He was a large man, casually dressed in an open shirt and loose fleece jacket. He had a full head of dark hair. Calladine put him at about his own age, but he was well out of condition. He had a noticeable paunch and a reddish hue to his face. He seemed to be out of breath when he spoke.
“It’s good of you to help. I really need to speak to some people stateside, but the tight sod I work for is making that very difficult.”
The American laughed. Calladine could see him reaching for a can of soft drink. “We have the same problems here, believe me.
The rules can be a right bitch sometimes.”
“The problem I’ve got is that we’ve had a series of murders locally—all young women, all students attending a university in Manchester and all American. It’s grim. They’re kept somewhere, and death isn’t quick. This man’s a right bastard and he needs stopping as soon as possible. The problem is we’ve got precious little to go on. The evidence is sparse. Forensics are working on one or two leads, but nothing has given us the break we need.”
“Do you know why he goes for American girls? I mean—that’s pretty specific.”
“No idea, but it must make some twisted sense to him. I have a list of female students, all from the US, who’ve left university without going through any of the formalities, and I need these checking out. I need to know if they’re safe at home or missing here. We know we haven’t found them all yet. We’re pretty sure there’ll be more before this is over.”
“Jo has my email address. Send over the list and I’ll do what I can, Inspector. What about those you do know about? Have the families been told?”
“We’re on with that but I’ll send those too. Incidentally, one of the victims was from Queens—your neck of the woods, I believe.”
“Sure is. What’s her name?”
“Serena Hall.”
“I’ll look into her background for you. Look, Inspector—suppose I get back to you tomorrow for an update?”
“Fine with me—and call me Tom.”
“Great, Tom. You call me Devon.”
Calladine smiled. He still couldn’t quite get over the name.
“What’s your rank, Devon?”
“Lieutenant. I’m in Homicide, Tom, so I do more or less the same thing you do.”
“But with guns.”
“You disapprove?” DeAngelo laughed, picking up a sandwich from his desk. “Better not get into that one,” he chuckled. “Talk again tomorrow, Tom!” And then he was gone.
He owed Jo. He’d get her something; perhaps he’d treat her and Zoe to a slap-up meal somewhere. He was just thinking about getting back to the office when there was a series of loud raps on his front door.
Chapter 17
“You took your time, Tom Calladine. I was beginning to think you were seriously indisposed or something.”
Calladine gasped, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. But the woman who stood on his doorstep was real enough. She smiled again, batted her long lashes and pushed past him into his hallway.
“Well if you won’t ask me in, Detective, then I’ll just have to be a little more forward.” She walked through to the sitting room, dropped the suitcase she was carrying onto the floor and stood staring at him. She cocked her lovely head to one side, winked, and then opened her arms wide. “Come here, stupid man. Come and give me a hug.”
She wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t a hallucination brought on by stress—she was real. But it wasn’t until he had her grasped tight in his arms, with his lips firmly pressed to hers, that he actually believed it.
Lydia was back.
The lovely creature he’d lost his heart to—his dream woman—was actually here. She was standing in his house with her arms wrapped around him.
“So you are glad to see me. From the way you looked at the door, I wondered. But whatever you think, I’ve missed you, Tom Calladine, missed you like crazy. No word from you, nothing, for weeks—not even a text.” She slapped his arm.
“You could have rung me. It’s not all one-sided, you know.”
“You’d think I was chasing you! Can’t have that, can we, Detective? You’ll get all big-headed and start thinking you’re God’s gift.”
“Stupid woman. You know I’ve only got eyes for you …” And he kissed her again. “It really is good to see you, Lydia. I was beginning to think you’d never come back, not after what happened to you.”
“I’ve had to work on that, believe me, Tom. What that man did to me left mental scars—but I’m dealing with them, and not doing too bad either. The key is work, work, work then more work. I immersed myself and it’s sorted my head out.”
“It should never have happened.” He traced his fingers down her cheek. “Another instance of Jones’s penny-pinching stupidity. You should have had someone watching you.”
“Let’s not rake all that up now. It’s in its place.” She tapped her head. “It’s dealt with, and that’s that. I take risks; it comes with the job, so I have to live with the consequences.”
“So what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone for good, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Like I said, I went off and licked my wounds, but now I’m back and raring to go. The job I took in Edinburgh wasn’t right for me and, anyway, Scotland’s too cold. I’ve got a new job now, so here I am.”
“Are you back with the Echo?”
“What—that rag? No fear—that’s small fry. No, Detective. I’ve had a sniff of the big time, and now I want more. Investigative journalism—that’s where my future is. I wrote a piece for one of nationals after the Handy Man case and the fee was amazing. Since then I’ve done a few more—chased up on all the juicy cases I could find. Robberies mostly. I investigated the goings on behind that big jewellery robbery in London last month.”
“So why Leesworth?”
“Because of you. I can see from the look on your face that you don’t believe me, but it’s true, every word. I’m not spinning you a yarn, Detective. I’ve really missed you, and I reached the point where I just had to come back and catch up.”
“I’m flattered, Lydia, I really am. But there is an angle, isn’t there? With you, there’s got to be. I’m flattered, but I’m not that stupid. I mean—look at you, then take a real good look at me.” He shook his head. He was feeling it again—that slightly ill at ease
‘what’s she up to’ feeling. Investigative journalism…She needed him for something.
“That hurts, it really does. I like you, Tom. You know I do, and I wouldn’t use you. I’m not that sort of woman.”
“Lydia, you’re exactly that sort of woman.” He chuckled. “But right now I just don’t care. It’s so good to have you back, to see you standing in front of me looking wonderful, still so very lovely.”
“You’ll have me blushing. Let’s not get into the whys and wherefores right now. Let’s eat and talk and have a real good catch up.”
“We’ll do that later. First tell me what it is you’re investigating round here.”
“Can’t that wait, Tom? If I tell you, then you’ll just get annoyed, and bang goes our wonderful evening.”
“Just tell me what you want, Lydia. I’m a busy man and I don’t have time to let you run circles around me.”
“Can I just say that I will need your help, Detective? I simply don’t know enough about the person I’m chasing.”
Why did that send a cold shiver down his spine?
“So you do want something—and you know I won’t approve.”
“Yes, but all I want is a few pointers; clarification on one or two things—that’s all. Oh and Tom, I’d like to stay here too.”
“Here? With me?”