“Do you mind if we have a chat out here? The owner, Mr Burton, is in the office today.” It was evident that Jack wanted some privacy. King was happy to accommodate him: “Out here is fine, sir. Now Mr Lacey, last time we spoke you said you spent over two hours at Paddock Wood House. Can you tell us again please, why so long?”
“I did what I had to do at the house and I thought if I return to the office, I’ll be needed to deal with customers or required to do some other task. I had got behind with my emails and thought staying there was an ideal opportunity to catch-up uninterrupted using my iPad. Listen, I can see where this is leading. Although I may have been fairly close to where Mary was walking, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“So, sir, you realise now you were a few minutes’ drive from Haytor, but you cannot give a corroborated account for at least an hour of your time that Wednesday afternoon. You will now appreciate why we are interviewing you again and it might be best if you accompany us to the station.”
The temperature that early February morning was unseasonably mild, but was not so warm to cause Jack Lacey’s perspiration. He was clearly agitated and his sweat glands were working overtime.
The inspector was remorseless. “We would like to take your iPad away with us, sir. Do you have any objection?”
“Well, I need it for my work, but if you want it you’d better take it.” With that he returned to the office and shortly came back with his iPad.
“My sergeant will give you a receipt and, hopefully, we’ll return it tomorrow or we’ll let you know if we want you to collect it as we may need to have another chat with you.”
With that the detectives left.
*
The next interview was scheduled with the Sutton brothers, but instead the detectives returned to the police station with the iPad about midday. Sergeant Harris took it to the local officer who deals with cybercrime and asked for an indication as to content and, importantly, a report on activity on the device during the previous Wednesday afternoon.
*
While Harris sorted out Lacey’s device, King went in search of Dyson. She had arranged to meet the long-standing Ivybridge Rugby Club president, not the secretary, in half an hour at the club’s headquarters. The inspector and the detective constable drove to the Cross-in-Hand rugby ground to be greeted by the affable president. The inspector took the lead. “Good morning.”
It was actually just past noon, but until King had his lunch, to him it was still morning.
“This is Detective Constable Dyson and I’m Inspector King from Plymouth police. We are investigating a barn fire and one of the witnesses saw a moor runner in the vicinity who may be able to help us; we think he was wearing your club’s cap. He also had a distinctive tattoo on his upper left arm. Does that description fit anyone connected with your club?”
“Quite a few players have tattoos. Do you know what the tattoo was of?”
“As far as our witness could make out it was a salamander.”
“That sounds like Billy Price as I know he keeps fit by running up tors and he has a lizard tattooed on his arm. He lives over Ashburton way, but plays for Ivybridge as this is where he was born. He hasn’t played for about four weeks as he fractured his arm playing against Bovey. There was a bit of a hoo-ha as Billy claimed it was deliberate, but the ref didn’t think so. He was spitting feathers as he left for Derriford Hospital to get it fixed.”
“Have you got his address please?”
The president consulted some sheets of paper hanging on a notice board in the small club office, scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the sergeant. He also told them that Billy Price worked as a barman/manager at a pub/restaurant a few miles to the east of Ivybridge called The Avon Inn. They thanked him for his help and left.
King was balancing priorities in his mind: he then made a decision. Looking at his watch he turned to Dyson. “I really want us to get back to the missing person case. However, I also want to make progress on at least one of our cases: Price is close by and will probably be at work. Let’s go and have a look at a salamander tattoo.”
*
They arrived at The Avon Inn, which was open, but had very few customers. The detectives approached the young woman behind the bar, introduced themselves, and asked to speak with Billy Price. They were directed through a door to one side of the bar and entered what appeared to be an office-cum-storage room. A well-built, young man was sat at a computer. King was reasonably sure of his identity, as the tail of the distinctive lizard could be seen under his short-sleeved shirt, but he still asked the question.
“Mr Billy Price?”
“Yeah. Who wants to know?” After the well-rehearsed introduction of themselves, with warrant cards, questions followed.
“We are investigating a barn fire on Dartmoor, close to Quarry Farm, during mid-afternoon last Friday. We have a witness statement that someone answering your description was in the area at the time of the fire. Was that you?”
“Yeah, I was on the moor around that time, but didn’t see any barn fire.”
“Well, according to our witness reports, you passed them going in the opposite direction away from the barn and a few minutes later they came across the building that was well alight. So, how did you not notice it?”
“When I’m on the moor, I am single-minded and concentrate on my running and watching my next step, as it’s easy to turn your ankle on the rough ground.”
“Do you often take the path past the barn?”
“I have a circuit I do, so yeah, I go that way on my usual run and I time how long it takes so I can compare my times.”
“So, although this fire could be seen from miles away, you ran by it and didn’t notice the barn was ablaze?”
“Are you trying to say that I started the fire? That’s ridiculous.” King then played a wild card question.
“We’ve been told you suffered an injury playing against Bovey Tracey about a month ago. Is that right?”
“Who have you been talking to? What’s that got to do with anything? Why am I being questioned?”
