DEAD SILENT a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  “I was registered as Thomas Frank Calladine — Frank after my father. But they weren’t married, so how come?”

  “Because your dad will have gone with her to register your birth. Who was she, then? What’s her name?”

  He stared at the document — at a name he’d never before seen or heard of.

  “Eve Walker. Mean anything?”

  “Not off the top of my head.”

  “I don’t understand how you never saw this before. You need your birth certificate for all sorts of things. What about when you needed a passport?” Ruth asked.

  “Easy. My mum saw to all that. We went to Majorca when I was twelve and she got everything organised. When I left home I only ever had the cut-down version of the certificate, and that doesn’t have parents’ names on it.”

  Ruth picked up one of the photos. It showed a young man, not unlike the inspector, and a pretty blonde woman. They were on a beach somewhere. He had his trousers rolled up and she was holding her shoes in her hand. They looked happy, carefree.

  “She could still be alive, you know. Have you thought of that?”

  “Alive and local. Who knows, she could have watched me grow up, been someone I saw every day, and I just wouldn’t have known.”

  “And, of course, there is something else.” Ruth raised her eyebrows, giving him time to think. “Siblings. You could have brothers and sisters; something else you just don’t know.”

  He sighed and stuffed his hands in his overcoat pockets. He didn’t have time to think about all this right now. It was a big deal, and it would need some pondering. He took the photo from Ruth and studied it for a moment. What had gone on between his father and Freda in those distant days when he’d brought him home? How had he explained what had happened and what he’d done? How had she taken to him — a newborn infant? In the letter she’d said she’d loved him instantly, but she must have been angry, jealous even. One thing was certain — Freda Calladine must have loved his father very much, and because of that she’d been prepared to love Tom too.

  “This whole mess does have its upside, Ruth.” He broke into a sudden grin. “It means Ray Fallon is no longer my cousin.”

  “It means he never was — so make sure you tell the right people at work and get your career back on track.”

  This cheered him up no end, and he whistled his way through re-packing the tin box. “Right, Ruth!” His sergeant was now idly wondering around the house inspecting the mess Lydia had left behind.

  “She’s got some cheek, that bimbo. She’s left make-up all over your kitchen worktops and the dishes are still clogging up the sink. Look at the clothes strewn all over the sitting room — she obviously couldn’t decide what to wear today. Where’s she gone anyway? Did she tell you she was going out?”

  “I’m not her keeper, Ruth. Lydia can do as she pleases.” He closed the tin box. “Will you look after this for me? You can see what things are like here, and I don’t want to risk Zoe finding all this until I’m ready to tell her.”

  “Okay. I’ll put it in the boot of my car, and you can put the kettle on. If you can find it.”

  His mobile rang.

  “Sir! Good news.” It was Rocco. “Patsy Lumis has been found. She’s in the general, in a coma.”

  A coma — and that was good news? “Where was she found?”

  “On the roadside. The one that leads up to the garden centre from the bypass.”

  “Have you got forensics down there?”

  “Yes. Julian’s lot should be crawling all over it by now.”

  “Okay. Ruth and I will get down there and talk to the doctors. I’ll be back in later with an update.” He called out to Ruth.

  “No time for tea — Patsy’s in the general. She’s been found.”

  They had no idea how bad this might be. All they knew was that she was still alive. But what had she been put through?

  Patsy Lumis was in intensive care and, according to the doctor, in a bad way.

  “Her injuries are minor; nothing more than a few cuts and scratches. But she’s had a major epileptic seizure, and what’s really worrying is the length of time it may have lasted before she was found. We have no way of knowing, but what we do know is that she was both cyanosed and tachycardic when she was brought in — lack of oxygen and an erratic heartbeat. I can’t say when she’ll come round. I can’t say whether she’ll remember very much either. I’m afraid we just have to wait and see.”

  “Does she have any other injuries apart from the superficial ones? Her teeth, for example, are they intact?”

  “Yes, everything is quite normal. It’s as I said; she has suffered mild abrasions from what seems to be branches and twigs.”

  “What about toxicology? Has she been given anything?”

  The doctor paused and studied the notes at the foot of her bed. “Nothing obvious, but some of them don’t show up for a few hours — the date rape drug for example. And there is evidence of sexual activity. She’s bruised, as if the experience was forced and very rough. If I had to give an opinion, then I’d say she’d been raped.”

  Raped, but otherwise okay. It was something — bad enough, but nonetheless, in comparison to what had happened to the others, she’d had a narrow escape.

