“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 into 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.
The weather was cold and wet, so the fire never really stood much chance, despite the liberal dowsing with petrol he’d given it.
Calladine nodded to one of the uniforms and sent him off with a hosepipe.
“Jonathan, you’ve taken some tracking down. In fact you’ve led us quite a dance over the last few days. But finally it’s all over.”
Chapter 23
Lydia Holden took her time getting ready. She deliberately waited for Calladine to leave—she didn’t fancy answering any awkward questions. She got out of bed, showered and made herself coffee and toast. She had a busy day ahead of her. She planned to drive into the Cheshire countryside and make her first contact with Marilyn Fallon. She was excited. This was finally it. She was on her way to getting one of the biggest stories of the decade.
She checked her handbag. The photo was in place, all the details she’d need. She was ready. Lydia had done her homework. She’d been studying Fallon and his wife for days and knew their routine almost as well as she knew her own. At eleven each morning Marilyn went out to walk her dog—and that was the key. It was obvious from everything Lydia had observed that Marilyn loved the animal, despite its being a funny-looking thing with wrinkles all over its face. A dog that Lydia had learned was a breed called a ‘Shar Pei.’
Today, the unsuspecting Marilyn was going to make a new friend. It’d all happen so smoothly and appear so natural she wouldn’t suspect a thing. She’d meet a like-minded soul who shared her interests, including her love of dogs, and this rare breed in particular. She’d see very different Lydia; a superficial, high-maintenance blonde with too much money and too much time on her hands, and hopefully Marilyn would recognise a kindred spirit.
Lydia was piqued that Tom Calladine was being such a pain where his cousin was concerned. She’d hoped to wangle an invitation to dinner or some similar family gathering, but Tom was dead set against having anything to do with the man. He could have made this a whole lot easier—but no, he had his principles, so she’d just have to move things on herself.
The journey was one Lydia had made several times since returning to the area. She left Leesdon via the bypass, made for the M60 ring road, then the M56 and out to Cheshire. The traffic was heavy, and road works on the M60 made the going slow. She checked her watch—she didn’t want to be late. Lydia had planned this down to the last detail, and that included the exact moment when she would approach Marilyn.
At last she reached the tree-lined avenue where the Fallons lived and parked outside a huge rambling house with a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front garden. Then she waited. The Fallons lived directly opposite—a stroke of luck. Lydia checked her phone. Nothing, not even a text from Tom. Just as well, because there was no way she would be summoned back—not after all this effort.
A few minutes later and exactly on cue, Lydia saw Marilyn Fallon’s tall figure emerge from her front door. She pretended to be rummaging through her bag while the woman organised her dog. As she locked up behind her and snapped the lead on his collar, Lydia plastered a smile on her face and pounced.
“He’s beautiful!” she enthused, as she proceeded to lock her car.
“I thought he was a Shar Pei when I first saw you, but I couldn’t be sure. I just had to get out and have a look—I love these dogs. I have one of my own.”
Marilyn Fallon was older than the impression she gave from a distance. She might be clad in skinny jeans and a sharp designer leather jacket with matching knee high boots, but close up her face revealed the true story. Her hair was scraped back and had been over-dyed. Perhaps once she’d been that lovely, long-haired blonde but now the colour was too brassy, and the texture dry and coarse.
Her make-up was too bright, and looked garish in daylight. Here was a woman trying very hard and failing on all counts.
Lydia knew at once she’d been right to move in on the dog.
Marilyn seemed only too pleased to have it noticed. “Yes, he is beautiful, isn’t he? Not many people know the breed.” She smiled.
“Like I said, I have one at home.” Lydia took the photos from her bag. “This is my ‘Ming.’ In fact she’s a blue, like yours.”
“Really?” Marilyn leaned a little closer. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she, Sam?” She stroked the little dog lovingly. “Do you live around here?”
“Not yet, but I’m house-hunting right now.” She nodded at the run-down stone pile opposite. “In fact I’m waiting for the estate agent now. I’ve been looking at property round here for weeks, but I’ve got a good feeling about this one. I never expected to find someone else with one of these, and so close by.” She laughed, and dared to stroke the thing. “It’s really nice to bump into someone who likes the breed as much as I do. Perhaps it’s a sign that I really have found the right house at last.”
“When you move perhaps we could walk the dogs together. It’d be nice to have someone else who has an interest. Does your …
Ming, have all the papers—you know, Kennel Club credentials and everything?”