“We need to search this entire area, Ruth—go over it with a fine-tooth comb. I think Robert Rigby is here somewhere and in grave danger—we need to find him fast.”
“You think this is it? The place where he keeps them?”
Calladine nodded. Yes, he did, and he was annoyed with himself for not seeing it earlier. Anyone operating here or next door had the privacy and all the land they needed.
He got on his mobile to speak to the DCI and request more uniformed officers for the job. “I need a search warrant for the garden centre and the nursery—especially the nursery.”
“It’ll take a little time—don’t go wading in until I ring you back.
You have no real evidence, as yet, have you?”
“I have Robert Rigby’s car, and he’s been reported missing.”
“Okay—uniform for now and I’ll get the warrant.”
Next he rang Julian. “That soil sample—is there anything else?
Can you hazard a guess as to what might have been growing in it?”
“Further tests have revealed well-rotted horse manure, Inspector. So possibly roses. Isn’t that what you spread around roses?”
Yes it was. So it looked like the nursery was a goer.
“Jones is organising a warrant, so when the uniforms turn up we’ll leave them to watch the place. Then we’ll go to the gym and come back.” He drank the coffee in a single gulp. “By that time I’m hoping Jones can give us the all-clear.”
Ruth followed in his wake.
* * *
Leesdon Gym was packed. The equipment room was full of individuals, mostly young men, sweating away the morning in physical toil. Calladine shuddered—he’d never been attracted by the keep-fit thing.
“I want to speak to the manager, please.” He and Ruth flashed their warrant cards.
A young woman in a tight-fitting Lycra one-piece, her cheeks glistening with sweat, emerged from the adjoining studio. “Vanessa Pope.” She wiped her face with a towel. “Aerobics this morning.
What can I do for you?”
“We’re from Leesworth Police, currently investigating a series of murders. We’ve found an item of clothing and we believe it came from here. The clothing you sell—your clients buy the tracksuits and then have them embroidered with their names, is that right?”
“Yes. We sell a number of gym items, not just tracksuits.
Members get changed, and they shower, so having their names on their garments helps, Inspector. But I can’t see what our gym wear would have to do with murder?” She looked from Calladine to Ruth, but neither volunteered an explanation.
“Do you, or have you ever had, a member with the name Vida?
That’s all we have, we don’t know her surname, I’m afraid.”
“Vida?” She thought for a moment. “Oh, you must mean Vida Alton. I haven’t seen her in a while, not since all that trouble. She is okay, isn’t she? It isn’t Vida you’ve found? She isn’t one of your victims or anything?” Her eyes widened, and she looked genuinely concerned.
“I hope not. But the truth is we just don’t know. We need to find her quickly. Do you have her full name and address?”
“Like I said—Vida Alton, and she lives across there—that white farmhouse up on the hillside.” She pointed to the view of the surrounding countryside that could be seen through a large picture window. “It’s the only house up there, so you can’t miss it.”
“Vida Alton. Any relation to James Alton?” Ruth asked.
“Well, yes, of course. She’s his wife.”
“You mentioned there had been some trouble. What happened?”
“Vida started receiving a number of texts—weird stuff, you know, the sort of stuff you might get from a stalker, and then there was that dreadful business with the cat. I don’t know all the details
—you’ll have to ask her, but she became a little introverted after that and she stopped coming here. In fact I think she stopped going anywhere for a while, and who could blame her?”
So someone had targeted her—stalker was the word Vanessa Pope used—well that would fit. But whatever had happened she hadn’t been taken like the others—so what was the connection?
“Thank you, Miss Pope. You’ve been a great help.”
Calladine and Ruth went back to the garden-centre car park.
“Warrant or no warrant I’m going to bring James Alton in. This is all too much of a coincidence. We need to ask him a few questions.
I’ll get on with that. I’ll take one of the uniform boys with me. You go and have a word with Vida Alton—see what she has to say about her husband and his movements, and that trouble she had.”
* * *
Calladine took the path that led from the garden centre to the nursery, beckoning one of the uniformed officers to join him. Once again the gate was unlocked, and Calladine spotted the white van parked on the tarmac by the main entrance. As they walked he rang the office and spoke to Imogen.
“I know you checked Alton out and everything was okay, but we were looking at something else then—the Cassie Rigby case. Can you find out for me exactly where he was on the morning of the pile-up on the bypass.”
Today there were at least three people working on the land, and one of them was James Alton. As he saw them approach he threw his spade to the ground in annoyance and made towards them.
“Whatever it is, I’m busy.” He brushed his dirty palms down the sides of his overalls. “I can’t help with the child so you’re wasting your time.”
“You are Mr James Alton?” Calladine asked, showing the man his warrant card.
“What of it? What do you want now? You’ve no right coming in here, wasting my time.”
“I’d like a quick look at your van for a start, sir.”
The man shrugged and led them across.
“It’s a workhorse, this van. I transport plants around in it, so I don’t know what you expect to find.”
He swung open the back doors and then the passenger door.
Calladine looked in the back. It smelled, and not of roses.
“It smells a bit off to me.” The unmistakable pungent aroma of death hit him in the face.
“I don’t know what that is. It’s been like that since the other morning.”
“Don’t let anyone near this vehicle,” Calladine told the constable.
“Mr Alton, I’d like you to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”
“Like I’ve already told you, I’m too busy.”
“It’s in your interests to come voluntarily, but if you won’t then I’ll have no option but to arrest you.”
“This is harassment. What is it I’m supposed to have done?”
“We’re investigating the murder of a number of young women, Mr Alton.”
The man’s face went ashen. Guilt or shock, Calladine couldn’t tell.
“Look—a motoring offence I could understand, but this …
there’s no way I’m involved in murder; no way.” At a nod from Calladine the young constable led James Alton to the police car parked back at the garden centre. Once they were out of earshot he rang Julian Batho.
“I’ve got a white van I’d like your people to look at. It’s parked at the nursery beside the garden centre. It smells of death to me.
Also—would you take some soil samples and see if they match the one you got from Serena’s body?”
Calladine left a couple of uniformed officers at the garden centre while he took Alton in for questioning.
“Keep an eye out. Watch the nursery staff and, until you hear from me, don’t let anyone leave. The search party should arrive soon.”
* * *
The Altons lived in some style in a modernised farmhouse on a hill above the nursery. The gardens were large and well-tended and there was a new Mercedes sports car sitting in the drive. The plant business must pay well, thought Ruth, as she parked near the gates and walked up to the front door.