Bayliss & Calladine Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

There was a tall wooden gate at the end of the path, and it was unlocked — nothing to stop them then. The land had been divided up into six areas of similar size. It looked pretty desolate at this time of year. The sign by the gate said the nursery specialised in roses and fruit trees. But now, in the harsh December weather, they were nothing but twigs in the frozen soil.

  Each sectioned-off area had its own long, modern greenhouse, in sharp contrast to a block of old stone outbuildings that stood on the far perimeter of the land. Alton had obviously invested both time and money into his business.

  The place looked empty. There was no one around and the first greenhouse they came too was padlocked shut.

  Imogen called out, “Anyone here?”

  There was no reply.

  “There’s a carport round the side but no vehicle, and the main gates back there are shut,” Rocco said, he’d had a quick look round. “Perhaps he’s out delivering — it’s a busy time of year.”

  “It’s quite a lonely spot, don’t you think? You can’t even see the garden centre from here, not with those conifers in the way. In fact, a lot of stuff could go on here, and no one would ever know.”

  “Imagination, DC Goode.” Rocco grinned. “Don’t get carried away.”

  “Do you think we dare check out the other buildings while we’re here? It’s not as if we have a search warrant or anything.”

  “We can always say we’re looking for Alton.” Rocco made off down a gravel path running along the side of one of the tracts of land. “Come on, then — I’ll take these greenhouses, and you take the ones over there.”

  The two detectives got nowhere. All the buildings were locked up tight and there was no sign of any work going on.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice bellowed out from behind them. “How did you get in here? This is private land. Can’t you read?” While they’d been busy looking around, the nursery van had pulled into the carport, and now a man was hurrying towards them. James Alton, Imogen presumed.

  He was a tall, slightly overweight middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face that was set in a hard expression. Not a happy individual from the look of him.

  “If you’re from the damn council then you’re wasting your time. The best I’ll do for now is think about it. I won’t be rushed, so stop hassling me!” He strode towards them.

  Imogen flashed her warrant card and smiled at the man. “James Alton?”

  “What of it?” His face was pulled into a stubborn frown.

  “DC Goode and DC Rockliffe from Leesworth CID. We got in through the wooden gate back there. It wasn’t locked.”

  “Bloody Jonathan. I keep telling him, but does he listen?”

  “Can we ask you a few questions, Mr Alton?”

  “Be quick. I don’t have time for idle chit-chat.”

  “This is definitely not chit-chat, idle or otherwise, Mr Alton. We’re looking for a missing child. She was in the garden centre café earlier today.” Imogen showed him a photo of Cassie Rigby. “We wondered if you saw anything, anything odd or suspicious. Did anyone cross your land, trying to make for the road, for example?”

  “No. If you opened your eyes and looked a little closer, you’d see that my boundary fence is nearly eight foot tall. So there’s no way out, not this way.”

  “Could anyone hide in one of your buildings?”

  “No. They’re locked. They’re always locked.”

  He was neither helpful nor friendly. He didn’t once crack a smile, and seemed determined to say as little as possible.

  “Mr Alton, can you account for your movements today?” Rocco was fed up with the man’s tone.

  James Alton sighed and led the way back to his van. He leaned in and retrieved a clipboard from the passenger seat. “The deliveries I’ve made today and the suppliers I’ve seen.” He handed a bundle of notes to Imogen. “I’m busy now so take them away and return them when you’ve done.” With that, he turned and left them standing beside the van as he strode towards one of his greenhouses.

  “He could do with working on his interpersonal skills,” Imogen commented. “A bit of civility costs nowt.” She looked at the motley scraps of paper in her hand, and put them carefully into her shoulder bag.

  Chapter 6

  He took one last look in the full-length mirror — perfect, even if he did say so himself. Sharp as a blade — knockout in fact. What woman could resist him? Hopefully not her, he thought, picking up the photo he’d printed out from Facebook.

