A Deadly Imperfection: Calladine & Bayliss 3 (8 page)

‘It’s barely seven in the morning, why so early, can’t it wait, Harriet,’ Gordon Lessing asked with annoyance?  ‘I’ve got work.  My haulage business won’t run itself.  This is most inconvenient.’

More inconvenient than he realises
, the voice purred in Harriet’s head.

‘You know how ill I am, and this won’t wait.  I still have things that belonged to Sybil.  You should have them, jewellery and other items she gave me.’

He didn’t reply but she could almost hear his thought processes.  He would want Sybil’s stuff if he thought it might be valuable.  He was a miserly sod so the thought of getting something for nothing, something he could sell on, that was the hook she needed.

‘You know how I’m fixed, Gordon.  I’m trying to leave things straight,’ she cleared her throat.  ‘It’s all good quality; most of it belonged to our mother.  Your Jane gave it to me after Sybil died.  But it should go to her now – I’ve no use for it.  There’re some family papers too, Jane is into all that genealogy stuff so she’ll appreciate it.’

Jane was his and Sybil’s only child – she was now the last of the line. 

‘Do you want me to come and collect it?’

‘No I’ll bring it round in the car later.  You said you had some props we could borrow for the show at the Church Hall, remember, the magician’s paraphernalia.  I thought I could take a look while I’m at it.  You’ve no idea how difficult it is to get that sort of stuff.’

‘Yes I suppose that’s alright.  I’m here this morning until about ten but then I have to go out.’

‘Thank you, Gordon - I’ll come round within the hour.’

Harriet knew that her brother-in-law had been an avid collector of theatrical bits and pieces for years, the older and the more unusual the better.  He kept it all in his cellar – exactly where she needed him to be.

He’ll take you down there but he won’t be leaving,
the voice reminded her in a gleeful tone.

Harriet was excited – Gordon Lessing was the big one.  She’d get him to take her down into that dark, damp cellar of his and there he’d breathe his last, cold, battered, and in agony.

Serves him right – d’you think Sybil wasn’t cold when he did what he did to her?

The voice was right.  Sybil had been trapped for days in the dead of winter with a head injury, a broken femur and with no way of calling for help.  Lessing had done that.  When she was found her poor sister was very close to death because of hypothermia.  She’d also lost a lot of blood, and had stood little chance of survival despite the hospital’s best efforts.  The medics dismissed what she’d told them as delirium, but Harriet knew different. 

Sybil had told her weeks before that Lessing wanted her dead and that she was scared.   At the time Harriet had reassured her that he wouldn’t dare – he had too much to lose.  Nonetheless she never once doubted that her sister was wrong.  Gordon Lessing was an evil man and as far as Harriet was concerned – capable of anything.  But Sybil was on her guard, and she’d have told him as much.  However Lessing was a clever man.  No one could find any evidence that Sybil’s death had anything to do with him.

After her death Harriet had pieced it together.  She knew he’d driven them both to their caravan by the coast.  They’d stayed for the weekend then he’d said he had to return home alone because of work and that Sybil had wanted to stay.  But Harriet couldn’t understand that.   Sybil hated being alone and it being winter, the park would be deserted. 

Given her injuries, he must have hit her with a heavy object.  He must have taken a wrench or something similar to her head and her leg then left her for dead.  He’d been clever too, he’d set things up so it looked like a robbery gone wrong.  He’d told the police that when she didn’t ring he’d become worried and gone to find out what had happened.

Poor Sybil, poor dead Sybil – Harriet was finally going to make him pay.  She was going to make him talk too.  She’d beat a confession out of him and record it for the police – cruel bastard that he was.
 

***
 

‘You look awful,’ Ruth said raising her head from the pile of papers on her desk.  ‘The result of going walkabout last night, I presume.  Want to tell me about it?’

‘Can’t look that bad,’ he replied rubbing his chin.

‘Well you do,’ she hissed.  ‘And I don’t know what you think you’re doing but Lydia was on phone half the night. I hardly got a wink of sleep, I was worried about you too, idiot!  Why didn’t you just ring her and let her know where you were?’

