by Damien Boyd
‘You’ll be the police.’ He was watching Dixon and Cole walking along the pontoon.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Come aboard. We’re sitting on the mud already here, so you’ll be quite safe.’
Laura’s Dream was a small yacht, twenty feet or so, the odd footprint here or there on the deck, but otherwise immaculate. Dixon climbed down into the cockpit while Cole stayed on the pontoon.
‘The police are here, Pam.’
‘What’s this all about?’ she asked, as her husband helped her up the steps.
She looked older than her years. Retired, yes, but Dixon suspected it had more to do with losing her only daughter at sea.
‘We’re looking for Craig Pengelly,’ replied Dixon. ‘He was released from Leyhill this morning and he’s not at his parents’ address.’
‘You were at Laura’s memorial service.’
‘I was.’
‘You didn’t know her, did you?’
‘No.’
‘He wouldn’t go to his parents.’ Pam dropped a coil of rope on the deck and started coiling it up all over again. ‘He’d never go there.’
‘It’s the address he gave to the prison service.’
‘It may have been.’
‘Have you seen him?’ asked Dixon. ‘It’s very important we find him. For his own safety, I should add. Not for any other reason.’
‘What’s going on?’ Geoffrey had finished polishing the wheel and was now working his way along the boom.
‘We suspect that one of the victims of the pension scam is settling scores. Four of those involved are dead and Craig is the last person left alive. He was safe while he was in Leyhill, but he was released this morning.’
Geoffrey looked at his wife and raised his eyebrows.
‘He came here this morning,’ she said. ‘A couple of hours ago; you’ve not long missed him.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Blue jeans and a black top, I think; a sweatshirt thing with a hood on it, so I suppose it’s one of those hoodie things they wear these days.’
‘Shoes?’ asked Cole, from up on the pontoon.
‘Don’t remember, sorry,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘He was carrying a small blue rucksack though.’
‘What did he want?’
Geoffrey took a deep breath, blowing the air out slowly through his nose. He glanced at his wife. ‘Pam’s applied to the High Court for a declaration of presumed death and he wasn’t happy about it.’
‘He was furious.’ Pam was dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
‘He seems to think it should’ve been his responsibility, but they weren’t married and the law is quite clear. She was my stepdaughter, so it’s for Pam to apply as her mother.’
‘He said we should have told him first in that case, and I suppose we should have done,’ said Pam. ‘But we just didn’t think.’
‘Is there a hearing fixed?’ asked Dixon.
‘Monday at two,’ replied Geoffrey.
‘He’s not a bad lad.’ Pam leaned back against the railing. ‘Not that his parents would agree, mind you.’
‘How did he meet Laura?’
‘Burnham Sailing Club,’ said Geoffrey. ‘She was there sailing and he was picking up litter as part of one of his Community Service Orders; possession of cannabis that time, I think it was. He had to do two hundred and fifty hours’ unpaid work or something like that.’
‘When was this?’
‘Five years ago.’
‘That sounds about right,’ said Pam, coiling the rope for a third time. ‘She was keen on her sailing. Good at it too; she raced the small yachts – lasers – and crewed on the bigger yachts as well. There’s good money to be made at that. Sunset Boulevard was going to be her first transatlantic trip.’
‘There’s been a suggestion it was a drug run,’ said Dixon, tentatively. ‘That Sunset Boulevard was carrying drugs in her keel.’
‘Rubbish.’ Geoffrey threw his cloth into the cockpit and started retying the rigging. ‘I don’t believe it for a second. There’s no way Laura would have gone knowing that.’
‘Or coopering, perhaps. That’s where they meet a larger boat and transfer the drugs.’
‘No, I said.’ Geoffrey turned his back on Dixon. ‘You never met her.’
‘No, I didn’t, I’m afraid.’
‘She sorted Craig out.’ Pam sat down behind the wheel, licked the tip of her thumb and started rubbing at a smudge on the stainless steel. ‘She got him off the drugs and alcohol; he even got himself a job. Then he decided to train as a financial adviser.’
