DEAD SILENT a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  “I’m Sergeant Ruth Bayliss from Leesworth Police. Can I have a word?”

  With a look of bewilderment on her face, the woman stood aside so that Ruth could go in.

  “What’s this about? Is it Jimmy? Is he okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  Vida Alton had an American accent, and she was the right physical build too. She looked similar to the others, with fine features and long fair hair. Whatever was going on, this had to be the right ‘Vida.’

  “Mrs Alton we’ve been looking for you for days now. At first we didn’t understand that ‘Vida’ was actually a woman’s name. When we did realise, we then had to consider whether or not some sort of harm had befallen you.”

  Vida Alton shook her head, confused.

  “Look — is everything okay?” I believe someone’s been bothering you lately? You received some strange text messages and they upset you. Did you keep them by any chance?’

  “No, it was nothing, honestly — just someone playing a joke. Well that’s what Jimmy said, so I deleted them all.”

  “There were a few then — when did they start?”

  “Just under a year ago — early last spring.” She led the way into the kitchen, where she was entertaining some friends. It was a huge room, beautifully fitted out and full of high-end equipment. Three women were sitting around a table, drinking coffee. They nodded at Ruth.

  “Want some?”

  “No, thanks. Was that all there was — the texts? Are you sure you can’t think of anything else, anything odd that’s upset you recently?”

  “Why would anyone bother me? No one would dare, not with Jimmy looking out for me.”

  “You’re from the States, aren’t you? Can I ask how you and your husband met?”

  “I went into the nursery one day to buy some plants — simple as that. I liked the place — I liked Jimmy at once, and I thought he had a good thing going, so I invested. That was several years ago now. And yes — before you ask we’re very happily married. What’s this all about? Is Jimmy in some sort of trouble?”

  “We’re not sure yet. I can’t really tell you very much, I’m afraid. But I will tell you this: a number of young women have been murdered locally, and each of the bodies we’ve found so far, had your name written on an item they were wearing. Another young woman was found collapsed this morning near the garden centre and she was wearing a tracksuit with the name ‘Vida’ embroidered on the top.”

  “I lost one of my suits about a year ago,” exclaimed the woman in surprise. “I left my sports bag in the car on the drive while I brought in the groceries, and when I went out for it, the thing had gone.”

  “Was there anything else in the bag?”

  “No. I’d been working out at the gym, so just the suit.”

  “And you’re sure that you have no other concerns? We can talk privately.” Ruth was aware of the curious stares of the other women.

  “I promise you, I’m fine. Go spend your time looking out for those who need you. I’ve got Jimmy.”

  “Tell her about the cat, Vida,” one of the women called out.

  “That was nothing. Well not nothing, but nothing sinister I’m sure.”

  “Well I think you’re totally wrong there, Vida. I told you at the time to tell the police, didn’t I? I mean it was weird what happened, and not natural.”

  The woman looked at Ruth, clearly wanting to get something off her chest. “Someone killed her cat. But they didn’t just kill it, they left it mutilated and in agony on her doorstep. What sort of creep does that?”

  “What do you mean by mutilated?”

  “The thing had no teeth and its mouth had been sewn up. Now in my book that means someone has a problem.”

  First the cat and then the girls. It looked like Vida had had a narrow escape. If James Alton was their man, then she was safe. But if he wasn’t? Ruth decided she needed to have this woman watched.

  “Has there been anything else?”

  Vida shook her head vigorously. The memory of the cat had made her cry. “It’ll have been kids,” she sobbed. “I don’t like to talk about it. The whole thing is too horrible to think about.”

  “Okay, Mrs Alton. I’ve finished for now, but I’m going to leave a police constable here as a precaution. I’ll give you my card and we’ll probably need to speak to you again.”

  Ruth went back to her car and called in. She told Imogen about Vida, and left instructions for a uniformed officer to watch her house. They were finally closing in, but was Alton really their man? Calladine seemed to think so, but she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 23

  James Alton had asked to have his solicitor present when he was interviewed and he’d been put into a room to wait. He’d refused to give a DNA sample, so Calladine was hoping that Julian would turn up something on the van pretty quick.

