by David Beard
Things brightened up for her as they rose up to the moors and crossed a cattle grid. Open moorland spread out before her, with tors like gigantic pancakes. She noted the heather would soon be complementing the yellow flowerets of the gorse. As they approached the brow of Widecombe Hill, the road hid the impact of what was to come. Suddenly, as they arrived at the crest, the panorama of the valley opened up before them, with the village below dominated by the perpendicular tower of the Cathedral of the Moor.
At last she had something to distract her, ‘Oh, wow, just look at that, Dexter.’
Smalacombe pulled into the car park and stopped. ‘Two Crosses is on the horizon, right opposite. At the top of that steep hill,’ he pointed his finger. ‘And don’t say, I’ve been there, please.’
‘All right, I haven’t.’
‘Thank goodness.’
‘I’m sorry, I lied. I have and the hill is called Southcombe Hill.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’
She laughed heartedly at his frustration, ‘Well, I haven’t ridden my bike up there.’
‘I bet you haven’t, and you haven’t……’
‘I don’t want to know,’ she interrupted, knowing that he was reverting to their earlier conversation.
‘Come on, we had better get up there. It’s going to be difficult before Angela gets there, but we can’t stand around and wait can we?’
They drove through the village and up the hill on the other side of the combe to the crime scene. A number of police officers were there guarding the area, which was taped off. One moved out into the road to stop and question them. Emily showed her ID card through the windscreen and they were ushered onto a rough area on the other side of the road, along with a number of other police cars.
Smalacombe and his sergeant donned their protective garments and walked towards the body, which was covered by a blanket. Smalacombe was perturbed by that and called the uniformed sergeant over, ‘Who covered this?’
‘That’s how we found her, sir.’ Smalacombe was relieved but it was odd. The sergeant continued, ‘If you look at the outline, she’s sort of laid out; hands crossed, that sort of thing. Doc Holliday was very careful not to disturb anything, I can tell you, but we had to confirm she was dead. He only uncovered her head and neck and looked under a bit.’
‘Of course. So, bloody hell, have we got a polite murderer then?’
‘Can we remove the blanket, sir?’ Emily asked.
The sergeant butted in, ‘We have taken tons of photographs, sir. We did that before the doc arrived.’
‘I think we had better wait for the pathologist but we can look all around.’
There were no signs of any commotion around her and as far as they could see, there was no blood. Emily leant over as close as she could, without creating any disturbance, to see if there were gunshot wounds. The blanket made it impossible to assess. Emily felt surprised by her attitude. She was not disturbed by the proximity of this dead body; she decided she was already an old hand at this. Maybe it was because it was covered up and she had not been hit by the full impact of another horror.
‘Not sure she was shot here, Dexter; can’t see the wounds but there is no blood on the blanket.’
‘We will have to wait for Angela. Holiday told the super the woman had been shot. We can’t touch her at the moment. This is bloody frustrating.’ He turned to the uniformed sergeant, ‘There’s sod all we can do until the pathologist arrives. We’re going to take a walk away until she comes. We need to discuss things. This lady’s car has been found in mid Devon, close to a murdered man.’ The sergeant was shocked and shook his head, lost for words.
‘What did the doc tell you?’
‘He gave us lots of instructions. He said she was shot. He looked through the handbag, as you probably know, and identified the lady. We were warned to stay away from the vicinity.’
‘Who found her and when?’
‘There was an anonymous 999 from a kiosk. A male voice, that’s all we know.’
‘Mmm, OK. We will move away, sergeant and wait for the pathologist.’
Smalacombe walked away and looked across the valley to the three iconic tors that dominated the area. Peeking over the top in the distance was Haytor.
Emily came over to him. ‘I have just rung Angela’s mobile. She will be here in a few minutes.’ She shared the view with her superior, ‘I love those three tors, Dexter. The middle one is Honeybags, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Chinkwells on the left and Belltor on the right. The one to the side is Bonehill Rocks.’
