Death on Dartmoor

by Bernie Steadman

Dan grinned, ‘As long as you don’t let me get rat-arsed like you did last Monday. What the hell was I drinking?’

  ‘Ah, that’ll be the Hunter’s Full Bore. Made at Ipplepen, you know.’ He shook his head, sadly. ‘You’ve turned into a soft Londoner, mate, can’t take your beer. We’ll get you on Half Bore on Sunday, no worries. Same time, same place?’

  ‘Look forward to it,’ said Dan and came forward to shake Neil’s hand.

  Over a quiet sandwich at his desk, Dan mulled. He’d felt wrong-footed from the start by the ages of the dead couple, and the length of time they’d been buried. He was used to having people to interview and current leads to follow. Cold cases were new to him. Of the hundred and sixty phone calls taken after the news conference only a few had been worth following up. Some were crank calls; many were from desperate families clutching at straws for news of loved ones. It was hard for them to accept that people could just disappear, especially nowadays when communications were so easy. After Neil’s report, he felt better. He had something to tell the team at the afternoon briefing, and they could use to focus their search down yet again.

  He grabbed his waterproof, waved at Sally to get a move on, and they set off to interview the couple of callers whose claims about their connections to the dead couple seemed most plausible.

  Sally settled into the Audi and breathed in the smell of leather. ‘It still smells new, doesn’t it?’ she said, wiping imaginary dust from the dashboard.

  ‘That’s because I look after it,’ Dan replied.

  ‘Right, and you haven’t got two kids under the age of four dropping food and crap everywhere. Yet.’ She glanced at him. ‘Do you fancy having kids, Dan?’

  Dan smiled. Only Sally would get away with asking him such personal stuff. He didn’t mind. ‘One day, yeah, I’d love kids. Yours are great, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Fantastic. Who needs a clean car, a good night’s sleep, clean clothes, a holiday, anyway?’

  ‘Claire wants a cat,’ he said.

  ‘Ooh, settling down, are we?’ Sally raised both eyebrows and waggled them at him.

  ‘Claire, not me. We always had dogs when I was young. I’d love a lurcher, but not yet. I couldn’t look after a dog with my job.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like someone is settling down.’

  ‘Not sure I like cats,’ he said.

  They drove down the road towards Topsham, following the satnav’s instructions, until they hit the one-way system and realised that the house they wanted was down a tiny street off the main road that wound through the town and down to the estuary. Dan pulled up in the car park at the small quayside, in front of a three-storey warehouse selling antiques. He climbed out of the car and shrugged on his waterproof. He zipped up the coat against a cool wind and stared out at the expanse of flat, luminous water. The weather had mellowed on their journey out of the city. Weak sun peeked from low clouds far away over the estuary. Sea birds gathered in rooting, screaming flocks to feed on the rich silt.

  ‘Wow, it’s so beautiful here,’ breathed Sally. ‘Shall we play truant and go for a walk?’

  Dan shook his head. ‘Lightweight. Let’s go and find Miss Edith Pollard.’

  Sally sighed. ‘I think I’m in love,’ she said as they walked up a lane stuffed with Georgian townhouses. ‘I want to live here. One day, when I’m rich, maybe.’ Miss Edith Pollard lived on Monmouth Hill, one of the oldest streets in Topsham, in a tiny, pink-painted, one-bedroomed cottage.

  Dan laughed, ‘You, me and half of Exeter. You’ll need a lot more than the national average house price to buy round here.’ He stopped in front of the pink cottage and stepped back as the door opened before he could ring the bell.

  A tiny, bony woman, no more than five feet high, stood in the hallway and held the door open. ‘Do come in,’ she said, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see our identification, Miss Pollard?’ asked Sally, raising an eyebrow at Dan.

  ‘Oh,’ the old lady tittered, ‘you are so obviously police officers it seems a bit pointless. But you can show me if it makes you feel better, dear.’

  They did so and followed her into a sitting room that made Sally gasp. Everywhere she looked here were stuffed animals; cats on chairs, deer heads framed on the walls, ferrets perched on the table, a dog lying on top of the ancient TV set. ‘Wow,’ she said for the second time that day.