‘Did you go to his trial?’ Dixon let Pam’s change of subject pass.
‘We went for the start, and then the verdict and sentencing. It was for Laura’s sake as much as anything; to support her.’
‘Did you believe his story that he was a victim, that Bowen and Mather had used him?’
‘We did.’
‘I know his parents didn’t,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But they’d washed their hands of him long before that. The first time they kicked him out he was just eighteen and ended up on the streets in Bristol. “Tough love”, they called it.’
‘More like no bloody love at all,’ sneered Pam.
‘He was never going to live up to their expectations, not like his siblings who were top of the class at everything, first team colours and all that.’ Geoffrey pulled on a rope, unfurling the sail a few feet. ‘He just isn’t made that way; poor lad never stood a chance. He tried, though, for Laura’s sake, and was doing really well; he even went abroad for work a couple of times, to Spain, I think.’
‘Were you disappointed when he and Laura got together?’
‘Not really. He was her choice.’
‘Every parent wants the best for their daughter, so I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled.’ Pam was still rubbing at the mark on the wheel. ‘But he tried to turn his life around, he really did, and Laura was happy, wasn’t she, Geoff?’
‘She was.’
‘Did they mention a barn in Brittany?’
‘It seemed like a mad scheme to us.’ He curled his lip. ‘But they were keen and it would’ve been fun, if nothing else.’
‘His parents bought it, is that right?’
‘We both put in the money.’ Pam sounded indignant now.
‘Look, let’s not get carried away here,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It was only twenty thousand to buy it and we put in half each. It’s not as if we bought them a chateau, for heaven’s sake. It’s registered in Laura’s name, which is why we need the presumed death thing, so we can sell it and give his parents their money back.’
‘Would he have gone there?’ Dixon was glancing over the side rail, the yacht listing slowly as it settled on the mud, the ropes lashed to the pontoon creaking under the strain.
‘He’ll have gone back to Bristol. He had friends there.’
‘There’s nothing in Brittany,’ said Pam. ‘It’s just a shell. There’s not even a roof on it at the moment.’
‘Did he give you a mobile phone number?’
Geoffrey handed Dixon a piece of paper, which he passed up to Cole.
‘That’s the same one he gave the prison service.’ Cole shook his head. ‘It’s not in service.’
‘Why would he give us a number that’s no good?’ asked Pam.
‘Maybe he knew you’d give it to us.’ Dixon stepped up on to the side deck. ‘You will tell him to get in touch with us immediately if you see him or hear from him again? It’s for his own safety.’
‘We will,’ replied Geoffrey.
‘Are you going out on tomorrow’s tide?’ Dixon asked.
‘We haven’t got the stomach for it any more.’ Pam blinked away a tear. ‘We thought we did, but we don’t.’
‘We’ll motor back round to the marina in the morning,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Then it’s out of the water and on the market. You don’t want to buy a yacht, do you?’
‘The end of Laura’s Dream,’ said Pam, the tears flowing freely now.
‘They’ve got Tressider at Weston,’ said Louise. ‘He’s been there about an hour now.’
Dixon was holding his phone to his left ear with his right hand while he put on his seatbelt. ‘We’ll go there now. Is the tail in place to pick him up when he leaves?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good. In the meantime, get the CCTV ops room at Bristol city centre looking for Craig – Nigel’s emailing you the description now – and we’ll head up there when we’ve finished with Tressider. Anything else going on?’
‘Not really. Dave’s back and working on the Daewoo with Kevin. The rest are working their way through the pension victims, checking alibis and such. No alarm bells so far. Oh, and Jez was on the prowl again, looking for a chat with you about personnel.’
Dixon transferred his phone to his left hand and turned the key, the diesel engine rumbling to life. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘There wasn’t anything I could tell her.’
‘What about Gavin’s neighbours?’
‘They confirm Allan moved in. His van was parked at the back for a while and the bloke in the upstairs flat said he heard banging and shouting. He even saw Allan driving Gavin’s car.’
