TWENTY
The interim report from Forensics had not shown any trace of Mary’s DNA on any of the vehicles used by the Suttons. The final forensic report was overdue as the team was needed on a more time-sensitive case. In view of the fact the initial work had not revealed anything startling, it was considered that the other complex case should take priority. This detailed work was likely to take several days. When King was informed he was not pleased, but had no jurisdiction over the use of this crucial resource. He had been placated to some degree by the interim findings. The delay was to prove crucial to the outcome of the Cranson case.
*
The Sutton brothers were held in separate interview rooms. With Sergeant Harris in attendance, King decided to speak with Dick Sutton first. The irascible older brother took strong exception when he was informed he was being interviewed under caution, but declined any legal representation.
The questions he was asked were practically the same as he had been asked the last time they met at Quarry Farm. Both detectives were looking for any changes in his answers that might suggest he was lying as a cover for where he really was on that Wednesday afternoon on the first day of February.
Harris later confirmed to the inspector that, from her notes of the previous interviews, he gave the same answers to the same questions. He continued to insist he was looking for his lost knife out on the moor before returning to help his brother with the milking just before it got dark. Once again, he couldn’t offer anyone or anything as corroboration of his whereabouts.
After nearly half an hour the detectives decided to interview the younger Sutton. His interview followed the same pattern as that of his brother. He was asked to recall exactly what he had done that fateful afternoon and to put a time on the various tasks he had undertaken.
His story hadn’t changed either and from his description of what he had done, the timings he gave seemed feasible. Although there was no independent verification of his whereabouts, the detectives appeared to accept he hadn’t left Quarry Farm. When asked about the return of his brother that day, he confirmed that they both finished the milking sometime after 5 o’clock.
The interview was drawing to a close, but Harris wanted to ask one last question.
“How did your brother seem when he arrived back from the moor?”
“He seemed a little agitated and after we’d cleaned the milking parlour he said he was going to hose down the quad bike as it’d got particularly muddy when he was out on the moor.”
“I thought you were the one that cleaned the vehicles?”
“Normally I am, but for some reason he wanted to wash the quad bike that evening.”
The sergeant gave him a rather withering look.
“Why didn’t you mention this before when we questioned you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important.”
The detectives left the room without giving any indication that he was free to go.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?”
“Would that be why Dick Sutton was so keen to clean the quad bike when Harry Sutton usually does it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Let’s ask him.”
With that they returned to the other interview room. As they entered, Dick Sutton was sitting at the same table where they had left him, with an empty coffee cup in front of him. King got straight to the point.
“On that Wednesday afternoon after you’d helped your brother finish the milking, why did you clean the quad bike when your brother usually does it? Why were you in such a hurry to clean it? Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
So-called tower questions were not text book interviewing, but the inspector was using the technique as a pressure tactic.
“Is that what he told you? It’s true I did clean the quad bike or rather I washed out the foot wells. The truth is I was cleaning up after milking and saw a stainless steel connecter on the floor – it connects two pieces of tubing used in milking – so I picked it up and put it in my pocket. It dropped straight through in to my wellington. It was then I realised what might have happened to my knife.”
“So why didn’t your knife drop in to your wellington too?”
“Because when I’m on the moor I don’t wear wellies, I wear boots. I only wear wellies for wet work and milking. They make my feet sweat.”
“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell us this before. You said you found your knife some days later.” King was rather abrupt and indignant in his manner.
“I found it in the foot well after milking, but, let’s be honest, if I had told you about me searching for it on the moor and then told you I found it the same day, would you have believed me?”
“We like the truth, Mr Sutton, however it is packaged. You must have been relieved. Why didn’t you tell your brother you’d found it?”
“Because I hadn’t told him I’d lost it so there wasn’t much point in telling him I’d found it was there?”
“So, cleaning the quad bike had nothing to do with removing any trace that Mary Cranson had ridden with you?”
“I’m going to treat that question with the contempt it deserves.”
“Your story about losing your knife was another convenient way of preventing us giving it a forensic examination – wasn’t it?”
“You certainly have a vivid imagination, inspector. I think you’ve been reading too many crime novels.”
“I’ve just asked you two questions and you haven’t directly answered either, Mr Sutton. Where’s your knife?”
“I handed it to your desk sergeant when you stuck me in here.”
“Right, I’m passing it to Forensics and you’ll stay in custody until I’ve got the result. I know they are very busy, so I don’t know how long you will be held.” With that he left. Sutton looked up at the ever-present officer in the corner of the interview room. “Any more coffee?”
*
The Sutton brothers were kept in police custody overnight. Next morning a member of the over-worked Forensic team, who had briefly left the other more pressing task, reported that no trace of Mary’s DNA had been found on Dick Sutton’s knife. After a brief chat with Superintendent Edwards, King released both suspects with a warning that they would be the subject of further enquiries.