Emily looked further away to the right. ‘And that is Buckland Beacon.’
‘Look behind you, just to the left. Can you see your namesake?’
She thought for a moment, unsure of his point but quickly it dawned on her. She had a good knowledge of Dartmoor, as Smalacombe now realised. He was resigned to the fact that she knew everything about everything and he would find it difficult to introduce her to anything new.
Emily smiled broadly, ‘Corndon Tor, Dexter.’
‘Could it be that it is where you were……’
Oh, my God, she thought, here we are, back to the country boy again. She decided to humour him and interrupted, ‘I’m married, and you’ve got the wrong place. My maiden name is Blackpool-Sands.’
Smalacombe giggled and he knew he had to carry on with it. ‘Double-barrelled eh?’
‘Like this damned shotgun, I suspect.’
‘This has got to end somewhere.’
As the two dwelt on the local scenery, the crime scene investigators arrived and were soon at work.
Angela Marriot arrived shortly after, with many apologies, and she was quickly at her business.
Smalacombe turned and handed Emily the handbag. ‘Women’s handbags are a mystery to me and not something I can cope with.’ She foraged through the handbag’s contents and came up with a number of important factors.
‘Firstly, Dexter, here is her driving licence, with a photo of course. No mobile! I don’t have her address but there is a birthday card, ready for posting but not sealed,’ she opened it and read, ‘to “My Darling Daughter” and she has written, “Happy birthday, Samantha. Love mum”. It’s fully addressed and Samantha lives in Pinhoe.’
‘Brilliant. Our next port of call, I think.’
‘Surely, the priority is Mr Lynley.’
‘Wait: just think on this. It looks to me that there is some liaison between the two victims. We don’t want to plough in until we have some more facts. I have already ballsed up one interview this morning. I think it will be easier to pick her daughter’s brains first.’
The two walked over to the pathologist. ‘What can you tell us, Angela?’
‘This is much the same as Crossworth, Dexter but some extra bits.’
‘She was laid out?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s how to put it. She wasn’t dumped but carefully placed, hands crossed, legs straight and tidy and then covered by this blanket. Most odd because there are other things that take away her dignity.’
Emily steeled herself to look at the body. She was unsure whether the impact would be as severe as it was by the canal. She was surprised to find that this time she coped.
Angela pointed out the most significant injuries. ‘As you can see, she has been shot, but somewhere else; not here.’ A large part of the woman’s blouse had disappeared and the left cup of her bra was also destroyed, leaving the remains of her breast only covered by what appeared to be soil and flecks of moorland foliage. ‘The shot was a little lower than the one that killed Crossworth. The woman’s chin remains intact,’ she reasoned. ‘By the extent of the damage, I would say this shot was delivered a little further away than the one that killed Crossworth.’
‘That’s it?’
‘As I’ve said; some odd things. Her skirt is back to front. She has no knickers. Her bra is undone; it’s a mystery.’ She looked to Smalacombe who was waiting for more. ‘I don’t speculate, Dexter. We need a PM. I
will do both tomorrow. She has been dead for around fifteen to eighteen hours. I will keep you informed.’ She didn’t invite him to attend, as past experience had shown her that he usually arrived late and after she had completed it.
‘I will make every effort to see you then.’
‘There is something else. Take a close look here,’ she pointed to the chest wound.
For Emily this was the big test; no longer could she just take a quick glance. She looked closely and even her untrained eye could see what Angela was referring to. ‘There are fragments of plastic embedded here and broken……oh I see, it’s the remains of a mobile isn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ Angela agreed. ‘Dexter, I can’t imagine that all of the phone’s remains are there. I would say that much of it will be still be at the scene, unless he spent time vacuuming it. Note, her right hand is severely damaged; she was probably holding it at the time.’