‘Because I fell asleep.’

‘Are you kidding?  I mean where is there to get your head down between mine and yours?’

‘I bumped into someone, a friend, we had a drink, and well…’

‘Well what, and what friend?’

He’d have to tell her.  She’d go on and on until she wheedled the truth out of him, so why not just cut to the chase.

‘Amaris Dean,’ he cleared his throat.

‘I see.’  

She had that expression on her face, the unimpressed one as she shook her head.  As far as Ruth was concerned - he was at it again.    Now he’d have to explain, in detail, because she’d want to know the lot.

‘You never learn do you?  After the debacle with Monika I thought you’d do things differently but no, you carry on making the same old mistakes.  You’ve still got Lydia at home, remember her?  The woman you’re supposed to be nuts about.  The one you don’t deserve.’

‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘But still you go chasing after some other poor unsuspecting female without clearing up the problem of the old one first.  She’ll find out, you know.  Lydia is a smart cookie and when she does I wouldn’t want to be in the firing line.’

‘Amaris isn’t poor, and I doubt she’s unsuspecting, in fact I think she’s great.  She makes great vodka too.’

‘She’s distilling it – that’s illegal.’

‘No – she steeps cranberries in it, makes a lovely mix, very moorish.’

‘So you got drunk, and slept where – in her bed?’

‘Don’t be daft, I hardly know the woman.  No I dossed down on her sofa.  Unintentional I should add.  But when I woke up she’d taken off my shoes, plumped a couple of pillows around my head and covered me in a duvet.  Lovely woman, lots of promise, I reckon she quite likes me.’

‘Then she wants her head looking at – you too. Lydia will skin you alive when she finds out.’

‘I don’t think Lydia cares anymore,’ he confessed sheepishly.  ‘She’s left me.’

Ruth looked at him long and hard.  How come he was able to deliver news like that with nothing more than a cursory shrug?  Not so long ago Lydia Holden meant the world to him.

‘I’m sorry, and I mean that.  I thought you might actually make a go of it with the woman.  But I can’t say I blame her, but why she’s gone – does she know about Amaris already?  You haven’t been stupid enough to tell her, have you?’

‘No, and don’t you go telling her either.  She’s fed up, that’s all.  She’s had enough of me not being much fun, that and my reluctance to get involved with Fallon again has sort of ruined it.’

Ruth was well aware of Calladine’s hatred of his cousin and of how much Lydia wanted to change that.  But her reasons were purely selfish.  Lydia still believed that Fallon could somehow benefit her career.  Unlikely, in Ruth’s opinion, as she couldn’t see how involvement with the villain could help anyone – it had virtually ruined Calladine’s chances of promotion.

‘So where’s she gone?’

‘She’s staying with Zoe and Jo for the time being, can you believe that – my own daughter’s putting her up!  She’ll be expecting me to make some grand gesture so that she can come back,’ he rubbed his head.  ‘Trouble is I don’t know if that’s what I want.  I’m all out of grand gestures where Lydia’s concerned.  I know it sounds mad, given how things have been the last few months, but now that she’s gone I feel sort of relieved’

‘Because now you can chase after Amaris Dean with a clear conscience, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?   You are an idiot, Tom Calladine.  Don’t you ever want to settle down?’

‘Lydia was never the settling down type.  You warned me often enough.’

‘Lydia’s good for you.  I know she can be single minded and likes to get her own way but my advice is make that grand gesture - forget all about Amaris Dean.  Can you do that?’

He didn’t reply but wandered off towards the incident board.  It was a good job they were alone in here, he wouldn’t want the others hearing any of this. 

‘You told anyone your news yet?’

‘No, and don’t you either.  It’s early days but we will tell folk after the first scan.’

‘You told me.’

‘You’re not folk – are you?’  She said, giving him a grin.  ‘You’re practically family and I trust you to keep it shut.  And it’s because I care about you that I’m telling you to put things straight with Lydia.  Get Amaris Dean out of your head because she’ll only cause you trouble.’

