Dead Wrong (8 page)

The sound was louder, piercing and close. Calladine shook himself suddenly, realising what it was. He fumbled for a moment with the duvet, then reached a hand over to his bedside table and picked up his throbbing mobile. The screen said
Ruth.

“I’m on my way to the common. More body parts have turned up. It’s a truly horrible mess, according to the constable who contacted me.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.” He was suddenly wide awake, unsure if he’d slept or not. There was too much on his mind — his mother, Monika and, of course, the case.

He’d known it was only a matter of time before this happened. Whoever was responsible couldn’t hang onto the bodies for long, it wasn’t practical. Sooner or later the rest of those poor sods were bound to surface. Calladine supposed that their man hadn’t been too concerned about where he’d left the other bits, so the common was as good a place as any.

* * *

Ruth turned her collar up. It was cold and raining hard. The ground was soggy with mud and churned by numerous pairs of feet. She hated all this early morning excitement. A rushed breakfast eaten on the hoof and a cup of tea downed in one. She couldn’t wait to get back to the office, to some warmth and a chance to eat properly.

She and Rocco carefully picked their way towards one of the small police tents that had been erected on the wasteland that was Leesdon Common. They made lonely, forlorn shapes in the open wilderness. A sad place to end up, she thought, shivering.

It was early, not yet six in the morning, but still a crowd had gathered, their necks craning behind the police tape, all curious to know what had happened. How had they got to hear about it? She’d like to know how Calladine was going to keep this quiet.

The edge of the Hobfield estate was only a few hundred yards away from Leesdon centre. A tract of wasteland, known as the common, separated them. It sloped down from the outskirts of Leesdon to a small stream at its lowest point then turned upwards again towards the estate. The locals used it as a shortcut to the shops along Leesdon High Street. The kids used it as a place to dump and torch stolen cars.

“Time to get kitted up.” She took the proffered paper forensic suit and climbed into it. She pulled on the over-socks and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Once ready, she pulled back the door flap of the nearest tent. DI Calladine would be here shortly. In the meantime, it was her call. She was flattered that he trusted her to be thorough. It had taken her long enough to earn that trust.

Ruth Bayliss entered the tent totally unprepared for the sight that confronted her. The remains of what she was later to learn were two dismembered bodies lay scattered over the wet ground.

She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Unprofessional, but she couldn’t help herself. Gavin Hurst’s head was lying like a football at her feet. One of his eyes was gone, and most of his teeth. He’d obviously been severely battered about the face.

It was a scene from a bad horror film. There was just so much blood, too many entrails, so much muddy, red pulp everywhere. In that moment, Ruth knew that Calladine’s instincts had been correct. This wasn’t the work of Fallon or a rival gang. This was something else entirely. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself, and understood exactly what the inspector had feared. This was the work of a maniac.

Ruth had seen many horrific crimes, but nothing matched this. She inched forward carefully; what looked like guts were spread over the ground in front of her.

“Nasty, isn’t it?” Doc Hoyle understated. “We’ve erected four tents and there are body parts in each. Spread over quite an area too. It looks like someone has come along with plastic bags full of bloody waste, and strewn it all over the common.”

Ruth swallowed hard. She couldn’t tell how Rocco was doing, but she’d seen enough to make her feel faint. She stepped forward, tentatively, trying to avoid both the empty bags and the blood, until she felt the ground squish and give under her foot. She looked at Rocco. His eyes held hers for a moment. After a breath or two she steeled herself to glance down, and was horrified to find she’d just stood on a human kidney.

* * *

Calladine slammed the car door shut and plunged his hands deep into his raincoat pockets, hiding his fists. His face was drawn, hard-looking and expressionless as he walked towards one of the tents. Ruth was coming out in a hurry.

By the time he got to her she was behind the tent, almost bent double.

“First time since I was a rookie,” she apologised. “Couldn’t help it. It’s dreadful in there . . .” She nodded towards the tent. “And there’s more — entrails in that one and severed limbs over there.”

“No half measures then.”

Calladine lifted the tent flap and looked inside. Doctor Hoyle was bent over a torso. He looked up.

