“I’ve been asking others, Mr Kemp, so I need to ask you also, where were you on the Wednesday afternoon just gone?”
“I was taking a car to our branch in Exeter as a client wanted the particular model with the specification and the mileage of a vehicle we had on our stock here. It was a Vauxhall Insignia that was just over three years old, with less than twenty thousand miles on the clock.
“We often help each other out if we have stock in another branch that a customer would like to buy, having seen it on our website. We could get them to drive down here, but delivering the car to the nearest place to the customer is good service and often clinches the sale. After handing over the car to one of their sales people, I came back in one of their used cars and added it to our stock.”
“What time did you leave for Exeter?”
“I think it was just before two o’clock.”
“How long did you spend there?”
“I dropped off the car, had a quick coffee with a salesman mate of mine and then headed back. So, I suppose I was there for about fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“And what time did you get back here?”
“About half past five.”
The inspector was about to continue with his questions, but gave way to Sergeant Harris as she had looked up from her notes and evidently wanted to ask Kemp a question. This was unexpectedly developing into a good cop/bad cop interview, with Harris adopting the latter role.
“It took you over three and a half hours to go to Exeter and back?”
“Yeah, so what’s the problem?”
“I know that journey and can get to the middle of Exeter, without rushing, in about forty five minutes even at peak time. Traffic at that time of day was probably fairly light, but let’s say it took you an hour each way. You say you had a coffee break for twenty minutes and then returned. So, Mr Kemp, according to my calculations you should have been back here a little after four o’clock; what happened to the other hour and a half?”
Kemp thought for a while before he replied to the sergeant, who was starting to monopolise the interview: King was happy for her to point out the timing flaw in the account of his whereabouts. For the second time the salesman lost some of his bravado and he was giving very careful consideration as to what to say next. He eventually leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Okay. I came back via the scenic route and stopped in The Old Inn at Widecombe-in-the-Moor for a couple of pints and a fag, but please don’t tell the gaffer.”
An irritated sergeant retorted: “Why didn’t you tell us the truth in the first place?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I said I headed back after having a coffee and a chat and that much was true. That’s what happened, I just forgot to tell you of my detour.”
King interjected, “Mr Kemp, we are investigating the disappearance of a young woman and part of those enquiries is to establish where the people, who knew she would be on the moor, were that afternoon. Against that background, it was rather important that you told us of your little detour. You’d better tell us in more detail what you did on your way back.”
“Okay, I just fancied a drink and I wanted to put a bet on the races at Chepstow. It’s dead easy to place bets from a mobile.”
The sergeant, continuing the double act, wasn’t really interested whether he won or lost, but was interested in establishing if he was now being totally truthful. She probed, “Which horses did you back?”
“Midnight Fury and Hell for Leather.”
“Did you win?”
“Nah. A third and a faller.”
“Can you show us on your mobile the bets you placed?”
Kemp began to get a little uneasy at this persistence as well as slightly exasperated. He fiddled with his phone and passed it to the sergeant. It did indeed show that he had placed the bets. However, that would have taken three minutes and the detectives were interested in ninety minutes, not just a few.
The interview continued.
“What beer did you have in The Old Inn?”
“Just a couple of pints of Carlsberg lager.”
“And can you describe who served you?”
“Blimey. I wasn’t taking much notice. A young lad I think.”
“Where did you have your cigarette?” Harris continued with her line of questioning.
“Just out in the garden as the rain had stopped.”
“On your way to the pub, your little diversion may have taken you close to Haytor?”
At that observation, he began to move from irritation to anger, at the less than subtle insinuation.
“Now, just wait a minute. Are you implying I could have something to do with Mary’s disappearance? That’s outrageous!”
He stood up and his indignation had made him raise his voice. DI King intervened.
“Sit down, Mr Kemp. We are not implying anything. As has already been pointed out to you, we are merely trying to establish the movement of all the people who knew Mary would be on the moor that Wednesday afternoon. Let me sum up what you’ve said to the sergeant: you were skiving off work. However, we’re not interested in your work ethic; that’s between you and your employer. What we want to know is did your, let’s call it, extended break take you near Haytor on Wednesday?”
The suitably chastened salesman was somewhat contrite after his earlier outburst.
“Yes. I used the B3387 after leaving the A38 at Bovey Tracey, but I hardly saw a soul as the weather was so poor. I certainly didn’t see Mary Cranson.”
“And what about on the way back?”
“I didn’t come back that way. Why would I when it was easier to go on to Princetown and pick up the road to Plymouth.”
Both the detectives felt they had got all they were going to get from Kemp for now. King left him in no doubt that this wasn’t the last time he would be interviewed.
“We’ll need to speak with you again, Mr Kemp, when we’ve checked your movements. You’re sure that there is nothing you want to add to what you’ve told us?” Kemp shook his head.
