A Deadly Imperfection: Calladine & Bayliss 3 (11 page)

‘I thought Ray Fallon was your cousin, Dad,’ she said puzzled.

‘So did I, but he isn’t,’ he ran a hand through his short hair.  Now he’d done it.  ‘Look, I can’t explain now.  I’ve only known myself for a little while, but put simply, Freda wasn’t my birth mother,’ he shrugged, ‘hence Fallon’s not my cousin.’

So there it was, out in the open, the bombshell.  Soon the questions would start - the difficult ones he had no answer for.  He couldn’t do this, not yet, it was too soon. But he’d have to at least give Zoe something.

‘Fallon is the son of Freda’s sister,’ he explained to the stunned faces.  ‘So if Freda’s not biologically related to me then neither is Fallon,’ he gave them a small smile.  ‘Personally I think it’s something to be grateful for.’

His last comment fell on deaf ears as the expected barrage of questions erupted all around him – but mostly from Zoe.  He didn’t want this.  He’d let this happen and it wasn’t how it should be.  He’d wanted to tell Zoe privately, gently, but now that was out the window.  He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life, it was the wrong time.  Heaving a sigh he turned on his heel and left them to it, letting the front door slam shut behind him.

Harriet Finch slept for most of the afternoon.    When she awoke and the memories of her morning’s work filtered back into her consciousness, she thought it odd that she could do the most awful things then sleep like an infant.  Not like the old Harriet at all.

She’d get up now and make some tea then she’d wait until it was dark and go back and check on Lessing.  She’d take her car, but park it in the next road.  Harriet didn’t want it on Lessing’s drive for the neighbours to see.  Twice in one day might cause tittle tattle.

Harriet sang to herself as she pottered about her house.  She wore her long dressing gown and fluffy slippers, a present from her friend Nesta last Christmas.  She should ring Nesta - tell her about the tickets for the art exhibition.  It would mean spoiling the surprise for her birthday, but she didn’t want her arranging something else.  She’d miss Nesta, Harriet thought with a smile.  She’d been a good friend, always there when she’d needed her.

Suddenly Lessing’s mobile made the most horrendous noise.  It sounded like one of those vicious dogs barking – very apt.  Harriet had put the thing on her coffee table in the sitting room and forgotten about it.  She stared at the bright screen as the thing barked away and vibrated around on the shiny wooden surface then she saw the name
Yuri
illuminated in blue.  Who in the world was Yuri, she wondered, and how come Lessing knew someone with such a foreign sounding name?

She felt sick again – not just a foreign name.  With a name like that he would be from some eastern European country, and probably involved with Lessing in the child trafficking.  Her nerves were at it again.  Should she tackle him about it?  Should she make Lessing talk to her, perhaps even record a confession for the police?

Harriet picked up the phone.  It wasn’t like hers; it was one of those that did everything with a touch screen.  Hers was old, used only for phone calls and texting – not that she’d ever texted anybody.  She swiped her finger across the screen – what now?  She had a laptop so she wasn’t completely ignorant about technology.  She moved her finger around the screen looking for anything that might give her clue.

‘Gallery’ – that would be photos she reasoned, tapping hard.  What she saw next made her jump and throw the thing to the ground.  There were images of children, dozens of them taken in parks, in the street, with their families – why?  Harriet shuddered – but she knew very well why.  She was being stupid – they were only photos, snaps, they couldn’t harm her.  She bent down and picked the thing up again.  It was the knowledge of what Lessing and his cohorts would do with those images that bothered her.  They would use them to source likely candidates.

Then she saw them - the images of two little girls, both in school uniforms.  They could only be four or five years old and her heart immediately went out to them.  These were the girls she’d seen in the newspaper, the missing girls from Oldston and Leesworth.  That must mean that Lessing had taken them.

Gordon Lessing knew this man, Yuri, he had photos of the girls on his phone, so he must be involved right up to his fat neck – heartless, wicked bastard that he was!  Harriet was angry – she’d make him talk if it was the last thing she ever did, she wanted to help those poor children.  But she also had to get the phone to the police.  They needed to know about this Yuri, and with any luck there still might be time to get the little girls back.

