Three Steps to Hell

by Mike Holman

  Tom endeavoured to put all carnal contemplations to the back of his mind and said,

  “I know you have already been through all the details relating to Mr Peterson’s disappearance with Sergeant Atkins but we need to go through it all again in considerable detail Mrs Peterson. I don’t want to distress you but I will also need to ask you very personal questions relating to your marriage, I hope that’s okay with you?”

  “It’s fine Tom, I need to know that he’s okay and find out what’s happened to him. You are the Detective, whatever you ask I will endeavour to answer truthfully and fully. As regards our marriage, it’s common knowledge amongst our friends that it‘s not perfect, but whose is these days?”

  After about an hour and a half both Detectives had listened in great detail to the full circumstances surrounding Colin Peterson’s disappearance. They had made many notes relating to his description, identifying marks and scars, habits, clothing, favourite bars and restaurants and details of the personal belongings he had with him the morning he left. They obtained full details of his car and financial and communication facilities such as bank accounts, savings accounts, credit cards, mobile phone, e-mail addresses etc. All this coupled with details of his Doctor, Dentist, Solicitor and close business associates would allow Tom to fully circulate details of his disappearance to the many institutions and individuals who could help monitor any activity on his personal accounts, mobile phone or e-mail or report any personal contact.

  Maria Peterson had described her husband as a fairly ruthless entrepreneur who had, over the years, made a small fortune buying up derelict property in and around London, having it totally renovated and placing it back on the market to produce ludicrously high profits. A man of 51, five feet ten inches and stockily built who kept himself in peak physical condition with a strict regime of gym visits during the week. He liked to dress in stylish fashion, Italian tailor made suits and handmade shoes being his favourites. Neatly cut short receding grey hair, clean shaven with mean, harsh brown eyes and a constantly angered expression is how his wife had described him. A strange description from a loving wife! Mrs Peterson had given an interesting overview of his life. A serious man with few close friends, he went to school in a London suburb and his parents had raised him as best they could in a squalid council flat on an estate, which, in his teenage years, was terrorised by gangs, crime and racial discontent. After leaving school at 16 he worked for numerous dubious London car dealers during which time he developed an appetite for quick and easy profit and powerful, expensive and extravagant motorcars. He discovered how money and image could change his life so dramatically. He always had something to sell and making a profit on absolutely anything is what made him smile and drove him forward. As a young man a keen interest in cars, both modern and classic, a fast growing interest in antiques and fine art and the realisation of the profitability of property renovation led him to eventually building and developing considerable wealth and successful businesses with vast turnovers.

  Due to his ruthless and suspicious nature in business his close friends were few. Peterson owned a large fine art/antiques shop in Gloucestershire and a similar but smaller outlet in Brighton on the Sussex coast. Both were managed for him on a day to day basis by business partners he had been involved with all his working life and with whom he had been friends at school. She claimed they knew him better than she did. Mrs Peterson and Sergeant Atkins had already been in touch with both of them. Neither could help with any idea of his whereabouts or the location of his intended business meeting. Sergeant Atkins’ notes revealed that both had appeared very genuinely and deeply concerned for his safety, as to be uncontactable for more than a day was, for him, very uncharacteristic.

  Mrs Peterson described how, in his dealings within the fine art/antiques business, her husband would regularly meet complete strangers in hotels around the country to view or buy expensive works of art or antiques. These were people who insisted on complete one to one confidentiality for personal, tax or other reasons.

  Her husband’s stance was not to ask too many personal questions of vendors. As long as he was as happy as he could be that the article was neither fake nor stolen then he was disinterested in the reason for the sale or the wealth or background of the vendor. He would just buy it cheap and sell it at a vast mark up whenever possible. Many of his sales were also conducted in a similarly secretive fashion.

  They also jointly owned a small house clearance and transport business. This was something which Mrs Peterson predominately ran and organised on her own. It specialised in both the removal and delivery of antique items in the UK and Europe as an aside to the fine art/antiques business. Also house clearance and transport to auction of household goods mainly in probate cases with storage facilities within the old farm buildings on the estate. They only directly employed two drivers for the two lorries the business ran and employed others through agencies as and when needed. Other business interests revolved around property. They jointly owned other houses in the UK and Spain, all of which were rented out. Rental companies managed all this on their behalf and they had no day to day need to be involved other than to accumulate healthy profits. Both his and her parents were deceased and neither had brothers nor sisters.

  Colin Peterson had an office in the house adjacent to the main sitting room. Both also shared an office within one of the converted barns where Mrs Peterson worked on a day to day basis. According to her, this was predominantly her domain.

  All business interests were in their joint names. She claimed to have little to do with running the fine art/antiques business, putting most of her time into transport and shipping. She also enjoyed playing with the property market.

  “Colin and I make good partners in business Tom. That’s why our marriage survives so well even though things in the bedroom aren’t quite so successful.”

  “I noticed quite a few cars parked down by the farm buildings when we drove in Mrs Peterson, do these belong to employees?” Sweetface enquired.