  He smiled and gave his deep-blue silk tie one last tug. His suit was a few shades darker than the tie, and his shirt was dazzling white. He was young and tall and women found him attractive, so he played on his looks, using them to his advantage.

  The girl was lovely, exactly what he was looking for. She was so like Vida it hurt. Could she be the one? She had to be; he’d spent enough time on that damn computer looking for her. All that time spent grooming her, followed by the endless chat, while he took care to give nothing away. He had the process of smooth talking his quarry into trusting him down to a fine art. And it would finally pay off tonight. He folded the photo neatly and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. No more delays; no more setbacks. He wanted things to move on. He needed a woman. He needed a woman’s soft eager body in his bed, or fastened down on his chair. He closed his eyes as the images flooded his mind. He needed Vida — he’d always needed Vida. The problem was, she’d never needed him.

  His face contorted into an ugly frown. This one would want him. If she knew what was good for her she would. If she didn’t, if she resisted like all the others, then she’d suffer the same fate. He wouldn’t tolerate refusal — he wouldn’t listen to their pleas or their cries. He made sure he didn’t have to. He gave a little flick with his hand, mimicking the way he drew the string hard through their lips. That way he made sure of winning every argument. That way he made certain he called all the shots. This one had better not get herself pregnant either. Two of the others had been stupid enough to get themselves up the duff. That had ruined everything. He’d tried to abort the pregnancies but nothing had worked. So in the end he’d had to get rid of the girls.

  That would never happen with Vida, but if it did, he wouldn’t mind. She could have whatever she wanted from him. She had the ability to dangle him on an imaginary chain while she teased and messed with his head. The bitch! But he still wanted her — the mind was a strange thing. He was far too soft for his own good. But where Vida was concerned, he couldn’t help himself.

  But tonight was a fresh start — another go at getting things right. Choose carefully and stay in the shadows. He wouldn’t drive; he’d take the train. It was anonymous. The train from Leesworth Station would take him to Manchester Victoria, then he’d take the tram to St. Peter’s Square. From there it was only a short hop down into student territory.

  They’d agreed to meet in a bar — one she went to, along with other students. It’d be busy and noisy, with loud music blaring out. Nobody would notice him, not even dressed like this. They’d think he was off down Canal Street or to a smart club somewhere. No one would guess what he was really up to.

  He was excited. A tense knot of nerves in his belly was making him nauseous — her fault. It was always like this with Vida. She had the effect of making his pulse race and his stomach churn. He’d make her pay. He always made her pay because he enjoyed it so much. He liked doing things to her — particularly the other things; those excruciatingly painful things. In the end she’d get the message. She’d behave and stop making him nervous. She’d have no choice.

  The pub she’d suggested wasn’t somewhere he’d normally go. It was a dark and dingy place that smelled of lager and smoke, which made him cough and wrinkle his nose in distaste. It sat under a railway arch, and although smoking was only allowed outside, it wafted in every time the door was opened. No place for a lady. No place for Vida. Why did she have to come here?

  He looked around — the nerves were doin
g his head in. Her fault. Stupid bitch was doing it on purpose. He struggled through the throng of students, making for the bar, and then he saw her. She was sitting with another girl on a bench against the far wall, giggling and sipping on a beer. He snuck in behind a pillar and watched for a few moments. She was exactly like her photo, and exactly what he wanted. This one was a looker — but was she a perfect match for Vida? He’d have to wait and see; but as far as looks went, she was just how he liked them. He inhaled deeply — this was it. He allowed his mind to wander, just for a moment or two, and imagined her naked, in his special place, on his chair, and ready for him. Shit, he could feel the rush of blood to his loins and the flush on his cheeks. She’d be good — he just knew it.

  “Patsy!” He smiled, striding up to her table. “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. Damn train was late.”

  “No worries, Jack.” Patsy Lumis smiled back at him. “I’ve just been sitting here chatting with Anna.”

  She had the most wonderful American accent. Even better than he’d imagined.

