DEAD WRONG a gripping detective thriller full of suspense by Helen H. Durrant

Author:Helen H. Durrant [DURRANT, HELEN H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Mystery, Crime Thriller, Suspense
Published: 2015-07-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Wednesday

By the time Calladine woke it was daylight. For a few desperate seconds he couldn’t think where he was. And then it hit him. He’d spent the night with Lydia Holden — worse than that he’d spent a night of shameless debauchery with Lydia Holden. What on earth had possessed him? More to the point, what about Monika?

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his brow. He had one heck of a headache. Served him right, cheating bastard that he was. If Monika ever found out about this she’d never forgive him, and who could blame her?

The soft female hand rested on his arm. Lydia lay with her eyes closed, breathing regularly, with a small smile on those luscious, expert lips of hers. Oh God, how he’d enjoyed this woman!

He checked his watch and found he’d overslept. He’d have to re-live the delights of Lydia Holden’s body later. The rest of his team would be hard at it by now. He pushed things around on the bedside table, but he couldn’t find his mobile. It must still be in his jacket pocket.

He crept out of her bed as quietly as he could manage, but heard her groan. He watched as she ran her hand over the bed sheet where he’d just been lying.

“Tom, don’t go, it’s early.” She rose onto her elbows to watch his naked figure tiptoeing through her bedroom door.

“Work, Lydia,” he called back, scooping up his discarded clothing from the floor and retiring into her bathroom.

Ruth would be ringing round trying to find him. It was way past nine and he should have been at his desk over an hour ago. Ruth would want to know where he’d been. What was he going to tell her? Not the truth, that’s for sure.

Calladine showered and dressed. There was no shaving gear in the bathroom, so he’d have to pass by his place once he’d checked in. For now he’d have to go with the rugged, stubbly look.

There were five missed calls from Ruth on his mobile. “Sorry, Ruth, my battery went dead,” he lied. “Is something up?”

“Cuba Hassan was found last night on the estate — she’s been shot. She was discovered in the narrow alley up the side of Heron House in the early hours. She was lucky to be found at all and she’s in a bad way.”

He groaned. He’d taken his eye off the ball for one night — one solitary night — and this happened.

“Malcolm Masheda?”

“We can’t find him. His mother hasn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon and doesn’t know what he’s been up to. She’s just come back from Trinidad. She only flew in to Manchester yesterday morning.”

“Is someone with Cuba at the hospital?”

“Her mother; and I’ve got a uniformed PC there. She’s in intensive care, but it’s been a good few hours since her op so she should be coming round soon.”

“I’ll meet you there. Damn, I’ve no car. I left it at home last night. Can you pick me up? I’ll wait outside for you — in about five minutes.

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