Missing on Dartmoor

by Julian Mitchell

  “I’ve no doubt he knows that the barn belonged to the Suttons and he started the fire: he is a very bitter man. He waited a whole year before he exacted his revenge. Forensics will probably be able to identify both the plastic bottles as his, and his fate will be sealed, whatever his protestations or legal representation. I expect that, taking into account his previous conviction, if he’s found guilty of arson, he will inevitably get a custodial sentence. All because he wouldn’t put his bloody dog on a lead. That arrogance and stupidity will deprive him of his liberty.

  “Okay, that’s one crime stat in our favour: let’s report back to the inspector and get ready for our trip to the market.”

  *

  That Wednesday afternoon Harris was at her desk catching up with some paperwork and reading through her interview notes when out of the blue she saw a potential link between three pieces of information, two that had been provided by Rachel Betteridge. When she had been asked her whereabouts on the day Mary disappeared she had answered: ‘I think I was pottering around at home.’ The sergeant then read in her notes of the same interview: ‘I sometimes help my dad with his window cleaning in the afternoons if he’s got a lot on.’

  Then she remembered something Sam Dyson had said the previous afternoon: ‘One of the witnesses said he thought he’d seen three people stood by the vehicles, but couldn’t be sure: possibly a man and two women.’

  Just at that moment she intercepted King who was either going for a comfort break or a coffee or both.

  “Sir, I’ve been looking through my notes and also reflecting on what Sam Dyson said to us yesterday about one of the witnesses thinking he had seen three people in the car park last Wednesday.”

  “Yes, so what?”

  “Well, we know from his testimony that Paul Betteridge was there with Mary and I think the third person seen by the witness was Rachel Betteridge! We know that the father didn’t want to admit he had met Mary immediately before she disappeared and I suspect that his daughter, who on her own admission has the hots for Mary’s boyfriend, was there too. In our interview with her she said she sometimes helps her dad in the afternoon if he’s busy.

  “It is conceivable that they planned her abduction and when no one was passing, overpowered her, bundled her into his van and drove away. They could have killed her, disposed of the body and that would then leave Ms Betteridge with a clear run at Tom Bowers.”

  “I’ll say one thing for you, Lucy, you certainly have a fertile imagination. I’m not sure your scenario completely rings true: as would two people, intent on abduction and murder, stop off for ice creams?”

  Harris defensively countered.

  “It could have been planned or maybe wasn’t premeditated, sir. They simply took advantage of an opportunity that presented itself.”

  “I think it’s stretching credulity, but there’s enough in what you have said for us to check out their respective stories. I would accept they could have colluded for the very reason you mentioned, to remove the one person who was stopping her from getting her man.

  “Mr Betteridge mentioned getting an ice cream. Check out who was selling ice creams that day and track him or her down. They may be able to confirm both Betteridges were present. After all, I doubt they had many customers that afternoon as it was fairly late and it certainly wasn’t really the weather for eating ice cream.”

  The sergeant’s busy day presented one last challenge. She was determined to track down the ice cream vendor that afternoon, or what was left of it. One of her colleagues in the office happened to know the van always selling ices in the top car park had Best in the West emblazoned on its front. A phone call later she confirmed that their van was in the upper car park that Wednesday afternoon. Harris asked who was selling the ices and, fortunately, he had just returned to base. After a few minutes he came on the line and she introduced herself before asking him if he could remember the customers he had served the previous Wednesday near Haytor.

  The sergeant knew this was a long shot, but if he could remember and there were two people in Betteridge’s van, not only had he lied again, but so had his daughter if she was there with him. Harris was delighted and amazed in equal measure when he recalled serving someone in a van because of the distinctive logo on the side. He thought it was a good name for a window cleaning business. She saved the crunch question until the end: “Was he on his own?”

  The ice cream man said he hadn’t seen anyone else as the van was side on to him and he couldn’t see if anyone was in the cab. The detective was slightly crestfallen and was about to thank him for the information when he finished what he had started to say: “Hang on. There must have been someone else with him as he ordered two cones, one with a flake!”

  TWELVE

  The revelation that there could have been a third person present when Paul Betteridge met Mary Cranson before she went missing sparked further activity. Rachel Betteridge was brought to the police station from her place of work and her father was still held in custody: it was suspected that she may have been with him when he had his, according to him, chance encounter. King and Harris would interview both Betteridges that morning, but separately of course.

  Sergeant Harris checked her notes from the interviews she had with the customers who had their windows cleaned that Wednesday afternoon. She wanted to know if they had seen a woman helping Betteridge? She could find no mention of a helper as she hadn’t asked them a direct question: she was not happy as she felt she should have checked if he was accompanied. King told her not to ‘beat herself up’ as at the time she had no reason to suspect he was not alone. He told her to contact them now and ask the question.