Angela’s detached references to this disturbed Emily and she felt nauseous once again. She stood up and took deep breaths as before but this time it passed quickly and she had the courage to take a second look. ‘Maybe the sim card is embedded there?’
‘The chances of that remaining unscathed are pretty remote I would say, but you can get her records I’m sure.’
Smalacombe and Corndon walked back to the car.
‘We need to see the daughter, Emily, and I think that will complete a difficult day.’
*
They arrived at a semi detached pre-war house in Pinhoe, a classic example of that period. It was back from the road to provide a small front garden, it had a bay window and the front door was set back into a porch with an arched entrance. Samantha Peckham came to the door. She looked flustered, was casually dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans and wore no make-up. Her hair was untidy and a myriad of colours due to experiments with her hairdresser. Emily assessed she was in her mid-twenties.
‘Are you Samantha Lynley?’
‘You should have read the address, Dexter,’ Corndon whispered. ‘That was not the name on the envelope.’
‘I was, yes, but I’m now married. Well, sort of!’ she added with a puzzled expression. ‘The name is Peckham. And, who are you? I’m not used to strangers knocking on my door; if you have something to sell, then forget it. And if you want to spread the gospel, you have come to the wrong place.’ She went to close the door.
‘We are police officers, madam. Could you give us a moment of your time?’ Smalacombe showed her is ID. This made her even more on edge. She opened the door wider, stood back and let them in.
‘You are not at ease, Mrs Peckham.’
‘Samantha, please. No, I’m having a bad time.’ This was something that Smalacombe didn’t want to hear. With his news, things could only get worse.
‘Well, that’s upsetting as it’s your birthday I believe.’
‘How on earth did you know that? Anyway, you’re wrong; it’s tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘I’m pissed off as I have had the sack and I’m pretty sure it is unfair dismissal, so apart from all the money probs it will create I can see an awful lot of legal hassle as well.’ She paused and looked at them both. ‘I don’t usually get visits from the police.’ Her expression suddenly changed to one of great realisation. She gasped and spoke loudly with her hands on her cheeks, ‘Oh my God,’ she became energised, ‘you’ve not been sent by Rollisade have you?’ Smalacombe looked confused. ‘My ex-employers,’ she added.
‘Why would they do that?’
‘They’ve accused me of fiddling the books. And, before you ask, no, I bloody haven’t.’
‘No. No. Listen, Samantha, please sit down as I’m afraid I can’t make your day any better.’ He paused in the hope that it would give her warning of what was to come. ‘I have some terrible news, I’m afraid.’
Samantha Peckham calmed down, became blank once more. She was confused and as such she showed no emotion whatsoever.
‘It’s your mother,’ he paused again, this time to wait for some reaction but none came. The time had come once more, to deliver, ‘I’m afraid she was found this morning…’
‘Found? FOUND? Are you saying…?’
‘Yes, I am afraid so. Her body was found in a car park on Dartmoor.’
‘Then you had better check out that bloody Crossworth,’ she answered with a sudden gust of confidence.
‘I’m afraid I can’t…’
‘What sort of copper are you if you are constantly afraid? Afraid of bloody what?’ Her reaction was totally unexpected: the lost soul of a few moments before was now bursting with agitation and aggression.
‘It’s just a figure of speech. I am trying to be as gentle as I can, as I attempt to break this awful news to you. Henry Crossworth’s body was also found this morning, in the Grand Western Canal.’
Samantha looked ahead and sat motionless. Smalacombe waited for some reaction but none came. Corndon looked across and raised her eyebrows.
Finally, after a great deal of thought Samantha looked to Smalacombe. ‘Suicide?’
‘Oh no!’
A long silence prevailed. Smalacombe’s news had energised her again. Despite the terrible trauma of losing her mother so violently, she was much more composed than at the start of their meeting. Smalacombe reflected that it was almost as if this gave her something to take her mind off other things. Surely not, he thought after addressing it a second time.
