“Oh, yes. I entered her at Crufts two years ago and she got a
‘highly commended.’ If I had the time we’d do more, but you know how it is.”
Lydia could tell that Marilyn Fallon was impressed. She positively beamed as she stroked and patted the dog some more.
“I’d love to show Sam, but I don’t know if I’d have the confidence.”
“That’s a shame. He’d do so well, and it’s a laugh, it really is.
Everyone is so friendly and helpful. There’s no snobbery at all.”
Lydia was beginning to believe she really did own a dog, she sounded so plausible.
But the dog was getting restless, eager to be off. “Do you plan to breed her?”
“I’d like to before she gets much older, but it’s all about finding a suitable mate.”
“Isn’t it always?” Marilyn laughed. “And not just with dogs either.”
The two women laughed.
Shades of discontent, Lydia wondered? Might be something she could use—a way in.
“Look—if you’re still around when I get back why not come and have a coffee?”
This was going better than Lydia could have imagined. Marilyn was a pushover and it was all down to the dog! “That’s very kind of you. It shouldn’t take long to look around the place. I’ll know straight away if it’s suitable—you know, by the feel of the place.”
The two women said their goodbyes, and Marilyn Fallon disappeared down the road. Lydia went back to her car to wait. This had gone better than she could have imagined—the woman was completely taken in. She’d hang around, have that cup of coffee and arrange to meet her again soon—perhaps a jolly little foursome for drinks one evening. And given that Tom wouldn’t play the game, she’d have to find herself another presentable man for the evening. She felt sure one of her old colleagues from the Echo
would oblige.
Lydia was pleased with her progress. This sort of stuff suited her. It was exciting, like being a spy. The intrigue, the pretending to be someone else—wheedling a story out of the unsuspecting. She loved it all.
Her pleasant reverie, and the quiet of this leafy, well-heeled idyll was shattered as several police cars wheeled into the Avenue.
Within seconds the place was bedlam—sirens, police officers in body armour and helmets—even some with firearms. Lydia had no idea what was going on but, as they descended on the Fallon house, she guessed she ought to leave.
But curiosity got the better of her. She drove a few yards down the road, parked up and hunkered down in her seat to watch the proceedings unfold. The police banged on the front door. One of them gave it the sole of his boot and it flew open. They were in, and they could only be looking for Ray Fallon. But was he there? Lydia got her answer almost instantly.
“Good of you to wait.” A male voice rasped in her ear.
She hadn’t even heard the passenger door open, or seen the man dart across the road. Her heart gave a jolt. “I got away by the skin of my teeth. Far too close for comfort, even for me, so let’s get out of here, pronto.”
Lydia’s heart was beating furiously. She gave the figure a quick sideways glance—yes, Ray Fallon! How had he got here? Large as life, he was sat low in the passenger seat, with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
“Don’t make a sound, pretty lady. Pull out nice and slow, and make for the main road through the village.”
“I don’t know what’s going on but this won’t work. They’ll be after us in seconds. Anyway, I can’t drive—I’m in shock. Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t come the innocent with me. You know very well who I am, and more to the point, Miss Holden, I know you. You used to work for the local rag and now you’re shacked up with that cousin of mine.”
Lydia had no idea how he could know all that, but since he did, it seemed pointless pretending. “As it happens I was hoping to meet you today, Mr Fallon.” She smiled, without turning around. She was trying her very best to sound unruffled by what had just happened, but he must have seen her body shaking, because he started to laugh.
“But this wasn’t what you had in mind, I’ll bet.”
“I wanted to interview you.” She tried to keep her voice from wobbling.
“Keep your mouth shut and drive.”
In her rear-view mirror, Lydia could see the mayhem they were leaving behind, but there was nothing she could do to attract their attention.
“Okay. But drive where? Where are we going, Mr Fallon?”
“Leesdon. To see that interfering cousin of mine.”
“Leesdon …? I don’t think I know the place …”
“Oh yes you do, so don’t give me any of that shit. Like I told you
—you’re living with the sneaky bastard. Grant me a little intelligence, Miss Holden. I know just about everything that goes on in Thomas’s life.”
As far as Lydia knew, Tom had no idea. She’d have to put him straight—once she’d extricated herself from this mess.
“Then you’ll know what I do for a living?”
“You’re a bloody snoop. What else is there to know?”
“Yes, but a very tasteful snoop, Mr Fallon. What I propose to do with your story is make you more acceptable to the millions who’ll read it.”
“Acceptable. The one thing I’ll never be, missy, is acceptable—so don’t even try. I hate the press—I’ll see you dead first.”
The way he spoke these words suggested he wasn’t joking. Lydia felt an icy shiver of pure fear fly down her spine. Tom had been right—Fallon was a very scary man—and now he was pressing something hard into her thigh. She sneaked a look, and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was a revolver. Now this thug was after Tom—and it wasn’t for a family catch-up, that was for sure. So what could she do?
“I need petrol. My gauge is on the blink. There won’t be enough in the tank to get us to Leesdon.”
“Nice try, bitch. Do you really think I’m that naïve? And don’t go anywhere near my Marilyn again. She’s gullible, and I won’t have you bothering her. Do you understand?”
Lydia nodded her head furiously. She understood alright and had no intention of crossing him. She checked her rear mirror again—no one was following. The police had been too concerned with getting into the Fallon house and searching it to realise he’d already scarpered. No one had seen them drive away. But surely they must have realised he wasn’t in the house by now? It would all depend on what Marilyn told them when she got back. The motorway stretched out ahead. There were any number of cameras along the distance they would cover. But would they pick them up? Fallon was still low in the seat with that damn hat obliterating most of his face—so it was unlikely. Lydia racked her brain for some way to warn Tom, but her mobile was in her bag on the back seat. Her only hope, then, was to do something once they reached his house. Hopefully Tom would be out.
Chapter 24
Dobson spat onto the ground, and shrugged as Calladine snapped the handcuffs on him. He offered no explanations; he didn’t plead his case or try to run. Nothing.
“Every inch of this place must be searched. Rigby must be here somewhere, and we need to find where Dobson kept the girls.”
“Sir!”
It was Rocco, arriving on the scene with James Alton and, surprisingly, his wife, Vida.
“I’ve got the keys, Inspector. I’ll unlock the greenhouses and the old outbuilding.”
Calladine gestured at the uniformed officer holding Dobson to get him to a car, but he shuffled out of his grasp.
“Vida, you came! I knew you would! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
Vida Alton held onto her husband’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder, as the uniformed officer grabbed Dobson’s coat and held him fast.
“It’s Jonathan! He’s the creep who did all those things, isn’t he?”
“But you know I only did it for you! You love me, you know you do. We should be together—I waited for you, I practised and everything. I did all this for you, Vida.” His expression grew bewildered when he saw the hatred in her eyes. “Why didn’t you come? Why did you leave me alone with those stupid slags? I tried to turn them into you, but it just didn’t work. I couldn’t get them perfect enough.”