‘That’s enough to put Gavin in the clear, but no doubt Charlesworth will want the CPS to have a look at it.’
‘Better go, Sir,’ whispered Louise. ‘Incoming; Potter with Jez in tow.’
Dixon rang off. ‘Right, let’s get this Tressider bloke out of the way and then get up to Bristol, see if we can’t find Craig before someone else does.’
‘Someone with a crossbow,’ muttered Cole.
‘You’re not under arrest, Mr Tressider,’ said Dixon, sitting down opposite him in the interview room at Weston-super-Mare police station twenty minutes later.
‘Do I need a solicitor?’
‘I don’t think so. Do you?’
‘Well, I’ve not done anything wrong, apart from a bit of speeding maybe. So, no, I don’t think so either.’
‘That was your M3 in the car park?’
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not really a car buff, I’m afraid.’
‘He drives an old Land Rover.’ Cole arched his back. ‘Bloody uncomfortable, it is.’
‘We’re investigating four murders, Mr Tressider. One of the victims was involved in the loan charge scheme that your fiancée, Nicky, was caught up in; two victims were involved in a pension transfer scam and the fourth was a taxman who seems to have played a part in both.’
‘What’s this got to do with me?’ Tressider frowned. ‘You checked the dates I gave you. I know you spoke to Nicky.’
‘A fiancée is never the best alibi,’ said Dixon. ‘And we’ve got a couple more dates to check now, sadly.’
‘Fire away.’ Tressider sat up, his arms outstretched, the palms of his hands open. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Have you been to Spain recently?’
‘No. We went to Faro for a week a couple of months ago, and had a weekend in Amsterdam, but that’s it. And we’re off to Rome for three nights next month. It’s useful living near Bristol airport and the flights are dirt cheap.’
‘Does the name James Bowen mean anything to you?’
‘Yeah, I did the graphics for Clearwater; designed their logo and did them a website. I’m assuming it’s the same James Bowen?’
‘It is.’
‘I’d not long started on my own and it was one of my first jobs. Nice bloke, easy to deal with. Prompt payer too. Is he all right?’
‘He’s dead, Sir.’
‘What was it, an accident or something?’
‘A crossbow.’
Blood drains from people’s faces at varying speeds; some faster than others. Dixon had learned that a long time ago, but the change in Tressider was dramatic – from flushed to deathly pale in a jiffy.
‘And you think I . . . ?’ His voice tailed off.
‘We have questions we have to ask, boxes we have to tick.’ Dixon offered his best pained expression, almost apologetic even as he watched Tressider leaning on the table with his head in his hands.
‘I . . . I didn’t, of course I didn’t. What possible reason would I have for doing that?’
‘James Bowen and Miranda Mather were involved in a pension transfer scam that fleeced hundreds of people out of their pension funds; lifetimes of savings and dreams of retirement gone in a flash. And my understanding is that your stepfather is one of those victims.’
‘He said he’d had the police around, but didn’t say what for. So, what, do you think I lent him one of my crossbows?’
‘There’s an interesting idea, Constable.’ Dixon leaned across and tapped Cole’s notebook. ‘Make a note of it.’
‘You’re taking the piss now.’ Tressider glared at him.
‘Did you know he’d lost his pension?’
‘No.’
‘Your mother never mentioned it?’
‘She said he had a big tax bill, but not what it was for. Look, they only married a couple of years ago. I was an adult and had left home long before that, so it’s not like he was a big part of my life or anything. We don’t discuss that sort of stuff. Never have.’
‘What about your pension?’
‘I can’t afford to pay into a private pension, so I’ll just have to worry about it when I get there.’
‘Have you ever come across someone by the name of Francis Allan, or Frank perhaps?’
‘No.’
‘Ever play the fruit machines in the arcades?’
‘That’s a mug’s game.’
‘You see, I’m struggling, Mark,’ said Dixon, squinting at Tressider. ‘I’ve got four murders, all of them clearly connected by the same weapon, and yet the motive for one seems to be different to the other three. And the only person I’ve come across who might have a motive for killing all four is you.’