  “Sir!” Imogen called. “The van is covered in prints. Two sets dominate; most likely Alton and one of his employees, but there are more, so Julian is checking whether any of them is a match for Patsy.”

  “I want to know what he’s had in the back of that van. Ask Julian to get back to me on that one asap.”

  “Inspector!” Alice called to him. “I know it’s not my place to say, but isn’t James Alton too old to fit the profile? Madison spoke of him being young. He’s old enough to be her father.”

  Calladine stared at the young woman for a moment. She was the only one to have noticed this, and she had a point. It was something that had also bothered him. But Alton and his nursery figured in this somehow. They just had to work out how.

  “Well spotted, Alice. Don’t worry. I have every intention of approaching this with a side order of caution. But for now, Alton is all we have.”

  Whether or not Alton was their man, the Vida they’d been looking for was his wife. It was also looking highly likely that the bodies had been buried in the ground at his nursery. There was no getting away from it — the pieces were beginning to fit together.

  When James Alton’s solicitor arrived, Ruth accompanied Calladine into the interview room.

  “Mr Alton, can you tell me what happened to your wife’s cat?”

  “For God’s sake, don’t tell me that’s what this is all about! I’ve got a business to run. At this time of year I can’t afford time off to piss around here with you lot.”

  “Believe me, Mr Alton, we’re not pissing about. You saw the cat and what had been done to it?”

  The man muttered his affirmative reply.

  “Well consider this. The same thing has happened to a number of women over the past few months. Can you imagine that, sir? Can you imagine what it must be like to be held against your will and be mutilated in such a way?”

  Alton’s ruddy face turned grey as he looked from Calladine to Ruth. “Surely you can’t think . . . Look — it wasn’t me. I don’t know anything about the damn cat. I never liked the thing, but I wouldn’t harm it — or anything else for that matter.”

  “I’d like to believe that, but we have one or two problems, Mr Alton. For a start your van was used to transport at least one of the bodies. And that body had been buried in your well-tended soil.” Calladine’s fingers formed a steeple in front of his face. “Can you think of any explanation — because I can’t — other than the obvious one?”

  “Look, I’ve already said, this has nothing to do with me. We’re happy, Vida and I. I don’t know any other women. We’ve been happy since the day we met. She’s a great woman and a loving wife.”

  “We are investigating several murders of young women, Mr Alton. Each one was found mutilated as I described, in the same way as your cat. Each was garrotted, and each had the name ‘Vida’ written on an item on their person.” He paused, giving Alton time to take this in.

  Alton lowered his head and let out a low wailing sound. “You’ve got this wrong. It has nothing to do with me or Vida. This is the work of some deranged nutter, perhaps someone with a grudge, I don’t know. But it’s your job to
find out. You shouldn’t be hassling me.”

  “If you would agree to be more helpful, I wouldn’t have to hassle you. A simple DNA test will clear all this up.”

  “No. I refuse. I’ve already told you.”

  “It’s very odd, don’t you think? This obsession he has with her — this insane need to seek out women who we think look like your wife and also sound like her. That isn’t normal, Mr Alton, is it?”

  “She’s in danger — is that what you’re telling me?” Alton looked round at his solicitor, the anxiety evident in his face.

  “I’ve left an officer at your house,” Ruth confirmed. “I spoke to her earlier and she’s fine.”

  “You were on the bypass the morning of the pile-up?” Calladine continued. “What were you doing there so early?”

  “I was delivering to a garden centre in Huddersfield. But I didn’t use the bypass. I went over there by the old road.”

  “Your van was seen on the bypass, Mr Alton.”

  “I wasn’t in my van. I was delivering fruit trees, so I had to use the pick-up. The van was parked, back at the nursery.”

  “What is the name of the place where you delivered the trees?”

