Read Online Dead Wrong by Helen H. Durrant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Helen H. Durrant
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tied up with pink ribbon and with a note attached, had been dumped on her doorstep.
Someone playing tricks; something loathsome left as payback for the noise? She was tempted to put it straight in the bin, but instead Kelly picked the thing up and plonked it on the table, undoing it with her one free hand.
What she saw made her blink in disbelief. It wasn’t something obnoxious after all, not by a long chalk. Someone had left a bag full of money on her doorstep. A bag full of money tied up with pretty pink ribbon, she thought, feeling the smoothness of the fabric against her fingers.
She tipped it onto the table, watching it roll around in small tubular bundles fastened up with elastic bands. Ice, she thought immediately. That was how he kept his money. He’d roll it up then hide it on his body, in his pockets, and even down his socks.
Why? Why would he do this? Why not just knock and come in? Why not give her the money in person? Up until now he hadn’t given her a penny, which was why she was slaving away in that café every spare minute she had.
She unravelled the note. It was scrawled in red biro. You did a kind thing. What did that mean? What kind thing? When was that?
He must be in some sort of trouble and he didn’t want her to be involved. He was being considerate. But Ice wasn’t considerate; it wasn’t Ice at all. He could talk a good game, but that’s all it was, talk, like when Jack was born. So what was this? Why all this money, and why not show himself?
Chapter 7
Tuesday
He was drifting somewhere between sleep and thoughts of his mother. She was calling to him, pressing that damn buzzer thing she sometimes wore around her neck. Freda Calladine wasn’t happy . . . but for some reason she wasn’t able to tell him why.
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
Someone playing tricks; something loathsome left as payback for the noise? She was tempted to put it straight in the bin, but instead Kelly picked the thing up and plonked it on the table, undoing it with her one free hand.
What she saw made her blink in disbelief. It wasn’t something obnoxious after all, not by a long chalk. Someone had left a bag full of money on her doorstep. A bag full of money tied up with pretty pink ribbon, she thought, feeling the smoothness of the fabric against her fingers.
She tipped it onto the table, watching it roll around in small tubular bundles fastened up with elastic bands. Ice, she thought immediately. That was how he kept his money. He’d roll it up then hide it on his body, in his pockets, and even down his socks.
Why? Why would he do this? Why not just knock and come in? Why not give her the money in person? Up until now he hadn’t given her a penny, which was why she was slaving away in that café every spare minute she had.
She unravelled the note. It was scrawled in red biro. You did a kind thing. What did that mean? What kind thing? When was that?
He must be in some sort of trouble and he didn’t want her to be involved. He was being considerate. But Ice wasn’t considerate; it wasn’t Ice at all. He could talk a good game, but that’s all it was, talk, like when Jack was born. So what was this? Why all this money, and why not show himself?
Chapter 7
Tuesday
He was drifting somewhere between sleep and thoughts of his mother. She was calling to him, pressing that damn buzzer thing she sometimes wore around her neck. Freda Calladine wasn’t happy . . . but for some reason she wasn’t able to tell him why.
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
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