Death on Dartmoor

by Bernie Steadman

  ‘Why don’t you inform the RSPCA that we’re investigating? Just as a heads up that they may need to get in and sort out the animals if Merlin is implicated in any of this.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Dan said. ‘We could ask them to supervise so we don’t cause additional stress to the animals. I can’t have Claire’s future pet put under any stress. Not that the great lump looks like he knows what the word stress means,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, I’m flummoxed,’ said Oliver. ‘If this is right, the Garretts really are going down for a very long time, and that makes me happier than I have any right to be.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’ll keep the press on hold for a little longer, I think. Off you go and keep me informed. Good work, Dan.’

  He stood up and leaned on the back of the chair. ‘It was Sam and Bill who did the work, so I’ll pass on your comment. Thanks.’

  ‘Interviews today for you?’

  ‘Yes, Annie Garrett, but not Moss, I’ll leave him until he’s over the knee op.’

  On his way downstairs, he realised that he had no-one to share the interview with him. Working two cases, nightmare. He’d just have to steal Bill for an hour or so. He called in at the incident room and rousted Larcombe from behind his computer.

  44

  Annie Garrett was sitting on a chair in the high-security interview room next to the duty solicitor. Dan groaned and made a face at the custody sergeant as he recognised the red jacket straining across the back of Vanessa Redmond, the solicitor he had met during the paedophile case. He watched for a moment as Redmond attempted to get Annie to talk to her. Annie was sullenly picking at the edge of the bandage that covered her right hand with her teeth. Her left hand was cuffed to a metal ring set into the floor.

  ‘The brief is Vanessa Redmond,’ he said to Bill Larcombe, who had been dragged reluctantly from his research. ‘Looks like she’s not having much luck with Annie.’

  ‘I never understand why people make a big fuss about having representation but then refuse to tell us anything,’ Bill said. ‘Why not just sit there and go “no comment” like they do in American movies?’

  ‘I’m not sure any of us has a clear understanding of Annie Garrett, Bill.’

  The custody sergeant gave a short laugh. ‘She didn’t get much sleep,’ he said, ‘and neither did anyone else. I’ve kept her restrained as she attempted to bite my PCs nose off last night, and the poor kid was only bringing her some supper.’ With that he nodded at the PCSO on guard duty, said, ‘Look sharp,’ turned on his heel and closed the door to the corridor behind him.

  ‘Another charge for the lovely Annie?’ Bill raided his bushy brows. ‘She’s going for the full set, isn’t she?’ He rustled the papers in his hand. ‘I think I’ve got everything. Are we ready?’

  ‘I’ll start,’ said Dan, ‘you follow, and we’ll see where we get to. It’s only day one, and I’m hoping to have a whole new set of charges to lay at her door before too long.’

  Garrett sneered at them as they entered and declined to state her name for the recording, so Dan did it for her, ignoring the expletives that threatened to drown out his voice.

  ‘Morning, Ms Redmond,’ Dan said to the solicitor. ‘I see you’ve been making Mrs Garrett’s acquaintance.’

  Redmond sniffed, checked her watch and put her notepad back into her briefcase. ‘Good afternoon, inspector. Mrs Garrett refuses to speak to me, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to work and find a client who wants my help.’ She removed her tortoiseshell glasses, placed them carefully into their case and knocked on the door to be let out.

  ‘Hang on a minute, please,’ said Dan. ‘Mrs Garrett, are you choosing not to be represented by legal counsel today?’

  Garrett raised baleful blue eyes to look at him. ‘I don’t need no help. Not her kind, anyway.’

  ‘Remember,’ Bill said, ‘it’s in your own interests to have a legal viewpoint, just to make sure we’re doing everything by the book.’

  ‘Don’t want her. Fussy cow.’

  ‘For the record, Mrs Ann Garrett has refused legal assistance and Ms Vanessa Redmond is leaving the room at twelve-thirty-five pm.’ Dan had a sudden urge to cheer. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. ‘So, Annie, if it’s alright to call you Annie, why don’t you tell us what’s been going on? In your own words, take your time,’ he said.

