Dead Wrong (12 page)

“Watch this,” Calladine instructed. “It’s definitely X-certificate I’m afraid; very much so.”

Minutes later a much paler Ruth pushed the chair back from the desk.

“We need to know where this came from, Ruth. I’ll forward it to you, then you can show it to Imogen.”

“What we get will depend on how much the sender wants to hide. But between Imogen and our IT people, we’ll give it a go.”

Calladine forwarded the email and then watched the gruesome clip once again.

“I’ll get this cleaned up. We might see or hear something we can use.”

“I’ll forward it to the lab.”

Ruth made her way back to her desk in the incident room. Imogen had left, so there was no one to share the new information with.

“I’d say I’d done you one very big favour, Detective.” Lydia gave him one of her devastating smiles. “I think I deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

She was flirting. Calladine could hardly believe it, but she really was. What was going on? What could this lovely young woman want with him, an aging detective with relationship issues? He sighed. Who was he kidding? It was all about keeping up with the case. She’d already said it was important to her, and she couldn’t risk missing anything. She was going use him, and she was being blatant about it too.

“What sort of reward?”

“Well, we can start with dinner. You can come round to my apartment later and I’ll cook something. We don’t have to talk about this . . .” She waved a manicured hand. “I know it bothers you, but sooner or later you are going to have to talk to me. So we need to strike up some sort of relationship, don’t we, Detective? And I for one would prefer it was friendly.” She handed him her card. “That’s my personal card, the one with my private number and address on it. I’ll expect you at eight.”

“We’ll eat. But I won’t change my mind about the case, and you need to understand that from the outset. I won’t be cajoled, or bribed or backed into a corner.” He looked down at the front page mock-up he still held in one hand. “I’ll need to keep this. You’ve captured the essence of that email very well. ‘Handy Man.’ Is that yours? Did you come up with that apt little title?”

“No, not me. He did. It’s how he signed off the email, didn’t you see?”

Chapter 11

Malcolm Masheda held her close. It was dark in the alley that led to the side entrance of his block, and he’d chosen this spot deliberately.

“You could come up with me, babe,” he told Cuba, as he fitted her with one of the earbuds from his mobile so that she could share his music. “My ma will go apeshit if I’m late.”

“Damned tag — you should get it fixed.” She pulled out the earbud and poked his chest in annoyance. “You’re a good boy. Tell them you’ve changed; you’ve done the Community Service. Be a man, Mash, and stand up for your rights and get them to take it off.”

“I can’t. My ma says I got to wait until they say.” He wanted to make Cuba happy. He loved her, but his mother wasn’t keen on the girl, and the rule that he had to be back under her roof by seven thirty, suited her just fine.

“I have to live up there, with her. I have to do what she wants. It’s her place anyway. If I don’t do what she says, then she’ll throw me out. So for now I’ve got to live with this.” He flashed the tag attached to his leg. “I have to stay at home. It’s part of the deal, and anyway I don’t want to doss down on the deck. I’ll get a kicking.”

“Gangs.” Cuba spat. “I hate this place and everyone in it. We can do better. We should leave here, now, tonight. Together.” She drew her head back and looked him straight in the eye. “What about it?” Her hands rested on her slim hips. “Are you up for it? Will you man up and break away with me?”

Mash tried to laugh off her idea. But he knew from the look in her dark eyes that she meant it. His head and shoulders drooped. “I can’t.”

He had to try and make it right. He wanted Cuba to be okay with what they had. For the time being, at least, it was all he could do. He kissed her hard.

“You’re a disgrace,” she fired at him, once they’d separated. “You got no balls, bad boy.” With a smirk, she reached between his thighs.

“Aw, man, don’t!”

“We could go, you know. You can get that thing removed if you want to. You know people, just like I do, who’ll do it for nothing.”

“I’m trying to be different. It was you said you wanted that. This place, this life, it’s no good. Things need to change and this is the first step.” He pulled her towards him again.

“You’re so wrong, Mash. You’re wrong to stay and take it and you’ll pay. You’ll be made to pay. The others won’t let you change, you know that.”