  “‘Blooming Marvellous’ on the Halifax Road.”

  At that moment Imogen stuck her head around the door and beckoned to Calladine.

  “Julian has found a scrap of fabric in the back of Alton’s van. It’s from the blanket that Serena was wrapped in.”

  So it was confirmed — they had the right van. But what about their suspect? “Check this out for me.” He scribbled the name of the garden centre on her notepad. “I want the time Alton was there, the morning of the pile-up. When you’ve got it, come back and tell me.”

  “Mr Alton. We now have proof — which is backed up by forensic evidence — that your van was used to move one of the dead women.” Calladine leaned back in the chair.

  The room fell silent. Alton’s eyes closed for a moment.

  “It wasn’t me.” His words were almost whispered. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Imogen put her head around the door, and Calladine went out again.

  “He got there just after seven. The owner remembers the time because he complained that their café wasn’t open — it doesn’t open until seven thirty.”

  “Alexander Stone said the pile-up happened at about that time — certainly no later than seven thirty.”

  “So Alton’s in the clear. He couldn’t have put Madison in that car, could he?”

  “No, he couldn’t. So then, who did?”

  Calladine went back into the interview room. “Mr Alton, who else has access to your van — the small white one you usually drive?”

  “Well there’s me and a couple of the others, that’s all. But mostly it’s Jonathan who does the running around.”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Jonathan Dobson, Sandra’s son. You know; the manageress at the garden centre café. Jonathan works for both of us. I can’t afford to employ him full-time and neither can she.”

  Was this man seated in front of him entirely innocent, or was he somehow complicit in the murders? He was nervous. Something was wrong — but what? He wasn’t the one who did the chasing — he was too old, and he wasn’t in the van when Madison was dumped. But that didn’t mean he was completely in the clear. He was obviously afraid of something. He might still have known what was going on.

  “Mr Alton, why won’t you give a DNA sample?”

  “Because I haven’t done anything.”

  “But a DNA sample would prove your innocence, once and for all.”

  “Look — leave me alone. I haven’t done anything to any women. You’ve got nothing on me, so back off.”

  “I still don’t understand. A DNA sample from you would clear this up in no time, and then you could go.”

  Alton sighed wearily. “You already have my DNA.” He leaned forward, his head in his hands. He looked beaten, the brash exterior completely gone. “Look, I didn’t want this to get out, but I got into a lot of trouble years ago. I was brought up on the Hobfield estate. You know what that place is like. I got busted for burglary a couple of times. I was young and stupid — fortunately I got off with community service and a fine. I’ve never told anyone this — not even Vida. So please, can you be discreet? I run a reputable business and people trust me. Can you imagine how folk would be if this got out? Go and check, and then you’ll see. I’m not a match for whoever did that to those women.”

  “You should have told me this earlier. It would have saved you a lot of heartache.”

  So if Alton wasn’t their man, then who was?

  “Tell me about your workforce. Jonathan, for example. What does he do, and what’s he like?”

  “He’s okay — a little work-shy at times, but when he’s on form his work’s up to scratch. But he does take time off, disappears with no explanation. It’s what comes of not having proper parents. Lads need guidance, and he has no father. Sandra’s far too lenient with him. She’s tried, God bless her, but she doesn’t know the half, and these days she doesn’t even bother looking. His father was a bad un from what she says — ‘sown in weakness, bred from bad stock’ — that’s how she describes Jonathon. One night of passion with the wrong man, followed by a lifetime of worry, that’s her lot, Inspector.”

  “I thought she had a husband. She calls herself Mrs.”

  “That’s just so folk don’t talk.”

  Alton was telling the truth. Ruth got Julian to check the database, and the DNA of the man they wanted wasn’t his. They had nothing to charge him with, so Calladine decided to let him go.

  * * *

  “I need the photos from that pub near the university! Whatever condition they’re in, I need them now. And I think we need to talk to Jonathan Dobson urgently, don’t you?”