  Bill Larcombe, taking his cue from Dan, relaxed back into his chair, too.

  ‘What’s the catch?’ Garrett looked from one to the other under her heavy brow.

  ‘No catch. We have so much evidence on your involvement in the manufacture of drugs on your premises and the death of one young man and the permanent injury of another, that we don’t need to shout or yell or force you tell us anything. We’re happy to let you tell it in your own words.’

  Larcombe chipped in, ‘I often find that money worries makes people do things they wouldn’t normally do.’

  ‘And you might do yourself a favour if a judge hears that you voluntarily told us what you and your sons have been up to.’ Dan leaned forward, swinging his arms onto the table in front of him. ‘Because there’s no point in denying it, is there? After all, we did catch you red-handed, making the MCat.’ He glanced at the woman’s bandaged hand and suppressed a smile. Red-handed indeed.

  ‘I want a deal,’ she said, picking at the curling edge of her bandage.

  Dan glanced at Larcombe and shook his head sadly. ‘You’ve been watching too much American TV, Annie. We don’t have deals in the UK. But, if you tell us everything, I will promise to put the most positive spin we can on the report we send to the Crown Prosecution Service.’

  ‘Positive spin? What the fuck does that mean?’

  ‘It means, Annie,’ said Bill, ‘that we will include the fact that you have brought up two sons virtually single-handed, that you run a charitable business that has, in recent years been struggling to keep afloat. A good brief could make a plea that you were only trying to support your family.’

  Dan struggled to keep a straight face. Talk about pushing the boundaries of acceptability right to the edge. How was this ‘good brief’ going to wash away the death of Ryan Carr? Still, Bill’s tactic seemed to be working, he could see Annie’s jaw relax and her left fist uncurl in its handcuff.

  ‘So,’ Dan said, ‘tell us your story. How did you come to end up making illegal drugs in the café kitchen?’

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, the PC escorted Annie Garrett back to her cell.

  ‘Well,’ Dan said, once he was sure they were alone, ‘that was the biggest load of bollocks I’ve heard in a very long time.’

  ‘She made that up as she went along!’ Bill chuckled and copied Annie’s baritone Devon burr. ‘My nasty husband abused me and walked out on us. Then I took over the business from a friend in 2006, and it was such a struggle to pay for food for the animals, so I took the foolish decision to help my son.’ He laughed again.

  ‘Who was only doing his best for The Retreat… Yeah, Oscar-winning drama, move over Meryl Streep.’

  ‘But, boss, but… she took over the business in 2006. It is the right place. I don’t think we need to look any further. She’s in this up to her neck.’

  ‘Yeah, she is, isn’t she?’ Dan rubbed his hands together. This was becoming very interesting. He couldn’t wait to interview Moss Garrett and see what his tale of woe would sound like. ‘Right I need some lunch, then I’ll get over to The Retreat. Are you okay with the paperwork?’

  ‘You mean would I rather be digging up dead heads and hands? Of course I would, but I’ll get on with what I said I’d do. We want Bog Bodies as well, don’t we?’

  Dan thanked him and headed back up to his office. Everything was looking good for a conviction. They just needed some evidence that Annie and Moss had murdered the Stewarts. And he wasn’t forgetting Merlin, who he would no doubt have to arrest later in the day. He couldn’t pretend not to know about this, could he? There had to be incriminating evidence on site,
even after all this time.

  45

  Sally Ellis stood in the yard behind the station where the force’s vehicles were parked, finishing a cheese sandwich and swigging from a mug of tea. She had commandeered an unmarked white van and was supervising the loading of search equipment, night vision cameras for the darkest corners of the site, shovels, arc lights, generator – all the usual stuff. She’d got four uniformed PCs for the day, with the promise of the specialist search team within four hours if she needed it. The forensic team were already going over the café and barn. They would bag all the drugs evidence. She had Lizzie and Sam, and Ben Bennett acting as Exhibits officer as usual. She was hoping that they would be thorough enough to find something incriminating. Her own little team, not some large anonymous gathering of officers from all over the region. She had that sudden squeeze of excitement round her heart that made her feel a bit sick, and took another slurp of hot tea.

