by Damien Boyd
‘I’m fine, really.’
Jane’s phone buzzed in her handbag just as Dixon was lowering Roger on to his sofa.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
Jane was peering at the screen. ‘Briefing at six. Full team.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder what that’s about?’
‘We’ll soon find out.’
Roger reached forward for the whisky bottle on the coffee table, but Dixon snatched it away and put it on the mantelpiece.
‘Have you got a post mortem tomorrow?’
‘Cancelled it.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Nope.’
‘I’ll see what’s in the freezer,’ said Jane.
‘What about Adele? Have you seen her today?’ asked Dixon.
Roger shook his head. ‘Geraldine’s there. I never get a look in when her precious mother’s there. Turned Adele against me when we got divorced. All tie-dye and joss sticks she is. She’ll do you a tarot reading too, if you want. I tried ringing earlier but she answered the phone and wouldn’t let me speak to her.’ He sat up. ‘Wouldn’t let me speak to my own daughter, would you believe it?’
‘Louise was there earlier, Roger, and she said Adele had been sedated.’
Poland sighed. ‘Poor kid.’
‘How often do you see Hatty?’
‘Every now and then, but I never get party invitations. Geraldine will be there and she comes first. We can’t be in the same room together.’
‘Can’t?’
‘It’s not a pretty sight.’ Roger slumped back into the cushions. ‘You be careful when you get married.’
‘I bunged a chicken korma in the microwave, Roger. I hope that’s OK,’ said Jane, appearing in the doorway.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m going over to Catcott tomorrow,’ said Dixon, sitting down next to Poland on the sofa. ‘Then I’ll go and see Alesha’s parents. All right?’
‘Who’s this Kevin Sailes everyone’s looking for?’ asked Roger, sitting up.
‘Tanya’s boyfriend.’
‘Is he a paedophile?’
‘I don’t think he’s got anything to do with either Hatty’s or Alesha’s disappearance.’
‘But they’re looking for him?’
‘In the wrong place, but we’ll soon see.’
Roger’s eyes glazed over. ‘Is she alive?’
‘Don’t ask me that question, Roger. You can’t ask me that question.’
Poland nodded.
‘As soon as I know for sure she isn’t I’ll tell you. Until then, she’s alive.’
‘I understand.’
‘Can you think of any connection between the two girls?’
‘No.’
‘What about sport?’
‘Hatty played rugby for the under twelves at Bridgwater rugby club. And she was in the panto group.’
Dixon glanced up at Jane, who shook her head.
‘Anything else?’ he asked, turning back to Roger.
‘No.’
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ said Jane, when the microwave pinged.
‘What if there’s no connection?’
‘Then we’ve got to consider the possibility it’s random.’
‘The worst case scenario . . .’ Roger’s voice tailed off.
‘Look, we’ve got some good leads being followed up as we speak and more tomorrow. There’s a briefing in . . .’ Dixon looked at his watch. ‘Five hours. So maybe something else has come up in the meantime too.’
‘You’ll find her. I know you will.’
Jane handed Roger a tray with his microwaved curry steaming. ‘I’d give it a minute,’ she said. ‘Is there any mango chutney?’
‘No.’
‘What can you tell me about Jeremy?’ asked Dixon.
‘They’ve been married fifteen years or so. He’s a nice lad. Works for a Swedish bank, on the sales side.’
‘How long have they lived at Catcott?’
‘Hatty was two. They moved down from Bath. He’d been working in London doing the daily commute into Paddington.’
‘And what’s your relationship with Adele like, when Geraldine’s not there?’
‘Better than it was. Cordial after the divorce, I suppose, but it’s getting better.’
‘You never mentioned any of this before,’ said Dixon.
‘It’s not really the sort of stuff you broadcast, is it.’ Roger was pushing the rice around his plate. ‘Every family has its dirty laundry.’
‘How old was she when you divorced?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘Who divorced who?’
