Why should she lie and what was it about?
- 13 -
It took a couple of hours for Stafford Paulson to organise the opening moves of the search for Tracey Bostock. He’d been able to borrow three constables from uniform branch to help with the house-to-house enquiries which Gary was co-ordinating. He had held back John Prendergast to help him with publicity in the local press and posters to be put up wherever people were likely to see them.
Finally he felt free to telephone Alfred de Billiere at his office in London. After a wait of several minutes he was finally able to talk directly to the big man.
After he had introduced himself, he began, “I expect you are aware that we have re-opened our enquiry into the death of your first wife, Joanne.”
“I certainly wasn’t aware of that.” De Billiere sounded annoyed. “Why on earth should you want to do that?”
“In fact no police enquiry was authorised when she died because there were no suspicious injuries discovered during the post mortem.”
“I should think not. And what has changed? Surely this is an unwarranted waste of police time.”
Paulson kept his temper. “Weren’t you told, Mr de Billiere, that during our enquiry into the death of Cynthia Adams which led to the discovery of her killer, queries were raised as to why Joanne should take your large cruiser out to sea in the evening on her own?”
“I thought the inquest dealt with that perfectly adequately. If you recall, it was decided that, although she had never done it before, she must have fancied the idea of a trip.” He cleared his throat. “Joanne was a strong-willed woman. If she decided to do something, she was likely to go ahead and do it, without thought of the consequences.”
“Nevertheless, Mr Billiere, the possibility has been raised that she was not alone on the boat that night.”
“Really!” His response was almost explosive. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Who has suggested that possibility?”
“Well, since the possibility has been raised, I’m sure you will appreciate that we have to look into it before we discard the idea. And, to help me to decide whether further investigations are necessary, I’d be grateful if you would answer a few questions for me.”
There was a short silence while this was digested. No doubt the great man was deciding whether it would create more problems in the long run if he refused. At last he said, “Very well, but please be as brief as you can. I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“OK. The first question is - are you a smoker?”
“What - cigarettes?”
“Yes. Or a pipe.” A sudden possibility had occurred to Paulson.
“The answer is that I haven’t smoked for more than ten years. I used to, but I decided to give it up and now I can’t stand the smell of the stuff.”
“What about your wife - er - your first wife, Joanne?”
“As far as I’m aware neither of my wives has ever smoked. I certainly have never encouraged it.”
“Now, do you know anybody who smokes Gauloises?”
“What?”
Paulson grinned to himself. “They’re a fairly unusual brand of French cigarettes called Gauloises Bleu. They have a distinctive and strong smell. Traditionally they used to be the brand smoked by French workers.”
“I certainly don’t know anybody who smokes such rubbish.”
“OK. Thank you for that. The other thing is, have you given anybody permission to take your motor cruiser, the Sarah Jane, out from Torquay marina in the last couple of days?”
“I certainly have not. Why?”
“The boat was taken from its moorings some time during the night before last and has not been returned.”
“What?”
“The mooring is empty.”
“It - it must have been stolen. What do the authorities at the marina say?”
“They know nothing about it. The boat appears to have gone missing during the night before the day staff arrived for work. The security firm which patrols the marina at night say their operatives saw nothing.”
“You mean it just seems to have disappeared. I can’t believe it. A boat that size can’t just disappear.”
“We have spoken to Jimmy Tate who I understand looks after the boat for you. He says whoever took it must have had keys for the boat. He is adamant they didn’t use his keys which are still in his possession. Do you know anyone else who has a set of keys?”
“Well, I have, of course. But I don’t know of anyone else.”
“I presume your wife, Joanne, had a set of her own. Do you know what happened to her keys?”
“No, I -.” There was sudden silence at the other end of the phone.
After a while Paulson prompted, “Mr de Billiere?”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry, Inspector. I’ve just been told I must go straight in to my meeting. I’m late already. I’m sorry I can’t help you any further. Goodbye.”
The phone went dead and Stafford Paulson was left looking at a silent instrument.
That is a strange way to end an interview, he thought to himself as he hung up. He doesn’t seem very anxious about his missing boat or about getting it back. I wonder whether he might have an idea who has taken it. And is he going to contact the person involved?
However at that moment young John Prendergast came into his office.
“I had a spare five minutes,” he announced, “so I got on to Trendholmes who are now the only tobacconists in the Torbay area. I asked them about Gauloises. They say they don’t carry them in stock at this branch, but because they are part of a chain they have no doubt they could obtain them if somebody requested.” He paused for breath. “The interesting thing is that the chap I spoke to said he’s been at this branch for nearly four years, but he couldn’t ever remember them being asked for. So he certainly doesn’t know anybody in this area who smoked the things.”
Stafford smiled at him. “Thank you, John. That’s interesting. In fact it seems this case, which isn’t really a case at all yet, is starting to get more and more interesting.”
He took a breath. “Now we’d better go along and help with the house-to-house enquiries.”
He led the way out of the office to his car.
