DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists (2 page)

Chapter 2

The punch landed hard. The young man fell back onto the concrete floor, banging his head. He ran a tentative hand over his face — blood. The bastard had bust his nose.

“You let us down,” Kayne Archer said, kicking his leg. “You were asked to do a simple job. You got it wrong and that’s no good to me. Get stuff wrong again and I’ll take you apart.”

“I can’t do it. I’d be no good at it,” Ricky said. He shuffled away, on his backside.

“You’ll be fine. You need to toughen up.”

“I’m not like you. I can’t get away when I want to.”

“In that case you’d better make some changes. I want you on the team. Refuse again and you’ll suffer.”

“No,” Ricky said, holding the bottom of his T-shirt against his nose. “I don’t want any part of it.” Ricky was terrified. He’d never faced up to Archer and his crew before. They could do him some serious harm. He decided to chance it. “Mr Costello wouldn’t like it.” He’d heard his mother whispering to her sister about someone called Costello. He’d no idea who he was, only that he was trouble. But he had no other defence against this lot. There were three of them — Mick Garrett and Wayne Davey, but it was Archer who was baying for blood. Ricky’s eyes flitted over their faces. Archer wanted to lamp him one. He had his fist ready, poised behind his head.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Archer’s arm came down and he flexed his fingers. He poked Blackwell’s chest instead of caving his skull in.

That had been close. Ricky Blackwell felt sick.

“Don’t take Costello’s name in vain,” warned Archer. “You need to be careful. You never know who’s listening.”

It had worked, though. Archer gave him a long, hard look, grunted an expletive and took off with the two others behind him.

Ricky Blackwell struggled to his feet. He felt dizzy. His head hurt and blood from his nose had stained his clothes. But he’d got off lightly. Whoever Costello was, Ricky owed him.

Archer and his cronies had collared him in an alleyway across the square from Heron House where he lived. Like most people his age on the Hobfield, they didn’t like him.

Ricky tried to keep his head down. It was a matter of self-preservation. He was a natural target for any would-be villain who fancied his chances. He was twenty-two years old but looked at least five years younger. He was small, thin and pale and had a reputation as a mummy’s boy.

Despite treating him as some sort of joke, Kayne Archer was trying to recruit him. He wanted him to run drugs — become a delivery boy. The idea was that Archer would give him the drugs and then Ricky would ride round the estate on his bike, delivering and collecting the money. Ricky would get a cut. But it wouldn’t be long before Archer was feeding him drugs too. Then the money would stop and payment would be made in his drug of choice. Ricky’s mother had warned him. She’d forbidden him to have anything to do with the likes of Archer. But it wasn’t easy.

Ricky brushed himself down. He’d straighten himself out when he got to work. He had been promised a shift at the café on Leesdon High Street. With a bit of luck he could sponge the blood from his clothes. He didn’t want his mother worrying. Mind you, the worrying worked both ways. She’d gone out early this morning, saying she’d be gone all day. He wasn’t daft. He knew she was seeing someone and she didn’t want him finding out.

* * *

“What d’you reckon that lot have been up to?” Calladine had spotted the knot of young men emerging from the alleyway.

“The tall one’s Kayne Archer, sir — right tearaway. Rumour has it he’s dealing dope on the estate, but we don’t know who for.”

“Get uniform to keep an eye out. The first hint that he is — drag him in. Fallon’s death has left a huge gap. All the villains in Greater Manchester must be falling over themselves to fill it. It’s only a matter of time before one of them becomes head man around here. Who are the other two?”

“Mick Garrett — another right hothead, and Wayne Davey. Davey wouldn’t be trouble on his own but put him with that pair and anything’s possible.”

“So they’re the next generation of trouble we’ve to contend with.”

“Who do you reckon is ahead — for the post of top dog, sir? One of them?”

“It could be anyone. The Manchester villains will all be in the running.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“No, Rocco, but that doesn’t stop me from having a bad feeling. Sooner or later someone will show their hand. This estate is literally going begging.”

