While the inspector and his sergeant were pursuing the Cranson case, King wanted his DCs to attend to get them out of the station and to look for inspiration in their quest to track down the thieves who were systematically looting farms across the national park.
When they arrived, they were all surprised to see so many large buildings. Greeted by two friendly Border Collie dogs they were soon joined by a middle-aged man in black one-piece overalls, who they took to be the person they had come to see. Having confirmed his identity, introductions of the detectives were made by King who soon wanted to get down to business: “The detective constables are investigating thefts from farms and will be able to give you advice on securing your vehicles and machinery. The sergeant and I are investigating the disappearance of a young woman near Haytor on Wednesday, the first of February. We are interested in the movement of a number of people who knew Mary Cranson would be on the moor that afternoon. The Sutton boys knew and we’ve been to Quarry Farm to interview them. While we were there we saw John Sutton leaving and he later mentioned he was visiting you. If you cast your mind back to the Friday after the disappearance, that’s the third of February, can you recall John Sutton visiting you that day?”
“I don’t understand why you want to speak to me. Just because John Sutton mentioned my name? That’s ridiculous.”
The unhelpful farmer irritated the inspector, but, as usual, he remained unruffled.
“Mr Pearce, we are dealing with a potential murder inquiry and want to get a clear picture of what everyone was doing. So, do you recall him visiting?”
“Yeah, I think he did. I seem to remember he popped across just to have a chat and make some arrangements to see each other at the livestock centre the following week.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier for him to just give you a ring?”
“Probably, but when he comes over, we usually have a glass or two of scrumpy.”
“And how does he usually get over here?”
“He comes on his quad bike or in the two-seater wagon, but this time he was on his tractor: the one that wasn’t torched in the barn fire.”
“How friendly are you with the Suttons?”
“I’m quite friendly with John Sutton, as we see each other on market days and occasionally visit each other if we need to discuss something about our stock. My son, Dylan, is friendly with the Sutton lads as they play rugby for Bovey and my daughter, Kate, knows them too.”
“Were you over near Haytor last week?”
“No, I seldom need to go that far over.”
“As a matter of interest, where were you on the Wednesday the woman disappeared?”
“I went over to the Land Rover place in Exeter to have a look at what they’re selling.”
King changed tack: “You seem to have a lot of rather large farm buildings.”
“That’s because we run this six hundred acre farm with many sheep and cattle that have to be housed when the weather gets too bad on the moor. We use the buildings for storing fodder for the animals, most of which we produce ourselves. We also have a number of farm vehicles and equipment that we need to keep under cover.”
“Do you mind if we have a look around?” Momentarily, Fred Pearce seemed a little reluctant to agree to King’s request, before he replied: “Why do you want to look at my buildings?”
“Just call it curiosity as we’ve spent quite some time at other farms recently and we’re interested to see how each is run. My colleagues can also offer advice on security when they’ve seen the place.”
This was partially true, but he really wanted to see the transport they used on the moor.
“Okay, do you want me to come with you or do you want to show yourself around?”
“No need, we’ll just wander about if you don’t mind.” They weren’t really seeking permission.
With that the detectives split into pairs and moved the short distance to the first barn. All the buildings, including the one they were about to enter, were not what they envisaged before they arrived. They thought they would see rickety timber frame barns, clad in rusty corrugated iron. These buildings looked to have been fairly recently constructed, using steel frames and covered in highly durable, and expensive, plastic sheeting.
“This lot must have cost a pretty penny.” Harris observed with King in support.
“There must be money in farming, despite many farmers pleading poverty and only surviving, according to them, on EU handouts under the Common Agricultural Programme.” His sergeant knew it was ‘Policy’ not ‘Programme’, but didn’t bother to correct her boss. The inspector suggested they compare notes after they had wandered around in pairs. He and Harris wanted to see the vehicles housed in the first building, which was open fronted with various farm equipment on display. The other buildings – there appeared to be six overall – had large sliding doors at the front.
Dyson and Hammond moved on to the next building. Its double doors were slightly open and the aperture was just wide enough for them to enter, albeit sideways. Once inside, set back about ten metres from the entrance, they were confronted by a solid wall of stacked round hay bales, rather than the more conventional, smaller rectangular type. Each was about two metres high, stacked on their round side, not their flat ends: the neat side-by-side rows, stretched from the floor of the barn nearly to its roof. In the space between the doors and the bales, on one side was a front loader tractor, not with the conventional bucket, but a steel spike attached that was over four feet long. The front was raised, making it look like a giant unicorn. It was evident that this was the means of moving the heavy hay, each bale weighing at least half a ton.
As they stood and gazed at the massive wall of round bales in front of them, the tractor suddenly burst into life and started moving towards them. They were taken completely by surprise and realised they were in the path of the huge vehicle, whose shiny spike was gradually being lowered to body height. Dyson seemed to be transfixed by the noise and the movement of this giant mechanical beast.
Hammond realised what was happening and grabbed her arm, yanking her back. The tractor didn’t stop until it had passed where they were standing, both now flat against the sliding doors, with only inches to spare. It shuddered to a halt and the driver quickly jumped down from the cab: he was furious: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? I could have killed you!”