*
A week after the tragic accident, the funeral of Josh Ingram was held at St John’s Church in Ivybridge at noon. By 11.30 the church was full to overflowing, such was the popularity of the good doctor, with the front three pews reserved for family and close friends. Many mourners squeezed into the building that on such occasions displayed all of its ecclesiastical dignity. As well as the people in the church, there was an equal number outside where the service was relayed to them through two tripod-mounted speakers.
The public address system quietly played some of Josh’s favourite songs in the background as the coffin was brought in: the music didn’t need to be any louder as the congregation was reverential. The Canadian singer Bryan Adams’
‘Everything I do, I do it for you’ could be heard as the pallbearers, friends and doctors from Derriford Hospital – men and women – carried the oak box and gently placed it on the two trestles at the front of the church. Tom Bowers, Sonia Hill, Jack Lacey and Harry Sutton represented the rugby club friends and shouldered the coffin on one side, while four doctor friends supported the other.
The resident vicar said a few words by way of introduction. It was obvious that he had known Josh by the things that he said, and the passion with which he said them. He then spoke of Josh going to a better place, to which Jack Lacey muttered so only Tom Bowers, who was immediately to his right in the second pew from the front, could hear: “The better place is here!” His quivering voice betrayed the raw emotion that was indicative of just how much he wanted his friend back.
The standing
congregation having sung ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ with some gusto, sat down as Tom Bowers, Josh Ingram’s best friend, stepped up to the low-level lectern.
“Josh Ingram was a very good friend of mine – the best friend anyone could wish for. In his job as a doctor, he was doing what he had done all his adult life, at work and at play: helping others. Nothing was too much trouble for him. He always went out of his way to ensure people felt good about themselves. A natural counsellor who was always ready to offer friendly advice.
“He had said to me that he was going to propose to Alice on Valentine’s Day, serving a diamond engagement ring on a silver salver in The Rock Inn: now that’s class. Alice has since told me that she had accepted his proposal and was the happiest she had ever been. I loved Josh Ingram too, as if he was my brother. A life taken from us too early in his haste to get to the hospital to help others. He was always the Good Samaritan, a very good doctor and a simply brilliant friend. I will miss him greatly. We will all miss him as he was one of the nicest people you could ever wish to meet.”
Unusual for such occasions, when Tom sat down reverential applause could be heard both inside and outside the church.
After the vicar had said a few well-chosen final words, ‘Someone like you’ by Adele – a favourite song of Josh and Alice – signalled the end of the service, and the pallbearers lifted the coffin onto their shoulders and left the church by a side door out to the burial site. Josh’s family were followed out by Tom and Alice.
After the service, he was to be buried in the churchyard with only his close family, including Alice Cranson, at the graveside to listen to the eternally sad farewell from the Book of Common Prayer, ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’.
Outside the church, all the mourners stood around in groups and talked about the life of Josh Ingram. They were re-joined by the others after the burial, and Tom moved from group to group, thanking them for attending and inviting the close friends, which included the doctor pallbearers, to the wake, which was to be held, appropriately, at The Rock Inn, Haytor Vale.
By contrast, Alice Cranson didn’t talk to groups, preferring to speak to Josh’s closest friends, one-to-one, particularly the people that were present at the rugby club the day before Mary vanished. This was seen by other mourners as a perfectly reasonable approach for the grieving fiancée: grieving the loss of two loved ones.
She took each friend to one side, leading them gently by the arm, for a private audience: this wasn’t a conversation, more a monologue lasting the same amount of time for each person. The reason for that was simple: what she had to say was identical every time: every word, every nuance, every intonation in her voice was the same. So much so it was like a rehearsed eulogy – because that’s exactly what it was: “Thanks for coming today. Please don’t say anything, just listen to what I’d like to say to you. I loved Josh as much as I loved Mary and I’ve lost them both. My life is not worth living. My heart is not just broken; it is shattered beyond repair. As twins, tomorrow would have been our birthday and I have decided that the closest I can get to Mary is to be on Haytor, where she disappeared, at the same time that she went there on the first day of February. I want to drive her car, drive the route she drove, walk where she walked and celebrate our birthday, before saying a final goodbye to her: I know in my heart that I will never see her again. Please don’t say anything: just spend a couple of minutes when I leave you to think about Josh and Mary. Thank you for listening.”
After twenty minutes Alice had spoken to all the rugby club attendees, except for Tom Bowers. They included Paul Betteridge, the coach who had come out of his self-imposed exile. The only difference in the private soliloquy she delivered was when she spoke to Dick Sutton: she reserved her deepest anguish for him. For his part, he remembered giving a weather report to her sister on the evening preceding the devastating day. He had a sense of déjà vu as he knew the forecast for the next afternoon, when Alice planned her commemorative walk up Haytor: a fierce storm approaching from the west was likely to bring heavy rain, and even thunder and lightning. However, he did not pass on this information to the distraught sister, partly because she had asked him not to respond to what she was saying, and partly because he didn’t want to deter her from her surreal assignation.
