Missing on Dartmoor

by Julian Mitchell

  Harris looked rather crestfallen, Hammond shook his head, while Dyson’s anger showed through her gritted teeth as she spoke to her inspector.

  “Is that all, sir? I need to get on with my job.”

  King nodded acceptance that she could leave the informal meeting. He very much admired the grit and determination of his very keen, and loyal, detective constable: he also shared her evident anger.

  *

  Coverage in a national newspaper can also make local matters better. When the inspector and sergeant were alone he spoke: “Don’t take this too personally, Lucy. We’re doing all we can and I think we’ve made real progress. It may not be fast enough for Edwards, but let me worry about him. That’s enough for today. If you haven’t got any plans for this evening, would you like to have a bite to eat?”

  Suddenly her spirits lifted at this unexpected and welcome invitation: they arranged to meet in the Trehill Arms in ten minutes. Inevitably, they talked ‘shop’ over their first drink, but then ordered something to eat and the conversation moved away from police matters on to more personal non-work related topics.

  They had entered the pub in daylight and were now leaving by street lighting. They walked the short distance to where their cars were parked side by side. King faced his sergeant.

  “Thanks for coming out and for our chat. Never doubt your own ability, Lucy. You’re an excellent detective and I am very lucky to be working with you and the rest of the team.”

  With that he leant forward and gave her a hug.

  As King left, Detective Sergeant Lucy Harris covered the short distance to her driver’s door, as if walking on air. She didn’t drive off straightaway, just sat there: she knew this was the man she wanted to spend more time with, and not just at work.

  When she got home, she breathed a contented sigh and then, for no apparent reason, her thoughts strayed back to the visit to Black Tor Farm. A latent nagging question puzzled her and she spoke to herself: “Why would construction workers take the trouble to smoke outside a barn they were building? Surely they would smoke inside the structure. So, whose cigarette butts were piled outside the new barn? It had to be somebody who didn’t want to smoke inside because it was now full of hay.”

  She made a mental note to revisit Black Tor Farm the next day and have another look around. She knew that detectives sometimes base a small part of any investigation on a hunch: this is exactly what this was and she was not overly optimistic of it leading anywhere, but it was worth a try.

  *

  Farmer George Cunningham of Greenaway Farm, who had spoken with the detectives at the recent market day in Exeter, took thier advice and had a tracker device fitted to his new quad bike. One afternoon out in his yard, he was hosing mud from the underside of the bike. He was partially deaf due to an illness in his childhood. There was little point in wearing his hearing aid that afternoon as he was alone, so didn’t need to listen to anyone. If he had been wearing it he would have heard the distinctive buzz from the drone’s motors even though it was close to the legal limit of four hundred feet above the ground. If he had looked up from his work, he would have seen the aircraft slowly passing overhead.

  Several fields away from where the farmer was cleaning his vehicle, the operator skilfully manoeuvred the drone, landing it in the open bed of the Jeep Cherokee before quickly covering it with a tarpaulin.

  *

  King, Harris, Dyson and Hammond began their daily informal briefing soon after 8 o’clock. The inspector usually started proceedings, but today Harris took the lead.

  “I was thinking, sir, there’s something not quite right at Black Tor Farm. It’s the same feeling we have about Quarry Farm. If it’s okay with you, sir, I’d like to revisit the Pearces’ place and have another look around.”

  “Okay, sergeant. I’ve got a few things to catch up on here, so let me know what you find when you get back.” The informality of their meeting the previous evening was now a distant memory.

  A uniformed officer drove Harris to the farm in a marked police car. On their arrival, it appeared the place was deserted. This suited her as she could walk around without having to seek permission or restrict herself on what she explored. She wasn’t particularly interested in the farmhouse, although she knew at some point it would need to be searched. The burly police constable followed her as she made her way to what she was really interested in: the hay barn. She asked him to pace out the length of it, while she paced out the width. When they met up and exchanged approximate measurements, Harris pondered for a while before commenting.

  “Twenty metres by forty metres gives about eight hundred square metres of storage space: that’s an awful lot of hay.”

  Following her observation they walked around the huge structure, noticing that a small back door to the barn was securely padlocked as were the large sliding doors at the front. Unusual security she thought just to protect cattle fodder. Once again, near the right hand sliding door, she saw the pile of discarded roll-up cigarette ends. Pulling on a blue latex glove from one pocket she reached in her other pocket to retrieve an evidence bag.

  As she collected a sample using her gloved hand, a Jeep roared up the drive and eventually skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. An angry Kate Pearce was out of the vehicle before the dust had settled. She was incandescent with rage when she saw the police car and the police officers stood close to the new barn.

  “What the hell are you doing back here? Snooping around when you thought we’d be out is that it? If you haven’t got a bloody search warrant, I suggest you leave and come back when you’ve got one.”

  Harris was not fazed by the irate farmer and calmly posed a question to her while pointing at the pile of dog ends.

  “Before we go, do you mind telling me who is the smoker here?”