  “One or two. We rent part of one of the converted barns to a small computer software company. They employ a handful of people and have nothing to do with any of our businesses. They are merely tenants.”

  On Mrs Peterson’s request Jackie had returned to the kitchen to make more coffee.

  Maria Peterson had provided both Officers with a substantial amount of personal information. She was starting to tire of the whole procedure but it wasn’t an emotion she wanted to show in case either Detective misread it as a lack of interest in quickly tracing her beloved husband.

  “Do you mind if DC Sweeting has a cursory look in your husband’s office to see if there is anything which might suggest where he may have been going that morning?”

  Mrs Peterson sighed, a scowl appeared on her face. She seemed a little uncomfortable with the request.

  “Is it really necessary Tom, only Sgt Atkins and I have already done that and I know he would hate someone going through his private business papers? He is a very very private man. Believe me I have looked several times, there is nothing.”

  “Only a cursory look Mrs Peterson, from a Detective’s perspective, just a couple of minutes.”

  “Very well then, but please respect his privacy to a degree and I would like to be present.”

  She left the room with Dave Sweeting and went to Colin Peterson’s office.

  Tom had also engineered this opportunity in order to have a private moment in the kitchen with Jackie. In his experience cleaners/housekeepers were often more knowledgeable about their employers than they were given credit for. They would always deny prying into their employers’ personal matters but human nature usually prevailed.

  “Do you want a hand making that coffee Jackie?”

  “No I’m okay thanks Sergeant, black with sugar wasn’t it?”

  “Yes please, did you have a good walk with Jasper?”

  “Oh, wonderful, that’s one of the parts of my job here that I really love. The grounds here are be
autiful and a long walk with the dog down towards the cove is just so tranquil and what’s even better I get paid for it.”

  “What are they like to work for?”

  “Really good, they look after me well, strange couple though, don’t really seem very close in the husband/wife way but seem to get on fine. What do you think has happened to Mr Peterson, Sergeant?”

  “I have no idea, thought you might have some thoughts on the matter yourself. Has he disappeared before without the police being told?”

  “No he goes away on business regularly, always on his own I think. But he’s on the phone all the time to her. He goes off to auctions all round the country I think and sometimes abroad. Don’t see much of him really.”

  “What’s he like? Mrs Peterson paints a picture of a hard ruthless business man.”

  “She always does when she’s talking about him. Yes, I think he’s quite hard by nature but she seems to wear the trousers. Maria is the one I would be more nervous of upsetting. They’re both always very private and very careful not to leave much around when I’m cleaning, particularly in his office over here, but I’m not a nosy person. As long as they pay me I’m not interested in their private lives. If you ask me I always get the impression he’s a little scared of her rather than the other way round. They always seem careful not to discuss much when I’m around other than what they want me to do or want me to hear. I only work four hours a day for them.”

  “Do you clean their offices over in the old barns as well Jackie?”

  “Oh no, she does that herself and when they’re not over there its always kept locked. I have offered to do it but she says I have enough to do in the house. But if you ask me they just don’t want people snooping around. They certainly seem to make a lot of money. Perhaps they keep cash over there, so they want to keep it all secure, who knows! They always pay everyone cash but then they all do these days don’t they. Want to hide it all from the tax man don’t they!”

  “Oh, shouldn’t have said that really should I,” added Jackie.

  “Don’t worry Jackie I’m not at all interested in his tax affairs.”

  Tom continued his chat with Jackie and established that she lived with her husband and two dogs in Brampton. She had just finished providing her address and phone number when Mrs Peterson and Sweetface returned to the kitchen.

  “All done Sarge, no further forward really, there’s nothing I can see that might suggest where he was going or who he was meeting and Mrs Peterson has been all through his desk with me.”

  Tom was thoughtful for a moment.

  “What about the computer Mrs Peterson. Does he keep a computer diary or is there anything in his e-mail inbox that might help us?”

  “First place I looked Tom, I’ve done all that, cleared all his messages, inbox and outbox and monitor it all daily. He is very suspicious about the privacy and security of computer information so he chooses to keep a hand-written diary which he carries everywhere with him.”

  Dave Sweeting was staring out of the kitchen window deep in thought about Colin Peterson’s Aston Martin, more through envy than from an investigative point of view.

  He asked, “Where would his car have been the morning he left?”

  “Just out in the drive next to mine, he loves his car but never puts it in the garage.”

  “Just before we leave can we have a look at his desk in the other office over in the barns?”

  “Tom, there’s really no need. I have things to be getting on with, I am an intelligent woman and have looked through anything that might give a clue as to his whereabouts. It’s mainly me that uses that office and I know everything that’s in there, I have checked the computer, files and everything and I’m really feeling a little tired and upset now. I have given you an immense amount of information Tom, both private and business. Surely you do not need anything else for now. In his absence I have to keep businesses running. I really must get on.”

  Tom sensed her agitation with the suggestion of further probing and had more than enough to start essential enquires.

