“Jesus what else has the daft sod been spouting about? She’s just a past acquaintance, rents one of my farm properties, that’s all.”
“She’s not too happy though, at the moment. Put her rent up have we?”
“Right, you either charge me for God only knows what or I’m off! You’ve had your fun but now I feel as though I’ve co-operated enough. So what’s it to be?”
“You are free to go for the time being. We know where you are if we need to see you after the Forensics’ results come through.”
Owen turned and nodded to the officer by the door.
“And my lad?”
“Your lad, Mr Gregson, is old enough to know when he wants to leave. We’ll be in touch.” Owen didn’t lift his head.
Gregson pushed the chair as if in protest, making it slide across the floor.
“Next time I’ll have some legal representation, you can be assured of that.”
“Next time, you might need it,” Owen growled.
***
Cyril looked through his notes. “Forensics are testing the clothing and searching the store right now, and we’ll have results soon. How many properties does your father own?”
“Five, that have tenants, I guess that’s what you’re referring to.”
Cyril waited hoping that he would say where they were and it didn’t take long. Jason seemed to abhor a conversational vacuum. “He has Mrs Young’s bungalow, obviously, two houses in Hampsthwaite, a cottage on the farm and one just outside Ripley but to be honest, that’s a bit of a dump.”
“Mr Gregson, you’ve been most helpful and we appreciate your co-operation. As soon as we know anything we’ll be in touch.” Cyril stretched out his arm and shook Jason’s hand.
“If I can help, I will.” Jason Gregson seemed more relaxed as he left the station.
“Thank you for being so co-operative. There is one thing, I’d like one of our technicians to take a look at your computer.” Cyril smiled as if he were asking for a favour.
Jason blushed. “Why? When?”
“Routine when accusations are made. I’ll get one of the guys to take you home and he can do it there or bring it in, your choice, Jason, your choice.”
“Yes, fine.”
Cyril watched as the technician left with Jason and smiled before joining Owen. Liz stormed through the door.
“Fuck!” She threw her bag onto a chair,
Owen looked at Cyril. “Must be that time of the month!”
Chapter Twenty
“Forensics have a definite match on a sweater that was found in the cold store. It’s a strand of hair, definitely Carl’s, but it comes from a sweater belonging to one of the lads who was playing football with Carl the day he went missing. He’s been interviewed and he admits to breaking into the cold store. He was drinking and he was with a girl and another lad. Parents have gone ballistic so he’ll be grounded for ever, which is tough.” Cyril smiled. “Doesn’t get any worse if you’re an Air Cadet! He’s adamant that it’s the sweater he wore on the day Carl disappeared. Soco’s also believe that there was some kind of camera attachment on one wall, possibly battery powered, most definitely, light sensitive. I want that kept quiet for now, I don’t want Jason deleting all his computer files just yet.”
“The sweater hasn’t been washed? Christ it’s weeks since that football game!” Liz stood amazed, pulling a face that showed total disgust.
“Owen’s suit hasn’t been cleaned for years.”
Owen nodded.
“ Just don’t ask about his ties! They carry a government health warning on the tag at the back!”
Owen just pulled a face, totally oblivious.
“So the Gregsons are telling the truth?”
“We’ll see.”
Cyril then pointed to the boards around the incident room.
“What address do you have for Pamela Shepherd?”
“Gower Road, number nine.”
“It belongs to Gregson, as does number seven. You mentioned that her mother met someone through a dating agency. Do you have a name?”
Liz grabbed the file. “She moved into rented accommodation with the guy…Christ, I’ve not noted the name. I’m seeing her Monday, Sir. A Mr John Melville, who’s the eyes and ears of the bloody world and an over aggressive bastard, too, occupies the other house. Should be known as Menwith Hill 2.”
“Owen, pay him a visit and take Stuart with you. Before you go do a full check. Liz mentioned that he was in the police…Bradford?” He looked at Liz for confirmation.
“Police dog handler, he said.”
As they moved away, Cyril checked all the lines of enquiry. The school warnings were running to schedule and the extra patrols were in effect. The only positive was that there were no missing person reports.
***
Cyril was just crossing The Stray when his phone rang. It was Owen.
“Our man Melville tells lies.”
Cyril found a bench and sat.
“Wasn’t in the force, he was a bus driver. And surprise! surprise! He’s the brother in law of our friend Donald Gregson. Came to live up here when he, shall we say, took early retirement, which should read alleged violence towards a drunken member of the public who wouldn’t leave his bus one Saturday night. Never been married. Gregson met Pamela’s mother through some dating agency and she moved in to one of his houses. Donald spent quite some time there, which must have pissed Melville off, knowing that his sister had been badly done by years before. She’d buggered off by then. Now lives in Leeds.”
“Melville still remains in the house owned by the guy who did that? Why did he tell Liz he was in the force?”
“He said it sounds better when he, and I quote, ‘confronts vandals and yobs’.”
