Bayliss & Calladine Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  “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?”

  “Oh, yes. I entered her at Crufts two years ago and she got a ‘highly commended.’ If I had the time we’d do more, but you know how it is.”

  Lydia could tell that Marilyn Fallon was impressed. She positively beamed as she stroked and patted the dog some more.

  “I’d love to show Sam, but I don’t know if I’d have the confidence.”

  “That’s a shame. He’d do so well, and it’s a laugh, it really is. Everyone is so friendly and helpful. There’s no snobbery at all.”

  Lydia was beginning to believe she really did own a dog, she sounded so plausible.

  But the dog was getting restless, eager to be off. “Do you plan to breed her?”

  “I’d like to before she gets much older, but it’s all about finding a suitable mate.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Marilyn laughed. “
And not just with dogs either.”

  The two women laughed.

  Shades of discontent, Lydia wondered? Might be something she could use — a way in.

  “Look — if you’re still around when I get back why not come and have a coffee?”

  This was going better than Lydia could have imagined. Marilyn was a pushover and it was all down to the dog! “That’s very kind of you. It shouldn’t take long to look around the place. I’ll know straight away if it’s suitable — you know, by the feel of the place.”

  The two women said their goodbyes, and Marilyn Fallon disappeared down the road. Lydia went back to her car to wait. This had gone better than she could have imagined — the woman was completely taken in. She’d hang around, have that cup of coffee and arrange to meet her again soon — perhaps a jolly little foursome for drinks one evening. And given that Tom wouldn’t play the game, she’d have to find herself another presentable man for the evening. She felt sure one of her old colleagues from the Echo would oblige.

  Lydia was pleased with her progress. This sort of stuff suited her. It was exciting, like being a spy. The intrigue, the pretending to be someone else — wheedling a story out of the unsuspecting. She loved it all.

  Her pleasant reverie, and the quiet of this leafy, well-heeled idyll was shattered as several police cars wheeled into the Avenue. Within seconds the place was bedlam — sirens, police officers in body armour and helmets — even some with firearms. Lydia had no idea what was going on but, as they descended on the Fallon house, she guessed she ought to leave.

  But curiosity got the better of her. She drove a few yards down the road, parked up and hunkered down in her seat to watch the proceedings unfold. The police banged on the front door. One of them gave it the sole of his boot and it flew open. They were in, and they could only be looking for Ray Fallon. But was he there? Lydia got her answer almost instantly.

  “Good of you to wait.” A male voice rasped in her ear.

  She hadn’t even heard the passenger door open, or seen the man dart across the road. Her heart gave a jolt. “I got away by the skin of my teeth. Far too close for comfort, even for me, so let’s get out of here, pronto.”

  Lydia’s heart was beating furiously. She gave the figure a quick sideways glance — yes, Ray Fallon! How had he got here? Large as life, he was sat low in the passenger seat, with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

  “Don’t make a sound, pretty lady. Pull out nice and slow, and make for the main road through the village.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on but this won’t work. They’ll be after us in seconds. Anyway, I can’t drive — I’m in shock. Who the hell are you?”

  “Don’t come the innocent with me. You know very well who I am, and more to the point, Miss Holden, I know you. You used to work for the local rag and now you’re shacked up with that cousin of mine.”

  Lydia had no idea how he could know all that, but since he did, it seemed pointless pretending. “As it happens I was hoping to meet you today, Mr Fallon.” She smiled, without turning around. She was trying her very best to sound unruffled by what had just happened, but he must have seen her body shaking, because he started to laugh.

  “But this wasn’t what you had in mind, I’ll bet.”

  “I wanted to interview you.” She tried to keep her voice from wobbling.

  “Keep your mouth shut and drive.”

  In her rear-view mirror, Lydia could see the mayhem they were leaving behind, but there was nothing she could do to attract their attention.

  “Okay. But drive where? Where are we going, Mr Fallon?”

  “Leesdon. To see that interfering cousin of mine.”

  “Leesdon . . .? I don’t think I know the place . . .”

  “Oh yes you do, so don’t give me any of that shit. Like I told you — you’re living with the sneaky bastard. Grant me a little intelligence, Miss Holden. I know just about everything that goes on in Thomas’s life.”

  As far as Lydia knew, Tom had no idea. She’d have to put him straight — once she’d extricated herself from this mess.

  “Then you’ll know what I do for a living?”

  “You’re a bloody snoop. What else is there to know?”

  “Yes, but a very tasteful snoop, Mr Fallon. What I propose to do with your story is make you more acceptable to the millions who’ll read it.”

  “Acceptable. The one thing I’ll never be, missy, is acceptable — so don’t even try. I hate the press — I’ll see you dead first.”