‘I divorced her.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll find out when you meet her.’ Poland grinned through a mouthful of curry.
‘I’m going to go now, Roger, but I’ll be back tomorrow. All right?’
He nodded.
‘Try to stay off the Scotch.’
‘I’d better stay with him,’ said Jane.
‘D’you mind?’ asked Dixon.
‘No, it’s fine. You go to the briefing at six and then pick me up.’
‘Will do.’
Jane was standing in the porch, several moths slowly battering themselves to death on the light bulb above her head, when Dixon turned back and kissed her on the lips.
‘You will find her, won’t you?’ she asked.
‘He has to believe I will, for now at least.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Good morning, everyone.’
Dixon was sitting at the back of the crowded Incident Room flicking through the last of the witness statements that Jane had printed off the day before. Four hours’ sleep on the sofa would have to do, although he was still wearing the same clothes and hadn’t had time to shave either. He had fed Monty, though, and let him have a run in the field behind the cottage.
‘As you all now know,’ continued Potter, ‘Hatty Renner is the granddaughter of the Home Office pathologist Dr Roger Poland, and at his request we’re joined by Detective Inspector Dixon.’
He stood up.
‘He looks like he’s just got down off the side of a mountain, because he has. Cooperate with him at all times, please.’
Dixon glanced across at Chard as he sat down and watched him shifting in his seat, the scowl exaggerated for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
‘Now then, Devon and Cornwall raided the caravan park at Pentewan Sands.’ Potter shook her head. ‘Nothing, sadly. And we got the same result at Ilminster. Good intent on the part of the informant, but a waste of time all the same. We’ve got four more sightings that we’re following up this morning.’ Potter paused. ‘But . . .’ she shouted.
Dixon looked up, as did everyone else.
‘Thanks to Dave Harding and a bit of old fashioned police work we have a solid lead. The van. Take a bit of black electrical insulating tape and change the “L” to an “E” and you get A244 AEG. So, Dave, bright spark that he is, checked A244 ALG and, lo and behold, it’s a white VW LT31 commercial van registered to one Edward Buckler. Does that name ring a bell with anyone?’
‘Didn’t he used to be on TV, Ma’am?’ The voice came from the front of the room.
‘That’s right. Ted Buckler. He did the local weather on ITV,’ said Potter. ‘And three years for a string of historic sex offences. He runs a flower wholesale business now from a yard at Watchfield. He’s ViSOR registered at Tanner’s Farm, Westhill Lane. Anyone know it?’
Silence.
‘Looking at it on Google Earth, there’s a couple of sheds and some polytunnels. Or at least there were when the photos were taken.’
‘When do we pick him up, Ma’am?’ asked Harding.
Potter looked at her watch. ‘Ten minutes ago. And Scientific Services will be tearing his place apart right about now.’
Several officers leaned forward and patted Harding on the back. Dixon even spotted a high five.
‘News blackout for the time being, for obvious reasons,’ continued Potter. ‘Sally, where ar
e you?’
Detective Superintendent Guthrie stood up.
‘We need to know if there’s anything connecting Buckler and Sailes.’
Guthrie nodded.
‘Preferably before we interview him.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Where have you got to with Sailes?’
‘He’s vanished. Nothing on number plate cameras, his bank account’s got a few quid in it but it’s not been touched and none of his friends will admit to having seen him.’
‘Calls on his mobile?’
‘None. No trace on it either.’ Guthrie shrugged her shoulders.
‘Well, keep trying.’ Potter turned to Chief Inspector Bateman sitting at the front. ‘Where have we got to with the search, Mike?’
‘We’re into day four in Highbridge,’ he replied, standing up. ‘The search area is expanding and we’ve got the Coastguard and hovercraft out again today. We’re searching campsites, the holiday park, farmland; and now we’re split between two sites, of course. We’ve had lots of help from the public, though, and the helicopter. That’ll be over Catcott today.’
