DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists (7 page)

Chapter 9

“Mrs Hunter?” Annie Naden smiled at the woman who opened the door. “I wonder if you can help me.”

The woman scowled.

“I believe you’ve lived in this house for a long time.”

“Nigh on fifty years,” she replied. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“It’s about an ex-neighbour of yours. Me and my husband have bought Clough Cottage up on the hill and we’ve found something that belonged to one of them.”

“That dump! Hope you’ve got money behind you.”

Annie Naden wanted this woman to talk to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have given her the time of day. She’d perfected her rudeness down to the last grimace. “We found a school satchel. There was a name and address in one of the books. They used to live next door to you.”

Another doubtful scowl. “Who were these neighbours?”

“The Rhodes family. Does that name ring any bells?”

“Rhodes.” She virtually spat the name. “Yes, I remember them. He was a drinker and she worked at the mill up there.” She pointed towards the town. “It’s gone now, the paper mill. Pulled it down and threw up a supermarket and some houses.”

“Did they have a daughter called Carol?”

“Yes. Given the stock she came from, a surprisingly nice girl. There was a son as well, as far as I remember. Don’t know what happened to him.”

“That’s great. Do you know where Carol Rhodes is now?”

Mrs Hunter stared at Annie. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to be funny, lass?”

“No, not at all,” Annie replied. “I’d really like to give the satchel back to her, that’s all.”

“Well, you’ll have a job, love. Carol Rhodes walked out of her parents’ house some forty years ago and no one’s seen her since.”

* * *

The Pennine Inn was situated along a narrow country lane above the village of Hopecross. From here on a clear day you could see right over the valley, across the village of Lowermill to Leesdon beyond.

The restaurant was surprisingly busy for such a remote location. Calladine cast his dark eyes around the diners. A woman waved. He wondered how she’d recognised him.

“DI Calladine?” she drawled in the American accent Imogen had mentioned. “Good of you to come at such short notice.”

“Mrs Mallon?”

The woman nodded.

Imogen was right about the woman being attractive. He guessed she was about his own age but she carried it much better. She looked as if she was throwing everything she’d got at the aging process and winning. Frequent visits to the salon had paid off. She had glossy hair and her make-up and clothes were immaculate. Everything was faultless. Plastic surgery? he wondered, looking at her perfectly formed nose, flawless skin and full lips. He mustn’t get sidetracked. This woman had an agenda. He mustn’t forget that despite the looks, she was still one of Costello’s minions.

She’d reserved them a table by a large picture window that looked out over the valley.

She smiled. “This hotel is in a beautiful spot. The countryside around here is amazing.”

“So you work for Vinny Costello?” He wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation.

“Occasionally I do,” she allowed. Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “But not exclusively for him. I came to Leesworth more as a favour than anything else. He used to live around here, you know.”

“Yes I do know, but that was a long time ago. What puzzles me is why he’s interested in the place now.”

“Here.” She passed him a menu. “Let’s order lunch. They do fabulous food here. Order whatever you fancy, it’s on Rose Argent Enterprises.”

The charm offensive was gathering pace.

Calladine placed the menu back on the table. “What does Costello want from Leesdon?”

She gave him a little smile. “You must try not to be so suspicious, Inspector. Mr Costello has a past, as I’m sure you know, but there is another side to him.”

“You mean apart from the kill first and sod the consequences side,” he replied, parodying her smile.

“You’re a policeman. You’re bound to be sceptical, it would be unnatural if you weren’t.”

“So go on, indulge me. Why are you here?”

“Memories, Inspector. That’s what this is all about.”

Not so much as a flicker on that lovely face. She seemed to mean it. She had either made lying into an art form or it was the truth. “Now I am intrigued. You are suggesting that Costello has turned into a sentimental old man. I’m not having that. There has to be more.”

“No, that’s it, pure and simple. Mr Costello asked me to come here, visit specific places and take photos. An easy enough task, but I appear to have attracted your attention.”

“You were on the Hobfield yesterday when a young man was shot.”

“I believe so. Although I must say at once that I didn’t see anything.” She looked perturbed. “I didn’t stay long.” She rummaged in her handbag and took out a camera. “This is what I was doing, Inspector.” She showed him the images. There were about twenty of them, all different views of the Hobfield. “I’ve also taken a few of local landmarks and the surrounding countryside.”

“Why? Why would Costello want this little lot?”

She put the camera back. “I have no idea, but he does. I didn’t ask questions. I’m getting very well paid, so I did as he asked. Photos he wants, so that’s what he’ll get.”

“Did he specify what you should photograph?”

She smiled. “Not really. Apart from the Hobfield it’s up to me. A montage of Leesworth — warts and all.”

“Did he ask you to look anyone up? Old friends for example?”

“No, he didn’t mention anyone.”

“A woman Costello might have known from the old days was murdered near Clough Cottage. The cottage is on a hillside known locally as Clough Bottom.”

“I hope you’re not thinking that that has anything to do with me, Inspector. I can assure you I’m not in the habit of killing people.” She spoke with feeling. “Who was she?”

“Emily Blackwell. Costello will have known her as Emily Mason.”

“Sorry, the name means nothing to me.”

“I saw your limo pull up on the estate yesterday. You must have seen me and my colleague.”

“I don’t remember. There were people about but I didn’t take much notice. Like I told you, I was there to photograph the tower blocks.”

“Did you get out of the car?”

“Briefly. For a few seconds, that’s all. After that I left and drove round to the common and took a few snaps there.”