Dyson was breathless, so it was left to Hammond to speak, but not to answer the question: “Didn’t you see us standing there? Why did you drive the tractor towards us?” he indignantly demanded.
When the driver saw the size of the burly detective his anger subsided: “I’m just doing my job and I don’t expect to find people in our barns wandering around uninvited and getting in the way. You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“We are detectives investigating thefts from farms on the moor: Mr Pearce said we could have a look around. Who are you?”
“I’m Dylan Pearce and he never said anything to me about you poking about in our buildings.”
“That’s because we only arrived about ten minutes ago.”
His manner was now just the right side of civil: in his mind, the detectives had moved from trespassers to busybodies.
“Anyway, why do you want to look at our buildings?”
“We’re interested in what sort of vehicles you use when you’re working on the moor: perhaps you’d like to tell us?”
“Depends what we’re doing. We use the tractor with the spike to take hay across the fields to feed the cattle, and we’ve got two quad bikes, which the three of us use.”
“The three of you?”
“Yeah, me, my dad and, Kate, my sister.”
“And where do you go on the moor?”
“Well, mostly within about a ten mile radius of the farm. Occasionally further afield if we can’t account for all our livestock.”
>
Dyson, who had now recovered her composure, wanted to know how far to the north east.
“As far as Rippon Tor and Haytor?”
“Probably not as far up as that, but you never know. Depends on how far they wander.”
“Were you over that way last week at all?”
“Not that I recall.”
“And what about your dad and sister?”
“You’d better ask them.”
“You play rugby for Bovey? I know you weren’t present at the club the day before Mary went missing, so where were you the following afternoon, on the Wednesday?”
“As far as I remember, I was here doing a bit of maintenance on the tractor.”
“And can anybody verify that?”
“If he can remember, I expect my dad can because he was helping me.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“I’ve absolutely no idea, except she may have fallen into a bog: there are a number out there and they can be very treacherous. But listen, you’ve already acknowledged I wasn’t in the club on training night so I didn’t even know she was planning to be on Haytor the next day.”
“That’s all for now, Mr Pearce. We’d like to carry on and have a look at the rest of the buildings.” Hammond wasn’t asking for his approval.
With that the two detectives began to withdraw, but Dyson turned to ask the young farmer one final question, gesturing towards the hay bales: “That’s an awful lot of hay you have there. How far back do the bales extend?”
“We’ve got a lot of mouths to feed, and what we don’t use we sell to neighbouring farmers. This barn is pretty much full.”
With that they exited, sideways as they had come in.
Outside they met up with their colleagues and saw Sergeant Harris glancing down at a pile of hand-rolled cigarette butts. She assumed that was where the workers had their breaks when they were working on the construction of the new buildings. All four moved on to the next outbuilding, which was of a similar size to the adjacent hay storage barn they had just left. It was virtually empty, save for containing about ten ewes and their lambs, penned in one corner. The detectives correctly assumed this was the over-wintering accommodation they had been told about earlier. They knew the worst of the weather seemed to be over, and most of the animals were back in the fields, save for vulnerable new born lambs. Once again they marvelled at the number and build-quality of the outbuildings.
Penned in a corner of the last barn were about a dozen sheep. They looked as if they had recently been shorn, so without their winter coats to keep them warm, the barn was the best place for them. As they were leaving this building a young woman on a quad bike sped into the yard. Unlike her brother, Kate Pearce didn’t assume they were trespassing, but rather brusquely asked them what they were doing. When they explained that they were detectives, she politely asked them why they were looking in the farm buildings?
“Kate Pearce?” She nodded, and King didn’t wait for a verbal reply to establish her identity.
“As we told your father and brother, we are investigating thefts from farms and also the disappearance of Mary Cranson, and we’re interested in farms and farmers within the South Dartmoor area in particular. With regard to the thefts, they have been happening right across the moor and we can offer advice on how to protect your property.”
“That doesn’t explain why you were looking in our buildings.”
“We believe that the missing woman was abducted whilst on the moor and, as I said, we are interested in South Dartmoor farms and the vehicles used on the moor and who uses them. So, tell us what happens on your farm?”
“You’ve probably been told already, that we’ve got two quad bikes, which all three of us use, and the tractor gets a lot of use, not only for carrying hay onto the moor, but because we grow mangelwurzel for the cattle to eat: there’s quite a lot of preparation needed for sowing and harvesting.”
“Looking after your livestock when they’re on the moor, would that take you close to Haytor?”
“It mainly takes us over our fields, but some of our cattle roam over that way, so, yes, there are times when we need to go that far.”
“And have you been over that way last week?”
“I haven’t personally, but you’ll have to ask my dad and brother if they have.”
“And what about last Wednesday afternoon, the first of February – where were you?”
“What on the day she vanished? I think I was out on the moor over Tavistock way on the quad bike looking for strays.”
“Okay. Detectives Dyson and Hammond can talk to you about security and I’d like to see your father again.