‘If we get anything from Buckler we’ll let you know straightaway.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Who’s going to interview him?’ asked Harding.
‘I am,’ replied Potter. ‘With Inspector Dixon. We’ll need everything we’ve got on him, though, Dave, if you could rustle that up for me?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Right, that’s it, I think. Get to it.’
Dixon headed for the stairs at the back of the room, he hoped unnoticed.
‘Where are you off to?’ asked Potter, leaning over the balustrade.
‘I left Jane at Roger’s last night. We didn’t think he should be on his own.’
‘You’d better get her then. I’ll be heading over to Watchfield at nine.’
‘Can I meet you there?’
‘Yes, fine. All being well I want to interview him this morning.’
Dixon nodded. He’d be at Roger’s before seven. Plenty of time.
‘How is he?’
‘Asleep,’ replied Jane, jumping in the passenger seat of Dixon’s Land Rover. He was parked across Roger’s drive, engine running.
Monty stood up with his paws on the back of the front seats and began licking her ears. ‘He said he’d come down to Express Park later,’ continued Jane.
‘What about you?’
‘I got a few hours on the sofa.’ Jane looked out of the passenger window as Dixon accelerated up the northbound slip road on to the M5. ‘Any news?’ she asked.
‘If you assume the number plate had been doctored with insulating tape, then the van belongs to Ted Buckler, the TV weatherman.’
‘And rapist.’
‘You’ve heard of him?’
‘Safeguarding isn’t just about vulnerable people; we also identify those who pose a risk. It’s about collating intelligence and risk management.’
‘Is he a risk?’
‘The psychiatrists say not, which is why he got parole. He was only released from prison two years ago, though, so he’s still monitored quite closely. There’s an internet banning order in place too. He says it’s damaging his business and he’s trying to get it lifted.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘No.’
‘I’m meeting Potter at his place at nine. Then we’ll interview him later this morning.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’ll be at Express Park by now.’
‘Any sign of the girls?’
‘Not yet.’ Dixon slid his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Jane. ‘Not as far as I know.’
‘No messages,’ said Jane, looking down at the screen. ‘They’re probably miles away by now, if they’re still alive.’
‘Oh, they’re still alive,’ muttered Dixon.
He glanced across at Jane leaning on the door pillar, her eyes closed. Two minutes’ silence was all it had taken and she was fast asleep. It must be the new engine. She’d never have managed that in his old Land Rover.
Twenty minutes later he was paying for diesel at the Shell station on the Berrow Road when he noticed Jane yawning in the passenger seat. He smiled. The smell of the fuel woke her up, probably.
‘What are we doing here?’ she asked, as he opened the driver’s door and climbed in. ‘I thought we were going home?’
‘We are. We’ll have a quick look for Sailes on the way.’
‘Where?’
Dixon was turning out of the petrol station. ‘What route did he take from Tanya’s to his mother’s?’
‘The main road. They both said he always used the main road.’
‘And that was checked?’
‘Yes. On foot and by the helicopter with its thermal imaging camera. Potter even put divers in the River Axe.’
Dixon sighed. ‘He was drunk when he arrived at Darryl’s place. He had a few more beers there, strong ones, then he turned up at Tanya’s where he had half a bottle of vodka and some of her methadone. How far would you get with that lot inside you?’
‘I’d be unconscious, probably,’ replied Jane, shaking her head.
‘Me too, but Kevin is used to it, so he can still function, still drive, and maybe, just maybe, he thinks he’d better go the back way, just in case he gets breathalysed. What say you?’
‘We sent a patrol car that way. You’re talking about Red Road?’
‘I am.’
‘They found nothing.’
‘Were they on foot?’
‘No, I don’t think so. We checked the main road on foot, but not the back way.’
Dixon went straight on into the single track country lane when the main road turned sharp left towards Berrow church. He glanced down at the deep ditches on either side.
‘You’d see him straightaway if he was in one of them,’ muttered Jane.
