“No—and you stop that now.” She slapped his chest playfully with the back of her hand. “Julian’s just a friend. He’s clever and I admire his work, nothing more. There was a time when I fancied forensic science myself.”

He gave her a doubtful look—forensic science or the forensic scientist? There was no way Julian considered himself just another one of Imogen’s friends. She was kidding herself if she thought that’s how it was with him.

* * *

But they had a job to do, and so a short while later the two detectives were walking along the narrow grassy path that formed a short cut between the garden centre and the nursery. As it came into view, Imogen could understand why a house builder would want the land. It was a very large, flat area and convenient for both Leesdon and the bypass. The fact that James Alton wouldn’t sell must have really pissed the council off.

There was a tall wooden gate at the end of the path, and it was unlocked—nothing to stop them then. The land had been divided up into six areas of similar size. It looked pretty desolate at this time of year. The sign by the gate said the nursery specialised in roses and fruit trees. But now, in the harsh December weather, they were nothing but twigs in the frozen soil.

Each sectioned-off area had its own long, modern greenhouse, in sharp contrast to a block of old stone outbuildings that stood on the far perimeter of the land. Alton had obviously invested both time and money into his business.

The place looked empty. There was no one around and the first greenhouse they came too was padlocked shut.

Imogen called out, “Anyone here?”

There was no reply.

“There’s a carport round the side but no vehicle, and the main gates back there are shut,” Rocco said, he’d had a quick look round.

“Perhaps he’s out delivering—it’s a busy time of year.”

“It’s quite a lonely spot, don’t you think? You can’t even see the garden centre from here, not with those conifers in the way. In fact, a lot of stuff could go on here, and no one would ever know.”

“Imagination, DC Goode.” Rocco grinned. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Do you think we dare check out the other buildings while we’re here? It’s not as if we have a search warrant or anything.”

“We can always say we’re looking for Alton.” Rocco made off down a gravel path running along the side of one of the tracts of land. “Come on, then—I’ll take these greenhouses, and you take the ones over there.”

The two detectives got nowhere. All the buildings were locked up tight and there was no sign of any work going on.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice bellowed out from behind them. “How did you get in here? This is private land.

Can’t you read?” While they’d been busy looking around, the nursery van had pulled into the carport, and now a man was hurrying towards them. James Alton, Imogen presumed.

He was a tall, slightly overweight middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face that was set in a hard expression. Not a happy individual from the look of him.

“If you’re from the damn council then you’re wasting your time.

The best I’ll do for now is think about it. I won’t be rushed, so stop hassling me!” He strode towards them.

Imogen flashed her warrant card and smiled at the man. “James Alton?”

“What of it?” His face was pulled into a stubborn frown.

“DC Goode and DC Rockliffe from Leesworth CID. We got in through the wooden gate back there. It wasn’t locked.”

“Bloody Jonathan. I keep telling him, but does he listen?”

“Can we ask you a few questions, Mr Alton?”

“Be quick. I don’t have time for idle chit-chat.”

“This is definitely not chit-chat, idle or otherwise, Mr Alton.

We’re looking for a missing child. She was in the garden centre café

earlier today.” Imogen showed him a photo of Cassie Rigby. “We wondered if you saw anything, anything odd or suspicious. Did anyone cross your land, trying to make for the road, for example?”

“No. If you opened your eyes and looked a little closer, you’d see that my boundary fence is nearly eight foot tall. So there’s no way out, not this way.”

“Could anyone hide in one of your buildings?”

“No. They’re locked. They’re always locked.”

He was neither helpful nor friendly. He didn’t once crack a smile, and seemed determined to say as little as possible.

“Mr Alton, can you account for your movements today?” Rocco was fed up with the man’s tone.

James Alton sighed and led the way back to his van. He leaned in and retrieved a clipboard from the passenger seat. “The deliveries I’ve made today and the suppliers I’ve seen.” He handed a bundle of notes to Imogen. “I’m busy now so take them away and return them when you’ve done.” With that, he turned and left them standing beside the van as he strode towards one of his greenhouses.

“He could do with working on his interpersonal skills,” Imogen commented. “A bit of civility costs nowt.” She looked at the motley scraps of paper in her hand, and put them carefully into her shoulder bag.

Chapter 6

He took one last look in the full-length mirror—perfect, even if he did say so himself. Sharp as a blade—knockout in fact. What woman could resist him? Hopefully not her, he thought, picking up the photo he’d printed out from Facebook.

He smiled and gave his deep-blue silk tie one last tug. His suit was a few shades darker than the tie, and his shirt was dazzling white. He was young and tall and women found him attractive, so he played on his looks, using them to his advantage.

The girl was lovely, exactly what he was looking for. She was so like Vida it hurt. Could she be the one? She had to be; he’d spent enough time on that damn computer looking for her. All that time spent grooming her, followed by the endless chat, while he took care to give nothing away. He had the process of smooth talking his quarry into trusting him down to a fine art. And it would finally pay off tonight. He folded the photo neatly and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. No more delays; no more setbacks. He wanted things to move on. He needed a woman. He needed a woman’s soft eager body in his bed, or fastened down on his chair.

He closed his eyes as the images flooded his mind. He needed Vida

—he’d always needed Vida. The problem was, she’d never needed him.

His face contorted into an ugly frown. This one would want him.

If she knew what was good for her she would. If she didn’t, if she resisted like all the others, then she’d suffer the same fate. He wouldn’t tolerate refusal—he wouldn’t listen to their pleas or their cries. He made sure he didn’t have to. He gave a little flick with his hand, mimicking the way he drew the string hard through their lips.

That way he made sure of winning every argument. That way he made certain he called all the shots. This one had better not get herself pregnant either. Two of the others had been stupid enough to get themselves up the duff. That had ruined everything. He’d tried to abort the pregnancies but nothing had worked. So in the end he’d had to get rid of the girls.

That would never happen with Vida, but if it did, he wouldn’t mind. She could have whatever she wanted from him. She had the ability to dangle him on an imaginary chain while she teased and messed with his head. The bitch! But he still wanted her—the mind was a strange thing. He was far too soft for his own good. But where Vida was concerned, he couldn’t help himself.

But tonight was a fresh start—another go at getting things right. Choose carefully and stay in the shadows. He wouldn’t drive;

he’d take the train. It was anonymous. The train from Leesworth Station would take him to Manchester Victoria, then he’d take the tram to St. Peter’s Square. From there it was only a short hop down into student territory.