  The way he spoke these words suggested he wasn’t joking. Lydia felt an icy shiver of pure fear fly down her spine. Tom had been right — Fallon was a very scary man — and now he was pressing something hard into her thigh. She sneaked a look, and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was a revolver. Now this thug was after Tom — and it wasn’t for a family catch-up, that was for sure. So what could she do?

  “I need petrol. My gauge is on the blink. There won’t be enough in the tank to get us to Leesdon.”

  “Nice try, bitch. Do you really think I’m that naïve? And don’t go anywhere near my Marilyn again. She’s gullible, and I won’t have you bothering her. Do you understand?”

  Lydia nodded her head furiously. She understood alright and had no intention of crossing him. She checked her rear mirror again — no one was following. The police had been too concerned with getting into the Fallon house and searching it to realise he’d already scarpered. No one had seen them drive away. But surely they must have realised he wasn’t in the house by now? It would all depend on what Marilyn told them when she got back. The motorway stretched out ahead. There were any number of cameras along the distance they would cover. But would they pick them up? Fallon was still low in the seat with that damn hat obliterating most of his face — so it was unlikely. Lydia racked her brain for some way to warn Tom, but her mobile was in her bag on the back seat. Her only hope, then, was to do something once they reached his house. Hopefully Tom would be out.

  Chapter 24

  Dobson spat onto the ground, and shrugged as Calladine snapped the handcuffs on him. He offered no explanations; he didn’t plead his case or try to run. Nothing.

  “Every inch of this place must be searched. Rigby must be here somewhere, and we need to find where Dobson kept the girls.”

  “Sir!”

  It was Rocco, arriving on the scene with James Alton and, surprisingly, his wife, Vida.

  “I’ve got the keys, Inspector. I’ll unlock the greenhouses and the old outbuilding.”

  Calladine gestured at the uniformed officer holding Dobson to get him to a car, but he shuffled out of his grasp.

  “Vida, you came! I knew you would! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  Vida Alton held onto her husband’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder, as the uniformed officer grabbed Dobson’s coat and held him fast.

  “It’s Jonathan! He’s the creep who did all those things, isn’t he?”

  “But you know I only did it for you! You love me, you know you do. We should be together — I waited for you, I practised and everything. I did all this for you, Vida.” His expression grew bewildered when he saw the hatred in her eyes. “Why didn’t you come? Why did you leave me alone with those stupid slags? I tried to turn them into you, but it just didn’t work. I couldn’t get them perfect enough.”

  James Alton gave her a puzzled look. “What’s he talking about? You and he, you never . . .?

  “No, of course not. I hardly know him. He used to bother me at the gym — that’s partly why I stopped going. He used to stare, watch me while I worked out.”

  Calladine told the officer to take Dobson away. “The man’s delusional. He’s built an entire fantasy around his obsession with your wife. When he couldn’t get near her he went after a series of lookalikes — sound-alikes too. He imagined he could create a perfect copy.” He shook his head. “Take your wife home, Mr Alton. I’ll send an officer to take a statement later.”

  Callad
ine cast his eyes over the large tract of land spread out in front of him. “Before you go, Mr Alton, we think Dobson must have had somewhere — a safe, secure place unlikely to be found by mistake, by either you or the workforce. Have you any idea where that might be? A man’s life may depend upon it.”

  “The greenhouses are just as you see them — built over the soil you see them standing on. The only possibility is that.” He indicated the stone outbuilding. “Before I came here and developed the nursery, the land belonged to a farm, and that was one of the barns. I use it for storage, that’s all.”

  “We’ll start in there, thanks. Now you get off.”

  “Sir!” Rocco called. “The hospital has just been on. Patsy’s come round and she’s talking.”

  “Get round there and see what she remembers. Anything about where she was kept would be helpful.”

  * * *

  Jonathan Dobson had finally been taken off to the police station, where he would be interviewed. As soon as his DNA had been checked against the samples they had, they’d charge him. Dobson seemed oddly unconcerned. When he’d been arrested, he’d merely smiled and made some remark about missing the football tonight. His mother, on the other hand, had been frantic. She didn’t believe it —couldn’t believe it — but she obviously had no idea what her son was up to most of the time. She had admitted that he was rarely at home.

  Doc Hoyle arrived with Julian Batho to examine the bonfire. It was a mess, which hadn’t been helped by the dousing it had received. But the doctor was able to confirm that there were human bones amongst the ash.

  “Impossible to burn bones at this temperature. He must have been desperate, to try this. I’ll run the usual tests and keep you informed, but there’s no doubt in my mind what these are. We’ll check the DNA against the profiles you got from your American friend. If I’m right, I can see the remains of at least three bodies. The flesh — what there was of it, has mostly burned away, but there is a little still clinging to that leg over there.”