“Now, I believe Stella Bovis works here? Can you ask her to join us or shall I ask Mr Preston to arrange it?”
The once smug salesman said he would get her and sheepishly left the room. He had volunteered as he didn’t want them speaking to his boss after his revelation.
*
Stella Bovis was co-operative, though somewhat nervous during the questioning, but what she had to say tied in with the information already taken from the other friends. With regard to her movements on the afternoon in question, she said she was at work carrying out her receptionist duties. The sergeant later confirmed with her manager that she was at work all day on Wednesday.
Neither detectives realistically saw her as a suspect as she had no motive and seemed to lack the moral fibre to do anything that would involve risk. Then again, they thought her nervousness appeared to be due to a heightened state of anxiety and not someone whose conscience was completely clear.
*
Back on the moor it was a mild day and the wind kept the clouds scudding across the sky: it also meant that the billowing smoke was kept close to the ground.
Nevertheless, the white smoke from the barn fire could still be seen from many miles away. Six fire appliances attended, but were unable to save the considerable number of hay bales or the tractor, which was garaged in the barn. In many ways it was fortunate that the building was isolated from the others on Quarry Farm or the damage would have been far more extensive. The fire service chief and the police came to an early conclusion that it was started deliberately. A partly charred, two litre plastic Coke bottle, without its top, was found on the periphery of the fire. Before being placed in an evidence bag, closer inspection, by a police officer wearing blue latex gloves, confirmed it smelled of petrol.
All that was left of the barn was the twisted
metal structure – distorted by the heat from the blaze – the burned-out tractor and smouldering hay bales. The only thing that stopped all the bales igniting was the fact they were packed very tightly together. However, of the ones that escaped the incineration, only a few could be salvaged as the others had been drenched in water from the fire hoses.
John Sutton and his two sons were alerted to the blaze by a neighbouring farmer as the wind had blown the smoke in the direction of his farm. Needless to say, the destruction of the hay and the tractor would cause them great inconvenience. The insurance would cover the loss, apart from the £1000 excess, but it would take time to buy-in more fodder. The Suttons were very angry as they stood next to their destroyed tractor, surrounded as they were by the charred remains of the bales. John Sutton spoke, “If I could get my hands on the bastard that did this…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence as his intention was clear.
*
Two walkers, a husband and wife, had been the first to discover the blaze and to raise the alarm. The fire engines had raced to the scene, as fast as they could down narrow Devon lanes, but by the time they arrived, the barn was well alight. The rate of destruction was undoubtedly increased by the westerly wind fanning the flames.
The walkers were interviewed by the police and their statements referred to a runner who had passed them, going in the opposite direction, before they realised that the barn was ablaze. He was in running gear of trainers, shorts, singlet and a baseball-type cap. They hadn’t paid that much attention to him at the time, but remembered he hadn’t made eye contact with them, or given them so much as a nod or short greeting. In fact quite the opposite, as he had looked down when passing them, as if averting his gaze. As the runner passed them, the husband had noticed that the cap he was wearing was green and had a white logo in the shape of a shield, but he didn’t have time to make out the motif. The observant walker said he also had a back pack. Good as that information was, it was the wife who gave the most significant statement: she said the runner had a salamander tattooed on his upper left arm.
Also, both of them had caught a glimpse of a 4x4 vehicle travelling at speed down the narrow lane away from the barn. They had commented at the time that it was travelling far too fast on the winding single track road. They were unable to get the registration of the vehicle, but were able to see that it was white in colour. The uniformed officer, who noted down what they had seen, thought to himself that these were model witnesses. He took their names and thanked them for the information they had given. He later passed all his notes to DC Dyson who, although having a number of cases on the go, couldn’t wait to follow-up the walkers’ perceptive observations.
*
After the interview with Kemp, the next day the sergeant visited The Old Inn and established from the pub’s owner who was on duty on Wednesday. Harris was informed that three people were serving drinks and taking orders for food that afternoon. Harris spoke to each in turn and two of them remembered serving a person fitting Kemp’s description. To her surprise, both confirmed that he was not alone. Apparently, he was initially on his own, but had been joined by another man. They said that it seemed to be an arranged meeting as, on his arrival, the first man had ordered two drinks and was then joined by the second man shortly after. They talked for about twenty minutes and, as he was passing them, one of the bar staff noticed the second man pass a bulky brown envelope across the table to the first man.
At the time the barman thought that it was a bit suspicious as both men were furtively glancing around. He didn’t think any more about the handover as he had plenty of other customers to serve. Soon after, the second man left and the first man carried on drinking and looking at his mobile. Both the staff interviewed thought they could identify the first man, but were rather vague as to the description of the second, save for recalling he was tanned and was wearing a checked shirt. The first man then had another drink before leaving.
The sergeant took their names and thanked them for their time without commenting on what they had said.
