Suspect (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 2)

by Nicholas Rhea

  Twenty-five minutes later, they were heading for the remote Kesterdale deep in its moorland setting. Pemberton, in his new-found hobby of walking the moors and dales, had explored this beautiful region and was moderately familiar with the area. A further twenty-five minutes later he was easing to a halt at a gate beside the narrow lane; the gate was controlled by a uniformed constable with a small police car whose blue flashing light allowed no doubt they were approaching the scene of the crime. He recognised the detective and his companion and ushered them through the gate.

  ‘Is there somewhere the incoming cars can park?’ Pemberton asked.

  ‘On the left, sir, about fifty yards along that track, a nice level patch of solid ground.’

  ‘OK, I’ll set the example. Tell them all to park there. Now, where’s the body?’

  ‘Go upstream, sir, use the right-hand side of the beck and it’s about a hundred yards, just behind that clump of rocks. In a small green tent. Well out of sight.’

  ‘Anybody there?’

  ‘PC Atkinson, sir.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Not yet, but I understand he has been called, sir.’

  ‘Good, send him to me the moment he arrives. Other CID members will be coming too, send them to me. Now this is important, I want as few people as possible using the footpath beside the beck, I want it preserved and examined for motor cycle tyre marks.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Parking his white Astra on the spacious patch of grass, Mark with Lorraine at his side made his way to the scene of the murder. Armed with powerful torches, they walked away from the footpath — even in the light of the torches, they could see the tyre marks of a motor cycle and it was vital they be preserved for the Scenes of Crime team to examine. Moving quickly through the heather beside the beck, Pemberton came upon the tent; a uniformed constable stood outside, torch waving in the darkness.

  ‘Pemberton, and DC Cashmore,’ Mark introduced himself. ‘Anyone been inside the tent?’

  ‘I’m PC Atkinson, sir, the local constable. I looked inside, sir, and saw the extent of the injuries. There was no firearm anywhere near the body and I knew no man could survive that…’

  ‘And the chap who found the body? Did he go into the tent?’

  ‘Yes, like me, sir, he looked inside, then ran up to his house to call us. He’s a farmer, sir, Baxton. Henry Baxton, I know him well.’

  ‘OK. Now I want the footpath alongside the beck preserving for SOCO. That’s vital. DC Cashmore will show you some motor cycle tyre marks. Your friend Baxton saw a motor bike leaving the scene…so off you go, PC Atkinson, and prevent any flat-footed officers ruining the scene! That’s the most important task anyone could be asked to do right now…make the incoming cavalry walk about five yards away from that track. If they question it, say it’s upon my orders. OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I’ll look after the body and the tent until SOCO and the rest of them turn up.’ As Lorraine and the constable retraced their steps to undertake their task, Pemberton, hampered by the darkness to some degree, stood and examined the exterior of the tent. It was a small ridge tent, suitable for one or possibly two persons, and it was a light green colour. Guy ropes and tent poles supported it, a rather old-fashioned method in these days of light plastic inflatable structures, but there was nothing outside that he could see. No motor cycle, no car, no pedal cycle, no boots, nothing.

  Realising that the entrance would contain evidence of the culprit, either in the form of footprints or some other thing he might have left at the scene, Pemberton approached the tent from the rear and opened the rear flap.

  He shone his torch inside. It illuminated the body of a man in late middle age, perhaps in his sixties or seventies, with grey hair. He was half out of his sleeping bag and his chest had been blasted open with a shotgun — the wound bore all the hallmarks of that weapon; no one could have survived that injury. It had blasted through his clothes to produce a ghastly mixture of blood and fibre. He was dressed in what appeared to be a sweatshirt, but his legs and lower parts were hidden by the sleeping bag. As the constable had said there was no sign of the gun. Pemberton could see his hands too; they were free from the confines of the sleeping bag and neither contained a weapon of any kind.