“What? Who does he think he is, someone from a Marvel comic? Besides, where the heck does he confront vandals and yobs in Hampsthwaite? Doesn’t exactly buzz at the weekend. When Liz has seen Pamela we’ll chat again to Gregson. Dig further into our new best friend Melville too. Thanks”
***
Cyril made a coffee, checked his computer and addressed a file marked ‘urgent’. It contained the details of the two boys who had made accusations of impropriety against Samuel Dixon in 1999. Cyril noted the remarks of the interviewing officers as he flicked through it. The main instigator, now thirty-three years of age, completed his schooling before attending Oxford University and achieving a first in Chemistry. Dr Adrian Smyth had done well academically if not morally. BSC PHD CCHEM FRSC qualifications were attached to his name. Cyril Googled FRSC. It appeared that Dr Smyth not only had five years of experience in his field, he had also made an outstanding contribution to the advancement of Chemical Science. He plotted the time scale…he’d been busy! He noted that he was a director of a consultancy specialising in water purification. It was then that a small bell rang in his head. He quickly read through the details of the other student. He had died of cancer five years previously. He also noted that Dr Smyth’s parents had split up shortly after the allegations at the school had been made. His parents’ separation had neither affected his schooling nor his higher education. Mother was still living near Clitheroe, father, Dr Brewster Smyth with identical qualifications to those of his son, had moved to Manchester. No further information was forthcoming.
Cyril looked at his coffee; it was now cold, a white halo contrasted with the dark surface. As a consolation, he slipped the electronic cigarette from his top pocket. He felt mentally drained but suddenly he felt that there was light; the steady piecing together of evidence was beginning to drop pieces into place, the border to the metaphorical jigsaw was being joined. He remembered his mother’s saying. It was like getting knowledge from riddled soot! He smiled.
Pamela Shepherd was definitely an enigma and therefore she had to be a possible suspect. On the other hand, there was only tenuous evidence to keep her in the frame. The farmer Gregson, he was too in your face to be guilty of kidnap and murder, but his son? He was a hidden
quantity and Cyril’s gut told him that there was more to be squeezed from him; the computer, with luck, would shed some light there; but as for being a murderer, he would bet his life savings that that was a long shot. There had to be something else, something that had slipped inconveniently through the fine net. He knew it would be on the white boards or within the computer files and that it would be so obvious it would be camouflaged. It was like the coded message they had first encountered on the jars’ labels; clear, identifiable, but so personal that it made no sense to the casual observer. Closing the file he picked up the telephone. He needed to speak with a certain member of the Smyth family.
Owen burst into his office. “We’ve another missing youth! Been away now for three hours. Mother received a call to say he was ten minutes away from home but he never showed.”
Cyril put the phone down as his stomach churned. “You’re with me to visit the family.“ Cyril stood before requesting that an appointment be made with Dr Smyth. He also wanted an officer to speak with his ex wife and then he would chat with the son. He slipped the file into a drawer and left with Owen.
Cyril knew that confronting the parents of the missing child would be even more difficult. So far, all he had to show for hundreds of hours of police time was one body and two missing fourteen year olds, possibly a third. He looked at the address and read the child’s details. Reading and being a passenger in a fast moving car didn’t suit Cyril as he began to feel queasy. He recalled Owen’s green complexion after his flight from Nice that time and he closed the file stifling a yawn. He began to sweat.
“What do we have?”
“You OK, Sir?”
Cyril nodded and opened the window. “Slow a little.”
Owen glanced across and noted the beads of sweat on Cyril’s temple. “Lad was out playing, rang to say he was nearly home and then nothing. We’ve put out a local news alert but nothing tangible has come back. Mother’s given a description of clothing and we’ve issued a photograph. She tells us that he’s always reliable, never stays out later than he’s told, as he’d be grounded. She’s a one-parent family, Sir, two other kids, one older daughter and one younger lad. I’ve sent a WPC round and contacted Support. They should be there now.”
Owen turned onto the council estate and stopped outside number forty-six. Cyril glanced at the three cars parked outside. A few people stood by the gate, obviously journalists. It never took them long.
Cyril and Owen avoided the questions but the photographs were inevitable.
The WPC opened the door. “She’s holding up well, Sir, she’s in the back.”
Cyril moved down the hall and into the kitchen. The mother had two hands round a mug of tea. A child was on either side of her. The daughter smiled.
The WPC introduced them. Mrs White just looked up. No smile crossed her lips but a glimpse of optimism flashed in her eyes before being quickly extinguished as she noted Cyril’s expression.
“I’m sorry to hear your lad’s not arrived…” He was immediately stopped.
“His name, his name’s Norman, after his granddad.” She looked defiantly at Cyril. “I guess you’ve come to tell me you’re doing every thing you can to find him when you couldn’t bloody well find the others. Christ, what do the police do all day? I saw you on the telly saying you’d put more patrols out and children were being warned at school and the police were doing everything possible but so far what have you got apart from one dead child?”
The younger boy moved closer to his mother and she smoothed his hair.
“Where was Norman, Mrs White when he rang you? We’re checking mobile phone records. Soon we’ll be able to pin point the place but do you know?”
“I’ve no idea, ten minutes he said, he was coming back from his granddad’s allotment. Often goes to help. Shy lad our Norman.”
“Does he always go and return on his own?”