“Never mind who we’ve been talking to. We are investigating a crime and acting on information given by witnesses. Now tell us about this injury.”
“It was in a match against Bovey Tracey and I was in a ruck and we had won the ball. Play moved on and a few seconds later this big chap jumped on my arm as I was getting up. The tackle was so late I reckon he knew exactly what he was doing. I heard the ulna bone snap. He didn’t get sent off as the ref was watching play. Not only that, the bastard never even apologised. Anyway, what’s that got to do with a barn fire?”
“What’s the name of the chap who broke your arm?”
“As a matter of fact it was one of the bloody Sutton brothers.” King had his fish on the hook.
“Have you any idea who might own the barn that was set alight, Mr Price?”
“No, not really. Why is that important?”
“So, if I told you it is John Sutton, you would be surprised?” Price was nobody’s fool.
“Now just hold on a minute. Are you insinuating that I torched his barn to get revenge for what one of his sons did to my arm?”
“Well, did you?”
The inspector could have predicted the reply, but not the vehemence or indignation with which it was delivered.
“No, I bloody didn’t!”
Not to be deflected, King tried to land his ‘fish’.
“According to our witnesses you had a bag with you. We’d like to see it please.”
With that a petulant Price went to a cupboard behind where he was sitting and produced a backpack. Without speaking he presented it to King who then unzipped the top to reveal its contents. Inside was what looked like running kit, a pair of trainers, an empty Coke bottle and a small plastic bag. This bottle
wasn’t the same size as the one discovered on the edge of the barn fire, but the inspector wanted it checked out anyway. He took out the plastic bag and saw it contained some roll-your-own tobacco and some matches. He handed the backpack to Dyson and spoke to Price.
“We are taking this with us, Mr Price. Constable, please give him a receipt. Are you sure you don’t want to tell us anything else, sir?”
The offended suspect didn’t speak again, merely listened as the detectives left saying they would be in touch.
Once outside, the inspector began sucking a sherbet lemon and was thinking about the interview: he shared his thoughts with Dyson, partly to help the investigation and also for her development.
“Well, that was very interesting. Mr Price had the archetypal three Ms to commit the crime; the moment, the means and the motive. Make that four Ms as he also had some matches! The station is getting more and more like a lost property office. We’ve got a mitten, an iPad, a charred Coke bottle and now a backpack with running kit.”
His comment may have seemed a little flippant, but he was in no doubt that this was a deadly serious business.
NINE
It was early Tuesday morning and the seventh day since Mary Cranson had disappeared. The three detectives, King, Harris and Dyson, sat down, coffee cups in hand, in an interview room at the central police station in Plymouth for an informal meeting, convened by the inspector. As he was about to begin, there was a knock on the door and when the person opened it he almost filled the doorway. This was not due to obesity, but because he was six foot six inches tall and his body was seriously well developed.
“Inspector King?”
King rose from his seat and greeted the towering hulk with a handshake. He turned to his detectives:
“I’d like to introduce Detective Constable Alexander Hammond. He has been assigned to us for the next month to help with our burgeoning workload.” After introductions and shared handshakes the new boy sat in a chair opposite Harris.
“A timely entrance as we are about to plan out our day. But before we do, perhaps Alexander could tell us a bit about himself?”
“Call me Alex please, sir. I’ve been with the Force for five years and joined from university. I’ve been stationed in Exeter since then and yesterday my superintendent asked me if I’d like to be seconded to Plymouth for a month to help out a team here. Well, I jumped at the chance, not because I don’t like Exeter, but because I’m keen to broaden my experience.”
King responded. “I had a quick look at your record my opposite number mailed me last night. It would seem you’ve been a busy boy recently. I read that you were involved in breaking up a protection racket in Exeter, which led to successful prosecutions. Apparently, when the Police did a bust after covert surveillance, the criminals didn’t want to go quietly?”
“That’s right, but if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to talk about it, sir.”
King didn’t take offence and accepted Hammond’s natural reluctance to speak about his exploits. The inspector rather admired his reticence as he knew the tale he could have told. The report he had read detailed how the police were staking out a clothes shop when two gangsters had come to collect their monthly protection money. Apparently, if the shop owner didn’t pay up he was warned that he would frequently have to redecorate his shop.
These crooks never just collected the money; they always felt the need to intimidate and would smash a display cabinet or decapitate a mannequin as a warning. However, on this occasion they were about to do damage to the shopkeeper. The court transcript reported that the burly men were quite surprised when DC Hammond entered the shop, having listened to the exchanges through covert surveillance from an unmarked police van parked a few shops along the street. He had identified himself as a police officer, but the men weren’t impressed. They turned their sadistic fury on the person who was threatening their livelihood. What happened next was not reported in detail, but an ambulance was needed for the men who, it transpired, had several broken bones. An investigation by the Police Complaints Authority later cleared Hammond of using unnecessary force as he had been threatened with a blade and he hadn’t initiated the attack. King knew that he was no bragger and was very pleased to get his assistance.