‘Me?’ Tressider managed to force a sarcastic chuckle. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree then, mate.’ He stood up. ‘You said I was free to go?’
‘You are.’
‘Right, that’s it then. I’m out of here.’
Dixon watched him snatch open the door and stalk off along the corridor towards the front desk.
‘What was that all about?’ asked Cole.
‘Now we’ve ruffled his feathers, we’ll put a tail on him,’ replied Dixon. ‘See where he goes. Otherwise known as clutching at straws.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘And what’s Craig wearing?’
‘Blue jeans and a black hoodie,’ replied Cole, sliding an empty chair across from the adjacent workstation.
‘So’s about half the adult male population of Bristol. Anything else?’
They were sitting in the CCTV Hub, Dixon and Cole either side of Maria Willis, who had been assigned to help them, somewhat reluctantly judging by the frequency and volume of her sighing. The office housed the emergency, traffic and community safety control rooms, covering a total of seven hundred CCTV cameras across Bristol.
White workstations with blue desktops and lighting in the footwell, presumably so you could see if your shoelaces were undone, thought Dixon; he couldn’t see any other reason for it. Every workstation had two large computer screens on it, most of them running split screens as well. Then there were the twelve larger screens mounted on the wall, all of them showing scenes from the city centre in black and white, apart from the one top left that was running BBC News.
Cole was flicking through his notebook. ‘I haven’t got a note of his shoes.’
‘He’s carrying a small blue rucksack,’ said Dixon.
‘How up to date is this description?’ asked Maria.
‘This morning,’ replied Cole. ‘He paid his fiancée’s parents a visit.’
‘His fiancée? Where’s she now?’
‘At the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean,’ said Dixon. ‘She was on a yacht that sank a few months ago.’
‘Not something you hear every day.
’ Maria’s eyes were darting between the split screens in front of her. ‘And you think he’s come to Bristol?’
‘Back to Bristol. He was living rough for a time a few years ago. So, he knows his way around.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Well, he might be sofa surfing if he’s got any friends.’
‘We’ve got one address we can try,’ said Cole.
‘If he’s not there then perhaps try the Hobb’s Lane Collective. It’s a charity up behind the Hippodrome; they might have seen him. And then there’s the St Govan’s hostel in Old Park Hill. He might go there, I suppose. Is he on drugs?’
‘Spice,’ replied Dixon.
‘The Trenchard Street car park might be worth a look then.’ Maria clicked on a menu in the top right corner of one of the screens and selected ‘Trenchard Main’ from the dropdown list. ‘This is outside the front.’ She was pointing at the screen. ‘We’ve got other cameras on each of the floors by the paystations.’
A few people were coming and going, walking past a person sitting cross-legged on a sleeping bag with a sheepdog. He or she had their head down, long hair covering their face, an empty coffee cup on the pavement in front of them. A passer-by stopped to drop a few coins in.
‘It’s a good car park for them,’ continued Maria. ‘It’s on the go almost all day with shoppers and then later on they get the audience at the Hippodome. The Broadmead shopping centre’s good too, obviously.’ She leaned forward and looked at her notes. ‘I’ll circulate Craig’s details and we’ll keep an eye out for him. No doubt your lot are looking for him too?’
‘They are.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Dixon. ‘He was released from Leyhill this morning and we believe his life might be in danger.’
‘How’s he travelling?’
‘Rail to Weston and he’ll be hitch-hiking now, I imagine. We’ve got patrol cars looking out for him on the A38 and the A371.’
‘Surely he’ll have gone to a bail hostel?’
‘He was supposed to go to one in Weston, but they’ve not seen hide nor hair of him,’ replied Cole.
‘If he knows someone’s after him, he’ll be trying to stay off the radar and that makes him harder to find.’ Maria picked up the handset and immediately replaced it when the phone rang on her desk. ‘He might be down the Bearpit too, come to think of it. Always worth a look; a bit of a community in the underpass and the collective run a food bank down there.’