  ‘Don’t mind the animals, dear,’ said Edith Pollard. ‘They’re all long dead. They can’t hurt you.’ She opened a door in the back wall and led them into a kitchen that didn’t have any dead animals in it. Instead, huge quantities of flowery crockery sat on every shelf. ‘We could sit around the table. Tea?’

  Dan dipped to get under the low lintel. Being slight in build he rarely felt cumbersome, but in this miniature room with its miniature occupant he felt like Gulliver. He slipped off his coat, shuffled around the table and sat in the corner nearest the back door, folding his long legs under the table. ‘No tea, thanks, Miss Pollard,’ he said, watching Sally squeeze in opposite him, ‘we won’t keep you long. Why don’t you sit down, too, and tell us what you know?’

  Edith Pollard perched on the edge of a kitchen chair and stared at them, grey eyes darting from face to face. Robin, thought Dan. She’s like a robin, bright and sparky.

  ‘As you can probably see, I am a taxidermist. Well, a retired one. These days I do favours for friends, and commissions.’ She clasped her bony hands on her stomach and frowned. ‘I rang you because something very odd happened a few years ago and I can find no rational explanation. And when I saw the announcement on television, well, it seemed to be the opportune moment to tell you about what happened.’

  Sally took out her notebook. ‘Go ahead,’ she said and smiled at Edith Pollard.

  ‘I always use two or three regular suppliers for my animals, always have done. One does need to be reliable in a service industry, I find.’ She patted her hair.

  Dan’s mind wandered. What an incredible place to find in the middle of Topsham. It just goes to show that we have no idea what happens behind closed doors. She probably had a cupboard full of sharp knives, hammers, all the stuff you would need to dismember a body or two… He laughed out loud, disguised it as a cough, and then had to apologise as Miss Pollard paused and stared at him.

  ‘Are you alright, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘Sorry, frog in my throat.’

  Sally stared at his twitching mouth and frowned. ‘So, you always used the same suppliers but…’

  ‘Yes, one man, I only knew him as Brian. Well, he failed to bring my order. Just didn’t turn up. I wanted three pheasant, one male and two females, and there was nothing. Not a phone call, not anything. Not that I had a number for him, he always rang me–’

  ‘Would you say that was unusual, Miss Pollard?’

  ‘Oh, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have called you, would I? It was about eight years ago, I think. Perhaps 2009. And,’ she paused, ‘there has been no sign of him since.’ She nodded. ‘I think Brian may well be your man, Sergeant…?’

  ‘Ellis, ma’am. We did find a female with the male body. Any idea if Brian had a wife?’

  Miss Pollard widened her eyes. ‘Oh, I would never make such a forward inquiry of a man, Sergeant, but he lived close by, I think. If he had an animal in stock, as it were, he would ring me and have it here within thirty minutes of the call.’ She smiled. ‘That’s why I missed him; he was so reliable.’

  Dan edged his way out from the table and stood up, ‘Well, thank you very much for the information, Miss Pollard. You’ve been very helpful.’ He ducked back under the lintel and into the crowded sitting room, nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘Please contact Sergeant Ellis at Exeter Road if you think of any more relevant details,’ he said, pulling on his coat and making a pine marten on the radiator shelf wobble as he brushed past it.

  He was despondent as they walked back down the street. ‘Bloody stuffed animals. Ugh. Made my skin creep.’


  ‘What were you laughing at, earlier?’

  ‘Oh, I realised that she had all the weapons to hand that she would need to kill our two bodies. I just couldn’t figure out how she’d get them up onto Dartmoor. Then I wondered if she’d had the heads and hands stuffed and transplanted onto something else…’

  ‘Nice. Well, I loved her,’ laughed Sally. ‘So rein it in, boss. Don’t get too carried away. She could always have had an accomplice, I suppose. And, we do have a lead to follow up – we can check out animal suppliers for taxidermists; see if there are any who live or lived nearby.’ She skipped a step to catch up with Dan.

  ‘Right, if there even is such a thing as a taxidermist’s animal supplier. I reckon they get most of their animals from illegal trapping, roadkill and shoots.’ He jogged across the junction and into the car park, leaving Sally to hurry after him. ‘I doubt you’ll find many people willing to talk to us if they’re in that line of work. Even your sweet old lady is probably working off-grid.’

  He paused at the car park and leaned on the roof of the Audi. ‘Pollard, animals stuffed to order, no task too large. You don’t think she does people, as well do you?’ He sniggered at Sally’s look, and unlocked the car. ‘Where to next?’