  “Photos first?” Ruth asked.

  “Do we have anything?”

  “Julian’s cleaned them up a bit and he’s sending them through now, sir.”

  The three of them waited around Imogen’s computer screen as she opened the email attachments. They looked a little foggy, but they could see the inside of the pub and the people who were milling around the bar.

  “There, sir. That’s Patsy and her friend sat on the seats at the back. The shape in the foreground must be him.”

  All they could see was his back. Calladine hoped the next few photos would give them more.

  “He’s tall and skinnier than Alton, so it’s definitely not him.”

  “There!” Imogen shouted. “This next one shows him sitting next to Patsy.”

  They peered closer. The picture was grainy, but they could make him out just enough to confirm for sure that it wasn’t Alton.

  “I’ve seen him before.” Imogen was squinting slightly at the image.

  “Rocco! This man in the photo — we’ve seen him somewhere, haven’t we?”

  “It’s the guy who was working in the garden centre café that day we were chasing up on the Cassie Rigby case. What’s he doing with Patsy Lumis?”

  What indeed?

  “I’m betting that’s Jonathan Dobson.” Calladine nodded. “Right — we need to find him and bring him in. Alice! Do me a favour — ring the hospital and find out if Patsy’s recovered yet. If she has, is she fit enough to talk to us?”

  Ruth got her coat and grabbed her car keys. “I’ll drive. Nursery, sir?”

  “There and the garden centre. We need that warrant quick. I hope the search team is organised. He’ll know we’ve spoken to Alton. He could be disposing of evidence as we speak. We need to find those bodies.”

  “I’ll get the warrant organised, then I’ll join you,” Rocco added.

  * * *

  There was already a police presence at both businesses, but they hadn’t started the search yet, so no one was taking much notice. To the uninitiated eye everything looked fairly normal.

  Calladine arrived, backed up by several police cars. They swooped in
to the car park. Ruth took the café, while Calladine made off down the path to the nursery, with a couple of uniformed officers.

  “Mrs Dobson! Where’s your son?” Ruth called out.

  The woman looked up from the till and nodded towards the nursery. “He’s still working. Alton had to go off somewhere, so he’s getting a big order out.”

  Ruth caught up with the inspector and told him. Then they saw the young man hauling fruit trees onto the pick-up truck. Ruth was hurrying behind Calladine, and he gestured for her to slow down. He didn’t want Jonathan spooked. From the look of him he’d be good on his toes, and he didn’t want him doing a runner.

  “Hi there!” He called out as casually as he could, his hands in his coat pockets and a smile on his face. “Is James Alton in?”

  Jonathon Dobson put down the sapling he was shifting, and brushed his hair off his face as he shook his head. “I thought you lot had him.”

  He was young, in his mid-twenties, and not bad-looking. He had longish dark hair and looked very fit — like a man who worked out. He was humming to himself as he worked, and didn’t seem at all bothered by the sudden appearance of the police. This worried Calladine. What was he up to? What had he done? Had he covered his tracks so soon? Surely he wouldn’t have had the time — and he didn’t know they were onto him yet.

  Then he saw it. At the top end of the tract of land, the inspector could see a bonfire which was alight and smoking away. To the casual observer it looked as if they were simply burning old stock; twigs and branches that had been pruned. But it was the smell that gave the game away. To those who knew it, there was no disguising the smell of burning flesh. Calladine felt a shiver run down his spine. This one was a monster. So cocksure, so confident he could outwit them.

  “What are you burning?” Calladine asked as casually as he could.

  “Rubbish. I’m getting rid of the dross — preparing for the new stuff.”

  “Odd smell, don’t you think?”

  Dobson began to chuckle, and then covered his mouth with his hand. He leaned on the spade he’d been using. “The stuff’s rotten — not what I want at all.” He looked Calladine directly in the eye as he spoke — his were deep blue, cold as ice and without a flicker of warmth in them. Calladine shuddered. Time to wrap this up; time to get this bastard behind bars.