  Earlier, she had rung Neil Pargeter to update him on Solomon’s condition. He’d been shocked and angry, and Sally hadn’t been able to say anything in her own defence. Solomon had been hurt because none of them had been on the ball. At least she’d been able to assure Pargeter that the charges against Solomon wouldn’t be serious. Then she’d had to admit it was unlikely that Solomon would be able to do the same job again, considering the extent of the injury to his hand, and that he and his mother would have to live somewhere else in order to be safe from Moss Garrett. Pargeter had rung off without a goodbye.

  Collateral damage, the Americans called it, this casual destruction of lives. She emptied the dregs of the tea down a drain and balanced the mug on a window ledge.

  And she was still waiting on confirmation that Adam Foster’s injuries weren’t going to mean the end of a career only just begun. He’d need to prove to the medical officer that he had full use of his voice, and she wasn’t at all sure that was possible. What a job.

  Two uniformed RSPCA Inspectors walked towards her across the tarmac. The first, a small, weedy man of forty-ish with a receding hairline and a toothy grin held out his hand.

  ‘Carver, Steven Carver,’ he said, and indicated his companion, ‘and this is Ella, a trainee inspector.’

  Ella was a girl in her twenties, Sally guessed, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a pair of heavy glasses perched on her nose. Sally shook hands with both of them and outlined the situation at The Retreat. She was worried about the anxiety levels of the animals after the activity the previous night, especially during the time when Solomon was screaming the place down. She wanted them to supervise her team around the site, and, if Merlin Garrett was arrested, to make sure the animals were safe.

  Carver listened and made a few notes. ‘So you say that the eldest son, Merlin, is it? Funny old name, eh? Merlin is still on site, attending to routines and that there are volunteers who help out?’

  ‘Yes, and we have closed the place for the next couple of days, or more, depending on how it pans out today.’

  ‘Right, we’ll just go in and help where we can, then. Ella can move in temporarily if you need her to look after the animals. If you need to take Merlin, heh, heh, away, for example.’

  Carver took his trainee back the way they came and Sally had the strongest feeling that she would rather leave Merlin, heh heh, in charge of the animals than either of them. However, she had done the right thing, and Dan was right, Merlin may well be less innocent than they thought.

  She called the team out from the shelter of the garage where they were finishing their lunch, piled them into the van, and they set off. ‘Right, Moss and Annie Garrett, we’re coming after you. Give it up to momma,’ she said as her driver pulled out into the afternoon traffic.

  * * *

  After the cool of the night before, the June sun did its best to warm up Topsham. Seagull screams over the estuary battled with the sound of traffic on the flyover, but down below, The Retreat was a genuine sanctuary. Without any visitors, it was quiet. Many animals were outside in their enclosures, snuffling about. Sally got the van parked up tight against the entrance to the barn, leaving a narrow walkway for people to get in and out. She wanted to shield any finds from prying eyes. The forensic team were working in the café, she could see them placing bags into their van.

  Merlin Garrett stood and watched her getting into protective clothing, a bucket of goat feed in his hand. A PC stood a little distance away, holding two more.

  Sally smiled to see the constable helping out. If you’ve got to have a shadow, you may as well get him working. She walked across and introduced herself more formally than she had a few days previously.

  ‘So you were spying on us, as well, Sergeant Ellis?’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mr Garrett, and now you know why.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose I do. I don’t see why I need a twenty-four-seven shadow, though,’ he said, ‘I told you I had nothing to do with the drugs. I didn’t even know about it.’ He put the bucket down and spread his arms in a wide arc. ‘This is what I do, what I love. I have nothing to do with Moss if I can help it. I said all this in my statement last night.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying Mr Garrett, but it’s usual procedure if a suspect, or a witness has to stay at the scene of crime, for us to maintain a presence. I see you have PC Turner working hard. Good for you.’

  Turner grinned. ‘Couldn’t just stand there like a lemon, Sergeant.’