  “I thought we could go somewhere to eat,” he offered. “Somewhere a bit quieter than here. I know a nice place in the Northern Quarter. How d’you fancy it?”

  She shrugged and giggled at her friend. “What do you think? Should I go with him? Maybe you wanna come too? She smiled and looked up at Jack. “You wouldn’t mind Anna coming with us, would you?”

  What was wrong with her? Of course he’d bloody well mind! Couldn’t she go anywhere alone — make a decision without a second opinion? He’d have to change that, even if he had to beat it out of her.

  “You don’t really want to do that, do you, Anna? You don’t want to play gooseberry?”

  His voice was firm. In fact it verged on the threatening.

  Anna took the hint. She shook her head and reached across the bench for her bag. “You’ll be fine, just be careful. Remember what we talked about, and text me,” she instructed Patsy. “And don’t be late back.”

  What was she — her fucking mother or something? He’d have to get Patsy away from her. She could be trouble — interfering bitch.

  “She’s just watching out for me,” Patsy patted the place beside her where Anna had been sitting. “Come and sit down for. Have a drink, and then we’ll go.” She gave him a big smile.

  That was what he needed — a stiff drink to calm his nerves. She was talking again, but he wasn’t really listening to the words. It was her voice, that wonderful American accent. He loved it; just like Vida’s voice. He loved the way she looked; but even better, he loved her white even teeth and those full pink lips — perfect. Particularly those lips. They’d look so good sewn together. He might try wire this time. He’d do it good and tight. Then she wouldn’t answer him back.

  She had that lovely long blonde hair he liked so much, and delicate features. There was even a spattering of freckles on her cheeks. He gulped with emotion; Vida got freckles in the summer.

  Chapter 7

  Day Three

  Julian Batho marched into the main office and caught up with Calladine by the incident board.

  “I think I might owe you an apology, Inspector.”

  “Not like you, Julian. What is it I’ve done to deserve one?” Calladine asked.

  “You were right. Again.” Julian grinned, raising his bushy eyebrows. “You see, I thought you were pushing it with the accelerant thing — but no, you were spot on.”

  Music to Calladine’s ears.

  “The accelerant used was petrol. The car ran on diesel.”

  “So the bastard did try to torch it?”

  “Not my place, I know, but I’d say so. The petrol couldn’t have run off from another car — there was nothing beside or behind it. Sorry I doubted your theory without checking first. It’s just that you have this way of throwing stuff into the pot without any rhyme or reason.”

  “It’s my instinct, Julian. I trust it and it’s not let me down yet. Not that having you confirm what I suspected helps us much, because we still have a big fat nothing.”

  “We might have, sir.” Ruth called out. “We can go and talk to Stone now. He’s come round this morning, and is fit for interview.” “Bet you’re pleased the theory played out.” She nudged him. “Not that it’ll help much with the workload, but it does show that you’re not losing your touch.”

  “Surprised you doubted me, Sergeant,” he replied, pretending to be miffed. “We’ll go and speak to Mr Stone now. We could get lucky. He might have seen something, remembered something that’ll help us.”

  * * *

  Calladine went to get his overcoat. On his way out he met DCI George Jones, his boss, who’d been looking for him.

  “You’re a difficult man to pin down. A word please, Tom.” Jones looked annoyed.

  Whatever had happened to piss off the DCI had obviously landed squarely at his feet. Calladine gestured to Ruth to wait, and followed him down the corridor into his office.

  “There was a shooting in Manchester yesterday,” began Jones, nodding for him to sit down. “The victim was a key witness in a murder and extortion racket. It was a professional job — a single shot through the left eye socket at close range.”

  Nasty, but what did it have to do with them? Surely this was one for Central? Calladine thought.

  “The investigation, the evidence gathering — it ran over several months. Make no mistake, this was a major operation. The witness and his family were kept at a safe house under twenty-four hour guard. A lot of money was spent — and now all for nothing.” Jones paused and frowned. “Central knows who did the shooting, Tom. There is only one name in the frame.”

