“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?

What is it about that name? Then, why do they have to be American? As Ruth pointed out to me earlier today, it’s obviously important to him in some way. Then there’s the thing with the mouth.”

“Trophies, sir,” Rocco suggested. “It’s a common enough trait with serial killers.”

“That’s right,” Alice interrupted. “And the kind of trophy taken can sometimes be meaningful in itself.”

“What can possibly be meaningful about a few teeth?” Rocco shook his head.

“This is a man who has possibly suffered some indignity at the hands of an American woman—perhaps one called Vida. Whatever happened in the past has festered in his mind, and now it’s payback time. He’s working through his fantasy of getting even with the woman—whoever she was.”

“You’ve been working on a profile of this man?” Calladine asked.

“I thought it might help. I’ve developed it using the questions you all keep asking about his behaviour.”

“Good work. Let me have a copy to look at.”

Calladine already knew how thorough Alice was and how she liked detail. So perhaps she could come up with something they might be able to use. It was certainly worth looking at—they had nothing to lose.

“Ruth—what do you want to add?”

“Given that Serena had been buried in soil, he must have a place, a garden perhaps. It looks like that situation may be under threat—why else would he dump her like that? We’re already looking at property in the area that’s recently hit the market. It’s a long shot but you never know. If his burial place is threatened, then he may want to be rid of Patsy sooner rather than later. I’ve also looked at the phone records of Madison and Patsy. All the calls to and from both girls were made to different pay-as-you-go mobiles

—one for each girl. So there’s nothing.”

“Sir! I’ve found something,” Imogen called out. She stood up and addressed the team.

“I can see from her browsing history that Patsy Lumis made regular online requests for repeat prescriptions from a local GP surgery. The medication is Sodium Valproate.”

“That’s used to treat epilepsy,” Rocco told them. “I know because I have a friend who takes it.”

“She never said anything,” Alice added. “But she was absent from lectures a lot, and no one seemed to mind. I thought that was odd at the time. Now I know why.”

Just what they needed. Calladine sighed. Would the bastard who’d taken her realise how important her medication was and would he let her take it?

“Get on to the GP. Find out what sort of epilepsy she has and what happens if she doesn’t take her tablets. We could do with a timescale from him too.” Imogen immediately picked up the office phone.

“She has her stuff, sir,” Ruth reminded him. “Ruby Tunnicliffe remembered that she had a small suitcase with her. Surely she would have packed her pills.”

“No doubt. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let her take them, does it?”

“Sir! Patsy has what are called Tonic Clonic seizures. She’s been hospitalised several times since starting at the university. Each time she was admitted, and each time she’s needed drugs to stop the fit

—in addition to her regular medication. It doesn’t look good. If she fits and doesn’t recover within a certain time, the danger is that her heart will stop, or she might not be able to breathe properly.”

“We’re running out of time so we need to find her fast, if he hasn’t killed her already himself. Rocco, get this new information to the radio station and inform the local rag. If this gets out, and she’s alive, then Patsy just might get her pills. We can only try. The rest of you—Alice is looking at property for sale in the Leesworth area

—give her a hand and start to check them out. You can discount any without a garden. The soil found with Serena was tended—fertilised—so someone who likes plants and cares for them. It might be an idea to check the allotments. Rocco, I’ll leave that one with you to organise.”