  13

  The vibration and boom of cars on the motorway above his head hid the approach of a bicycle cutting through the gloom. A stocky kid dropped the bike onto the pavement, shoved his hands into his pockets and stared around him, sniffing in the cool night air. ‘You there, mate?’

  Moss Garrett emerged from the shadow of the motorway bridge. His bulk intimidated most people, and he heard the kid’s breath coming a little faster as he appeared. ‘What d’you want?’

  The kid opened his hand and showed Moss the money he’d collected from his mates. ‘I got fifty quid. Can we have MCat?’

  ‘Tabs?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He smiled as Moss rooted about in the bottom of his shoulder bag, chatting to cover his nervousness. ‘Lasts longer. We’re going to a party.’

  Moss frowned, he could have sworn he’d had more tabs in the bag, but no, just these powder wraps. What was going on? He always had tabs. He peered at one wrap but there was nothing written on the little packet. He shrugged; it was all the same in the end. Go to a party, get high. He pocketed the cash and stuffed five paper wraps into the boy’s hand.

  The boy stared down at his hand and backed away, ready to run. ‘These ain’t tabs.’ His voice became shrill. ‘What you givin’ me?’

  Moss sighed, ‘I ain’t got tabs. That’s the real stuff, in a wrap. You just snort it back. It’s easy. Then, pow!’ He wiggled massive hands. The boy didn’t look convinced. Moss found another wrap in the bag. ‘Look, take that as well. A freebie, on me. Okay, now?’

  The boy nodded and stuffed the six tiny packages into his sock. ‘Cheers,’ he said, and disappeared up the road towards Countess Wear roundabout, pedalling hard.

  Moss rubbed his hands across his ginger buzz cut. Not a bad night, half past nine, and three hundred quid so far. He checked his phone and found three messages from his mother, wanting to know when he was coming home. He glanced back at the house a few hundred metres away under the trees and frowned. What was the matter with the woman? She knew Friday night was his busiest night. Bloody women. Angry, he replaced the phone without answering, and slipped back into the shadows to await his next customer.

  * * *

  Catrin’s parties were the best. Her parents were cool about going out and letting her enjoy herself. They figured it was safer to let her have parties at home than have her out on the streets. Lee Bateson watched the carnage from his space on the living room floor. The music thumped through his body, matching the pounding of his heart. The stuff was good, just like Moss had said. He’d not sniffed MCat before, just had a tab or two. It was stronger this way. He closed his eyes, waiting for the bliss to start. Without warning his body jerked, bringing his knees almost up to his chest. ‘Wha..?’ he yelped. His legs tingled. Tentatively he stretched them out, one by one. This was weird stuff. His body was doing weird things. His heart thumped against his ribs. Lee felt a thread of panic but fought it down. It would be over soon enough. There was nothing he could do any way, until it wore off. Jesus, it was strong. He fell back down against the wall, flexing his fingers. At least he thought they were his fingers.

  ‘Watch it!’ he groaned as someone fell over his feet and landed in a heap next to him. ‘Mate!’ he said, and grabbed Ryan Carr round the neck, pulling him into a hug. Ryan didn’t respond. His eyes were fluttering. Lee could feel his friend’s heart hammering against his. Not right. Not the right rhythm. Ryan had insisted that the two of them shared the extra wrap of MCat. Mistake. Big mistake.

  Lee was aware enough to understand that Ryan was sick, but stuffed if he could figure out what to do about it. His own body, instead of being up and ready to party, was threatening to crash out on him, there and then, on Catrin’s floor.

  He rolled Ryan off him and tried to stand up. Maybe the vodka had been a bad idea on top of the drug. Clutching the wall, he staggered to the kitchen and filled an empty bottle with water for Ryan. ‘Water will be good. Help sober him up,’ he mumbled as he elbowed his way past dancers. Dimly, he noticed that the other three lads who had shared the MCat wraps were sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep. Really, what was that stuff? Sleeping tablets? He stumbled over Ryan’s outstretched body and collapsed next to him.