“Should we stop them, sir? Have a word?”

“No, Rocco, leave them for now. It’s not the right time.”

The two detectives made their way up to the second floor of the tower block. Number twelve looked okay. Like the body at the scene, it looked well kept. There were decent curtains at the windows and the paintwork was fresh and clean. Whoever Emily Blackwell had been, she’d had her standards.

Rocco knocked and they waited.

“No one in, sir,”

“We could do with finding him.” Calladine looked up and down the deck. “I’ll try next door.”

A woman answered. Calladine showed her his badge.

“We’re looking for Ricky Blackwell. Do you have any idea where we can find him?”

“Ricky? He went out earlier. He might have gone to work or the job centre.”

“Where does he work? It’s important we speak to him.”

“He gets the odd hour at the café on the High Street. He might be there. Is Ricky in trouble?”

“No.”

“So what do you want him for? His mum shouldn’t be long.”

“Do you know Ricky’s mum well?” Calladine asked.

“She’s my sister.”

* * *

“We now have a positive identification,” Calladine told the team. “The woman killed on the hillside was Emily Blackwell. Rocco and I went to her flat on the Hobfield looking for the son, Ricky, but we couldn’t find him. We’ll go back shortly. His aunt, Emily’s sister, is going to collect him from work. She agreed to do the identification and I’ve just come from taking her to the Duggan. She confirmed the body is that of her Emily and gave me a current photo.” He pinned it to the incident board.

Imogen looked up from her usual place behind her computer. “I’ve already started some background searches. Emily is divorced. We looked at her bank account and she didn’t have a fortune coming in. Oldston Council paid her salary each month so I presume she worked for them. But there is something else.”

“Go on,” Calladine prompted.

“A small amount of money was paid in each month. It has being going on for years — a company called ‘Jet Holdings.’”

“Do we know who they are?”

“No. Tracing them is proving difficult and it shouldn’t be. I’ll get on to the bank and see what they know.”

“Does her bank account say who she paid her mobile phone bill to?”

Imogen nodded.

“Get on to the service provider for a list of calls and texts. It’s probably switched off now or run out of battery, but make sure.”

“Emily was dressed up,” he continued. “She looked as if she was going somewhere — make-up, high heels.” Calladine was pacing up and down. “We need to know where, who with and how she got to where she was found. Was she meeting a man, for instance?”

“Odd if she was,” Rocco chipped in. “Folk don’t usually arrange a date halfway up a hill.”

“There was the auction today, sir,” Imogen reminded him.

“Yes but that took place in the town. Presumably all the viewing had been done.”

“The Nadens bought Clough Cottage but there would have been other viewings. There was a woman for example. We didn’t know her and she was a bit last minute. She was dead keen to buy the place. She looked the part too. You know, plenty of money behind her. Next thing, she gets a phone call and does one. She sounded American. She may well have looked at the cottage earlier or last night and seen something.”

Imogen had a point. “Ring the auctioneers and check it out. See if they know who the woman was.”

“We need to find her son, sir,” Rocco volunteered. “He may know who those payments came from and where Emily was going.”

“Inspector!” DCI Birch came into the office and nodded at the team. “I’ve had McCabe on the phone again. He does want a member of his new team in on this but he won’t say why. He says it’s because of the murder but I’m not sure I believe him.”

“What other reason could there be, ma’am?”

“It could be anything. I know him of old. He’s hiding something.”

“Does he have a particular DCI in mind?”

“Yes, he does.”

“In that case let’s hope we can entertain him,” Calladine said lightly. “So far it’s a fairly straightforward murder — if murder can ever be described as straightforward.” He tried a smile. “So — go on. Who do we get?”

The entire team were aware that Calladine didn’t want to work with Stephen Greco again. They waited with bated breath for Birch to reply.

“They are sending us someone new, a DCI King.”

There were sighs of relief.

“So we’re to have a spy in the camp.” Calladine was trying to keep it light for the team. “That’s a new one. Perhaps the real reason is to check on our performance.”