  Calladine was still mystified. Surely this had nothing at all to do with him or the teams stationed at Leesworth.

  “And that name gives me one huge problem, DI Calladine.” Jones sighed. “Because he maintains you will provide him with a cast-iron alibi.”

  “You’ve lost me, sir.”

  “Can’t you guess, Tom? Have you really no idea?” The DCI paused for a moment, giving Calladine time to think. “Your cousin, Ray Fallon. He took the witness from the safe house and shot him in cold blood. So you see my problem. I have to ask if he’s asked you to lie for him.”

  Calladine was astonished that Jones could, even for a second, imagine that he knew anything about this.

  “There’s no way I’d ever provide an alibi for that murdering bastard, cousin or not,” Calladine spluttered. “And I’m surprised you could even think that I would. He’s got to be joking. When was this, sir?”

  “The witness was killed between eleven and midday yesterday morning.”

  Tom Calladine shook his head and cursed. “Are you sure it was him? Fallon usually gets one of his people to do the dirty work.”

  “We’ve been led to believe that the information regarding the witness’ whereabouts reached Fallon only yesterday morning,” he shrugged, “so he did the job himself. You know he isn’t averse to getting his hands dirty if he thinks he can get away with it — which he usually does.”

  That was why Fallon had come to the funeral. He’d used it and Calladine as a cover. He had no choice but to give Jones the bad news.

  “In that case, he’s telling the truth — and I’m not covering for him. We don’t have much choice but to accept what he’s saying. Ray Fallon was attending my mother’s funeral at Leesworth Parish Church at that time. So not only me, but about thirty others can vouch for his presence.”

  “This doesn’t sit well, Tom.” Jones’s face was like thunder.

  How the hell did he imagine it sat with him!

  “There’s nothing much I can do about it, sir. He was there, along with a number of his goons. Even he can’t be in two places at once.”

  “Central will want a word. In fact they’ll want a statement. I don’t like this, Tom. I don’t like having one of my officers being involved with a gangster like Fallon.”

  “Let’s get one thing clear, sir: I am most definitely not involved wit
h him. The man’s my cousin, so occasionally, when there’s family stuff, like yesterday, I have to see him. But that’s as far as it goes. I do not mix socially with him. I do not speak to him on the phone. In short — I have precious little to do with the man. Is that all, sir?”

  “For now. But be warned: don’t speak to Fallon at all — about anything. Do you understand?”

  He certainly did. This was yet another nail in the coffin of his career.

  “Can I ask, sir, how did they arrive at the exact time of death?”

  “Post-mortem. He was dumped, and found almost straight away, so we got a reasonably accurate time of death.”

  “Why was that? Why was he found so soon?”

  “Because about an hour after he was shot, the body was thrown from a bridge over the M62. The emergency services were at the scene within minutes. So there’s no question.”

  “So what time does that put the shooting at?”

  “The pathologist reckons about eleven.”

  “Even so I can’t fault his alibi.”

  “Just bear in mind what I’ve said and keep away, Tom. Don’t let me down.”

  So that was that. Fallon had well and truly stitched him up. He must have been laughing all through the service yesterday.

  * * *

  Ruth drove them to the hospital.

  “You look tired, sir, case getting to you?”

  “No, it’s not the case. I’ve just had a run in with Jones about my bloody cousin. The bastard’s dragged me into a damn murder case now. Can you believe he’s actually had the gall to use me as his alibi?”

  “And is he telling the truth? Can you vouch for him?”

  “I’m afraid I can.” He squirmed in the passenger seat. “I have no choice. He’s supposed to have killed someone at the time he was at my mum’s funeral — so there we have it. His alibi stands up,”

  “Not good, Tom. Well, not for your promotion prospects anyway.”

  “Too damn true it isn’t. I do nothing wrong, but still my career suffers from setback after setback. This shouldn’t make it any worse but it sure as hell won’t do it any good either. Anyway, what’s your excuse? You’re looking almost as bad as me.” There were dark circles under Ruth’s eyes.