Ruth went back to her car and called in. She told Imogen about Vida, and left instructions for a uniformed officer to watch her house. They were finally closing in, but was Alton really their man?

Calladine seemed to think so, but she wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 22

James Alton had asked to have his solicitor present when he was interviewed and he’d been put into a room to wait. He’d refused to give a DNA sample, so Calladine was hoping that Julian would turn up something on the van pretty quick.

“Sir!” Imogen called. “The van is covered in prints. Two sets dominate; most likely Alton and one of his employees, but there are more, so Julian is checking whether any of them is a match for Patsy.”

“I want to know what he’s had in the back of that van. Ask Julian to get back to me on that one asap.”

“Inspector!” Alice called to him. “I know it’s not my place to say, but isn’t James Alton too old to fit the profile? Madison spoke of him being young. He’s old enough to be her father.”

Calladine stared at the young woman for a moment. She was the only one to have noticed this, and she had a point. It was something that had also bothered him. But Alton and his nursery figured in this somehow. They just had to work out how.

“Well spotted, Alice. Don’t worry. I have every intention of approaching this with a side order of caution. But for now, Alton is all we have.”

Whether or not Alton was their man, the Vida they’d been looking for was his wife. It was also looking highly likely that the bodies had been buried in the ground at his nursery. There was no getting away from it—the pieces were beginning to fit together.

When James Alton’s solicitor arrived, Ruth accompanied Calladine into the interview room.

“Mr Alton, can you tell me what happened to your wife’s cat?”

“For God’s sake, don’t tell me that’s what this is all about! I’ve got a business to run. At this time of year I can’t afford time off to piss around here with you lot.”

“Believe me, Mr Alton, we’re not pissing about. You saw the cat and what had been done to it?”

The man muttered his affirmative reply.

“Well consider this. The same thing has happened to a number of women over the past few months. Can you imagine that, sir? Can you imagine what it must be like to be held against your will and be mutilated in such a way?”

Alton’s ruddy face turned grey as he looked from Calladine to Ruth. “Surely you can’t think…Look—it wasn’t me. I don’t know anything about the damn cat. I never liked the thing, but I wouldn’t harm it—or anything else for that matter.”

“I’d like to believe that, but we have one or two problems, Mr Alton. For a start your van was used to transport at least one of the bodies. And that body had been buried in your well-tended soil.”

Calladine’s fingers formed a steeple in front of his face. “Can you think of any explanation—because I can’t—other than the obvious one?”

“Look, I’ve already said, this has nothing to do with me. We’re happy, Vida and I. I don’t know any other women. We’ve been happy since the day we met. She’s a great woman and a loving wife.”

“We are investigating several murders of young women, Mr Alton. Each one was found mutilated as I described, in the same way as your cat. Each was garrotted, and each had the name ‘Vida’

written on an item on their person.” He paused, giving Alton time to take this in.

Alton lowered his head and let out a low wailing sound. “You’ve got this wrong. It has nothing to do with me or Vida. This is the work of some deranged nutter, perhaps someone with a grudge, I don’t know. But it’s your job to find out. You shouldn’t be hassling me.”

“If you would agree to be more helpful, I wouldn’t have to hassle you. A simple DNA test will clear all this up.”

“No. I refuse. I’ve already told you.”

“It’s very odd, don’t you think? This obsession he has with her—this insane need to seek out women who we think look like your wife and also sound like her. That isn’t normal, Mr Alton, is it?”

“She’s in danger—is that what you’re telling me?” Alton looked round at his solicitor, the anxiety evident in his face.

“I’ve left an officer at your house,” Ruth confirmed. “I spoke to her earlier and she’s fine.”

“You were on the bypass the morning of the pile-up?” Calladine continued. “What were you doing there so early?”

“I was delivering to a garden centre in Huddersfield. But I didn’t use the bypass. I went over there by the old road.”

“Your van was seen on the bypass, Mr Alton.”

“I wasn’t in my van. I was delivering fruit trees, so I had to use the pick-up. The van was parked, back at the nursery.”

“What is the name of the place where you delivered the trees?”

“‘Blooming Marvellous’ on the Halifax Road.”

At that moment Imogen stuck her head around the door and beckoned to Calladine.

“Julian has found a scrap of fabric in the back of Alton’s van. It’s from the blanket that Serena was wrapped in.”

So it was confirmed—they had the right van. But what about their suspect? “Check this out for me.” He scribbled the name of the garden centre on her notepad. “I want the time Alton was there, the morning of the pile-up. When you’ve got it, come back and tell me.”

“Mr Alton. We now have proof—which is backed up by forensic evidence—that your van was used to move one of the dead women.” Calladine leaned back in the chair.

The room fell silent. Alton’s eyes closed for a moment.

“It wasn’t me.” His words were almost whispered. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Imogen put her head around the door, and Calladine went out again.

“He got there just after seven. The owner remembers the time because he complained that their café wasn’t open—it doesn’t open until seven thirty.”

“Alexander Stone said the pile-up happened at about that time

—certainly no later than seven thirty.”

“So Alton’s in the clear. He couldn’t have put Madison in that car, could he?”

“No, he couldn’t. So then, who did?”

Calladine went back into the interview room. “Mr Alton, who else has access to your van—the small white one you usually drive?”

“Well there’s me and a couple of the others, that’s all. But mostly it’s Jonathan who does the running around.”

“Jonathan?”

“Jonathan Dobson, Sandra’s son. You know; the manageress at the garden centre café. Jonathan works for both of us. I can’t afford to employ him full-time and neither can she.”

Was this man seated in front of him entirely innocent, or was he somehow complicit in the murders? He was nervous. Something was wrong—but what? He wasn’t the one who did the chasing—he was too old, and he wasn’t in the van when Madison was dumped. But that didn’t mean he was completely in the clear. He was obviously afraid of something. He might still have known what was going on.

“Mr Alton, why won’t you give a DNA sample?”

“Because I haven’t done anything.”

“But a DNA sample would prove your innocence, once and for all.”

“Look—leave me alone. I haven’t done anything to any women.

You’ve got nothing on me, so back off.”

“I still don’t understand. A DNA sample from you would clear this up in no time, and then you could go.”

Alton sighed wearily. “You already have my DNA.” He leaned forward, his head in his hands. He looked beaten, the brash exterior completely gone. “Look, I didn’t want this to get out, but I got into a lot of trouble years ago. I was brought up on the Hobfield estate.

You know what that place is like. I got busted for burglary a couple of times. I was young and stupid—fortunately I got off with community service and a fine. I’ve never told anyone this—not even Vida. So please, can you be discreet? I run a reputable business and people trust me. Can you imagine how folk would be if this got out? Go and check, and then you’ll see. I’m not a match for whoever did that to those women.”