. The pair had been together for a long time. But then Calladine had been swept off his feet by another woman. He’d dumped Monika and she’d never forgiven him. Not that he blamed her. Ruth was right, he was a piece of work.

  “I’d better ring Zoe first, tell her I’ll be late,” he smiled.

  “Is she still with that American woman?”

  “Jo? Yes. The pair of them are making a go of it. Doing well, too.”

  Chapter 12

  The Wheatsheaf was almost empty. That suited Calladine — he didn’t want tongues wagging about the pair of them. He and Monika ordered their drinks at the bar and then took a table by the fire.

  “You’re looking good.” She smiled at him. “Your new girlfriend knocking you into shape?”

  Calladine decided against telling Monika that Layla had left him. “She’s trying, but it’s a slog, I can tell you.” She was looking at him expectantly. “You look okay, too,” he mumbled. He didn’t want Monika getting any ideas. Their relationship was well and truly over.

  “We’ve expanded the business recently,” Monika said. “We get out into the community more, care for folk in their own home. You know the sort of thing, we offer visits by carers for those who need us. It helps to keep the elderly independent for longer.”

  Calladine saw the sense in this. Monika had successfully run a care home in Leesdon for a number of years. She was the manager and part-owner and knew the business inside out.

  “Consequently, we are getting to know a lot more of the local elderly folk and they speak to us, tell us what’s going on. One of them, Rowena Hargreaves, is giving me cause for concern.”

  Calladine was puzzled. “The aged are not my area of expertise, Monika. My experience with the elderly is limited to my mother, Freda. I’m sure there must be someone better qualified you can speak to.”

  “Shut up and listen, Tom. I haven’t finished yet,” she snapped at him. “You’re just the same as ever, too quick to jump to conclusions!” Outburst over, she took a breath and composed herself. “I think this is important, and something you need to hear. Rowena was admitted to hospital last week. She was very poorly.”

  “The elderly get ill. I can’t do anything about that.”

  Monika glared at him. “Rowena was ill because she had overdosed on drugs and had been drinking heavily.”

  “Freda liked a gin,” he shrugged. “On occasions, I’ve known her be a bit worse for wear.”

  “Will you please take this seriously. Rowena is eighty-nine years old, Tom. She’d taken cocaine and pills — ecstasy the doctors tell me. She’s lucky to be alive.”

  She had Calladine’s attention now. “Could she have taken them by mistake?”

  “I doubt it. For starters, where would she get the stuff from? I’ve wracked my brain and can find no explanation. I went to her house when she was first referred to us. She was independent, and mostly fended for herself. Her home was neat, everything in its place. We attended for several weeks in the beginning and then Rowena asked us not to go anymore. No reason given, other than she could see to herself. Then she ended up in hospital. I went back to her house to arrange for it to be prepared for her return. The place was an absolute state. It looked as if a herd of elephants had trampled through her home. She had a cabinet full of porcelain figurines and small silver items. Stuff that belonged to her parents. They’ve gone, too.”

  “You think she sold the items to buy drugs?”

  “Don’t be stupid! I think she was robbed! Who the culprit is, I’ve no idea. But what puzzles me more is where the drugs came from.”

  “The theft has to be down to someone she knew, someone who went to the house regularly and got to know what she had.”

  Monika gave Calladine a hard look. “We are the only people who have visited her in a while. I hope you’re not suggesting that one of my care workers is robbing the clients?”

  Calladine hadn’t meant her to take it that way. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He paused. “But you have looked at all your staff, vetted them thoroughly?”

  Monika got to her feet, frowning. “I should have known I’d get nowhere with you.”

  “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, Monika. I’m simply throwing a few ideas around, that’s all.”

  “I have a bad feeling, Tom. Something is going on in this town. I can’t put my finger on it, but things aren’t right. The drugs are the real issue here. You must see that. Rowena is nearly ninety. She is no drug user, believe me.”

  Calladine’s thoughts were on Sean Barber and what forensics had found in his bedroom. Perhaps Sean was involved somehow.

  “Is there anyone who would recognise the missing items, if they’re found?”

  “There are some photos that were taken for insurance purposes. I could get them if you think it’d help.”

  “Do that. Drop them into the station.”

  “You know something, don’t you?” She was looking at him. “You forget, I know you, Tom. I can spot the signs. You might sound all disinterested, but you’ve got your detective head on.”

  “For now, it’s just a theory, Monika. Don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

  “I’ll bring the photos in tomorrow. And I’ll expect to be kept informed. I promised Rowena I’d do my best to get her stuff back.”

  “Let me see those photos first, then we’ll see.”

  * * *

  Rocco had been chasing John Wells for most of the day. He wasn’t at home or at the biscuit factory. Nor was he at the Wheatsheaf, as Rocco had hoped. His wife was no help — she had no idea where he’d gone. Rocco decided to give it one last shot. He’d try the Pheasant on the Hobfield.

  The Hobfield estate was the last place on earth Rocco would choose to go. He was well aware of its reputation and had been badly injured on the deck of one of the tower blocks in the past. He’d received a bang on the head which had nearly put paid to his career.

