“Did it fit her properly?” Ruth asked. “I mean, it wasn’t too big or too small?”

“As far as I know it was fine. It’s not new though. It’s been washed several times, and I’m doing tests to see whose DNA it might be harbouring.”

“Good. Let me know what you get ASAP.”

“Incidentally, the blood on the roses was a match, Inspector.

I’ve passed the news on to your DCI. But I’m still curious about how you knew. I will find out, you know!” Julian Batho’s head turned again to his microscope.

“What blood? What’s he going on about?”

“Blood from the witness—the one my cousin murdered.”

“So you’ve got him then? Fallon?”

“Perhaps. It would be good to get an actual forensic link between those flowers and the boot of his car though.”

“A search warrant. Surely that can’t be refused now, not in the light of this new evidence? There will be fibres and stuff—if there are, then Julian will find them.”

“We’ll see. Fallon’s a slippery bastard, as well we know.”

“We could go to the site where Patsy was found, then the gym.

It’s just around the corner from there.” Ruth traced the route in the air with her finger.

“Okay, a quick look and then we’ll hopefully discover who ordered the tracksuit.”

“It’s looking better all round, isn’t it, guv?”

“Let’s wait and see. Don’t get ahead of yourself now, Sergeant.”

But the truth was, they were getting closer. They were closing in, and the evidence was building. Once they had their suspect in custody, the DNA evidence would nail him once and for all.

* * *

The road was narrow, no more than a single track leading down to the garden centre. The hedge Patsy had scrambled through was high and deep—she’d been lucky. But where had she come from?

Where had she been held?

“Let’s take a closer look. I want to know what’s beyond this hedge.” He led the way through.

They emerged on a piece of rough land to the side of the garden centre. Patsy had come through the hedge several hundred yards from the café, through a hedge that encompassed both the garden centre and the nursery.

The place was busy again, and so was the café. “Want to speak to Sandra Dobson, sir?”

He nodded and made for a table by the window. He was thinking; his mind a storm of questions—which all brought him back to the same one—why here? As Calladine sat and considered things, the pieces started to fit together. The soil—fertilised soil, and the need to move—this entire area was being considered for development. He’d been a fool not to have considered it before.

This place might be busy now, but at night it was as quiet as the grave—there were no houses in the vicinity. He looked towards the row of conifers that separated the two businesses. The nursery was their best bet. But where did Vida fit in, and who was she?

“Hot, a drop of milk and no sugar. Just how you like it.” Ruth deposited a cup in front of him. “Robert Rigby’s car is outside, sir.

Apparently it’s been there since late yesterday afternoon.”

Of course it was. Rigby was the catalyst in all this. If he was capable of buying a child, then what else might he do? He worked for the planning department, so he’d had dealings with the owners of both businesses. But where was he, and why had he left his car here? Calladine stood up. In trouble, that’s where he was. Patsy escapes, and Rigby disappears—too much of a coincidence. He must have come here and stumbled on something. It could well have been Rigby that presented Patsy with an opportunity to get away. Their man must have got careless, allowing Patsy to escape.

“We need to search this entire area, Ruth—go over it with a fine-tooth comb. I think Robert Rigby is here somewhere and in grave danger—we need to find him fast.”

“You think this is it? The place where he keeps them?”

Calladine nodded. Yes, he did, and he was annoyed with himself for not seeing it earlier. Anyone operating here or next door had the privacy and all the land they needed.

He got on his mobile to speak to the DCI and request more uniformed officers for the job. “I need a search warrant for the garden centre and the nursery—especially the nursery.”

“It’ll take a little time—don’t go wading in until I ring you back.

You have no real evidence, as yet, have you?”

“I have Robert Rigby’s car, and he’s been reported missing.”

“Okay—uniform for now and I’ll get the warrant.”

Next he rang Julian. “That soil sample—is there anything else?

Can you hazard a guess as to what might have been growing in it?”

“Further tests have revealed well-rotted horse manure, Inspector. So possibly roses. Isn’t that what you spread around roses?”

Yes it was. So it looked like the nursery was a goer.

“Jones is organising a warrant, so when the uniforms turn up we’ll leave them to watch the place. Then we’ll go to the gym and come back.” He drank the coffee in a single gulp. “By that time I’m hoping Jones can give us the all-clear.”

Ruth followed in his wake.

* * *

Leesdon Gym was packed. The equipment room was full of individuals, mostly young men, sweating away the morning in physical toil. Calladine shuddered—he’d never been attracted by the keep-fit thing.

“I want to speak to the manager, please.” He and Ruth flashed their warrant cards.

A young woman in a tight-fitting Lycra one-piece, her cheeks glistening with sweat, emerged from the adjoining studio. “Vanessa Pope.” She wiped her face with a towel. “Aerobics this morning.

What can I do for you?”

“We’re from Leesworth Police, currently investigating a series of murders. We’ve found an item of clothing and we believe it came from here. The clothing you sell—your clients buy the tracksuits and then have them embroidered with their names, is that right?”

“Yes. We sell a number of gym items, not just tracksuits.

Members get changed, and they shower, so having their names on their garments helps, Inspector. But I can’t see what our gym wear would have to do with murder?” She looked from Calladine to Ruth, but neither volunteered an explanation.

“Do you, or have you ever had, a member with the name Vida?

That’s all we have, we don’t know her surname, I’m afraid.”

“Vida?” She thought for a moment. “Oh, you must mean Vida Alton. I haven’t seen her in a while, not since all that trouble. She is okay, isn’t she? It isn’t Vida you’ve found? She isn’t one of your victims or anything?” Her eyes widened, and she looked genuinely concerned.

“I hope not. But the truth is we just don’t know. We need to find her quickly. Do you have her full name and address?”

“Like I said—Vida Alton, and she lives across there—that white farmhouse up on the hillside.” She pointed to the view of the surrounding countryside that could be seen through a large picture window. “It’s the only house up there, so you can’t miss it.”

“Vida Alton. Any relation to James Alton?” Ruth asked.

“Well, yes, of course. She’s his wife.”

“You mentioned there had been some trouble. What happened?”

“Vida started receiving a number of texts—weird stuff, you know, the sort of stuff you might get from a stalker, and then there was that dreadful business with the cat. I don’t know all the details

—you’ll have to ask her, but she became a little introverted after that and she stopped coming here. In fact I think she stopped going anywhere for a while, and who could blame her?”

So someone had targeted her—stalker was the word Vanessa Pope used—well that would fit. But whatever had happened she hadn’t been taken like the others—so what was the connection?

“Thank you, Miss Pope. You’ve been a great help.”

Calladine and Ruth went back to the garden-centre car park.

“Warrant or no warrant I’m going to bring James Alton in. This is all too much of a coincidence. We need to ask him a few questions.