- 14 -
Charlotte arrived at Mrs Grace Fisher’s house in Dartington just before eleven. Although it was not a grand residence, she noted it was a large modern bungalow on an attractive sloping site with the garage set below the living quarters. There was no sign of a car parked on the tarmac drive up which she walked. A flight of steps led up from outside the garage to the front door on the upper level.
While she waited, after ringing the bell, she turned to survey the front garden which she noted was immaculate. Crazy-paved walkways led between raised beds brimming with flowers and substantial shrubs. Across the sunken road was a panorama of woodlands fringing a shallow valley. The whole scene was most pleasant. Charlotte decided that either Grace Fisher was a fanatical gardener or she was sufficiently well-off to employ help several days a week. She had to admit it didn’t seem to be the sort of place normally associated with a violent rapist.
The door opened behind her and Charlotte turned to observe a carefully made-up lady in her sixties with dyed blonde hair and a shapely figure dressed in a smart summer-weight two-piece.
“Mrs Fisher? Mrs Grace Fisher?”
“Yes.”
Charlotte introduced herself and showed her warrant card. “Do you own a red Ford Mondeo car, Mrs Fisher?”
“Yes. Why? What’s the matter?”
“Is it here?”
“It’s in the garage.” She blinked. “Why? As far as I know it hasn’t been involved in any accidents. My son James has driven it several times recently. Has he had any problems?”
“Can I have a look at it, please?”
“Of course you can. I’ll just go and get the keys.” She didn’t invite Charlotte in.
Suddenly the garage door started to rise on its own. The impression was slightly eerie.
Only the slight hum of an electric motor gave away the cause. Mrs Fisher returned a minute later with the car keys. She led the way down the steps.
“The car is clean because I haven’t used it since James cleaned it on Monday before he flew back to Germany. I’m sure it’s not damaged.” She turned to face Charlotte at the bottom of the steps. “Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“I’d like to look at the car first, then I’ll explain why I’ve come to see you.”
The woman handed her the keys but stayed outside the garage. She was looking a little worried as any person might who found herself visited by a police chief inspector in her official capacity.
Charlotte entered the very roomy garage and walked all round the car looking at it carefully. As Mrs Fisher had said, the vehicle was clean and undamaged. She stopped by the front wing where Marion had said she had been pushed on to the bonnet. Of course there was no sign of the assault. She bent down and looked round the wheel-arch and inspected the wheel. Then she shook her head. She thought it very unlikely that forensics would find anything here to help the case against James Fisher. However she had to go through the motions.
She returned to the driveway and confronted Mrs Fisher who was now looking very upset.
“What on earth is the matter?” she demanded.
“Mrs Fisher,” said Charlotte, “can I suggest we go and sit down somewhere so that I can tell you what it’s all about.”
“All right.” The woman made her way back up the steps and into the bungalow, followed by Charlotte. She gestured for her to enter the room on the right just inside the front door. It turned out to be a comfortable sitting room.
“Now,” said the policewoman, “I have something rather unpleasant to talk to you about. May I suggest it would be better for both of us if we shared a cup of tea?”
Grace Fisher nodded almost absent-mindedly and set off for the kitchen. Charlotte sat herself in a comfortable armchair and waited. She switched on her mobile/recorder and slipped it into the top pocket of her jacket.
Mrs Fisher returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea. There was a tray-cloth and the tea was poured from a bone china teapot through a silver strainer. Grace Fisher obviously believed in doing things properly.
When they were settled Charlotte opened the proceedings. “I believe your son, James, borrowed your car on Sunday evening. Is that correct, Mrs Fisher?”
“Yes.” She gulped. “Why? What has he done?”
“I understand he returned here quite late - certainly after midnight. Did you see him when he returned?”
“No! No, I’d gone to bed. I took a sleeping pill and so I was fast asleep. I didn’t see him until the morning.” She shook her head. “What has happened, Inspector?”
Charlotte took a drink of tea from the delicate china cup. “So you saw him on Monday morning?”
“Yes. He was up before me. He’s always up early. I suppose it’s his army training.”
“What did he seem like when you saw him?”
“He was cleaning the car when I got up. He said he’d driven through some mud the previous night in the rain. So he was cleaning it off. I thought at the time that it was considerate of him.” She pulled a face. “But there was another reason, wasn’t there?”
“I’m afraid there was, Mrs Fisher. But how did he seem when you spoke to him?”
“He had a headache. He said he’d drunk a bit too much the previous night.” She put up a hand. “That’s it, isn’t it? He shouldn’t have been driving after he’d been drinking. What happened? He didn’t hit someone, did he?”
“No, he didn’t hit anyone with the car. I’m afraid it’s a bit worse than that.” Charlotte took a breath. “A complaint of assault and rape has been made against your son, Mrs Fisher.”
“What!” The lady fell back in her chair as though she’d been hit. “I can’t believe it. James wouldn’t do something like that. We brought up both him and his brother to respect women. He’s not a violent man.” She looked beseechingly at the inspector. “I’m sure there must be some sort of a mistake.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Believe me, Mrs Fisher, there’s no mistake. I interviewed the woman in question myself only a few hours ago and she was quite clear about who her assailant was. She’d been serving him drinks on and off all Sunday evening.”