They were so wrapped up in their argument that neither of them heard the footsteps. They didn’t notice a third presence looming close in the dark. The quiet, purposeful footsteps edged closer; the man was pressed against the wall of the block. Mash was momentarily aware of the tall shadow on the wall beside them. He didn’t hear the click of the gun or the dull thud as the bullet entered Cuba’s back. Mash only realised something had happened when Cuba went limp in his arms.

His grip on her body slackened, and she slithered to the floor like a rag doll. He saw that his hands were covered in her blood. He stared at them in disbelief. He looked around. Cuba was down on the cold concrete, still and bleeding; he had to help her. He knelt down, but she didn’t move. He moved his head close to her chest. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell; his own heart was beating far too loud. There was another dull thud. Searing pain. Then everything went black.

* * *

“Detective! Welcome.” Lydia Holden held open the door.

“You found me, then. You can park at the back.”

“I got a taxi. Thought there might be drink involved?” The truth was he’d thought about more than just the drink. Calladine had agonised about coming here tonight. He was doing exactly what Ruth was doing — fraternising with a possible witness, and one from the press at that. What was wrong with him — he knew the rules? If Jones got wind of this he’d throw the book at him.

“I was hoping you’d come. I would have been terribly disappointed if you’d cried off.” She rubbed his cheek gently with her hand. “You look wonderful. A veritable feast of maleness.”

Calladine wasn’t sure what to make of that. For someone who was simply interested in getting a story, she was going to a lot of trouble. Perhaps he shouldn’t analyse it too much — gift horses and all that. It was just one of those things. It was possible that she did find him attractive — younger women did go for older men — quite often, in fact. Nah, who was he kidding?

He followed her up a rather grand flight of stairs to her apartment on the first floor. She obviously lived in some style. The old mill building had been beautifully renovated. The newspaper business must pay better than he thought.

“I nearly didn’t come tonight. I don’t go out with women I don’t know as a rule. I have someone in my life, and I’m not keen to upset things. And I have to ask myself why you’d be interested in me in the first place.” There, he thought — get it straight from the beginning.

She laughed at that, and the sound echoed around the high ceilings like musical notes. “Oh I think you do, Detective. You are a very desirable man. But I won’t complicate anything. You’re here tonight because I want to keep you close.” She turned around and ran her manicured nails down his chest. “We’ll eat, we’ll talk — and then we’ll see. I won’t pick your brains. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I certainly won’t force you. That’s the deal — not too difficult.”

Calladine cleared his throat. She made it all so sound so easy — too easy. This woman was young, very lovely, and obviously making a play for him. Was she offering him her body in exchange for information? A ridiculous idea that he dismissed almost as soon as it entered his head. But all the same, it left an uneasy feeling behind.

And she’d dressed to kill. She wore a skimpy, short-skirted number that emphasised her figure, and she teetered up the stairs on ultra-high heels. The sight of this beautiful woman reinforced his doubts. He shouldn’t have come here at all. He shouldn’t have fallen for it, this illusion she was spinning. He didn’t know what had possessed him. He should be back at his own place, with Monika.

“It’s small, it’s different but it is all mine,” she announced, as they entered her apartment.

Calladine had not been inside one of these places before, so he’d never seen what the developers had done with the old mill. But he was impressed. Lydia’s apartment was open plan — not something that would suit him, too expensive to heat. The ceilings were high and many of the original features had been left behind. The old stone flags still lay on the floor. They’d been cleaned and varnished, but they were the ones that had seen hundreds of pairs of clogs trample over them across the decades. The ceiling was beamed and the dark oak stripped to make it lighter. Tall windows let in natural light that must fill the place during the daytime.

“It’s been beautifully done. I knew this place as a lad when it was a working mill — not so lovely then, I promise you.”

“I think it’s great. This would cost a fortune in London, which is partly why I moved north.” She poured two glasses of red wine. “I sold my tiny flat in Camden and could afford to buy this outright. Brilliant, don’t you think? I can’t understand why more folk don’t do it.”

“Work is what stops them. Jobs are not that plentiful up here — and then there’s the weather.” They both laughed at this.