When she returned to her car she rang her boss. “Sir, I’ve just had a very interesting chat with two bar staff at The Old Inn. From their recollection they confirmed Kemp’s story about him visiting the pub that afternoon, but, apparently, he’d arranged to meet a man. It didn’t seem to be a chance encounter as he ordered him a drink before he arrived. Also, one of the bar staff saw the second chap pass a bulky envelope to Kemp. I wonder why he hadn’t mentioned the meeting with the other man when we interviewed him?” King thanked his sergeant for the update.
“We said we wanted to see our Mr Kemp again and it will be very interesting to hear his explanation as to what was obviously a pre-arranged appointment. Now we know why he took a detour on his way back from Exeter. It wasn’t to skive off work as we thought, but to collect something. He’s up to no good, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with Mary Cranson’s disappearance. Nevertheless, let’s invite him to the station and hear what he’s got to say this time.”
SIX
It was now just after 4 o’clock on Friday afternoon: Mary had been missing for nearly two days. Police activity on the moor had been gradually scaled down during the day until the only indications of the disappearance in the area were the two roadside incident signs. Although activity had ceased around Haytor, the detectives were still busy gathering information. King unnecessarily reminded Harris of the other people they needed to interview.
“Before I forget, sergeant, the other people that we need to see, apart from those already planned, are Paul Betteridge, the Bovey rugby coach, and his daughter. As we have a busy schedule today, I suggest we meet them tomorrow morning. I know the game between Bovey and Tavistock has been postponed as a mark of respect to Mary, so I assume he’ll be free for a chat, but I’m not sure about the daughter’s availability. I’d also like us to interview Brian Cantwell.”
*
The inspector and his sergeant were on their way to Marker and Makepeace estate agent in Ivybridge to speak with Jack Lacey. The firm had offices in most of the big towns around Dartmoor and beyond, as they served the whole of the south west peninsula. Harris informed her boss that the owner was a Mr Burton and his wife was a director of the company: they both work for the agency, but in different branches. As they parked in the pay and display car park, the sergeant referred to her notes.
“Jack Lacey is Tom Bowers’ best mate and they’ve known each other since school days. He is unmarried and unattached. Tom thought he’d been working for Marker and Makepeace for about four years. He too plays for Bovey Tracey Rugby Club and was present after the training on Tuesday the day before Mary went missing.”
They walked to a small arcade and could see the estate agent’s distinctive MM logo above the shop. The four peaks in the two letters depicted the gable end of houses. They entered and, as they were expected, were greeted by Jack Lacey. After introductions, it was the estate agent who spoke first.
“Any news of Mary?”
“I’m afraid not, sir, but we live in hope that she will soon be found.”
“I do hope so, but the longer she remains missing, I fear something dreadful has happened to her.”
DI King asked him if there was a quiet corner where they could talk in private? Apart from the largely open plan shop, there was a small room in one corner and Lacey gestured towards it. When they were all seated the inspector began the interview.
“When was the last time you saw Mary?”
“That would be Tuesday night at the rugby club. All our friends were together having a chat and a drink. I was sat next to Tom and Mary was on his other side. Sometimes there were one-to-one conversations and at other times the whole group was engaged in some banter. We all knew Mary was walking on the moor the next afternoon, because she asked if anyone knew what the weather forecast was for the next day.”
“How did she seem to you? Anything unusual about
her manner?”
“No, on the contrary. She was very happy and couldn’t wait to have her walk the next day.”
“As you know, we are still looking for her and we’ve been gathering information over the last two days, mainly from her friends. Can I ask, where were you that Wednesday afternoon, Mr Lacey?”
He didn’t take offence at being asked his whereabouts. “I was out and about. I spend approximately half my time in this shop greeting buyers and sellers. If they are buying, I give them particulars of properties in their price range, and if they’re selling I take their details and arrange to visit their property. So the other half of my time is spent visiting houses mainly to take photographs, measure room sizes and sketch the floor layout, so I can produce a brochure for the sale. Let’s see, last Wednesday afternoon, I had two properties to visit, one near Princetown and the other on the east side of Widecombe.”
“What time did you leave here and what time did you return?”
“I was busy in the shop in the morning so I didn’t leave until gone noon. I think I got back just before five.”
“And where precisely were the properties you visited?”
“I can give you the details of the one near Princetown, as I prepared the particulars yesterday. The other property was unoccupied as the sellers are away and they had left the keys with us. That was fairly straightforward as we had sold it before and I had a copy of the layout and room sizes and I cribbed the details from our files. I’m still working on the brochure for that one.”
With that he left the room and came back shortly after and gave the glossy particulars of the Princetown property to Sergeant Harris. He also passed her a black and white draft copy of the other property, with its name prominently displayed as Paddock Wood House. The detectives glanced at each other, both had noted the proximity of the latter property to Haytor.
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