  Somewhere, Mark knew, there would be the cartridge shell — that would have to be found, by fingertip search if necessary. It would probably be outside the tent, close to the entrance but among the undergrowth.

  This was murder, of that there was no doubt. He closed the flap and walked back to where PC Atkinson and Lorraine were waiting.

  ‘Can I use your radio?’ he asked Atkinson. ‘Mine’s in the car.’

  Using the constable’s personal set, he called the Control Room and confirmed that the incident beside the Kesterdale beck was a murder; he ordered a full call-out and the setting up of an incident room.

  ‘Right,’ Pemberton continued. ‘There’s nothing further I can do until our wizards arrive. So, PC Atkinson, you know the farmer, Baxton. What can you tell me about him — and his family?’

  Baxton, as finder of the murder victim, was immediately under suspicion and would have to be eliminated through interrogation. Before interviewing him, Pemberton wanted some background details and who better than the village constable upon whose patch the farmer lived? PC Atkinson said that Baxton was in his late forties, married to Jenny, and had taken over Kester Heights Farm upon the death of his father ten years ago. The Baxtons had two grown-up children, a son and a daughter both away at university, and PC Atkinson said that the family was well respected in the locality, with no known enemies.

  It was true, said Atkinson, that there would be shotguns on the farm and so they would have to be examined — the Baxtons would begin to feel they were under suspicion as their life was examined, their guns were tested, and their movements checked in detail. PC Atkinson added that the Baxtons did permit campers to pitch tents on their land; the rough land bordering the stream had no agricultural use, other than being grazed from time to time by moorland sheep, and a public footpath did run through that portion of the farm’s extensive land. There was room for half a dozen small tents, but it was not a formal camping site and certainly not one which would be utilised by caravans or mobile homes.

  It was while he chatted to PC Atkinson that other members of Pemberton’s team began to arrive.

  Official vehicles and private cars were now flowing through the gate and parking on the selected site. The darkness of the night was lifting too, and for Mark Pemberton a new enquiry was beginning.

  Having preserved the scene, the next task was to identify the body.

  Chapter Seven

  Identification of the elderly man in the green tent did not appear to present any major difficulties. When the preliminary examination of body and scene was complete, and when experts such as the forensic pathologist, forensic scientists, scene of crime officers, photographer and others had completed their meticulous work in and around the tent, the body was removed to the mortuary in Rainesbury.

  There it was undressed with immense care, but only after the fully clothed body had been placed on a plastic sheet so that the smallest matter such as fibres, hairs, pieces of vegetation or grains of dust and dirt would be collected for later laboratory analysis. As each article of clothing was removed, it was catalogued by the coroner’s officer and searched for belongings, particularly objects which would provide a name for this man. His sweatshirt and vest had been shredded by lead shot fired from close range and burn marks were evident upon the fabric, all likely to provide useful scientific evidence.

  Although he had removed his cagoule, he had slept in most of his hiking gear and in the rear pocket of his green corduroy trousers was a small black fold-over wallet containing his credit cards, library card and other papers in the name of Frank Scott. The address was given as Spring Cottage, Cressford. The wallet contained more than £80 comprising one £20 note, two £10 notes and the rest in fivers
.

  The moment the wallet was found, the coroner’s officer, PC Mick Partridge, rang Pemberton from the mortuary to inform him that identification seemed a simple matter.

  Pemberton said he would immediately despatch a team of two detectives to Cressford to inform any relatives of the victim’s untimely death. One of his relations would have to visit the mortuary to examine the remains and make a formal identification of the body — after all, the dead man might not be Frank Scott. He might be a thief and the wallet in his pocket might belong to one of his victims.