“She, Calladine. DCI King is a woman. And no, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Every cloud . . .” but he pulled a face. “You never know, she might let us in on whatever’s going on.”

“She might have to. DCI King won’t get far working alone.”

So Birch wasn’t thrilled either. She left the room.

“As if we didn’t have enough to think about,” Rocco said.

Calladine looked at the incident board. It was almost empty. “Come on then. Let’s see if we can get a bit more information up there before this woman turns up. All we have so far is a name, Emily Blackwell, and a location.”

“Sir, it was a Mrs Mallon who bid on the cottage,” Imogen interrupted.

“Do we know anything about her?”

“No, but she must have some money behind her. Before she got that phone call she’d doubled the existing bid — ours. She was determined to get the place.”

“Get some background on her too,” Calladine told Imogen.

Chapter 3

“This place doesn’t change much, does it, sir?”

“No, Rocco.”

“To their credit the council does try. Look at the wall over there. At some time the parks department has put flowers in those planters.”

“Waste of time and money. The little thugs have kicked them to shreds.

“You have to wonder why. There’s just no sense in such mindless vandalism.”

The two were parked at the edge of the Hobfield. They were watching a group of youngsters on push bikes. They had gathered in a circle and an older teenager was speaking to them.

“Bet that’s nothing to do with cycling proficiency,” Rocco joked.

“Who is that, the one in the middle?”

“Wayne Davey. He’s one of Kayne Archer’s mates. We saw them earlier.”

“Is he local?”

“Very much so — born and raised here.”

“How old?”

“He must be about nineteen or twenty. He’s never had a job as far as I know. He allegedly lives with his mother. But intel from the uniform who keeps an eye out says he’s squatting with some others in an empty flat in Egret House.” He nodded towards a tower block.

“They are up to something. Let’s take a look,” said Calladine.

They got out of the car and walked across the barren concrete square. Davey spotted them and grinned cheekily.

“Go on, lads, get lost. The pigs are here,” he said as the detectives approached. The pack sped off in different directions leaving him standing alone.

“Quite a fan club you’ve got,” said Calladine.

“Just giving them a little friendly advice. Kids on here have to know the rules.”

“Where’s your mate — Archer?” Calladine asked.

“How should I know?”

“You’re rarely apart these days. But you should be careful. Archer and Garrett are a bad lot. My advice is to keep away.”

“You don’t frighten me,” said Wayne. “I’ve done nowt and neither’s Kayne, so you can get lost.”

“You need to learn some manners,” Calladine told him.

The lad laughed, cleared his throat and spat onto the ground.

“What rubbish were you feeding that crew?”

“Telling them like it is, wasn’t I? They want something, they come to us.”

He’d never dare be so full of it back in the Fallon era, thought Calladine.

“Got a new big man on the block, have you?”

The lad laughed. “Oh yeah, the biggest. You need to watch your step, copper.”

Behind them a huge black limo with dark tinted windows pulled silently onto the spare land in front of Heron House. Davey’s face fell.

“I’ve got to go.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over, reducing his six feet by several inches. He looked fearful. “You’re wasting your time harassing me. I don’t talk to coppers.”

As if a switch had flicked, Davey had gone from being a cocky bugger to a frightened little boy. He was edgy and his eyes flitted around him.

“Afraid someone will see us together, son?” Calladine turned to look at the limo. “You need to learn how to relax. All that tension isn’t good for you.”

Davey was mumbling now. “I need to go. I can’t tell you anything.”

“Never said you could, lad. Just thought we’d say hello.” Calladine smiled and clapped Davey affably on the shoulder. He and Rocco walked towards Heron House.

“Get the number of that car?” he asked Rocco.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ring it in to Imogen and get her to find out who owns it. I could be wrong, but I reckon it was someone taking a long, hard look.”

“At Davey, sir?”

“Yes. Him and the Hobfield. Weighing up the competition and what the estate has to offer.”

By the time they reached the second floor, Calladine was panting.

“You should consider doing more exercise, sir,” said Rocco.