“We’re glad of your help. Some of this meeting may not make much sense, but we’ll bring you up to date later on the cases we’ve got on the go. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us and I’d like to plan who does what and when.”
He began by commending DC Dyson on the progress made to track down a possible suspect in connection with the barn fire. She allowed herself a little bashful blush.
“Right, down to business, firstly the missing person case. I’d like an update from you, sergeant, on your interview with the barman of The Rock Inn, and also your second meeting with Mary’s parents. Then I’d like a report from you, detective constable, on what the cybercrime boys said about Jack Lacey’s iPad. After that we’ll plan out our day. Alex, I’ll explain who these people are later.”
The sergeant duly obliged with her update.
“I visited The Rock Inn in Haytor Vale yesterday afternoon and spoke to Rob Saunders, the barman, about his recollection of Tom Bowers arriving at the pub last Wednesday until the time he left. He remembered him well, as there were very few customers in and he’d had a quick chat with him about the stormy weather. He confirmed that the man had ordered a pint of Jail Ale and, crucially, also half a lager, which he said was for his girlfriend, who was about to join him. The barman said it was just before six o’clock that the man left the pub and asked him if he would look after the half of lager, as he and his girlfriend would be back shortly.” DI King waited in case his sergeant had anything further to report and when she didn’t, he summed up in his inimitable style.
“Either Tom Bowers is a very clever, cynical man or he genuinely was mystified why Mary had, for whatever reason, missed their date. My instinct and belief favours the latter. How did you get on at the second interview with Mr and Mrs Cranson at their hotel in Bovey Tracey?”
“That was very difficult, sir. Both parents were still distraught and did not regret closing the hotel soon after the disappearance of their daughter. Alice was also there and left us on more than one occasion when discussing her sister became too much to bear.”
All the detectives were quiet for a short while as they privately reflected on the harrowing experience of the parents on losing a loved one, and yet not knowing what had happened to her. It was almost, but not quite, worse than knowing Mary’s fate.
“Okay, thanks for that sergeant. Now Sam, what about Mr Lacey’s iPad?” DC Dyson was sitting opposite the other detectives with the device in front of her. There was an envelope on top of it, which she opened and took out a report.
“The Cyber Crime Unit have carefully examined the Apple iPad Pro, presumably chosen by Jack Lacey as it had a twelve inch screen, was very light, weighing less than a kilogram, and had high resolution, which, I assume, was particularly useful for taking photos of the inside and outside of properties. It also had Outlook, which meant he could send and receive emails. However, the report states that there was no email activity, sent or deleted, on Wednesday the 1st February between 12.55 and 17.13.”
DI King made his blunt analysis.
“Mr Lacey’s alibi just fell apart. Thank you detective constable; please arrange for him to attend here at noon today: he will be interviewed under caution.”
Nodding in the direction of his sergeant, but speaking to DC Dyson, he continued.
“We will be out until late morning at Quarry Farm. If we’re not back by noon, Mr Lacey can sweat. I’d also like to see Mark Preston and Stella Bovis here, let’s say at one and two o’clock: those interviews will not be under caution… yet. We might as well go for the hat trick of interviews of people from Cameron and Wise: get George Kemp in for two thirty and I don’t want him speaking wit
h Stella Bovis after her interview and before his. Sam, please brief DC Hammond on what we’ve investigated so far on the thefts from farms and also tell him as much as you know about the other cases.”
Next he turned to his sergeant. “Although it’s still quite early, farmers don’t tend to lie in, so we’ll drive out now to interview the Sutton family again. When we get back, you can catch up on your notes from the Sutton interviews, and prepare for the interview with Lacey, which I’d like you to conduct.”
*
The daffodils were out on either side of the drive to Quarry Farm, and as the detectives arrived, John Sutton appeared from the farmhouse. Both once again thought the same thing, namely that the farmer seemed to have an uncanny awareness of people entering his property. His manner on this occasion was far more convivial than when they had met before, confirmed by a pleasant greeting.
“Good morning. I expect you have come to see my sons? Harry is just finishing the milking, so it’s probably best for you to speak with Dick first. You’ll find him in the big barn at the end of the yard. He is about to feed some cattle on the other side of Honey Bag Tor so it’s best you catch him now.” With that he withdrew to the farmhouse, but not before the detectives nodded their appreciation.
They headed for the farmyard, passing through a substantial five bar gate. Both noticed that it had no padlock or other way of securing it. As they walked down the yard, in the flanking outbuildings to their right, they were greeted by a general buzz of activity, which they assumed was Harry Sutton doing the morning milking. In the various open-fronted buildings to their left, they saw garaged a quad bike, a Land Rover with a four-wheel low-loader trailer attached, a horsebox and a space they assumed provided a covered area for the Utility Task Vehicle. They entered the cavernous barn as directed and in the far right-hand corner, they spotted Dick Sutton, who was loading bags of cattle cake into the back of the UTV. This concentrated feed for cattle, processed and compressed into pellets, provided vital nutrients not present in grass. The forty litre bags were heavy, but the strapping farmer made light work of loading them.
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