Harriet showered and dressed – the anger and exertion had exhausted her again.   She was getting weaker, every day she could do less and less than the day before. 
Slowly girl
, she told herself,
take it slow
. 
After tonight you can relax, put your feet up – your work will be done. 
But would it, she bit her lip, the list was like a piece of elastic.  It had started with the three but now…  It seemed that anyone who crossed her, who had ever argued with her in the past, was a candidate.  Killing was infectious.  The need grew inside her every bit as fast as the cancer did.  It was like drink or drugs, it was compulsive and she enjoyed it.  Harriet knew that was bad.  She’d no idea what had possessed her recently but it was far too late to stop now, so she might as well enjoy herself.

She left her house just after six in the evening - it was dark so she could slink into the anonymity of the shadows.  It was her intention to go to the supermarket first, the large one off the by-pass.  She’d call the police from Lessing’s mobile then leave it in a trolley locked in one of those booths they have for you to leave your shopping in while you eat in the café.

It was a good plan, but she’d have to ensure that the cameras didn’t catch her.  But did it really matter if they did?  Even if she was caught red-handed what could the law do to her?  Not a lot and that had been the beauty of her plan all along.  Her illness, her terminal illness, gave her a sort of immunity.  Harriet smiled, that reassurance had lifted her spirits
 

***
 

Jayden North was not at home.  The flat he lived in with his father was in darkness and looked empty.

‘We’ve driven round the estate three times already,’ the uniformed officer told Imogen with distinct irritation in his voice.  ‘You know what these types are like – a dab hand at avoiding the law, the lot of them.’

‘He’s got to surface at some stage,’ Imogen replied.  ‘Pull up outside that tower block,’ she indicated.  ‘We’ll wait and watch for a while, see if he comes back.’

The officer sighed and pulled into a parking space.  ‘You’re wasting your time, you know.  He won’t help you.  The North’s are a bad lot, always have been.

‘That’s as might be but I still need a word.  It’s important, young Jayden is sitting on information that might help us crack the case we’re working on.’

The officer shook his head and tutted.  ‘Madness, that’s what it is, relying on a toe rag like him.  He’ll not give you anything – he’s a bad ‘un – just like all the rest.’

‘Is this him,’ Imogen asked, spotting a group of youths approaching.  ‘You know I think it is – he was wearing that top earlier.’

She hopped out of the car and made towards them, ‘Jayden,’ she called out.

The group of lads he was with started whistling and whooping.  The DC with her long blonde hair and shapely body made a striking figure.  She was wearing jeans, a short fur trimmed jacket and leather boots. 

‘What d’you want now,’ he frowned at her, embarrassed at being accosted like this in front of his mates.  ‘You’re wasting your time ‘cos I’ve got nowt to say, so bugger off,’ he spat.

‘No way to talk to a lady,’ one of his cohorts retaliated with amusement while pushing him to one side.  ‘Where d’you find her, she’s a right looker,’ he said standing in front of Imogen and pulling heavily on a cigarette.  ‘You don’t want to bother with him, babe,’ he winked.  ‘He’s a muppet, you’d be much better off with a real man, like me,’ then he blew smoke in her face, thrust out his denim clad pelvis then laughed with the rest of them.

The behaviour was nothing Imogen wasn’t used to.  She’d been to the Hobfield many times before and had met dozens like this one.

‘Can I have a quiet word, please Jayden,’ she asked disregarding the banter, and brushing her wind blown hair from her face.  ‘You’re not in any trouble.  It’s just that something you said earlier got me thinking.’

Jayden shrugged and looked round at the group.  They were laughing and ribbing him.  What the hell, being swooped on by the police like this would give him a kudos he could use.  It would help him up the pecking order in the gang he ran with.  He sloped towards her, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy trousers.

‘You do want us to catch whoever it was murdered your uncle, don’t you?’  Imogen asked quietly as she walking him away from the group.  ‘Only you didn’t seem keen to speak to us earlier and that’s a shame because I think you know stuff that might help.  We think Albert was killed in an act of revenge.  We also think the way he was killed was significant.’

‘What d’you mean,’ he puzzled.  Now she really had his interest – revenge was something he understood.