“I’ll get them back to the mortuary, Tom. While they’re out here I can’t even tell which part belongs to which body. Although I take it the hand over there with all the fingers missing belongs to your Mr Edwards.”

“Why here?” Calladine closed his eyes against the sight. “No attempt’s been made to hide anything.”

“That’s about the size of it. Dumped here — left in all their gory glory for some poor unsuspecting bastard to find. The body parts were brought here in carrier bags and emptied out all over the place. God knows what it’s all about. I don’t envy you your job, Tom . . . Oh, and you should know. That bloodied hand mark was stamped on some of the bags and body parts.”

Calladine wasn’t surprised at Ruth’s reaction. He was perilously close to throwing up himself. He finished his round of the tents and stood in the damp morning air, inhaling deeply. This was as bad as it got. But what had he got? Two mutilated, murdered bodies and a mark. Was it a gang tag? No it wasn’t — it definitely wasn’t that. But the bastard doing this wanted him to think it was. He wanted them all to be chasing shadows.

“Detective Inspector?” The voice interrupting his thoughts was soft.

Calladine opened his eyes and stared at the young woman in front of him. She was young — well, a good few years younger than he, and blonde. He’d never seen her before and her accent wasn’t local.

“Lydia Holden from the Leesworth Echo.” She took a card from her bag. “Can you give me anything? The heads up on what’s going on here?”

If she hadn’t been a woman he’d have told her to piss off. He wasn’t in the mood. But she was, and his mother had brought him up to be a gentleman, so he pursed his lips and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be here. Behind the tape is where you belong.”

“I’ll get nothing back there.”

“As yet there’s nothing to tell, and you should know better, Miss . . .”

“Holden.” She continued to smile. “This is so very extraordinary.” Her gesture encompassed the crowded scene. “I can count, Inspector,” she dipped her eyelashes, “. . . and there are four tents. I’ve seen the pathologist arrive. So am I to take it you’re dealing with more than one murder here?”

He gave her a long hard look.

“You can take it any way you want. I’ve said nothing about murder, and I can’t discuss details yet, so you’re wasting your time.” Calladine shook his head. He’d like to tell this woman to go to hell, but he knew his public relations. Nonetheless, he had to tell her something; the press would be all over this soon in any case. In no time they’d be clinging to him like leeches. “We’re dealing with an incident, Miss Holden, for now that’s all I can say. When I have more I’ll be in touch.”

He nodded curtly. As he tried to sidestep her, she caught hold of his arm.

“I’m not stupid, Inspector. This is something big. You can’t kid me.”

The sweet smile had soon vanished. She was just another hack after scandal. She’d be wasting her time using those looks to get anything out of him.

“It could be in your interest to give the story to me first. We could help each other. You can’t keep us out of this, Inspector. I suspect it’s too big.”

Lydia Holden wasn’t a name he recognised. The local reporter he usually dealt with was a crusty old character called Morton. What had happened to him? He frowned and looked at her. He wasn’t happy; it was early and he hadn’t slept. This woman, whoever she was, was a nuisance he could do without. But she was right. He would be able to keep the press at arm’s length for just so long.

She smiled again. Her teeth were white and she had sparkling blue eyes. Her blonde hair billowed in soft curls around delicate features. The more she smiled at him, the more he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Lydia Holden met his stare. She was probably aware of the effect she was having on him; most men would find her beguiling. Tom Calladine was no different. She coughed lightly and finally succeeded in handing over her card. “We’ll talk again, Inspector. My instincts tell me that before this is finished you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Chapter 8

“Mrs Edwards? Donna?”

“What the hell do you want, this time in the morning?” She’d seen at once that he was police. Her hands rested on scrawny hips, and a cigarette hung from her crudely painted mouth.

“May we come in, Donna?” This isn’t something we should discuss out here.” He was aware of faces peering at them from the neighbour’s front doors.

She shook her head in disgust and discarded the fag, letting it fall over the railing. Calladine watched it flicker and spin to the ground seven floors below.

“I can tell you now I’ve got nowt to say. Nowt about me and nowt about that son of mine. And it’s Miss, not Mrs.”