  Sally grinned at him. ‘Good man. Anyway, if you just get on with your jobs, we’ll finish our search of the premises, and we’ll try not to get in your way.’ She started to walk away, then turned back. ‘Oh, yes, I have asked the RSPCA to supervise our work if we need to disturb any of your animals. Make sure we’re doing it right. They’ll be along any minute.’

  Merlin Garrett’s face turned purple. Sally walked back to stand in front of him. ‘What? What’s the matter?’

  He was so angry she could see him shaking as he tried to maintain control. ‘The RSPCA? Coming here? Why? To take the animals away? They saying I’m not looking after them properly?’ He dropped the bucket onto the tarmac. ‘Jesus, all this and now them.’ He kicked the bucket, showering the ground with goat feed and stormed off towards the cottage.

  Sally watched him go. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Beats me,’ PC Turner shrugged.

  She called after Merlin, ‘They’re watching us, not you!’ but Merlin didn’t turn. ‘You’d better get after him,’ she said to Turner, ‘make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.’

  She waited until the pair of them had disappeared into the cottage, and tracked back towards the barn. Stroppy character, our Merlin, after all, she thought. Maybe not the cuddly bear I thought he was.

  Inside, arc lights illuminated corners that she didn’t think had seen daylight for years. Old machinery, tractors, tyres, and bags of feed were piled up randomly at the back and in the far corners. It seemed to be bigger inside than it looked from outside.

  ‘Right, gang,’ she said, ‘let’s see what we can find. We want an old Land Rover, or anything that might have belonged to two Kiwis. Well, anything that doesn’t look right, I suppose.

  ‘Sam, take a couple of PCs with you and search the fields and larger pens outside. Are there any garages, sheds or any storage facilities other than this place?

  ‘Lizzie, you and me are going into the cottage for a proper look round.

  ‘Ben, I’ll leave you with the rest of the team to pull this place apart.’ She pointed at the pit in the floor. ‘DI Hellier found that by walking and stamping on the floor. Are there any other areas where the floor feels wrong?

  ‘Let’s get to it. Would be nice to get home before midnight, tonight.’ She grabbed a pile of evidence bags and led Lizzie from the barn.

  * * *

  Sally watched Merlin Garrett, face still red, pick up the spilled feed and enter the goat enclosure. Sally was relieved that they’d have the cottage to themselves. Bill hadn’t reported anything dangerous after his quick search
the night before, but she wanted this search to be thorough. Evidence of ownership was first priority; there must be something in the house.

  In the living room she set Lizzie to clearing the bookshelf and emptying the cupboards under the TV set. She started in the dining room, which was clearly used as an office. The table groaned under papers, animal adoption packs, lists of animals in and out. There was a sort of order to it all. Current animals up for adoption were written in felt-tipped pen onto a series of whiteboards nailed to the cob walls. Three filing cabinets were full of information relating to the taking in and the re-homing of animals. She heard Lizzie leave the living room and climb up creaking stairs.

  Sally worked her way through each drawer until she was squatting in front of the bottom drawer of the final cabinet which contained the oldest stuff, and found something she hadn’t been looking for, but which explained a little of Merlin’s attitude earlier. It was a warning letter, served on The Retreat, regarding the poor standard of care of horses on the premises. She sat back on her heels. There weren’t any horses. Never had been since she’d been coming, and that was almost four years. Had the RSPCA banned them from keeping horses? That didn’t seem right. They were fanatical about animals. Well, Merlin and Annie were… Then she looked at the date on the top of the yellowing page; 16th July, 2005. She sprang to her feet and yelled for Lizzie. ‘Get down here, I’ve got something.’ Carefully, she transferred the letter to a clear evidence bag and wrote the details on the front.

  Lizzie arrived downstairs at a trot and stared at the mess. ‘I hope it was like this when you got in here, Sarge, or we’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now, Lizzie. Look.’ She held out the letter and waited, impatiently, until Lizzie got it.

  ‘2005? But that was when the Stewarts… Oh,’ she said.