They approached the farmhouse and knocked on the front door and Fred Pearce answered.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“We weren’t looking for anything specific, but we did have a chat with your son and daughter. Mary Cranson disappeared on the afternoon of Wednesday, the first of February and you told us you were in Exeter.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Your son thought you were helping him fix a problem on the tractor.”
“Oh, he’s right. I went to Exeter the day before on the Tuesday.” The detectives thought the story change was suspicious. King wanted to see if another answer to a question was at odds between the Pearces’ accounts.
“When you’re checking on your cattle and sheep, do you need to go as far as Haytor?”
“Occasionally, but most of our fields are south of here, although some cattle do get on the moor and we have to search for them.”
“Okay, thanks for your time.” With that, the detectives returned to their cars and the inspector wondered whether or not Mr and Mrs Pearce had been influenced by a certain Robert Zimmerman, when naming their son: it was of no consequence, and he didn’t mention it to his sergeant as she was far too young to remember the brilliant singer/songwriter of the sixties, also called Dylan.
*
Bovey Tracey Rugby Club had postponed two league fixtures out of respect for Mary Cranson. Paul Betteridge had voluntarily left his post as coach following his reluctant revelation – he had not readily divulged – that he had seen Mary on that fateful afternoon. In the circumstances he didn’t think it appropriate to remain at the club. In addition, he was also still considered to be a suspect by the police. Tom Bowers continued to think of Mary every waking moment and every hour of every day. It was nearly two weeks since he had last seen his girlfriend and, without giving up hope, he decided that the time for moping was over. He remained as captain of the first team and was glad that Jack Lacey had accepted a temporary player/coach role with the club in place of Betteridge.
All the players turned up for training on the Tuesday evening in preparation for the local derby match with Ivybridge on their home ground the following Saturday. As there had been no game for the last two Saturdays, the players were relishing the prospect of playing again and, particularly, against their old rivals. The mood in the bar after the training session was rather subdued. Once again, Mary was in people’s thoughts: they wanted to talk about her, but nobody did, as they didn’t know what to say.
Jack Lacey, assisted by the captain, picked the team and pinned the team sheet to the notice board in the entrance hall to the club. In an effort to restore some semblance of normality, Tom forced himself to sit with the new coach and Josh Ingram. The doctor was discussing the latest cyber-attack on his hospital. His day had been completely disrupted by, in his words, some bloody cretins, who had introduced malicious software into the NHS computer at Derriford; if that wasn’t bad enough, the criminal bastards were now holding the hospital to ransom. The good doctor was normally a mild-mannered individual, but he left the other two in no doubt what he would like to happen to the unscrupulous hackers.
Jack Lacey was aware that his friends knew he
had been interviewed by the police as everybody had who was present after training two weeks before. As he was a suspect for a time, he felt obliged to tell them of the police investigation and his assignation with Mrs Burton. In different circumstances they may have found his tale amusing, but there was nothing funny about Mary’s plight.
*
Match day and Bovey Tracey versus Ivybridge was scheduled to start at 2.30 p.m. on Saturday, the eighteenth of February; and both sets of players arrived in dribs and drabs, but all had arrived within an hour of kick off. All the Bovey players assembled in the changing room, and Jack Lacey briefly addressed them, outlining the strengths and weaknesses of the opposition, before turning to the tactics he wanted his team to follow. After that the players changed. They adopted their own particular pre-match habits: some drank protein shakes, while others boosted their sugar intake by eating sweets or swigging energy drinks. Many players were listening to music through headphones, some preferring rock music to generate an adrenaline rush, while others settled for soothing ballads to calm their nerves.
The team medic, Sonia Hill, was kept busy applying strapping to ankles and fingers in order to protect old injuries or prevent new ones occurring. The referee entered the changing room to talk to the captain and, particularly, the front row of the scrum: most officials like to remind these rugged individuals what is allowed and not allowed.
With preparations complete, and whilst Sonia finished strapping Jack Lacey’s wrist that he had injured in a match over a month before, their well-respected captain delivered his short motivational speech: although for this particular match, against their arch rivals, self-motivation was very much in evidence. With half an hour to kick off, the players from both teams left the changing room to do their warm-up routines on the pitch as the ground steadily filled with paying spectators. A few short sprints and stretches were followed by smashing into tackle bags to simulate contact in a game. With pre-match rituals completed, the teams returned to their dressing rooms to make the final preparations for the battle ahead. As the players ran onto the pitch, the raucous crowd had swollen to over four hundred for the local derby, more than double the attendance for a non-derby fixture. The Ivybridge team were clad in their green and white kit, while Bovey wore their traditional all blue strip. First blood, from a split eyebrow to Jack Lacey, and first score went to Ivybridge, thanks to a penalty in front of the posts. Bovey immediately responded when their scrum-half, Harry Sutton, threw a long pass out to Josh Ingram on the wing, who scampered over for a try in the corner. From a difficult angle, skipper Bowers converted to give Bovey a four point lead. The match then ebbed and flowed, with both sides exchanging penalty kicks, and at half-time Bovey held a slender lead. Soon after the re-start that lead increased as captain Bowers pounced on indecision in the Ivybridge defence, and scored the second try of the match. With his own conversion he extended the lead to eleven points.
Missing on Dartmoor Page 19