*
The wake at The Rock Inn was attended by family and close friends of Josh and as the weather was surprisingly warm for the time of year, the mourners spilled outside to the garden, which was immediately across the road that skirted the pub. The topic of conversation among those she had personally spoken to outside the church was about what she had said. Much concern was expressed by her friends, about Alice’s deep depression and potential suicidal thoughts. So concerned was he that Jack Lacey told Tom Bowers what she had said. However, they did not have to speak in hushed tones or choose their words carefully: Alice did not attend.
*
Later that evening Tom Bowers arranged to meet Alice at her parents’ hotel and they talked for a while about Josh. The good times they had shared together and also spoke about Mary, being careful not to use the past tense. Alice complimented Tom on his eulogy at the funeral. This gave him the opportunity to make a casual enquiry about the separate chats each had had with the mourners.
“I understand you are planning to walk up Haytor tomorrow afternoon?”
“Oh yes. As you know it is our birthday and I just want to be close to Mary.”
“Your friends are concerned that you might be planning, how can I put it, a farewell? Can I join you?”
“Oh Tom, much as I’d like you to be there, I really want to do this on my own. I’m sorry it’s something I have to do alone. As to a farewell, rest assured that my parents and you have suffered an agonising time over the last three weeks: I wouldn’t do anything that inflicted more pain on you or them.”
With that they hugged each other and Tom left without saying another word.
*
King and Harris were at the funeral, but kept a very low profile. They returned to the central police station and the inspector, sucking a sherbet lemon, was catching up on his emails, as well as reflecting on the culmination of the farm thefts case, when he remembered the report he had been promised by Forensics.
“Can you chase up that report on the Sutton vehicles, please, sergeant? I know we drew a blank on the interim report, but I asked them to check out something for me. It’ll probably confirm what we’ve been told, but, nevertheless, we’d better see it in black and white.”
He could not have been more wrong.
TWENTY ONE
At precisely 3.30 p.m., a yellow Punto pulled into the lower car park near Haytor exactly as it had done nearly three weeks before. As Alice looked out of her sister’s car, the weather that afternoon came as no surprise. She knew there was a storm heading her way from the south west, and imagined it was currently battering Plymouth Sound and would arrive in approximately twenty minutes. Because of the general weather conditions, made worse by the impending storm, the area surrounding the giant rock was deserted. This was perfect for what she had decided to do: to end a life.
The previous day at the funeral of her beloved Josh, she had spoken to all the people who conceivably had something to do with the disappearance of her sister. Now it was time for another life to be taken. Alice shut the door of the Fiat just as Mary had done on that fateful February afternoon. Unlike her sister, she left the keys in the ignition: it wasn’t going to be needed again.
Gazing to the south west, she could hear the distant rumble of thunder and the electrifying sight of lightning as the faraway storm grew in intensity.
Despite it being mid-afternoon in late February, the light was closer to night than day. She put on her bright yellow fisherman’s coat, deliberately chosen as she wanted to be seen from some way off. As she crossed the road, thinking of her lost sister, she was carrying something in her right hand.
The initial ascent of Haytor was easy walking for the first half mile or so over grass and scrub before rising more sharply as the granite edifice loomed out of the artificial darkness.
She stopped where she thought that Max, the police dog, had appeared to lose Mary’s scent and had begun sniffing in a circular fashion. Alice realised that this area was significant in terms of what had happened to her sister. She didn’t speculate on what had occurred on that very spot, rather choosing instead to remember the many good times they had had together: their childhood days – never squabbling siblings – just enjoying one another’s company as they grew up; their adolescent years and first encounter with boyfriends; their three years at the same university where they shared digs; their time as joint managers of the hotel; their mutual love of life.
The time between the far-off lightning and thunder clashes was decreasing rapidly: a sure sign that it would not be long before the storm arrived.
She knew that her intense anguish somehow had to be brought to an end. She carried on up the ever-increasing gradient until arriving at the base of the huge boulders that formed Haytor. Only intrepid climbers scaled its south face that loomed dominant and stark over that part of the moor. She moved around the other side of the sheer face where she knew from experience that the path to the peak provided a much easier climb. It only took her a few minutes to reach the very top of the rock and from there, looking towards the south west, she could see South Dartmoor, Plymouth Sound and Cornwall beyond. From her lofty vantage point she had confirmation that the storm was inexorably heading in her direction. She stood erect and resplendent in her yellow coat on the precipitous, rounded edge of the formidable rock, with the sheer drop tantalisingly close, but she held no fear of falling.
Alice heard the sound of a distant motor and as she glanced in the direction of its source she could just make out the small vehicle approaching. It was a Utility Task Vehicle and it wasn’t using the road, but coming from the south across the moor directly towards Haytor.
Missing on Dartmoor Page 25