‘You said something about him being implicated in a murder years ago.  It’s not our intention to drag up unpleasant memories, but will you tell me about it, Jayden?’

‘Not that again.  I don’t believe you, you’re just stirring it, so why should I?’

‘Because, like I say, it might help,’ she emphasised.  ‘It’s just possible that his death is somehow connected to that incident.  But given that we don’t know when it happened or who was involved we can’t act.  Your silence could be wasting us valuable time.’

Jayden’s mind was racing.  The cop could be right, Albert had told him the tale often enough.  He also told him how angry the family of that boy had been, and how they’d sworn to get him one day.  But even though his uncle was dead he still wasn’t go to say anything that would drop him in it.

‘He didn’t do anything.  It wasn’t him that burned that kid,’ Jayden insisted.  ‘He told you all this at the time.’

Now that really struck a chord. 

‘What d’you mean - burned?’

‘Set him alight, fried him to a crisp, what the fuck d’you think I mean?’

‘Okay Jayden, no need to get all riled up.  But you do see what I’m getting at.  You found Albert - you saw what had been done to him.’

Jayden North fell silent.  The image of his uncle sitting stock still, his head all blackened and burned was one that would live with him for a long time.  He shuddered and looked at Imogen.  The cop could have something, he reasoned, but he still wasn’t going to tell her anything.  If she was right, if this was deliberate, if the bastard that had done that to Albert needed fixing for good - then he was the one to do it.

‘I only know what he told me, Uncle Albert, and that’s all.  He said you lot got it wrong – it wasn’t him.  You had a bloody good try at pinning it on him though,’ he scoffed.  ‘But none of it stuck.  A long time ago it was, before I was even born, so I can’t help.’

Imogen passed him her card.  ‘If anything occurs to you, anything at all, or if you want to talk then ring me,’ she urged.  ‘We want this killer caught every bit as much as you do, Jayden,’ she assured him.

Jayden North doubted that, they wouldn’t waste their time.  They’d drop the whole thing after a bit – move on to something else.  Albert had been a thorn in their side for years so it would be a case of good riddance.  He took the card, nodded and stuffed it in his pocket. 

The youths watched the car pull away.  Jayden said his goodbyes and broke away from the group.  He had things to do, Jimmy Finch, that had been the lad’s name, and he had a mother still living in Leesdon.  He smiled to himself, that blonde cop had done him a favour.  He’d have to pay Mrs. Finch a visit.
 

***
 

The place was crowded.  The supermarket was extra busy given the time of day, busy and full of stupid people.  They got in her way with their kids, and insistence on chatting to each other mid aisle.  Harriet mumbled, cursing to herself as she negotiated her trolley passed gossiping shoppers as she picked a few items from the shelves.  She bought cheap, she was going to have to pay for these, but she wouldn’t be taking them home. 

She wore a hat, one with a brim and had pulled it down over her forehead.  With that and her coat collar turned up the cameras wouldn’t get a good look at her face.  But did it matter if they did?  Harriet was a realist, and surely by now she must be running out of time.  When it was over she’d miss it.  The excitement, the planning and, of course, the final act of killing, it was all so addictive.  So much so, that a part of her never wanted it to end.

With a few items in the trolley she made for a quiet corner of the store.  The bit that sold kitchen goods was mostly empty.  She didn’t want to be overheard.  Harriet took the phone from her pocket and tapped in the number for Oldston Police Station.  She’d thought about this carefully and chosen Oldston rather than Leesdon because she’d read that it was a detective there that was handling the missing girls case.

‘
Don’t speak just listen
,’ she practically growled as her call was answered.  ‘
A phone, in a trolley in booth 12 at the Leesdon Supermarket – there’s information on it
that will help you find the girls
.’

There she’d told them – short and sweet.  There was no need to flower it up.  The police had what they needed.  It shouldn’t take them long, about fifteen minutes she reckoned.    Harriet now headed to stash her trolley as she’d told them.  She placed the phone under a loaf of bread, pushed the trolley into booth 12, locked the door and made for the exit.  She was too tired to drive on to Lessing’s place, so that would have to wait until tomorrow now.  Harriet needed to sleep, and to take her medication.  So for now, it was done.