“You show an interest in the cottage and a woman is killed. You visit the Hobfield within minutes of a particularly nasty shooting. I’d say you were bad luck, Mrs Mallon.”

“Sheer coincidence, Inspector. There would have been lots of people tramping round that cottage because of the auction, and the Hobfield is hardly whiter than white, is it?”

“Anywhere else around here that Costello wanted photographing?”

“No. Like I said, he left it up to me. There is nothing untoward going on. You really must stop seeing the criminal in everybody.”

“That’s a big ask where Costello’s concerned.”

Her smile became a pout. “He isn’t like you think. He can be charming and generous. I was wary too when I first met him. I’m not stupid. I’d heard rumours about his reputation, but I decided to make up my own mind. He’s never put a foot wrong when we’ve been together.”

“So he reeled you in. You’re not having an affair with the man, are you?”

“No. Business only, Inspector. Costello has a wife and grown-up kids. He is very happy with what he has.”

“What were you doing at the auction yesterday morning?”

Her perfectly made-up eyes raked over his face. What was she thinking? Perhaps she was wondering how he knew about her bid.

“I was curious,” she replied.

She was lying. There was a slight flush on her cheeks. The words caught in her throat. It was enough.

“It’s a property with potential,” she said.

“You got that straight from the brochure. It’s old, practically derelict and needs a shedload of money spending on it. So, come on, what’s the real reason?”

She smiled again. “You’re right. It was a stupid idea. I realise that now. I saw it on a poster in the auction house window as I passed. It looked so romantic, situated on the hillside like that. I decided to go along.” She paused for a moment, delving in her handbag. “The brochure . . . don’t you find the description tempting?”

“You went along intending to buy. You bid on the place, so I heard. So what happened?”

The expression on her face hardened. “I saw sense. The place is falling down. A couple of men, builders, were talking and I overheard what they said. It put me off. I got a call from a client and used it as an excuse to duck out. Rude of me I know, but no harm was done.”

“So you went up there — to Clough Cottage?”

“Yes, a brief visit. It was nothing like the romantic image painted in the brochure. But it had a certain charm. If I could have got the place cheap, then fair enough, but that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Did Costello know what you were doing?”

She shook her head. “I saw no reason to tell him.”

“When are you planning to leave?”

“Not yet. Perhaps the end of the week.”

“Can I ask what’s keeping you in Leesworth?”

“I’ve a few more photos to take and I plan to do some shopping in Manchester.”

Calladine was considering this when his mobile rang. It was DCI Birch from the station.

“Wayne Davey is dead.”

Stark and to the point.

“From his injuries?”

“Nothing so simple. He was stabbed early this morning while he lay in his hospital bed unable to defend himself. Did you speak to him?”

“No. He was still out of it when I enquired.”

“Why wasn’t he being watched?”

“He was. The uniform must have been having a break.”

She let that go, thankfully.

“What I don’t understand is why. It doesn’t make sense. He could easily have been killed at the scene yesterday. Why wait until he was hospitalised then stab him?”

Calladine got up and walked towards the main door. He didn’t want Tanya Mallon overhearing. “Perhaps because whoever did his legs wanted to warn him. It was a gesture. Someone else killed him.”

There was silence. Birch was taking a few seconds to consider that one.

“It still doesn’t add up, Calladine. Davey was a nobody, a face from the Hobfield. Who had he upset?”

“Perhaps we should take that one to DCI King. What’s she doing this morning anyway?”

“I’ve no idea. She’s closeted in your office on her laptop. The quieter she stays the better if you ask me.”

“Could the hospital give us anything?”

“The nurse who was attending to Davey says he had no visitors. The only people on the ward this morning were hospital staff. But there was a porter. He was supposed to take a patient to X-ray and that never happened. She can’t give a description. They all wear a uniform and look the same, according to her.”

“Any CCTV?”

“DI Rockliffe is looking through it now.”

“I’m still with Tanya Mallon. She’s charming but not much help. She’s doing her best to convince me that Costello sent her on a nostalgia trip. But I don’t believe it. We need to find Archer and Garrett. The fact that they are missing is worrying. I’ll finish up here and come in. Would you tell uniform that both those young men are officially missing? We could do with photos of them both from the families.”

“DCI King?”

“She knows more than she’s saying.”

“It might help if I had a word.”

“Best of luck with that one, ma’am.”

* * *

“What do you reckon happened to her?” Annie Naden asked her husband. He was plastering the ceiling in the sitting room and not in the mood for discussing Annie’s latest obsession.

“Well, she did one, didn’t she?”

“But why would she?”

“You said she was pregnant. Things were different for girls back then. She most likely went to live with a relative in another town then got a job,” said Jack. He waved at the room. “You need to let this go, we’ve got a load of work to do. Helping me is what you should be doing, Annie. Not chasing ghosts from the past.”

“I can’t help it. Carol has got to me. It’s weird, I know, given I never knew her, but I want to find out what happened.”

“Like I said, she’ll have done one.”

“That’s not what Mrs Hunter said. She made out that Carol disappeared. That is a whole lot more sinister than simply getting a job in another town. If that was what had happened then her family would have told folk. She’d have come back — visited.”

“My advice is, don’t get involved. That thing is old. It’s filthy. You should get rid. Sling it in the bin and forget you ever found it.”

“Carol Rhodes was only fifteen years old, Jack! Girls of that age don’t just wander off and disappear.”

“It was forty years ago. Mrs Hunter won’t have remembered it right. It’s been too long.”