“Yes, why is it so wet up here?”

“It’s the hills, the Pennines. We sit in a little semi-circle of land with the hills all around. So the rain clouds get trapped. That’s what my mum always used to tell me, anyway.”

“Your mum, is she . . .?”

“She’s still with us and doing okay. She lives in a care home, run by a good friend of mine.”

He didn’t want to say too much about Monika; it would only spoil the mood. What the hell was he thinking? He shouldn’t be here, and he shouldn’t be trying to hide the fact that Monika was a big part of his life.

“Perhaps I should go.” He put his wine glass down on the table. “Frankly, I should never have come.”

“Oh don’t spoil things now. Please stay. You’re the first man I’ve met since I’ve been here, and, putting the case aside for a while, I would like to get to know you better.” She put down her own wine glass and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t you want to get to know me a little better too? Don’t you find me attractive, Detective?”

She planted little kisses on his cheek, slowly trailing them around to his mouth. “Kiss me, Tom. Kiss me hard.”

The kiss was deep and sensual. Resistance and all thoughts of the case gone, moments later his jacket and tie hit the sofa and she dragged him off to her bedroom. A flurry of discarded clothing and flailing limbs, and then she was on top of him, her naked breasts brushing his chest hair.

Lydia Holden gave one of her dazzling smiles, and produced a small foil packet from the bedside table. “Allow me, Detective.” Moments later, she lowered her body onto his.

He sank gratefully into her welcoming warmth. She groaned with pleasure, swept back the curtain of long, blonde hair from her face and continued to rise and fall on his prone body. Lydia Holden was determined to make this a night he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

Chapter 12

Wednesday

By the time Calladine woke it was daylight. For a few desperate seconds he couldn’t think where he was. And then it hit him. He’d spent the night with Lydia Holden — worse than that he’d spent a night of shameless debauchery with Lydia Holden. What on earth had possessed him? More to the point, what about Monika?

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his brow. He had one heck of a headache. Served him right, cheating bastard that he was. If Monika ever found out about this she’d never forgive him, and who could blame her?

The soft female hand rested on his arm. Lydia lay with her eyes closed, breathing regularly, and with a small smile on those luscious, expert lips of hers. Oh God, how he’d enjoyed this woman!

He checked his watch and found he’d overslept. He’d have to re-live the delights of Lydia Holden’s body later. The rest of his team would be hard at it by now. He pushed things around on the bedside table, but he couldn’t find his mobile. It must still be in his jacket pocket.

He crept out of her bed as quietly as he could manage, but heard her groan. He watched as she ran her hand over the bed sheet where he’d just been lying.

“Tom, don’t go, it’s early.” She rose onto her elbows to watch his naked figure tiptoeing through her bedroom door.

“Work, Lydia,” he called back, scooping up his discarded clothing from the floor and retiring into her bathroom.

Ruth would be ringing round trying to find him. It was way past nine and he should have been at his desk over an hour ago. Ruth would want to know where he’d been. What was he going to tell her? Not the truth, that’s for sure.

Calladine showered and dressed. There was no shaving gear in the bathroom, so he’d have to pass by his place once he’d checked in. For now he’d have to go with the rugged, stubbly look.

There were five missed calls from Ruth on his mobile. “Sorry, Ruth, my battery went dead,” he lied. “Is something up?”

“Cuba Hassan was found last night on the estate — she’s been shot. She was discovered in the narrow alley up the side of Heron House in the early hours. She was lucky to be found at all, and she’s in a bad way.”

He groaned. He’d taken his eye off the ball for one night — one solitary night — and this happened.

“Malcolm Masheda?”

“We can’t find him. His mother hasn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon, and doesn’t know what he’s been up to. She’s just come back from Trinidad. She only flew in to Manchester yesterday morning.”

“Is someone with Cuba at the hospital?”

“Her mother, and I’ve got a uniformed PC with her. She’s in intensive care, but it’s been a good few hours since her op so she should be coming round soon.”

“I’ll meet you there. Damn, I’ve no car. I left it at home last night. Can you pick me up? I’ll wait outside for you — in about five minutes. Okay?”