Ruth’s advice might be well founded but it was too late.  Amaris Dean was already a problem.  She was in his head - he couldn’t stop thinking about her.  But he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

‘Who’s going to see Samantha Hurst?’  He called back.

‘I though you and me would go.  She’s got a clinic until eleven then she’s free.’

‘Can’t you take Rocco with you?’

At that moment both Imogen and Rocco entered the Incident Room so Ruth took the conversation into his office.

‘Is this you wimping out again, Tom Calladine?’  She asked closing the door behind her.  ‘It should be you, you know that.  This is too important.  We need to ascertain the nature of their relationship.  Samantha Hurst could even become a suspect – have you even considered that?  You need to set aside all the personal stuff and get your professional head on.  You need to deal with this properly.  She looks like the only person who knew Doctor Ahmed well enough to tell us anything.  She can probably determine if anything is missing from his house.  We need to take her there, walk her around and see what she says.’

‘I can’t go anyway, I’ve got things to do this morning, Occupational Health,’ he lied.  ‘After that I’d thought I go see Doc. Hoyle, see what forensics has turned up.  I should tell Julian about Samantha.  Get a DNA sample and finger prints when you see her.’

‘Okay then, I’ll take Rocco, but this isn’t finished, not by a long chalk and like I’ve said before, it won’t go away.  You need to face this.  Samantha Hurst may not even know who you are but she’s your half sister, you can’t change that.’

His face was grey again, his mouth pulled into a thin line.  He knew Ruth was right but he couldn’t face meeting his new family, not yet.  And if he saw anyone first then it had to be Eve Buckley herself.

Two mugs of coffee, a quick look at the Cassidy/Prideau files and he had more questions than answers.  What were Thorpe and his lot doing about the missing girl?  She was only four years old for God’s sake, and she’d been gone for nearly a week.   Imogen’s research had thrown up a very real possibility too, so why weren’t those goons on the other team taking any notice.

‘Imogen, have you spoken to Oldston nick about this?’  Calladine asked placing the file back on her desk.  ‘Because I think you should.  Your research and theories have merit and that lead you got can’t just be ignored.’

‘You mean the mutual friends thing on the social media site?’

‘Yep, exactly that.  Give the DI who dealing with the Leah Cassidy case a ring and talk to him.  The two missing girls are linked.   Whoever took Leah Cassidy also took Isla Prideau, I’ll bet on it.  This needs sorting before some other poor kid goes missing.’

Apart from himself, Imogen and Joyce, the room was empty.  Ruth and Rocco had gone then.  He should feel relieved but he didn’t, he just felt like he’d let his sergeant down.  He knew he had to face up to this sooner or later.  He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and gazed at the incident board. 

What was it telling him - the faces, the methods, and then the mystery of those strange cards?  What was it Amaris had suggested – that the killer was matching cards to victims?  And was that really their killer – that blurry image of an elderly woman walking along the Avenue Ahmed had lived on?  It didn’t seem likely somehow.  But if they could find her perhaps she could give them something.  She could have seen someone, a car, heard shouting, anything.

He coughed and moved a little closer.  A surge of excitement flew through his body.  The old feeling was back – that feeling he got when he was on to something, when he’d spotted something significant.  Why hadn’t he seen it before?  His head too full of bloody fog was the answer to that.  But it was obvious now that he’d realised. 

It wasn’t just cards their murderer was matching to the victims - it was the method of killing them too.  The way each victim died was somehow meaningful to the bastard.  So it was about revenge after all.

‘Joyce, could you do something?  Look back in the records and see if there is anything that links Albert North to a fatality involving fire.
 

‘Heavy night?’  Was the greeting Calladine got from the Doc.  ‘You look if you should consider doing something else too.’

‘What do you mean?’  Calladine asked as the Doc pushed a pamphlet at him.

‘Retirement made easy,’ the Doc smiled knowingly, ‘for folk like you and me, of a certain age and wedded to the job.’