“Cheeky sod. This is the second time today I’ve climbed these damned steps, I’ll have you know. You do know how old I am?”

“Do no harm though, would it? Age is no barrier to fitness. There’s a new gym in Leesdon, down by the swimming pool.”

“Any good?”

“They’ve got all the gear and some great offers.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They knocked at the door of Emily Blackwell’s sister.

* * *

“He’s very upset, Inspector,” Enid Mason told him. “And I’m not too clever myself after that visit to the morgue. Seeing Emily like that — her death. It’s given us both a shock.”

“We won’t stay long but we would like to speak to him. It’s important that we know as much about Emily’s background as we can.”

“I can tell you anything you want to know. She only lived next door. We saw each other every day.”

“It’s okay, Auntie. I can do this.”

Ricky Blackwell emerged from a bedroom. He stood in front of them in loose tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. He had a cut on his lip and one eye was bruised.

“You’ve taken quite a pasting, son,” said Calladine, moving closer to look. “Who’d you upset?”

Ricky shrugged. “It’s nowt, honest. A run-in earlier with some idiots. They pick on everybody. Today it was my turn.”

“Those idiots wouldn’t be Archer and his chums, would they?”

Ricky Blackwell shook his head but didn’t answer.

“I need to ask you about your mother, son,” Calladine said kindly.

“Go through and sit down,” Enid offered. “I’ll make some tea.”

The two detectives followed Ricky through to the sitting room. The place was clean and nicely furnished. Not what they were used to seeing on the Hobfield.

“You’re staying with your auntie then, Ricky?”

“Yeah. I won’t be able to keep the flat on. The rent’s too much.”

“Do you know where your mum was going today?” Calladine asked.

He shook his head. “Work, I thought.”

“Do you know why your mum would have gone up to Clough Bottom?”

He rubbed his good eye and shook his head. “She never went up there. She hated the place.”

“Do you know why?” Rocco asked.

“She never said. I think it had something to do with the past.”

“Do you know why Emily hated Clough Bottom, Mrs Mason?”

“It’s
Miss
. I never married.” She set a tea tray down and looked at Ricky. “Who told you that?”

“Mum always said she couldn’t stand the place. We never went up there for picnics or anything when I was little.”

“It’s all in his head, Inspector,” Enid insisted. “Emily had no reason to hate any place round here. It was her home, where she came from.”

“Was Emily seeing anyone?” Calladine asked.

“No!” Enid sounded as if the idea was preposterous. “There’s been no one for years. Not since she ditched that no-good husband of hers.”

Ricky said nothing.

“Where did she work?” asked Rocco.

Enid turned to him. “She worked in the council tax department. It was a simple admin job, nothing complicated. She’d been there years.”

“Have you ever heard of Jet Holdings?” Calladine added.

“No,” she replied at once. “No idea. Why?”

“They were sending Emily money every month.”

She didn’t react but Ricky stared curiously at Calladine for a moment. Calladine got the impression that if his aunt hadn’t been there, he’d have asked about it.

“It must be a company she worked for in the past, an investment, something like that.” She looked nervously at Ricky as she spoke. Calladine suspected she wasn’t telling them everything. Was she hoping the boy would keep his mouth shut?

“Tell me about Emily’s ex-husband, Ricky’s father,” Calladine asked.

The woman shook her head. “He left them. I don’t know why and I never pried,” she practically whispered. “Look, Inspector. Do we have to talk about this now? Isn’t Ricky upset enough already?”

“Do you see him, Ricky?”

The lad shook his head.

“Ricky hasn’t seen his dad in years. The no-good waste of space never sent any money for him either. Emily raised him alone.”

“How long since he left?”

“It’s been seven, maybe eight years. He was real aggro, Inspector. Emily couldn’t stand the strain. He’d stay out all night. He got into fights and mixed with a right bad crowd. Emily was thankful to be rid.”

“Anyone in particular he fought with? Do you remember any names from that time?”

Enid Mason shook her head.