  As the steady process of formal identification got under way, the remains were subjected to a further detailed examination by the pathologist. He began by dictating into an intercom system. His secretary was not in the operating theatre of the mortuary but was snug in her office, her only link with the smelly disinfected place being that intercom. The pathologist, Dr Stephen Philips, began by describing the body: male, five feet six inches tall, approximately sixty-five years of age, bald head with thin grey hair around the neck and temples, grey eyes, round face with a bulbous nose, a small grey moustache clipped and neat, clean-shaven otherwise. No spectacles were upon the head, although a pair of horn-rimmed ones were found in a leather case among his clothing. There were no marks of violence or bruising to the face or head. The body, when stripped, was found to be clean and well-nourished with no tattoos or other marks of identification and no operation scars. The only mark of violence on the torso was the massive open wound in the chest area. The hands were rough, suggesting manual work or even long hours of domestic gardening, and the fingernails were damaged, probably from the same reason, although the feet and toenails were clean and well-manicured. From an external visual examination, it seemed that death was from a shotgun blast at close range.

  The pellets had entered the chest cavity. And as the internal examination began, so two detectives were already heading for Spring Cottage in Cressford. It was eight thirty in the morning and the worst part of their duties was to break the awful news to Scott’s relatives.

  While these procedures were under way, Detective Superintendent Mark Pemberton returned to his office in Rainesbury to brief his officers. They were already establishing the incident room at Rainesbury divisional police headquarters. Although it was some distance from the scene, that police station offered all the necessary accommodation and systems of communication. It had most facilities in situ, meaning the incident room could be operational within a very short time. HOLMES was being set up for this new enquiry and very soon, the investigation of the Green Tent murder would be under way.

  Pemberton explained that he would hold the first conference of detectives at 10.00am, exhorting as many as possible to attend. It was during this activity that Inspector Hadley entered the room.

  ‘Ah, Vic!’ Pemberton had noticed his arrival. ‘Problems for you! There’s been a murder. We’re installing HOLMES in the incident room which means that we’ve got to put Muriel Brown on a back burner for a while.’

  ‘I heard it on the news at eight this morning,’ Hadley said. ‘Not a domestic, is it?’

  ‘No, it looks like being a runner,’ and Pemberton provided the inspector with a brief outline of events. ‘So how do you feel about helping us? You’re quite a wizard with HOLMES now.’

  ‘Well, I have learned a good deal.’

  ‘I know you’ll cope, you know what to look for, you could oversee the statement readers and make sure they program all the right data into the computer.’

  ‘Sounds fine to me,’ said Hadley, nodding his head. ‘I’ll enjoy that.’

  ‘Like the Muriel Brown murder, work the hours you want, Vic,’ said Pemberton. ‘Any help will be gratefully accepted.’

  And so Inspector Vic Hadley became a member of the Green Tent murder team. As Pemberton went into his office to ring headquarters and brief the Chief Constable about the crime, Hadley made his way downstairs to the large muster room which housed most of the detectives in its new role of incident room. Already, a blackboard had been erected at one end and it bore the name Frank Scott and his address, giving his age as between sixty-five and seventy, together with a brief physical description and details of his clothing.

  His clothes had already been photographed and they were on display so that the teams of detectives would be aware of his appearance as they went about their enquiries. Also on show were the contents of his pockets, including the wallet, his credit cards, the £80 in cash and a further £6.50 in coins found in his trouser pocket, along with a comb, handkerchief, house keys and spare boot laces. There were coloured photographs of the green tent, both interior and exterior, shots of the campsite and its surrounds, shots of the motor cycle tyre marks in the soft earth and an awful series of pictures showing the terrible wound to Scott’s chest both in his undressed state on the slab and in the tent. A map of the area was spread across a large blackboard with the tent’s location pin-pointed by a red ribbon. This showed the murder scene in relation to the surrounding countryside and gave some idea of its remoteness. The nearest village of any consequence was four miles away, this remote moorland area being dotted with lonely farms and isolated cottages.

  By the time of the planned conference, ten o’clock, when many organisations were just beginning their day’s activities, the Green Tent murder teams had completed several hours of very important work. They were assembled in the incident room to present their first findings to their incoming colleagues, veterans of earlier murder investigations who were recruited from around the force area. Barbara had organised coffee for the forty or so detectives and also present were the administration support teams with their word processors and photocopiers, specially installed telephone lines and fax machines. Everyone was keen to begin — all nursed an ambition to arrest a murderer.