“Sunday evening? Why did it take so long for her to report it?”
“Who knows what trauma a woman goes through when she’s been raped? The victim’s husband was away and only returned yesterday evening. I believe it was he who persuaded the woman to report the incident. Unfortunately the delay has allowed your son to return to his regiment in Germany before we could interview him.”
“I just can’t believe it.” Grace Fisher looked down at her lap. “His father was a stockbroker. James had a first class education. No expense was spared in his upbringing. He had no problem obtaining a commission in the army.”
“Did he talk to you after he finished cleaning the car? Did you ask him about what happened the previous night?”
“No. Not really. As I said, he had a headache so he took a couple of aspirin and went and lay down for a while.”
“What about his clothes? Did he give them to you for washing?”
“No. He was going back to Germany the next day. Everything is laundered for the officer’s mess by a local company over there. He has no trouble that way.”
“So there’s none of his clothing left here?”
“No. He took it all with him in the taxi when he left for the airport. He had his kit-bag and a suitcase.”
“What about his bedding?”
“Oh, I’m sorry inspector. He stripped his bed before he left and put the stuff in the washing machine. It’s all folded and in the airing cupboard now.”
“Well, Mrs Fisher, I would like to see his bedroom before I go and I will need to take your car in for forensic examination, not that I expect to find anything. Do you use the car often?”
“Usually only on a Thursday when I go shopping.”
Charlotte tried to smile. “I’m afraid next week you may have to get a friend to take you, or hire a taxi.”
The woman regarded her with eyes glazed with misery. “I understand.” She shook her head. “But I just can’t believe it of James. Surely this girl must have encouraged him and tried to back out when it was too late.”
“Mrs Fisher, the woman told me she tried to get him to stop before he went too far, but he resorted to violence.”
“To violence?”
“That’s right. He threw her face down on the bonnet of his car - your car - and raped her from behind when she couldn’t cry for help because she couldn’t draw breath.” Charlotte looked hard at the other woman. “I’m afraid your son has learnt some very unpleasant behaviour in the army.”
“If what you say is true, it will wreck his army career. He’ll have to resign his commission.”
“He should have thought of that on Sunday night.” She took a breath. “Now then, Mrs Fisher, I think you should contact your son as soon as possible and tell him everything that I have told you. Please tell him that the only way in which he can minimise the trouble he’s in is to return to the UK and report to us for interview. He can have a lawyer present when we talk to him. Will you do that for me?”
“What will his commanding officer say if James tells him he has to come back to face these charges?”
“It depends on what your son tells him. The important thing is that it will be better coming from him than if the military police turn up with a warrant for his arrest. You can surely see that.”
“Oh, yes. I can.” She paused, deep in thought. “Well, I’ll do my best, Inspector.”
That was the most Charlotte could hope for. She made the necessary arrangements to have the car taken away for the probably abortive forensic tests and left Mrs Fisher with her worries.
- 15 -
When he had everything sorted out for the Tracey Bostock sea
rch, Stafford Paulson set out to collect Sergeant Greg Mallinson for the visit to Sidney Pullman’s residence. They arrived just as the front door opened and a woman stepped out with her shopping bag.
“Ah, Mrs Spender.” Stafford was pleased with himself for making a note of her surname before he left the office. “Is your brother in?”
“Who wants to know?”
Paulson and Mallinson showed her their warrant cards.
The woman looked worried. “What do you want with him?”
“We want to ask him some questions,” said Paulson.
“We think he knows something -.” Mallinson’s comment was cut off by the inspector’s gesture.
“It is very important, Mrs Spender. We’ll be as quick as we can.”
“All right. I’ll call him.” She turned back into the house. “But you’ll have to wait a few minutes. I think he’s in the bathroom. He only got up a short time ago.”
“That’s all right,” said Paulson. “In any case I’d like a short chat with you while we’re waiting.”
“I was just going shopping …”
The inspector smiled disarmingly. “I’m sure that can wait for a little while.”
“Yes, well…” She reached a decision. “All right. You’d better come in.”
They followed her into the hall, Greg firmly shutting the door behind him.
“Sidney,” she called up the stairs. “Hurry up. The police are here to see you.” Turning to Paulson, she asked, “Would you like to come in to the sitting room?”
“Thank you.” He nodded at Mallinson. “You stay here until Pullman comes down.“He didn’t want the man absconding while he was talking to his sister.
Seated opposite Mrs Spender, Paulson said, “I presume you are aware that your brother is on the Sex Offenders Register and, as such, that he is subject to certain restrictions.”
She answered flatly, “Yes, I know that all right.”
“OK. What I want you to tell me is where he was between seven thirty and nine yesterday morning. That’s Thursday morning.”
“Yesterday morning? He was in bed of course. He’s not an early riser any more. I don’t usually go up to wake him until I get back from my cleaning job at the Black Bear.”
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