They followed Red Road in silence, Dixon watching the ditch on the driver’s side and Jane the passenger side.
‘There’s Brean Golf Club,’ she said. ‘They’d have seen anything along here.’
‘It’ll be at the end of the long straight along the railway line, if I’m right. Accommodation Road, it’s called. I looked it up on Google Maps.’
‘You think he missed the bend?’
‘We’ll soon see,’ replied Dixon, turning right at the first T-junction, then left at the next.
Once over the railway line the road turned sharp right. It had been widened and a car missing this bend would have been clearly visible in the field beyond.
‘There are no ditches along here,’ said Jane.
Dixon put his foot down on the long straight alongside the railway line.
‘You’d never outrun a train in this old heap.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’
He slowed for the chicane on the bridge over the River Axe, then accelerated again towards the railway bridge at the far end of the straight.
‘He left Tanya’s after midnight in a Renault Clio V6.’ Dixon shook his head. ‘He could’ve got up to a ton along here.’
‘Don’t you try it.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
He slowed on the approach to the apex of the bend, a sharp right hand turn that took the road back over the railway line, and pulled into a lay-by on the nearside.
‘Let’s have a look then,’ Dixon said, switching off the engine.
‘Are you sure?’
‘No.’ Monty jumped over on to the passenger seat when Jane got out. ‘Not you, old son.’
‘There aren’t any skid marks,’ said Jane, walking over to the nearside kerb on the bend.
‘That just means he didn’t brake.’ Dixon squatted down and peered at the kerbstones. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, pointing at gouge marks in the concrete.
‘Could be anything.’
He scrambled down the steep bank beyond the kerb, stepped over a low barbed wire fence at the bottom and peered into the dense undergrowth. A small weed c
overed pond was just visible through the vegetation, surrounded by bushes on all sides that all but obscured it from the air.
Four wheels were sticking out of the weeds, one at each corner of the underside of a car, the twin exhaust pipes covered in green slime. Enough of the chassis was visible to confirm the car was black.
Dixon straightened up.
‘What is it?’ asked Jane.
‘D’you want to have a look?’
He held the barbed wire down with his foot while he helped her over the fence. Then he pointed through a small gap in the branches. ‘Look through there.’
‘Oh, shit, you were right.’
‘A lucky guess.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s the back way to Weston. I’d take it if I’d had a few. He missed the bend, hit the kerb sideways on and the car flipped, landing upside down in there. It would’ve cleared these bushes easily if he had his foot down.’
‘Are you sure he’s in there?’
‘Where else is he going to be? If he wasn’t killed in the crash, he’d have drowned within minutes of it.’
‘Can you get out to it?’
‘Not through that lot. They’ll need cutting equipment,’ replied Dixon.
‘Let me get round there and see if I can see the rear number plate,’ said Jane. ‘The bumper’s sticking out of the water, so . . .’
‘I’ll go. I’m dressed for it.’ He managed to find a gap in the bushes adjacent to the back of the car. ‘OY01 XJN.’
Jane was looking in her notebook. ‘That’s it. That’s Darryl’s. All that bloody fuss and he’s been here all the time.’
Dixon scrambled back up the bank to the road, then he reached down and pulled Jane up. ‘Better call it in,’ he said.
‘You’d have thought the bloody idiots in the patrol car would’ve seen him. Potter’ll do her nut,’ muttered Jane, fishing her phone out of her handbag. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, as Dixon walked back to the Land Rover.
‘I’ve got to be over at Watchfield by nine.’
‘But—’
‘You’ll be fine. I’ll catch up with you at Express Park.’
Chapter Fourteen
Tanner’s Farm, Westhill Lane, Watchfield was hidden behind high, corrugated iron fencing. The gates were open, but blocked by Scientific Services vans, so Dixon left his Land Rover in the lane, behind Potter’s BMW. The tops of the polytunnels were visible behind a red brick bungalow and there were several sheds off to the left, a forklift truck parked outside.