‘I’m not ready for all that bollocks just yet,’ was the Inspector’s scathingly reply as he shook his head.  ‘I lay on that sofa of mine for weeks on end, and it was no way to live, I’m telling you.’

‘You must have hobbies, Tom, something you like to do in your free time.’

‘No – that’s just it, Doc, I’m a cop.  I get up a cop and go to bed a cop.  My head’s permanently full of cop stuff, so no, I don’t do hobbies.’

Doc. Hoyle sighed heavily.  ‘That’s what I suspected - this isn’t the answer for either of us, is it?’  He decided throwing the pamphlet in the bin.  ‘I’d go mad without this, so who am I kidding?’

‘So that’s sorted then.  No more talk of retirement - it’s a dirty word as far as I’m concerned.  And the heavy night, it’s a long one so I won’t bore you with the detail.’

‘It’ll involve a woman, bound to.  You’re something of a Casanova on the quiet, so I’m told.’

‘That’s a bloody lie!  I like women and I’ve had some unfortunate relationships, that’s all.  And you shouldn’t listen to gossip – it’ll all be exaggerated.’

The Pathologist laughed and gestured for him to sit down.

‘Wish I had your misfortune, Tom.  That Lydia of yours is lovely and young too.  You’re a lucky man, don’t know how you do it.’

‘Your Pat would kill you if she heard what you’d just said,’ Calladine warned him.  ‘Me and Lydia, we’ve had a bit of a spat, hence the way I look.  I had too much to drink and stayed out all night at a friends, now Lydia’s moved into Zoe’s place.’

‘Well at least you know where she is, get a bunch of flowers, pile on the charm, she’ll come back.’

Yes she probably would, but that was part of the problem.

‘Anyway, enough of my love life, have you got anything else from the Post Mortems, Doc?  Did Rocco tell you about Doctor Ahmed and the walking stick theory?’

‘Yes he rang me, Tom, and I think he may be right.  It’s the narrow track of the blade and the depth of penetration.  It sliced into his heart and right through his aorta – the poor man had no chance.  There would have been absolutely nothing anyone could have done for him; he’d have bled out in no time.’

Calladine winced, poor sod.  What had he done to deserve that, he wondered?  What wrong was their killer trying to right with that one?

‘Forensics?’

‘We faired a little better there.  Julian is still looking at the hair from the wig and he’s got something from the beaker he found on the common.  Have a word with him before you leave, he’ll give you an update.’

‘We could do with something to give us clue on this one.  I think our killer is working through a list of poor sods he or she wants rid of.  I also think the method of killing is deliberate – it means something, an act of revenge.

‘A sort of bucket list of victims?’

‘Exactly that, Doc.’

‘People usually have a bucket list when they are coming up to a milestone, Tom.  A list of things to achieve before a major birthday, or ….,’ he paused thoughtfully for a moment.   ‘Or before they die,’ he looked up at the detective.  ‘Have you considered that one - that your killer may have a terminal illness – cancer for example?  Perhaps even one of Doctor Ahmed’s patients?’

‘We are looking into that one too.  Getting the information is the tricky bit – you know what hoops we have to go through.’

Hoops or not it was becoming imperative that they did some digging.  A vengeful killer with bucket list of people to get rid of – the Doc could have something.  It was certainly worth investigating.   But perhaps it would be easier to start with North – see what might connect him to one of Ahmed’s patients with a grudge to settle.

‘D’you fancy a pint late, in the ‘Weaver’s?  Give us a chance to relax, unwind before we go home and face,’ he grimaced, ‘well before I have to go back and face up to the Lydia thing.’

‘Okay Tom, I’ll see you in there about seven.’

‘Great Doc., I’ll look forward to it.  I’ll pop along and see Julian before I go.  Anything else comes up let me know.’

‘I will Tom, and don’t you overdo it.   We may be wedded to the job but at our age we need to stay on top physically,’ he warned.

