“You haven’t thrown any away?”
“I really couldn’t say, Tom. I had no idea I was supposed to hang on to them. What’s this all about?”
“Evidence, Monika. Evidence. Enough to nail that bastard cousin of mine with any luck.”
“We must have put them in the conservatory. You’re in luck—here are your roses. Shall I wrap them?” She was being facetious and it didn’t suit her.
“No. In fact, don’t touch them. Don’t let anyone in here until I’ve checked these out.”
The roses had large heads and were the purest white. Having been indoors for several days in a warm environment, the flowers had opened up. Calladine snapped on a pair of gloves, bent down and moved one or two of the heads with the end of a pen. Bingo!
On the underside of several of them were what looked like blood stains. It looked as if the roses had picked up a very fine spray and their delicate petals had drunk it in. With a bit of luck, that fine spray of blood would turn out to be from the witness, as he was thrown in the boot of Fallon’s car and shot. Calladine could only hope so.
“I’m going to get our SOCO team down here. Don’t let anyone in this room, Monika, and don’t touch these. If I’m right, then I’ve got him—at long last.”
But who to tell? Should he ring Central? It was their case after all. If he did that, then it would be their SOCO team he should call.
He tapped in Jones’s number.
“Sir, that trouble with Fallon earlier in the week. I’ve got some evidence that could put the dead witness in the boot of Fallon’s car.”
There was silence.
“Sir? Did you hear that? I need forensics down here as soon as, and I can’t decide how to call it—us or Central.”
He heard Jones clear his throat. “Us, Tom. Keep this with us for now. Call Batho, get him started, and then come in and report to me.”
Not Central, then. Was that a mistake?
He turned to Monika. “There’ll be a team down here very soon.
They’ll take the flowers; that’s all, and they won’t disturb the residents.”
“So when do we talk, Tom? When do we decide what to do about this disaster of a relationship of ours? Or is it a matter of rounding things off as neatly as we can before calling it a day?”
She was looking at him strangely. He wanted to nod and tell her she’d got it right, but she didn’t look at all happy. Up until the point
—just about an hour ago—when Lydia had exploded into his life again, he’d have been only too happy to fling his arms around her and try again—but not now. Lydia had her claws in deep, and whatever was going on with her was just going to have to run its course.
“There is no relationship between us anymore, Monika. There hasn’t been for some time. You know that as well as I do. We should settle for friendship. I’d like that. I don’t like not speaking to you and having to pussyfoot around whenever we meet.”
He could tell from the look on her face that this wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.
“Get out of here, Tom Calladine! You’re a shambles and a disgrace. Get out of my sight and don’t come back. I don’t want to talk to you and I certainly don’t want to be your friend.”
So much for that.
Chapter 18
Calladine didn’t go back to his cottage—he’d leave that little treat for later. He went to the hospital—straight to Julian’s lab. He wanted a quick word before the scientist got his hands on those roses.
Julian Batho was getting his gear together as the DI knocked on his door.
“Got something else for me, Inspector. A bunch of flowers, I believe.”
“There’s blood on some of them. You are aware that a witness who was due to testify against Ray Fallon, was found dead at the beginning of the week?”
Julian nodded; all attention.
“I’d like you to check the blood on the roses against that of the witness.”
“You expect it to match? Blood on a bunch of roses from the care home? Well, I’m intrigued. How does that happen, Inspector?”
“It’s complicated.” Calladine frowned. He didn’t fancy having to explain how he knew Fallon—and particularly not to Julian.
“I’m not going anywhere; I’ve got time. I’ve sent a team. I’ll do the analysis once they return and I’ll have the results promptly. So go on—indulge me. How did this little gem present itself to you?”
“It’s a combination of things. Fallon is the chief suspect, but he has a cast-iron alibi. So the clever money is on the witness being put in the boot of Fallon’s car and shot there. Fallon ensures his alibi’s secure, then he dumps the body on the M62.”
“It’d make a nice fairy tale, Inspector. How do you make the leap from Fallon’s car boot to roses turning up in the care home?”
“There are things I’m not prepared to say just yet, so back off.”
“Tut tut, we are touchy, aren’t we?” He looked at the DI long and hard. “You know what people will say, don’t you? It’s already being rumoured that Fallon is getting inside intelligence from a copper, and given you know so much about all this, the finger will point at you.”
“It can point long and hard—I don’t care. I wouldn’t give that bastard the time of day, never mind information. So don’t go spreading rumours you can’t back up, Julian. I know what I know because of a link I’m not prepared to disclose, but it has nothing to do with being in Fallon’s pocket.”
“But you do know him. You went to see him in hospital during the Handy Man case.”
“How do you know that?” Calladine had told no one but the DCI and Ruth about that particular little visit.
“I know because I have contacts of my own, Inspector.” Julian Batho thought for a moment. “Roses—then the care home—so what’s the link? Come on, Calladine, I’m the soul of discretion.”
“Piss off, Julian. Curiosity like that can get you into serious trouble. You’d do better to get me those damn photos from the pub instead of trying to wind me up.”
Calladine left, slamming the door behind him. Julian Batho was no fool—he’d make the leap soon enough. He’d realise that the link he was looking for was Freda Calladine’s funeral.
* * *
He’d said they should reconvene back at the nick at five, but he was late. No matter, the team were still hard at it. Calladine went to his office, dumped his overcoat and went back into the incident room where he looked at the board, his hands in his trouser pockets.
“We could do with a quick appraisal—see what we’ve got.” He clapped his hands.
Imogen looked up from the laptop she was working on. Alice was sitting quietly by her side.
“When do you all stop?” Alice whispered to Imogen.
“When the job’s done. Why? You’re not bored with us already, are you?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, you’re all so dedicated. What about a private life?”
“Don’t get me started. Most folk in here have to put all that to one side while we investigate a case. Both Ruth and Calladine haven’t done very well with relationships. It’s what the job does, I’m afraid.”
“It’s good to be part of something so important, though, isn’t it?
It’s the sort of thing I need. I’m not good with people as a rule, but I think I could do this.”
Calladine went to incident board and looked at the array of photos. The e-fit was the best bet they had so far. Someone had to come forward—someone who knew this bastard.
“We know our man finds his victims on the net,” he began. “We know he goes for a particular type—he likes them to look a certain way. He likes them foreign—American, with no real network of friends and away from their family. They don’t know the system, or who to turn to for advice. So he chooses carefully and sets about befriending them. If we want to move this forward, we have to ask a number of questions. First of all, why does he call them all Vida?