“It’s just across Skipton Road, it’s all built up, there’s no empty wasteland and he’s fourteen. They used to be working at that age. I’m not wrapping my kids in cotton wool, because you lot can’t do your bloody job.”
“Where’s Granddad now?”
“He’s out looking. He went back to the allotment and then said he’d check every route to here.”
“How did Norman sound when he made the call?”
Mrs White pulled a face. “Normal, I think. A little out of breath as if he’d been running.”
“You’re sure it was Norman?”
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
Cyril turned to look at the daughter holding up the kettle oblivious to her mother’s rant.
“No, no thank you, but that was kind of you to ask.”
Mrs White looked puzzled. “Now you’ve said that, he did sound different.”
Mrs White, does Norman have a computer?”
“He’s got an iPad that the kids share.”
“May we take it to see if he’s been communicating with people on the Internet?”
“Gary, get the policeman Norman’s iPad.”
Gary reluctantly left his mother and retrieved the pad from the other room.
“Was Norman in the Air Cadets?” Cyril asked looking at the pad. “And does this have a password?”
The boy shook his head.
“No, he’s not getting involved in any military youth organisation.”
Cyril glanced at Owen. “The WPC will stay until she’s relieved. Someone will stay here until we’ve made further enquiries. Thank you for your co-operation. We’re trying very hard to trace your lad. You have my assurance on that.”
Owen’s phone rang. He listened.
“Last call from your son’s mobile shows him to be to be near Oak Beck, that’s more than any ten minutes away. I’ve alerted traffic and CCTV coverage is being checked.”
Cyril knew that if he were in a car and the phone was now off, tracking was impossible. “I’ll return this as soon as possible.” He held up the iPad.
Cyril called Liz. “Give Pamela a call at the address in Ilkley and see if she’s there and don’t use her mobile number, only the house phone. Owen, call Gregson and find out where he is right now and where Jason is. Organise a call on Melville. If we can identify where they are right now it will help.”
Cyril moved from the kitchen into the hallway as Owen made the calls. “Gregson’s at the farm, son’s sitting with our technician.”
Cyril’s phone rang. “Melville’s at home.”
Liz then called to inform Cyril that Pamela was out shopping and that the carer had taken the call, Pamela had been gone for twenty minutes and would return Liz’s call.
“Our Norman’s not with any of them then!”
Cyril stopped by the front door and spoke with the WPC.
“When the grandfather returns, take a statement, time Norman left etc. and then ring it through. Thanks. It could be a long evening.”
Liz put on her jacket and was about to leave when her phone rang.
“Is that Liz? It’s Pamela. I believe you’ve been trying to contact me urgently?”
Liz checked the caller’s details but no number was stored.
“Yes, thanks. Are you back at home?”
“The carer has just gone but gave me the message.”
“Is it possible that we could meet tomorrow? Monday may be difficult.”
“Goodness, thought it was life or death. Just a tick.” There was a pause. “Yes, shall we say twelve? I’ll book something local.”
Liz hung up and then contacted Communications to request details of the last incoming call to her phone. Within ten minutes she had the information. The call had been made from a mobile. She dialled Pamela’s home number. There was no answer. She checked Coms again, redialled this time requesting a positional fix for the mobile call.
The number was co-ordinated to the area of Pamela’s aunt’s home. She dialled the home number again. There was still no answer.
***
Liz knocked on Cyril’s door.
/> “Are you OK?” Cyril asked. He could see from her facial expression that she was concerned.
She explained the situation regarding the calls.
“There’s possibly a reasonable explanation, she may have turned the ring tone down for the sake of her aunt. If you’re unsure, go over but if you do, take a DC with you. You might be interested in some latest information regarding Dr Brewster Smyth, father of the lad who made the accusations against Samuel Dixon. Well, two years ago he sold his chemical business in Manchester for six and a half million quid and has now set up a new charitable foundation after lodging a patent for a stabilized cleansing solution. Apparently it’s his invention so he’s established a factory producing the chemical and all profits go to the foundation.”
“That’s magnanimous of him,” Liz responded, not really taking in too much as she was more concerned as to the whereabouts of Pamela Shepherd. She noted the look on Cyril’s face.
“It might be the mysterious product that was used for cleansing the body. We’ll see. The Pathologist is making the necessary enquiries. When you go over, dig as deeply as you can. Mention Smyth and get the story. If she’s innocent it should all come out.”
Liz stood. “I’ll call when we’ve seen her.”
Cyril’s phone rang. “Bennett.” He listened. “So nothing incriminating but he liked his porn. Father was right then. Thanks.”
“Report on the computer belonging to Gregson’s son. Father said he was into Internet porn and it appears he was right. No kids or animals involved, just enjoyed looking rather than doing.” Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
***
Liz pulled up outside Pamela’s aunt’s home.
“Let’s hope she’s in.” She smiled at DC Price who had drawn the short straw to accompany her.
Liz knocked on the door and waited. There appeared to be no movement. The DC checked for curtain movement but there was none. Liz knocked again. Within seconds she heard the lock turning and a man appeared at the door.
“Liz, this is a surprise, I thought we were meeting tomorrow?”
Flesh Evidence: a heart-stopping crime thriller Page 14