  He tried to get the bottle into Ryan’s mouth. ‘Come on, come on mate,’ he said, but Ryan couldn’t drink the water. His eyes had rolled back into his head and he was shaking, clenching his teeth so hard that his bitten tongue bled out of the side of his mouth. Lee felt his own eyes roll. He dropped the bottle, held onto his friend’s arm, and slipped into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Night in the hospital brought a kind of quiet. Even the nurses’ shoes seemed to slap more softly on the shiny floor as they pattered about. Lena Carr slumped in the chair beside the metal bed and held onto her son Ryan’s hand. The phone call at gone midnight had been such a shock. She thought Ryan was staying over at Lee’s house, like usual. She didn’t know about any party. She’d had a few voddies at the club and had to get a taxi to the hospital. Now, her stomach was empty and her breath was sour from vodka and too many fags.

  She could hear Lee Bateson’s parents murmuring on the other side of the curtain, talking to their boy, telling him jokes and giving him messages from loved ones.

  Lena didn’t bother with all that crap. Ryan was so far gone into his coma they had him wired up to a machine that breathed for him. The look in the doctor’s eyes had told her what she had dreaded hearing. ‘Catastrophic damage to heart, liver and brain,’ was what the doctor had said. ‘Stay with him, it won’t be long, now.’ Lena squeezed her youngest child’s hand and let the tears fall in silent rivulets down her cheeks, taking mascara, blusher, all the scaffolding she used to get her through the day, dripping down into her damp scarf. She was gasping for a fag, but she couldn’t leave, could she? The doctor told her she had to stay.

  The curtain swished aside to reveal Darren, her eldest. She knew he would come, whatever time she called. He inspected the bed where his little brother lay, and perched on the arm of the chair next to his mother. ‘Alright, Ma?’ he said. ‘What’s the stupid little shit done now?’

  Lena swiped a hand across her face, and blew her nose on the scrap of damp tissue she had in her pocket. ‘Oh, Darren, don’t be like that. It’s not his fault, poor kid,’ she said, and dissolved into his arms.

  ‘Never is, is it? You always were too soft with him, and now look at him.’ Darren let his mother cling to his arm and studied Ryan on the bed. The boy’s skin was mottled blue and white, and he could see that the machine making the shushing noise was keeping him alive. His breath caught in the back of his throat. ‘Shit, this looks really serious. He is going to be alright, isn’t he?’

  Lena shook her head from side to side, and sobbed more, un
able to speak. Darren said, ‘What did he take?’ He shook her gently. ‘Ma, what did he take?’

  Lena lifted her face. ‘I don’t know. Something Lee probably got for him, for a party. I didn’t even know about the party.’ She grabbed his hands and whispered, ‘Don’t do anything, love, he’s next door with his mum and dad. Please.’

  Darren shifted and stood up, dropping her hands back onto her lap. He opened the curtain a fraction and looked through. Lee looked in a pretty similar state to Ryan, except he seemed to be breathing on his own. He just looked like he was asleep. Darren’s anger, usually so carefully controlled, flushed up through his chest into a red rash that discoloured his swarthy face. He ripped the Velcro ties apart and stepped up behind Lee’s parents.

  Gary Bateson twisted round, stood up quickly and put both hands flat on Darren’s chest. ‘Whoa, there, mate,’ he said, ‘take it easy.’ He put one hand onto the shoulder of the woman sitting next to the bed. ‘We’re so sorry about your brother, aren’t we, love?’

  Kelly Bateson nodded, frightened. ‘Yeah, it’s awful. I’m so sorry, Lena,’ she whispered through the open curtains.

  ‘And what we need to do,’ said Bateson, removing his hands, ‘is find out who the bastard was that sold them the bad stuff, and sort him out, not have a go at each other.’ He stared hard at Darren. ‘Right?’

  Darren stared back, until he unclenched his fists and nodded. ‘Yeah, I get you. Sorry, mate. It’s just… it’s my kid brother in there.’

  ‘I know, and this is our son. So let’s lay blame where it belongs, alright? Because there’s no point in blaming the kids. They were doing what all kids do, right? Just what you and I did when we were their age, eh?’ Bateson nodded towards the bed holding Ryan Carr. ‘Right now, I reckon your mum and your brother need you. Just leave the rest to me, okay? I’ll be in touch.’ He turned Darren around and pointed him back through the curtain, nodding to Lena. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, when we have a better idea what’s happening.’ Gently, he drew the curtain across and re-fastened the Velcro.