‘DI Calladine,’ Julian Batho said as Calladine entered his lab.  ‘I was going to ring you,’ he told him with a rare smile on his face.  ‘I’ve got DNA from the beaker.  Albert North’s as we would expect and A.N. Other.   They both must have drunk whiskey from it.  North’s DNA is on record but we don’t have a match on the database for the other, I’m afraid.  But come the day when you drag someone in then we’ll see.’

‘That’s great Julian – I’m sure it’ll pay dividends.  Did any of the uniform boys or the Scenes of Crime find Doctor Ahmed’s mobile?’

‘No, and we searched his place thoroughly.  The killer may have taken it.  Do you know what was taken from the house yet?’

‘No, but I don’t think the motive was robbery.  We’ve found someone who knew the Doctor well.  We’re going to get her to look around his house, see if anything is missing.  I’ll have to get a DNA sample from her too,’ he told the scientist.   Great first meeting between siblings that was going to be!

‘If you get anything, bring it in and I’ll see what else I can get.’

‘Right, I’ll leave you to it,’ Calladine told him as he left. 

He’d walked to the hospital - it wasn’t that far from the nick and although the weather was still cold it wasn’t raining and the fresh air would do him good - help clear his head.  He intended to walk back to Ruth’s and pick up his car.  Quite coincidently his route would take via Amaris Dean’s shop and he’d hopefully catch her free. 

He’d left his box there this morning.  He’d not meant too but being tired and slightly the worse for drink from the night before, he’d forgotten all about it.  Would she have opened it, he wondered.

The shop was empty and Amaris was stacking shelves behind the counter.

‘Hello,’ he greeted her sheepishly.  ‘Thanks for last night and I’m sorry I crashed like that on your sofa.  It’s not what I’m usually like, believe me.’

She turned and smiled at him with that smile that had the power to make him go all stupid again.  Her long, sable hair was loose and flowing onto her shoulders.   She looked so young, so lovely.

‘It wasn’t a problem, Tom.  You were troubled, you’re still troubled,’ she said coming closer and placing her hand on his arm.  ‘Coffee, perhaps a chat,’ she suggested.  ‘I’m a good listener.’

He checked his watch, mid morning, why not?

‘Okay, do you want me to mind the shop while you make it?’

She walked over to the door and turned the sign to ‘closed’.  ‘Not necessary, we’ll take our coffee upstairs.  You left your tin box here - I’ve got it safe for you.’

She took him upstairs to her flat again.  It was warm, cosy and smelled of the same incense she’d been burning in the shop.

‘Sit, relax, I’ll put the coffee on,’ she reached over to a set of shelves and handed him the box.  ‘I haven’t peeked, I promise you, tempted though I was.  It has a strange aura.  It holds a secret – it’s made you afraid.’

She was right on that score.  He wasn’t just frightened, he was terrified.  She could have looked, Calladine reasoned.  Then she’d know the secret, but had she?  Could he believe her?  He placed it on the small table in front of the sofa.  Amaris Dean was a tricky woman, she had to be, how else could she know the things she did?

‘Amaris,’ he called to her.  ‘Sorry to come here like this but I wanted to thank you, and to pick this up,’ he said, tapping the tin.

‘Call me Amy,’ she said surprising him as she came back into the sitting room with a tray of coffee.  ‘Amaris is my business name, my Wicca name, Amy Dean is what’s on all my official documents, and it’s what my friends call me.’

‘Amy,’ he pondered this for a moment.   ‘I can understand an Amy - it’s Amaris that scares the life out me.’

At that she laughed and put the tray down in front of them.

‘What is it that scares you about my name, Tom?’

‘Well you, the whole package.  The things you do - the stuff you seem to know.’

‘But I do know things, I can’t help the way I am, can I?’  She shrugged.  ‘But you mustn’t be afraid - I want us to be friends.  Nothing I know can hurt you.’  With that said Amy sat down beside him and kissed his cheek.  ‘Do you have a woman in your life, Tom?’

Now he felt really nervous, and coughed, clearing his throat.  He’d no idea where this was going.