  Ten minutes later Harris confirmed to her boss that one of the customers remembered him having someone helping him as from an upstairs window they had caught a glimpse of a young woman. The detectives now had all the incriminating evidence they needed and were ready to interview Paul Betteridge. Not only were there two witnesses, the ice cream seller and the customer, who could testify he had someone else with him when he met Mary, but also there had been a startling revelation by Forensics.

  *

  After the inspector had given them the go ahead on their market plan, Dyson and Hammond had done all the preparation for their visit. It was now Thursday morning and the Exeter Livestock Centre was a hive of activity. The detectives arrived at 8 a.m. to set out the Devon and Cornwall police stall. They were accompanied by two uniformed officers who gave the exercise gravitas. Pop up displays either side of the stall, rather unnecessarily because of the attendant PCs, announced the display as belonging to the police. More specifically a big poster attached to the front of the stall table shouted:

  FARM THEFTS – NEXT TIME IT COULD BE YOU!

  The handout, drafted by Dyson and Hammond, had been printed on glossy A5 paper and a list of bullet points had been added by the Force’s crime prevention officer:

  PREVENTION IS BETTER THAN CURE!

  STOP FARM THEFTS

  •Lock it or lose it

  •Padlock entrances to your farm

  •Keep vehicles close to the farmhouse

  •Fit tracker devices to your vehicles

  •Install CCTV and movement activated lights

  BE VIGILANT – REPORT ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS

  ALL REPORTS TREATED IN STRICT CONFIDENCE

  RING THE POLICE ON 101

  Farmers started arriving and both PCs began handing out leaflets while the detectives mingled with the growing throng. They wore name badges and they too were handing out the warning/advice notices. Most, but by no means all, took a leaflet and some engaged in conversation about its content. One farmer approached the stall and introduced himself to Hammond.

  “Good morning. My name is John Hope and I’d like to report s
omething suspicious that happened to me last week.”

  John Hope was a third generation farmer, farming two hundred and fifty acres on Dartmoor, raising beef cattle and sheep on the appropriately named Hope Farm, two miles to the east of Yelverton. Like his grandfather and father before him, he tended herds and flocks, in his case, for the last fifteen years. A hard-working, Devon-born man who had married five years ago and now had a young son and daughter. He was not extravagant, but proudly owned a two-year-old Land Rover Defender he had from new. The detective listened intently to what the farmer had to say.

  “I was at the market last week and when I left to go home, I didn’t take much notice at first, but in my rear view mirror I saw a Jeep Cherokee follow me out of the car park. I only gave the vehicle a passing thought, registering it in my subconscious I suppose, but was surprised when it was still behind me as I turned into the single track lane that passes my farm. I thought it must be a local fellow farmer, but didn’t recognise the vehicle. A mile further on I turned into my driveway and stopped a few yards along it. I half expected the Jeep to turn in behind me, but it sped past, and I told myself off for being paranoid. By the time I reached the farmhouse, I had forgotten all about it – until now that is. Seeing your sign about reporting anything suspicious made me remember what happened.”

  “You say it was a Jeep Cherokee? Can you remember the colour of the vehicle or any distinguishing features?”

  “Sorry, I was looking at it in my mirror. Certainly it was a dark colour, possibly black.”

  “Thank you, sir. If it happens again please report it immediately or if you see what you think could have been the vehicle at any time, get in touch. Don’t approach the driver, just note the registration and let us know using 101.”

  Meanwhile DC Dyson had been approached by another farmer who introduced himself as George Cunningham of Greenaway Farm in the north of the national park. He had been given a leaflet and it had sparked his interest.

  “I notice from the information that you advise fitting a tracker device to vehicles. I’ve recently bought a quad bike and it cost me over three thousand pounds and I’d be mortified if it was stolen even though I’ve got it insured. How do they work and how do I go about getting one?”

  Dyson obliged: “A vehicle tracking device is relatively simple and cheap to buy: you can get them over the internet. Most of them use a Global Positioning System by transmitting a signal to satellites that can accurately plot the position of your vehicle. It can be fitted by a specialist firm and if you report it as stolen, the company will be able to pinpoint its location and inform the police. We will be able to track it and, hopefully, apprehend the thieves. For a couple of hundred pounds you can have peace of mind.”

  “Thanks, I think I’ll get one.”

  One of the PCs told the detectives that he had been approached by a farmer pointing to the ‘treated in strict confidence’ stated on the leaflet as he did not want to give his name. He had been a victim of a theft from his farm and since he’d had his Land Rover Discovery taken – which had not been recovered – he had a growing suspicion who was responsible: the Suttons. He wasn’t prepared to give more information, but that was the word on the ‘grapevine’. Dyson and Hammond noted the unsubstantiated accusation.

  For the farmers who took leaflets and spoke to the police at the market that day, only time would tell if the event had been a success. At the very least, awareness of their vulnerability had been heightened: for farmer Cunningham, and the police, the exercise was to prove very worthwhile.