  “What was she wearing?”

  “The forensic people took her clothing away. But as I recall she was wearing a tracksuit — nothing else.”

  “I see the name you’ve put on the notes is ‘Vida,’” Ruth interjected, looking first at the doctor and then at Calladine. “Why is that?”

  “We had no idea who she was when she arrived, and it was the name embroidered on the tracksuit top.”

  “We need to speak to Julian and look at that tracksuit,” Calladine decided. “If anything changes, then ring me straight away.” He handed the doctor one of his cards.

  “We’ll find Julian and then we’ll go look at where she was found.”

  Chapter 21

  “It’s a standard issue — on sale at Leesdon Gym with the option to have your name, initials, or whatever embroidered on the top. And before you ask, I haven’t been stepping on your toes — I was a member myself briefly, so that’s how I know.”

  “Did it fit her properly?” Ruth asked. “I mean, it wasn’t too big or too small?”

  “As far as I know it was fine. It’s not new though. It’s been washed several times, and I’m doing tests to see whose DNA it might be harbouring.”

  “Good. Let me know what you get ASAP.”

  “Incidentally, the blood on the roses was a match, Inspector. I’ve passed the news on to your DCI. But I’m still curious about how you knew. I will find out, you know!” Julian Batho’s head turned again to his microscope.

  “What blood? What’s he going on about?”

  “Blood from the witness — the one my cousin murdered.”

  “So you’ve got him then? Fallon?”

  “Perhaps. It would be good to get an actual forensic link between those flowers and the boot of his car though.”

  “A search warrant. Surely that can’t be refused now, not in the light of this new evidence? There will be fibres and stuff — if there are, then Julian will find them.”

  “We’ll see. Fallon’s a slippery bastard, as well we know.”

  “We could go to the site where Patsy was found, then the gym. It’s just around the corner from there.” Ruth traced the route in the air with her finger.

  “Okay, a quick look and then we’ll hopefully discover who ordered the tracksuit.”

  “It’s looking better all round, isn’t it, guv?”

  “Let’s wait and see. Don’t get ahead of yourself now, Sergeant.”

  But the truth was, they were getting closer. They were closing in, and the evidence was building. Once they had their suspect in custody, the DNA evidence would nail him once and for all.

  * * *

  The road was narrow, no more than a single track leading down to the garden centre. The hedge Patsy had scrambled t
hrough was high and deep — she’d been lucky. But where had she come from? Where had she been held?

  “Let’s take a closer look. I want to know what’s beyond this hedge.” He led the way through.

  They emerged on a piece of rough land to the side of the garden centre. Patsy had come through the hedge several hundred yards from the café, through a hedge that encompassed both the garden centre and the nursery.

  The place was busy again, and so was the café. “Want to speak to Sandra Dobson, sir?”

  He nodded and made for a table by the window. He was thinking; his mind a storm of questions — which all brought him back to the same one — why here? As Calladine sat and considered things, the pieces started to fit together. The soil — fertilised soil, and the need to move — this entire area was being considered for development. He’d been a fool not to have considered it before. This place might be busy now, but at night it was as quiet as the grave — there were no houses in the vicinity. He looked towards the row of conifers that separated the two businesses. The nursery was their best bet. But where did Vida fit in, and who was she?

  “Hot, a drop of milk and no sugar. Just how you like it.” Ruth deposited a cup in front of him. “Robert Rigby’s car is outside, sir. Apparently it’s been there since late yesterday afternoon.”

  Of course it was. Rigby was the catalyst in all this. If he was capable of buying a child, then what else might he do? He worked for the planning department, so he’d had dealings with the owners of both businesses. But where was he, and why had he left his car here? Calladine stood up. In trouble, that’s where he was. Patsy escapes, and Rigby disappears — too much of a coincidence. He must have come here and stumbled on something. It could well have been Rigby that presented Patsy with an opportunity to get away. Their man must have got careless, allowing Patsy to escape.

  “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.

  She rang the bell and waited. She could hear music, and the sound of people talking and laughing. Finally a woman answered.

  “Mrs Alton?” Ruth showed her warrant card. “Vida Alton?”

  The woman nodded and Ruth smiled with relief. So Vida was real — she wasn’t dead like they’d feared, or a figment of some nutter’s imagination. She was a real flesh-and-blood woman. Ruth could hardly believe they’d actually found her — but what did it mean for the case?