‘Don’t you already know the answer to that,’ he asked lightly.  ‘With all your talents, I mean.’

‘I sense a complication – emotion but distrust.  Whoever you are with is not the woman for you and I think you are just beginning to realise that.’

He shook his head.  ‘In that case, I suppose the only answer I can give is, perhaps,’ he said throwing his arms in the air. 

She laughed, ‘That makes no sense.  Perhaps, is not an answer, I should ask instead - are you in love with anyone?’

Now that he could answer – no he wasn’t.  He’d been infatuated with Lydia, flattered by her interest in him, but it wasn’t love.  He shook his head.

‘See, in that case you’re free, emotionally free.  Free perhaps to have dinner with me tonight.’

‘You want me to take you out?’

She was smiling at him, that pretty mouth of hers, what was it saying, what was she hinting at?

‘If you wish,’ she paused, her eyes were flashing him messages he didn’t understand.  ‘Or we could eat here, order something in.’ She took his hand in her own.  ‘I would prefer that.  I make no bones about my needs, Tom, and apologies if my openness makes you uncomfortable, but I want to make love with you.  I’ve wanted you since the moment you first walked in my shop.’

Calladine was stunned.  Amaris Dean wanted him, wanted him in the
biblical
way
as his mother would say.  He pulled his hand free - a shiver went down his spine.  He’d no idea what to say to her, what to do.  Did she sense the same need in him he wondered?

‘Well, Tom,’ she took hold of his hand again.  ‘Do you want to come here tonight and make love to me?  I think you do, I touch your hand and I can sense it.’

He looked at her face, that smile still lingered and those amazing eyes were twinkling with amusement.  She knew, she damn well knew what she was doing to him.  She probably knew too, how much he was attracted to her.  He nodded - his mouth too dry to speak.

‘I’m a very open person, and I’m needy sexually, sorry if this offends you, Tom.  I have had many lovers, I’ve never married and I’ve no children.  I am wary of close emotional attachments, you see they drain me.  That might not be what you want to hear but you need to know before we start this.  I want you to be under no illusions about what you’re getting into.’

She was honest, if she was nothing else.  Wary of emotional attachments – what was that supposed to mean?  And what if it was him that got emotionally attached?

‘We’ll see how it goes,’ he mumbled in response.

‘Drink your coffee, and take two of these, they’ll make you feel better.’  She handed him two tablets.

‘Some weird potion, are they?’

‘Paracetamol,’ she replied, suppressing a giggle.  ‘You have a hangover and I want you fresh for later.’   Then she leaned in close and kissed his mouth hard.
 

***
 

Calladine picked up his car and then went back to nick.  All this personal stuff was really messing with his head now.  First Eve Walker or Buckley, and now Amaris or Amy Dean was whizzing around his mind.  It was all interfering with his thought processes where the case was concerned.  He needed his wits about him, he needed to stay sharp.

But he couldn’t ignore what Amy Dean had just said to him.  The way she’d spoken to him – her openness about what she wanted kept going round and round in his head.  He should be flattered, he could hardly believe his luck - she wanted him, wanted him physically.  He was reluctant to admit it but in that moment he realised that he felt the same.  He wanted her too, but what to do about Lydia?  She wouldn’t just pat his arm and let him go.  She’d be outraged that he was seeing another woman, and she’d retaliate.  He shuddered, that woman had a mean temper. 

He might fancy her but he’d still have to think about it.  There was a lot at stake.  And hadn’t he already arranged to meet up with the doc in the Weaver’s?  If he saw Amy then he’d had to cry off but if he wriggled out of seeing her then what could he use as an excuse?  She’d see right through him. 

When he got back Ruth and Rocco were still out.  Joyce had her head glued to her computer screen and a tall man with blondish hair was leaning over Imogen as they both studied the contents of a file.  Calladine looked at him quizzically for a moment or two.  Who was he – some new boyfriend of hers?  That was if Imogen even had a boyfriend?

‘Guv,’ she called out, spotting him.  ‘Come and join us.