  *

  Detective Sergeant Harris had checked with the trades people who worked with Brian Cantwell, and they confirmed he worked on the new build site that Wednesday, and that he had left to get a plumbing part. However, they were unsure about the time of his return. Just like Betteridge, Cantwell’s van was the subject of a close examination. The forensic specialists were being kept busy by King’s investigations.

  *

  George Kemp arrived at work and was immediately asked to report to Mark Preston’s office. The general manager was, understandably, in a foul mood. He didn’t offer any greeting to his salesman or a seat. Jim Broadbent, the workshop foreman, also entered the office and stood behind Kemp.

  “I understand you have admitted selling replacement keys for two of our vehicles for the purposes of theft, and you did this for money?”

  Kemp didn’t answer, just looked down at his shoes.

  “I find it difficult to say how I feel, on behalf of the company or as your boss. I trusted you and you’ve badly let me down as well as the Cameron and Wise business and yourself. What you did has the potential to do great damage to our reputation. All I want to know is why? You were regularly selling cars and getting good commission; you also had good prospects and you could have been considered for general manager at some point in the future.”

  Kemp raised his head: “I’m afraid I’m addicted to gambling. I don’t know why it’s just the way it is. A few years ago I used to have the odd flutter on the horses, but now it’s so easy to place a bet on anything using my mobile, I just can’t stop myself. You can bet on all sorts of sports, and not just the results. For example, in football you can bet on the score, but also on how many yellow and red cards will be shown, how many corners will be awarded, who will score: and that’s just one sport.”

  “I’m really not interested in what tempted you, only why you succumbed?”

  “Sometimes I win big, but overall I lose and have got heavily into debt. I’ve maxed out my credit cards and have started borrowing from family and friends. I was approached by someone who said he’d give me a grand for each replacement key, along with the address of the registered keeper. It was too good to turn down, and I knew the insurance company would cover the loss.”

  “So that’s how you justify your actions is it? You know as well as I do that if insurers pay out, premiums go up and then we all pay. Your view is at best naïve and blinkered, and at worst selfish in the extreme. Have you got anything else to say to me?”

  “Only that Stella didn’t know what was going on, so please let her keep her job.”

  “An apology would have been nice, but it’s too late for that. As you’ve admitted your guilt, you’re dismissed from the company with immediate effect. Jim will escort you to your desk for you to collect your personal belongings. Don’t take any company property and leave your mobile phone. When you have collected your things, Jim will ensure you leave the premises. Now, get out of my sight!”

  With that Kemp turned and left the office closely followed by the foreman. Twenty minutes later, Preston’s secretary showed Stella Bovis into the office with the foreman not far behind: she got the same cold treatment, namely no greeting nor offer of a seat.

  “I understand from the police that you have been charged with aiding and abetting Kemp to acquire replacement keys for the purposes of theft?” Stella Bovis didn’t answer; she didn’t need to: just looked down and began to sob. Mark Preston continued:

  “As you have not been convicted of a crime, I am not going to dismiss you, but, in the circumstances, I am suspending you on full pay, while you await trial. If you are found guilty, then you’ll be dismissed. I suggest you take any personal belongings with you, and Jim will escort you off the premises.”

  Preston had taken swift action, but knew it was a damage limitation exercise. He could only hope that the trial would not receive extensive media coverage.

  *

  At 9 a.m. that morning Paul Betteridge was back in the same interview room he had been in previously, with the same detectives sat opposite him. This time he had been advised to have representation, in the form of a solicitor. King pushed the record button on the machine and covered the usual preliminaries, while Harris looked on, poised, despite the recording, to jot down any salient points.

  “Last time we spoke, Mr Betteridge, you admitted seeing Ma
ry Cranson on the afternoon she disappeared; you described it as a chance encounter. You just happened to be passing the lower car park at the time she was getting out of her car. According to you, you had a chat with her, then went on your way, leaving her to walk up Haytor.”

  “Yes, that’s what happened.”

  “So, it was just the two of you was it?” King’s question was phrased like a casual enquiry.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Tell me, Mr Betteridge, before you met her, did you enjoy the two ice creams you bought from the van in the top car park? Why buy two unless someone else was with you.”

  He paused for slightly longer than was normal for a person telling the truth: “I happen to like the wafer, so I bought two cones.”

  “And you’re sure you were on your own? You see we think that your daughter was with you. Also one of your customers in Bovey recalls you having a young woman helping you when you were cleaning their windows.”

  “I’m telling you I was on my own. Check with Rachel if you don’t believe me.”

  “We intend to, Mr Betteridge. Let’s come back to that point later in the interview. I need to ask you another question: why was Mary’s DNA found in your van?”

  The interviewee was clearly shocked by this announcement. King opened a folder that was on the table in front of him: he remorselessly continued: “I have here the Forensic report. Apparently a strand of hair was found on the passenger seat and it matches hair taken from Mary’s Punto. So, Mr Betteridge, I’d like you to tell me why a strand of her hair ended up in your van?”