  “Okay Mrs Peterson, I’m sorry if these questions have upset you. I’m sure we will find him, that he’ll be okay and that there has been some logical reason why he hasn’t been in touch.”

  Mrs Peterson looked visibly tired and upset. She stared down at Jasper lying on the the floor and said, “I’m so worried that he’s had a car accident and is lying unconscious in his car in a ditch somewhere. He always drove so fast. When he bought the Aston Martin I was convinced he would kill himself.” Mrs Peterson started to gently cry, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Tom, I need to be on my own now.”

  Tom imagined how it would feel to hold her close to cuddle and reassure her, to feel the warmth of her body, the gorgeous smell of her perfume. Sweetface brought him back to the present.

  “Nice to have met you Mrs Peterson, try to get some rest, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “We’ll let ourselves out. I promise we will do everything we can to find him for you,” Tom added.

  “I will circulate all the information we have as soon as I get back to the office.”

  After a few more reassuring words both Detectives said goodbye, walked through the hall, out onto the shingle drive and got into the car to return to Brampton.

  “Strange one isn’t it Sarge?” said Sweetface.

  “Certainly is Dave.”

  “I reckon he’s cleared the bank account and taken his money and Aston Martin off somewhere with a young blonde. Monaco or somewhere, probably in some yacht bonking like fucking rabbits.”

  Tom laughed, “Dave, why is it that everything that happens in life has to revolve around sex and young blonde chicks?”

  “What else is there in life Sargie, you’re not getting enough, that’s the problem” laughed Sweetface.

  “Hey, talking of sex Sarge, you’ve really got the hots for that Maria Peterson haven’t you? Mind you I can see why, she is one tasty woman. Too old for me though, I like them younger and firmer, about mid twenties for me.”

  “What are you on about Sweetface?”

  “You can’t hide it from me, I saw the look on your face when she shook your hand, you looked like a love sick puppy. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you like that. I reckon she was a bit taken with you as well Sarge. In fact perhaps more than a bit. I reckon it was lust at first sight for both of you.”

  “Hey Sweetface, I should be so lucky. A woman like that fancy me? I don’t think so. Anyway, I was totally professional at all times,” remarked Tom.

  “Yeh, when your eyes popped back in your head and you got that love sick facial look under control. She is a pretty amazing looking woman though and what a figure! You wait till I tell the lads in the office that Sargie is in love at last.”

  “Shut up Dave you’ll be getting me all embarrassed, I don’t think! Do me a favour and call the office and see if there are any messages will you.”

  “Do you want me to get on to Interflora for you to send twelve red roses and lots of kisses to Maria? I tell you she fancied you. There was major chemistry there. Gorgeous looking, rich, possibly a divorce coming up if her husband’s off playing away from home. Could be the answer to all your problems Sarge.”

  “Very funny. Probably the start of a lot more.”

  Tom drove quietly towards Brampton on the A693. He was experiencing difficulty getting his mind off Maria Peterson. Her beauty and femininity had made more of an impression on him than he would like to admit. The image of her he first saw when he entered her kitchen was impacted on his mind like a photo. Why couldn’t someone like that truly be interested in me, he thought to himself. Perhaps love at first sight is real after all. Dave Sweeting broke Tom’s silent satisfying thoughts of Maria.

  “No messages Sarge, all quiet on the western front thank God. You were deep in thought.”

  “Mmm, a lot on my mind Dave.”

  “A lady with a name starting with M perhaps,” retorted Dave.


  Tom was aware of a white lorry heading towards them in the opposite direction being followed by a motorcycle with its headlight on full beam.

  “Look at the speed that bike’s approaching the back of that lorry Dave, he must have some sort of death wish.”

  As the lorry got closer the large powerful black motorcycle pulled out sharply and accelerated hard to overtake, head on towards Tom. Such was the motorcyclist’s acceleration past the lorry that the front wheel momentarily left the tarmac.

  Tom was forced to brake slightly and pull over as close to the nearside kerb as his driving skills would allow to avoid a head on impact with the bike, which did not slow at all. Tom flashed his headlights and shook his fist angrily. The bike negotiated its way back onto its own lane in front of the lorry narrowly avoiding a collision, the rider seemed oblivious as to their presence. As the bike had passed, the pillion passenger had glared at Tom and stuck two fingers up.

  “Christ, I thought they were going to hit us head on then,” said Tom still shocked.

  “Fucking idiots will be in casualty before they know it riding like that, must have been doing about 90.”

  Tom’s nerves and anger settled and he returned to a leisurely drive back to the station.

  After several minutes he looked in his rear view mirror.

  “Hey Dave, we’ve got that fucking bike behind us now, he’s going quite slowly now though.”

  Dave Sweeting unlocked his safety belt, moved in his seat and turned so he could watch out of the back window. “Don’t know what they’re up to, the pillion has got his rucksack off his back and looks like he’s trying to get something out of it but I can’t see what.”

  Sweetface watched with interest while the pillion replaced his rucksack on his back and pulled his visor down over his face.