“Was Emily afraid of anyone? Had anyone made threats against her recently?”

“My goodness, no! We keep ourselves to ourselves, Inspector. We go to work and neither of us has ever mixed much. I don’t think Emily had an enemy in the world.”

Well, she had at least one, thought Calladine. The woman was being evasive. Did she have something to hide or was she simply protecting the boy?

“Did Emily have a mobile? We haven’t found a handbag or a phone.”

“She had a black shoulder bag. She kept her life in it, and her phone.”

“You should ring the bank and cancel her debit or credit cards,” Calladine advised. “Ricky, if you think of anything, or if Archer and his crew give you grief, let me know.”

The lad nodded without much enthusiasm.

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting ‘crack’ from outside, followed immediately by another.

Rocco sprang to his feet. “That’s gunshot!”

Calladine’s pulse began to race. The DC had to be mistaken. The Hobfield wasn’t perfect but there’d been no gun crime here for a long time. The two detectives went to the front door and stood on the deck. Below them a group of people were gathered around a figure lying on the concrete.

Ricky Blackwell came out onto the deck. “That’s Wayne!” he gasped.

Calladine and Rocco raced for the stairs. They’d only been talking to the lad a matter of minutes ago.

“Has someone called an ambulance?” Rocco shouted, flashing his badge at the growing crowd.

Wayne Davey was lying on his back. They had heard him screaming but now he was only semi-conscious. Both legs were bleeding profusely.

“They’ve blasted his kneecaps, sir,” Rocco whispered to Calladine. “Poor bugger.”

Calladine pushed his way forward. “Did anyone see who did this?” Nothing but some vague mutterings. He bent down beside Davey. He was rambling, falling in and out of consciousness. “Who did this to you?”

Rocco tapped Calladine’s shoulder. “The ambulance is here, sir.”

“Speak to me, lad.”

His eyes opened. They were glazed over. He must be in excruciating pain, thought Calladine. He doubted the boy’d say anything. This was a warning. His life was on the line and he wasn’t stupid.

They waited until Wayne Davey had been taken away. “That limo’s disappeared,” he said to Rocco. “When we’re back at the nick we must find out who it belonged to. And have a PC keep an eye on him at the hospital.”

He looked around. The area had emptied suddenly. No one would talk. Davey had crossed someone, but who was it?

Calladine turned to Rocco. “That ambulance turned up bloody quick. Check on that too when we get back. I’ve a sneaking suspicion it was called out before the lad was shot.”

* * *

“A shooting?” DCI Birch sounded incredulous. “Gang war, here in Leesdon?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It might be an isolated incident. We’ve had them before. The fact is, no one will talk to us — not yet anyway. Something is wrong on that estate. I’ll go and see Wayne Davey in the hospital once he’s come out of surgery. He might speak to me, given what’s happened.”

“Does Davey belong to a gang?”

“Highly likely. Most young men do. But the gangs on the Hobfield have been fragmented since Fallon’s death.”

“A fight for supremacy, then. Is that what we’ve got?”

It was a possibility. Just as Calladine was about to voice his opinion, Imogen interrupted.

“Sir! That car. It belongs to Rose Argent Enterprises Ltd.”

Calladine felt his stomach tighten.

“
Costello
.”

He could see from the blank faces that the team didn’t know the name, or what it meant. They’d not been in the force as long as he had.

Since the shooting, Calladine had been mentally sifting through the possible culprits. Potentially that included most of the Manchester underworld. But the name Vincent Costello hadn’t even figured. The Hobfield was small fry. A villain like Costello wouldn’t be interested.

“Costello is old school,” he told the team. “He’s made a fortune from his criminal activities. These days he hides under a veneer of respectability. His team have worked hard to airbrush out his dodgy past. But in his time he was a vicious killer.”

“I’ve never heard of the man, sir,” Rocco said.

“No reason you should have. He was long before your time, before mine too. He must be in his late sixties by now. His PR people have done a first-class job. The transformation into good guy has been so complete I almost believe the hype myself.”