Calladine, Ruth and a uniformed female officer followed her inside the untidy, poky flat.

“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you, Donna.”

This was never easy. It was the worst part of his job and it never got any better. Even if it was a son like Ice, it wasn’t a task he relished. She might look like a hard nut, but it was always a front. This was a rough place to live, and the Hobfield Estate gave no quarter. If you didn’t have a big mouth, if you didn’t fight back, then you had no chance.

Donna Edwards looked like a volatile woman. She probably knew this visit meant trouble, and she was on edge. She busied herself, nervously knocking a couple of cushions into shape and throwing them back onto the sofa.

“What’s the little bastard done now?” She grabbed another cigarette from a pack on the table. “If it’s anything to do with money then it’s no good looking at me, cos I’ve got none. No good little scroat should be working. He owes me, and then there’s Kelly and that babe of hers. She was here earlier in the week, looking for him and asking for help, poor cow.”

“It’s nothing to do with money, Donna.” He heard Ruth clear her throat behind him, wanting him to get on with it. “I’m afraid it’s bad news. Ice — Ian. He is dead. He’s been killed.”

Donna Edwards stared at him, not quite grasping what she’d been told. The female PC walked forward and ushered her onto the sofa. Calladine watched all this happen in slow motion. Now it would begin. Within hours, perhaps less, the whole estate would know.

“Accident?” Her voice was a whisper.

At that moment Calladine wished with all his heart that it had been. The explanation would have been easy then, uncomplicated. A few words of comfort and they could leave her to get on with it. As it was, he couldn’t tell her the truth, not in its unadulterated form, not yet.

“No, Donna, not an accident. I’m afraid Ian was murdered.”

Her eyes went wild. She looked frantically from one officer to another, and then pushed the PC’s arm from her shoulder.

“No!” she screamed. “Not Ice. He’d never let that happen. He is . . . He knew about the dangers.”

“What dangers? What are you talking about, Donna?”

She stared at him with a look of pure hate and clutched the sides of her head, shrieking. “I’ve already said, I’m telling you nowt! He was my boy and it’s not his fault.”

Donna Edwards collapsed to the floor, wailing and screaming. The PC tried her best to get her to a chair, to comfort her, but it was no use.

“Donna, when did you last see Ian? I’m sorry I have to ask these questions, but the information might help us find who did this. You do want us to find out what happened to Ice, don’t you?”

She stared at him with glazed eyes. She looked frightened, an added layer of distress that aroused the detective’s curiosity. What was on her mind? What did she know that she wasn’t saying? Ray Fallon?

“Was there anything going on? Was there a feud? Had Ice crossed someone he shouldn’t, Fallon for example?”

There, he’d asked the question. Uttered the name. Calladine doubted very much she’d tell him, but he had to ask.

She shot him an angry look then shook her head. “No. He’s not stupid. He’d never mess with that bastard. He knew which lines never to cross.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “He knew well enough what Fallon’s like, what’d happen if he crossed him. He runs this shithole — Fallon, not the police.”

Calladine shook his head. Fallon was in Strangeways prison, so how come he was still running things on the Hobfield? Via his goons, that was how.

“Anyway, he never said nothing to nobody. Fallon trusted him. He did a good job and never put a foot wrong.” She hesitated. “I would have known if he’d messed up. There are folk out there who’d be only too pleased to tell me. You’ve no idea what it’s like round here. It’s damned hard, and people are quick to hate. Plenty hated Ice because of what he did, the drugs and that . . .” She was sobbing. “But there’s more that’ll miss him now he’s gone. No one would dare cross him, not with Fallon to call on. The place has ticked over nicely, dead quiet like, since last spring.”

It has, hasn’t it? thought Calladine. So what the hell was this all about?

“PC Brooke is going to stay with you. She’ll arrange for someone to come and sit with you, a family member, or a friend. Don’t leave the flat for the time being, Donna. If you need anything PC Brooke will arrange it.”

Calladine knew Donna Edwards wouldn’t like this, but he had no choice. He didn’t want the press getting hold of her. He could visualise the headlines, and they made him cringe.