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

kept everything tight this end.”
    She’d made a mistake. Eliza realised that she should have kept the man on a shorter lead, brought him in sooner. “I’ve been a fool,” she admitted. “Now I’ll have to go look for him. I’ve really ballsed this up, haven’t I?”
    “No, Boss. The informant came to us, remember? He wanted this. He offered us information. We had no reason to think he’d do one when things got tight.”
    He was right, but it didn’t help. “Do me a favour, Dom. Look in on Becca on your way home. Jade’s at it again.”
    Eliza didn’t talk about her personal life as a rule, but she’d worked with Dom a long time and he’d sort of guessed. He was a good man and would never gossip to the team about her problems. He had enough of his own.
    Despite having the informant’s address, finding him could be challenging. Eliza didn’t know this town. But if he’d got cold feet and done a runner, they were screwed. She’d no idea where he might hole up or who his friends were. She had asked but the informant was unwilling to offer anything other than the evidence she needed.
    Eliza took a map of Leesdon from her briefcase and studied the network of streets. She traced over it with a finger. Got it: ‘Grange Street.’ This was the address he’d given. It was behind the hospital, so that’s where she’d make for.
    Eliza decided to walk. She stuck the map in a back pocket of her jeans just in case, and her police badge in the other. Slinging a hoodie over her T-shirt, she grabbed her mobile and left. Downstairs, the bar was busy. Several pairs of male eyes watched as she made for the exit. She was new, different and with an accent that wasn’t local. No doubt she’d be the hot topic for the next few minutes.

Chapter 6
    Eliza had only been here a matter of hours but it was long enough to know that she didn’t like Leesdon. It had too many contrasts. It was battling with itself about what sort of place it was. On one hand it had any number of quaint, cobbled lanes full of stone cottages, some still with the historic weavers’ windows up on the attic floor. They’d be much sought after. You would need a fair income to live in one of those, she was sure. But not far away were the terraced back streets, strewn with litter, scruffy kids playing in the road, all the obvious signs of poverty. And then there was the infamous Hobfield estate: built in the mid-sixties as an overspill estate to rehouse the folk who’d once lived in the terraced streets of Manchester. If it wasn’t so close to the hills, Leesdon would have nothing going for it. But the Pennines were literally on the doorstep and lifted an otherwise decrepit town into something special.
    Eliza lived by the sea on the East Yorkshire coast. After her divorce she’d wanted somewhere quieter for her girls, somewhere not contaminated with the memories of her toxic marriage. The village she’d chosen was a tranquil backwater, away from the resorts of Scarborough and Whitby. But given what was happening with Jade she’d still got it wrong. She’d not moved far enough away from Harvey Evans.
    Grange Street was pleasant enough, two neat rows of terraced houses with their own parking spots. Eliza crossed her fingers that he hadn’t lied about his address and knocked at number five. A middle-aged woman, who she took to be his mother, opened the door.
    The woman looked her up and down. “Is your son in?” asked Eliza.
    “No. Why? Who are you?”
    “Just a friend.” Eliza smiled. “He said to pop round if I was ever in town.”
    The look on the woman’s face was doubtful. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. And that suits me just fine.”
    Not what Eliza wanted to hear.
    “So if you do find the toerag just be sure to tell him to stay away. Life’s a helluva lot simpler without that waste of space under my feet.” She banged the door shut.
    This was bad. Eliza knocked again.
    “I have to talk to him. Do you know where he hangs out, or a