  “They’re not keen on the law around here. You’d better wait outside,” he told the uniformed officer who’d been with him all day. “If I’m not out in ten, come and find me.”

  Rocco knew that seeing a police uniform in this pub would cause a riot. It was with some trepidation that he walked through the door. A quick glance around and he spotted Wells. He was propping up the bar, a pint in his hand.

  “John,” he said affably. “Could do with a word.”

  John Wells gestured to a table in the corner. “Make it quick. You’re not the type to be seen with, not round here.”

  “Where were you last night?” Rocco began, once they were seated.

  “Why? What are you pinning on me now?”

  “Nothing. It’s a simple enough question.”

  “I was at home with the wife.”

  “Not patrolling the streets with your mates beating up young lads then?”

&
nbsp; “What d’you take me for?” he said.

  “You’re telling me you’re not one of the vigilantes?”

  “You’re way off beam there, copper. Too busy working, that’s me. I’ve got no time for that lark. But good luck to them, that’s what I say. Mate of mine was broken into last week. You lot did nowt. Another mate lost his son. The bastards plied him with drink and drugs. Lad wasn’t the full shilling to start with. By the time those idiots finished with him he didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “Your mates reported all this?” Rocco asked.

  Wells scowled at him. “Pointless. Geddes got so far then met a brick wall. In the end he wrote to the coroner.”

  “You see, John, we have CCTV which shows a group of men giving a lad a thumping. One of them has a limp, very much like yours.”

  “No, you’ve got that wrong. Can you see my face?”

  Rocco shook his head.

  “There you are then,” he grinned. “Come back when you’ve got real proof. Until then, do one, copper.”

  Rocco got to his feet. Wells was right, they didn’t have anything concrete. Time to play his final card. “We’ll soon have forensic evidence, John. For your sake, I hope none of it points to you. That lad wasn’t simply beaten, he was stabbed to death. This is a murder inquiry.”

  Wells’ face went pale. “A pasting, yes, the little sod was carrying drugs. But that’s as far as it went.”

  “What are you saying now, John? Were you there or not?”

  “Yes, but so were the others. And no one stabbed him,” he insisted. “None of us had a weapon. That was made clear from the start. No one was supposed to carry.”

  Rocco sat back down and passed him a notebook and pen. “I want their names.”

  Wells dutifully wrote them down. “He were hurt, yes. We left the lad groaning on the ground. The we came back here. Some thieving little git had taken tools from a garage round the back of yon tower block.”

  “All of you came back together?”

  Wells looked up from the notebook. “Bill Geddes stayed behind. Said he’d had enough, wanted to get home.”

  * * *

  “You look done in.” Zoe said, opening her front door. “Don’t you ever think you’re getting a bit old for this lark, dad?”

  “No, never.” Calladine followed her into the kitchen. Whenever this topic came up in conversation, which it did frequently, he always tried to swerve it. “What else would I do? The job is my life, Zo.”

  She smiled at him. “Poor you. Chasing criminals and low life isn’t my idea of fun.”

  “Anyway, sorry I’m late,” he said, changing the subject. “Monika of all people wanted a word. We had a quick drink. I didn’t have much choice — you know how she gets.”

  Jo, Zoe’s partner, a smartly dressed, dark-haired woman, joined them. She put a protective arm around Zoe’s waist and they grinned at him. It was obvious that something was up.

  “Come on then, you pair. Whatever it is you want to tell me is obviously good news. What is it?”

  They looked at one another and then back at Calladine. “We’re having a baby,” Zoe announced. “You’re going to be a grandad!”

  Chapter 13

  Day 3

  “I’ve got a list of the vigilantes who were on the streets the night Barber was killed. Wells told me that a man called.” Rocco took a moment to check his notes. “Bill Geddes was the last to leave. He was left alone with Barber still very much alive and writhing on the ground.”

  “Geddes?” Calladine queried.

  “We know that name,” Ruth said. “Wonder if it’s the same man Natasha mentioned when we saw her. The one asking for a second PM on his son.”

  “Bring him in,” Calladine told Rocco. “Street?” he asked, turning to Alice.

  “Still nothing, sir, but the kids know him. Won’t admit anything though.”

  “We’ll wait and see what Sean’s phone data yields. We found a second one hidden with the drugs in his bedroom. I’m hoping it’s the one he used to contact the dealer.”

  Rocco looked dubious. “If this is a serious operation then you’ll get very little. The gang will use burner phones, disposable, prepaid ones, not their own.”

  “We’ve searched Barber’s room and didn’t find any,” Calladine said. “But we’ll keep it in mind.”

  He turned to Ruth. “Did you get anywhere with the boy?”

  “A witch took Sophie.” She rolled her eyes. “The one at the party when Sophie bumped her head. I intend to have a word with Annie about that shortly.”

  Calladine’s gaze strayed to the empty spare desk. “Does anyone know what’s happened to Thorpe?”