  “I don’t see why that’s any of your business, but if you must know, they’re my brother, Dylan’s. Anyway, don’t change the subject. I think you were just about to leave.”

  The feisty female advanced two paces and squared up to the detective, who was still holding the evidence bag with the deposited butt. The burly police officer stepped forward and put a restraining arm between the two, “Calm down, miss, and don’t do anything you might later regret.”

  “I just want the pair of you off my fucking farm – now!”

  “If you don’t calm down and if you continue to be abusive, you will be arrested.”

  “Just leave.”

  Harris had seen what she wanted to see and had her potential evidence, so decided to withdraw without further antagonising the vexed young woman. Kate Pearce may have been angry, but she was far from being stupid. She had seen what was in the evidence bag and straightaway realised that it was only a matter of time before the police matched that butt with the one she had foolishly thrown away on her early morning arrival at Hope Farm: she was the smoker not her brother.

  As the police left, she made one phone call and then went inside to pack.

  *

  Inspector King decided to involve his team of detectives in both the cases he was leading. As his sergeant was on a mission to Black Tor Farm he asked Hammond to check out the reported sighting by the motorist passing Haytor car park on the day Mary disappeared.

  He tracked down Mr Prendergast to an address in Princetown and introduced himself with his warrant card. The witness confirmed that he had seen an old style, green coloured, Land Rover, complete with canvas covering, in the car park and that the small yellow car had turned in to the same car park immediately in front of him. He had seen a man get out of the Land Rover and move towards the car as it stopped. Apparently he was a big man about six feet two inches tall with a bushy beard wearing fatigues and a black beret. He yanked open the door of the little Punto and made a grab for the woman who fought back by putting her hands on the door pillar and kicking out with her legs.

  About half way thro
ugh this vivid recollection, allegedly seen from a moving car, Hammond became suspicious.

  “What happened next, sir?”

  “He forced her out of her car and hit her in the face and she went limp. He then carried her to his Land Rover and opened the canvas back, tossed her in the back and drove off at speed.”

  Mr Prendergast was in his element. He was helping the police catch the person who was responsible for the disappearance of the missing young woman who had been headline news. He would be famous and would probably get a reward.

  “That’s very interesting, sir. Could I ask you a question please?”

  “Of course, detective, ask away.”

  “Considering you were in a passing car you seem to have seen an awful lot. However, the most important question I have to ask you is why you didn’t report this assault and abduction as soon as you witnessed it?”

  Prendergast looked puzzled before he replied: “I’m reporting it now as it’s only just happened.”

  “You mean you’ve just read about it in the papers or seen it on local TV?”

  “Shouldn’t you be after this fellow before he does her serious harm?”

  “Tell you what I’d like you to do, sir. You come to the station with me and we can decide how best to catch him.”

  Hammond could have arrested Mr Prendergast there and then, but he decided to play along with him until the police doctor could advise on the best course of action. He knew that mental health issues were seldom straightforward.

  *

  Gordon Holmes, a police constable based at Plymouth’s main police station, was a keen cross-country runner and had entered the Ten Tors Challenge as a teenager. He had tackled the gruelling two-day event, organised by the Army, with over two thousand people taking part in teams of six. The challenge involved visiting checkpoints on specified tors. Sadly for him, due to his age, he was no longer eligible to enter, but that didn’t stop him from doing his own personal Ten Tors Challenge, although not on the same two days as the main event. However, he did do them on successive days, but decided against sleeping on the moor overnight. His wife dropped him off at a place called Merrivale, to the north of his first peak, King’s Tor. That day he planned to climb five tors: King’s, Black, Fox, Sheeps and, finally, Gutter Tor. His wife would then collect him from a car park close to his last climb of the day.

  On this, his first day, he was feeling good and had successfully negotiated his first two challenges and was descending Black Tor when he noticed something of interest. In one of the many fields that bordered the footpath he was using, he noticed a Bobcat mini digger, evidently being used to clear a ditch. There was no sign of the ditch digger as he ran past. He paused his stop watch – runners always like to know how long and how far they have run – and took a short diversion to examine the machine more closely. He seemed to recall having read a recent police report about vehicles being stolen from farms and also from a builder: he remembered, amongst other items, one was a Bobcat digger.

  After a few minutes he located the serial number on the machine and took a picture of it with his mobile. He had just finished taking it when an irate farmer could be seen speeding towards him on a quad bike: it was Fred Pearce.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is private property and you are trespassing, now bugger off.”

  The off-duty PC withdrew to the footpath he had recently left and resumed his run, but when he glanced back and saw the farmer retreat over the horizon, he stopped once more. Trying to do his challenge without stopping was important to Gordon Holmes, but first and foremost he was a copper and his run would have to wait, again.

  He knew Sam Dyson as they had worked together on cases in the past. He also knew she was the detective who had put out the report about the type of vehicles being stolen, primarily from farms. He rang the station and asked to speak to her and after a few seconds she came on the line. He explained his altercation with the nameless farmer as he was inspecting the mini digger. Having given her the serial number of the Bobcat from the recalled image from the camera on his mobile phone, he returned to his arduous self-inflicted run.