‘Why the canal? I suppose it’s because it is near where Crossworth lives, isn’t it?’
‘More to the point, Samantha,’ Emily interjected, ‘why a car park on Dartmoor? Is there some connection there?’
‘I have no idea but I can find out. She loved Dartmoor. There was one place she visited all the time. She called it her outdoor home.’
Smalacombe picked up the conversation again, ‘You see, we know very little. That’s why we need to see you, apart from breaking this terrible news. All we do know is that neither person was killed where they were found.’
The word “killed” had an effect on her and her mood changed once more. Tears welled up as she tried to keep herself composed. She succeeded but with difficulty and there was a great deal of sniffing.
‘I have to ask, why did you mention Crossworth, Samantha?’
‘Because she knew him for years and was seeing him, if you know what I mean.’
‘And, your father?’
‘He’s in Hong Kong probably. He left us years ago.’
‘Can you give us an address or email, as we must contact him?’
‘I will do it myself. He is not involved with us anymore.’
Emily Corndon intervened, ‘We don’t want to…’
‘No problem. I’ll do it.’
‘It is something we must deal with ourselves,’ Smalacombe insisted.
Samantha found a used envelope and scribbled her father’s email address on it. ‘Rarely use it. Rarely see him. Don’t know his password, if he has one.’
‘We will need to talk to you at some length, Samantha as we need all the background information we can find. It’s clearly not a good time now, but can we come back, perhaps tomorrow?’
‘I understand. Give me a ring. I should be available, as I haven’t got to go to work, have I!’
‘Many thanks. Do you need some help? Our family support officer can visit you if you do?’ Emily advised.
Samantha thought for a moment, ‘No, I’ll be fine.’
‘Will your husband be home this evening?’
‘I bloody hope not. I hinted earlier. I’m now on my own; thankfully, no kids either.’
‘Something routine we have to ask you. Where were you last night?’
‘Where do you think? Out clubbing, laughing, joking and spending money I am no longer earning? I was bloody here on my own.’
Emily felt it necessary to provide some sort of helpful news that might ease the pain. ‘Samantha, we knew it was your birthday because your mother h
ad your card in her handbag, ready to post.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, at first with great relief but as Emily handed over the card, Samantha broke down. She realised that the preparation of this item was probably one of the last things her mother had done and the thought overwhelmed her. Nevertheless, she took her two visitors to the door and saw them out.
The two drove back to the station to complete a difficult day.
‘There’s not much yet, Dexter.’
‘Oh I don’t know, Emily. Not much concrete, I agree, but tons of stuff to think about. We must sort out an interview schedule. Trouble is, at the moment we don’t know who we need to see.’
*
When Smalacombe arrived home the greeting was not wholly warm to begin with.
‘What did I tell you this morning?’ Freda asked.
‘I’m sorry, love; it’s been a hectic day.’
‘Your dinner’s ruined. Have you seen the time? Why didn’t you ring me?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve dealt with two horrific murders today: distressed women, travelled miles…’
‘Oh, I’m sorry too, Dex,’ Freda calmed down, ‘I didn’t realise.’ She came over and hugged him.
He felt comfortable with her. To his great relief, the perfume he had smelt on Angela earlier in the day was not present but Freda did smell of wonderful home cooking. He was ravenously hungry and this made him even more so. He held her tightly and they kissed.
‘I don’t care if it is all shrivelled up, I will eat anything this evening and it’s your effort that counts.’
As it turned out, it was a hotpot, cooked in a slow cooker and it was perfect. He decided he couldn’t have ended such a stressful day in a better fashion.
Even sharing the washing up with Freda was an enjoyable experience.
CHAPTER 3
On the Tuesday morning Emily Corndon organised the search warrant and Crossworth’s computer with other correspondence was taken to the constabulary. Constable Barry Sheldon was given the task of sorting through Crossworth’s files and he immediately came up against a problem, which he discussed with his two superiors.