  “You sent him to do research in a pub, what d’you expect?” Ruth offered. “I don’t think he’ll be in any time soon.”

  “He’d better have something bloody good to show for his efforts when he does turn up. In the meantime, I’ve had a summons from Richard Alder. He’s demanded to see me this morning.”

  “We don’t have much to tell him,” Ruth cautioned. “I doubt he’ll be pleased.”

  “Once you’ve spoken to Annie, text me the gist,” he said. “Rocco, round up Bill Geddes and his vigilante mates and keep them here until I get back. I want a word with Geddes.”

  He turned to one of the uniformed officers. “A woman called Monika Smith might call in asking for me this morning. With luck she’ll have some photos of stolen items. Will you see to her if I’m not back?”

  The officer nodded.

  “That back on, is it?” Ruth teased.

  “No!” he replied. “She met me after work last night. She wanted to talk to me about an elderly woman they look after. I’m waiting until I know more, but it could be a piece of this puzzle we’re working on.”

  “The Alder kidnapping?”

  “No, the other one. Sean and the drugs.”

  Calladine waited until the others had left the office and he was alone with Ruth. “Zoe’s pregnant,” he said. “Her and Jo told me the news last night.”

  Ruth chuckled. “Grandad it is then. You’ll need to polish up your skills, you know — feeding, changing nappies, walks in the park, the job lot.”

  “I never had any of those skills to begin with. I didn’t have a hand in raising Zoe, remember. I didn’t even know she existed until just before Freda died.” He sat down beside Ruth. “To be honest, I’m stunned. I’d no idea they wanted kids. I mean . . . how does that even work? Her and Jo are both women!”

  “They go for IVF and get a donor. It costs a bit, but I imagine they can afford it. It’s no biggie, these days, Tom. Lots of same-sex couples have families. How far gone is she?”

  But it was a biggie for Calladine. He’d barely got used to being a father to Zoe. “Twelve weeks. The next scan should reveal if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “I bet they’re both excited. Do they know anything about the donor? A single friend of mine did something similar and was able to choose hair colour and all sorts of attributes.”

  Calladine thought for a moment. “To be honest, I never thought to ask.”

  “In that case, it could be someone they know. Have you considered that one?” She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “Keep this to yourself for now, Ruth. I’m not ready for all the ‘grandad’ jibes just yet.”

  * * *

  Ruth and Alice walked up the drive of the Alder house. “Weigh her up,” Ruth told Alice, “I’d like your first impressions. We think something odd is going on, but it's a guessing game, I’m afraid.”

  “Isn’t it simply a case of the Alders being distraught because their child is missing? I don’t have any kids of my own, but I doubt my behaviour would be in any way normal, if it was me.”

  “Call it gut instinct, then,” Ruth smiled. “Both me and Calladine have a real dose of it. Something’s not right with this one. I’d value your input.”

  Once again it was Frankie who answered the door. “Found the kid yet?” she asked straight off. The
young woman slouched against the door, arms folded. “Course you haven’t, bloody useless the lot of you,” she said.

  Ignoring the remark, Ruth asked, “Is Annie up to talking?”

  “See for yourself.” Frankie nodded towards the woman indoors, who was staring out of the back window.

  “I blame myself,” she said as the two detectives approached. “You were right to ask what Joanne and I had been doing. I should have paid more attention to the little ones outside. Instead, I was laughing, joking, and swigging wine as if I didn’t have a care in the world.”

  “Annie, can DC Bolshaw and I ask you a few more questions?” Ruth asked.

  With a heavy sigh, Annie turned and flopped onto a sofa. “Ask away.”

  Ruth and Alice sat down opposite her. Annie looked pale and tired. But more alarming was the large bruise on her left cheekbone.

  “How did that happen?” Ruth asked gently.

  “It’s nothing. I fell against the sideboard.”

  Ruth doubted that. Annie couldn’t meet her gaze. Something was definitely wrong. But it was no use pushing her. Annie was unlikely to tell them, particularly if the injury was her husband’s handiwork.

  “Within the last few weeks did Sophie go to a party, perhaps in fancy dress, for example?”

  Annie shook her head. “What’s this about parties? Is it important?”

  “It could be,” Ruth said. “You’re quite sure? A birthday party for one of her friends, perhaps? At the event Sophie might have fallen and bumped her head.”

  “I’ve told you, no!” Annie snapped. “We haven’t been to any parties since Christmas last year.”

  “Was the little boy, Jack, there?”

  “Didn’t you hear me!” Annie stood up and went back to the window, her back to them. “No parties! Have you got that?”

  “You’re sure you haven’t forgotten? Perhaps an event that a child might think was a party. The little boy Jack was there and some people were in fancy dress.”

  Annie frowned. “No. I want you to go now. I’ve had enough of this. I can’t do with all these questions. I’m not well.”

  “Jack was the last person to see Sophie,” Ruth explained. “I know he’s a child but he says that it was someone he saw at a party who took Sophie. He said it was the same party where your little girl fell and bumped her head.”