Free DEAD & BURIED a gripping crime thriller full of twists by Helen H. Durrant

of frying bacon filled the room. “We might come back later, see how things go.”
    “Thought you might be on a health kick after yesterday, sir.”
    “So why tempt me with the prospect of bacon? I might do something with Ruth. She fancies the gym too. It’s all about finding the time.”
    “You should go for it — the pair of you.”
    “We’ll see. It’s not come to that yet.” But it was getting perilously close, he knew. He wasn’t carrying his fifty-one years at all well. The sum total of his exercise was walking the dog down to the common and back each evening. What was that, half a mile? Not enough to stop the rot. Perhaps when this little lot was sorted he would try the gym. Couldn’t do any harm, could it? He was due a health check anyway. He couldn’t afford any problems. His job depended on it.
    They walked towards the tower blocks.
    “None of this makes any sense,” Rocco said. “Why kill Emily Blackwell and why would someone like Costello target a scally like Wayne Davey?”
    “Perhaps it wasn’t down to Costello,” Calladine replied.
    “Then who?”
    “Could be anyone. Some bloody fool making a play for the action and mistakenly thinking Davey was the rival to beat.”
    A cleaner at the community centre had told them that the squat was on floor ten of Egret House, the tallest of the blocks. The detectives decided to visit the flat together — safety in numbers. Then Rocco would go and speak to Emily’s neighbours.
    Calladine hauled himself up the last couple of floors. He was gasping, mouth open, chest aching. He leaned against the wall for a few minutes. His heart was pounding.
    Rocco nodded. “Told you. You need to reel it in a bit.”
    Calladine was bent over, his hands on his knees, still breathing heavily. “I do a bit. I’ve got the dog now, the one I’m looking after for Marilyn.”
    Rocco chuckled. “Looking after! Marilyn’s banged up for the foreseeable. That dog is yours now, sir. No wriggling out of it.”
    “Alright, I’ll walk him a little further. But like I said, problem is finding the time.”
    “The booze, precious little exercise, you know the drill. I’m only saying because Ruth isn’t here. She’d be on you like a ton of bricks if she saw you in this state.”
    “Has she been talking to you?”
    “We talked last night. She didn’t like the look of you yesterday.”
    So that’s how it was. No Ruth, so Rocco was his appointed conscience. Ruth Bayliss had a lot to answer for. After he’d taken the infant off her hands too. “Next time, the pair of you can tell me to my face,” he huffed.
    Calladine was still panting as Rocco walked along the deck, banging on all the doors. The tenth-floor flats were mostly boarded up. They were allegedly part of the refurbishment programme, but it looked to Calladine as if the council had totally forgotten about them.
    A lone voice shouted out from behind one of the doors. “Get lost!”
    Calladine positioned himself outside. “Police. Kayne Archer in there?”
    He heard the squeal of bolts and then the door opened an inch or two. A youth stuck his head out. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. From what they could see of him, he looked scruffy, in a stained T-shirt and ripped jeans.
    Calladine smiled. “Kayne Archer or Mick Garrett.”
    “They’re not here. They went out last night and didn’t come back.”
    “Have you tried their phones?” Calladine asked.
    “Neither of them’s answering. Weird that. Usually they’re never off the buggers.”
    “Are they living here?”
    The lad shrugged.
    Calladine didn’t have time for this. “I can always drag you down to the station. See if that loosens your tongue.”
    The boy opened the door a little wider. A gust of hot air hit Calladine in the face. The smell was unmistakable.
    “What’s going on in there?” He tried to see past the boy but he moved, blocking Calladine’s view.
    “Archer’s been here a week or so,” he admitted. “Mick stays sometimes but he does