  *

  Sergeant Harris returned to the police station from Black Tor Farm and immediately requested the Forensic team analyse the cigarette butt, explicitly seeking DNA testing. She also asked for it to be compared with the butt from Hope Farm, making it clear it was urgent: she wanted to be informed of the result as soon as it was available.

  *

  On the previous evening yet another quad bike had been stolen, this time from Greenaway Farm. There was a big difference between this theft and all the others: this quad bike was fitted with a tracker device thanks to farmer Cunningham taking the advice given by DCs Dyson and Hammond on market day.

  The Avon and Somerset police, having been alerted by the owner, tracked the stolen vehicle to a traveller site at North Petherton in Somerset, not far off the M5, south of Bridgwater. They locked down the area soon after 6 a.m. and found the quad bike, with the tracker device still emitting a signal, and also a Land Rover and horse box, stolen about a week before. The site owner, Michael Regan, and a mechanic, Jerry Donovan, were arrested for being in possession of stolen vehicles. Regan denied any knowledge of them being stolen and insisted he had bought them in good faith, for cash, from a woman he couldn’t name. Donovan claimed he knew nothing about any stolen vehicles; all he did was service them and make sure that they were roadworthy. All three vehicles were recovered and, still protesting their innocence, the men were taken to a nearby police station.

  *

  When the sergeant returned to her desk after depositing the evidence bag with Forensics, she was ready to give a verbal report to her inspector: however, Dyson and Hammond beat her to it. The detectives were clearly excited in their enthusiasm to share the latest information. First Dyson spoke, taking a deep breath as she began their unrehearsed verbal report.

  “Sir, we’ve had a breakthrough on the farm thefts. Overnight we initially had some bad news and then got some good news. The bad news was another quad bike was stolen from Greenaway Farm, which is in North Dartmoor. The good news, on our advice, the owner had a tracker device fitted and it has been found at a traveller site at North Petherton in Somerset. Apparently, the Avon and Somerset police raided the site early this morning and not only found the quad bike, but also a Land Rover and horse box that were stolen about a week ago. They have made two arrests.”

  It was now Hammond’s turn to report.

  “Knowing the destination of the stolen quad bike, we contacted the number plate recognition unit and, guess what, a low-loader was spotted on the M5 last night heading north with a tarpaulin over whatever was being transported.”

  Although not wishing to interrupt his on-loan detective, King interjected. “But how do you know it was the stolen quad bike if it was under wraps?”

  “We don’t, but we can identify the vehicle that was towing the low loader: it was the Jeep Cherokee registered to Fred Pearce.”

  Sam Dyson continued and was excited and triumphant in equal measure: King thought she had earned ‘her day in the sun’.

  “Earlier this afternoon, I took a call from PC Holmes – we call him Sherlock – as when he was out running on the moor he came across a mini digger in a field. He had read one of my briefing sheets some time ago and remembered a Bobcat digger had been stolen from a builder. He managed to get the serial number from the machine before he was rather impolitely asked to leave the field. He called me with it and I checked my records: it is the stolen digger.”

  Hammond finished their report, which had turned in to a formidable double act.

  “Surprise, surprise a search of the Land Registry database reveals the owner of the field to be none other than Fred Pearce! Excuse me for saying this, sir, but this evidence is just like London buses: you wait for ages then three come along at once.” Sergea
nt Harris wanted to add to their elation.

  “Make that four you two. While you were telling us about some excellent detection, I was handed a note from our Forensic unit: the cigarette butt I collected from Black Tor Farm, matches the one from Hope Farm. I think that this is more than circumstantial evidence, and I believe Kate Pearce murdered John Hope.”

  NINETEEN

  Doctor Josh Ingram had a day off from Derriford Hospital and, arriving in separate cars, he and Alice Cranson planned to have dinner at The Rock Inn in Haytor Vale. It was Valentine’s Day, which was perfect for what he had in mind. The pub held many happy memories for them from previous meetings with Tom and Mary. Josh and Alice had had a whirlwind relationship and every date seemed like their first. They had been dating for barely six months, but it seemed to them much longer. Josh understood that since her twin sister had disappeared, Alice was not always her usual ebullient self, but in a strange way, this had brought them closer together. He was delighted that today was one of her better days.

  After chatting for ten minutes over pre-dinner drinks, Josh suggested that they should order, which they did and carried on talking. Alice was rather surprised when the chef, in full regalia, including tall hat, white tunic and black and white checked trousers, approached their table carrying a salver with a silver dome cover. She was slightly taken aback as she hadn’t expected her starter to be served in such a flamboyant way, and certainly not delivered by the head chef. Josh, on the other hand, looked vaguely amused by what was happening. The chef turned towards him and lifted the dome cover to reveal a very small box covered in a glossy oak veneer. The doctor gratefully picked it up with the hinge facing him. He held it in front of Alice, who was still bemused, for a few moments before opening it, so she could see its contents. She sat back in her chair in a state of shock when she saw the diamond ring.