  Pemberton stood on a chair to address them.

  ‘Morning, all,’ he said, giving his name for the benefit of those who had never met him in the flesh. ‘Just before four o’clock this morning, I visited the scene of this murder, along with other officers. The scene is beside the beck on land belonging to Mr and Mrs Baxton, Henry and Jenny they’re called, at Kester Heights Farm, Kesterdale which is some ten miles from here. We have a video of the approach and of the scene itself with the body in position; this will be available to everyone at the end of this conference. The Baxton family, whom we do not seriously regard as suspects, do allow campers to pitch their tents on a patch of land bordered by a small beck which flows through some scrubland on their property. The land has trees upon it, young oaks in fact, but it is not cultivated. The deceased had sought their permission to pitch his tent, which was granted. In the early hours of this morning, Sunday, the Baxtons were returning home from a late-night social outing. Mrs Baxton was driving, Henry had had a drink or two but was by no means drunk. As Henry opened the gate which leads on to his property, the idea being to allow his wife to drive through, he heard a gunshot. It was dark, and he had no real idea where the noise came from. His immediate thought was that it was poachers, this being a common occurrence, especially around the outskirts of his large acreage. This campsite is on the extremities. Henry decided to investigate. But moments later, as the Baxtons were preparing to park the car, they were startled by a motor cycle which was being ridden very quickly towards them — it passed them and made for the gate. Baxton knew there was a camper on the site and for a brief moment wondered if the camper was leaving or had had a visitor. But the shot bothered him. Putting two and two together and bearing in mind the demeanour of the departing bike, Henry became alarmed. In the meantime, the biker had reached the gate; he’d had time to dismount and open the gate, an easy task because it is fitted with a hunting sneck and rode off into the darkness before Henry had time to turn his car around and go in pursuit. Henry went to the tent where he found the remains of our victim. From home, he rang his local constable, PC Atkinson, who was the first officer on the scene and who acted very well indeed; he realised it was murder and rang Control w
ho immediately put out an All Stations to trace and detain the motor cyclist. He has not been found, nor has his motor cycle and neither has the murder weapon. We need to find them all. It might be that the motor cyclist is not the killer — he might have stumbled across the body and fled. We do know that a motor cycle visited the tent because there are fresh tyre marks in the soft earth. They lead from the track to the tent and back again, and further marks reveal the machine was placed on its rest near the tent, on a piece of firmer ground. The biker might be a thief who raids the tents of campers — he did not burgle the farmhouse, though, nor is any other property missing from the outbuildings. The motor cyclist therefore has a lot of questions to answer. Whoever he is, he must be found, if only for elimination purposes.

  ‘Now to the deceased. His name is Frank Scott, he is sixty-nine years old, slightly older than we first thought, and he is a widower. He is a retired master plumber from West Yorkshire who settled in Spring Cottage, Cressford where he lived alone. He has no relations in the village but does have a son in the Lake District — he has been informed of his father’s death. He is on his way to Rainesbury at this moment to make a formal identification and to take possession of his father’s belongings. Scott has no criminal record. However, a team is examining his background and contacts to see what motive there might be for this killing. He was in business, in a fairly successful way, and might have made enemies; he might have been involved in some dodgy deals in the past, and that is something we shall be investigating. According to the owner of the shop next door to his cottage, he often went out walking and rambling. He was very fit for his age but a theory is that he carried a lot of cash and so he might have been a target for a thief, a robbery which went drastically wrong. If theft was the motive, the thief did not succeed because Scott had more than £80 cash in his possession when the body was found, neither his wallet nor credit cards being taken. I feel we can rule out robbery as the motive. He has no car; we do not know how he arrived at the remote camping site, but the theory is that he either walked the whole way or caught a local bus for part of the distance. Local buses will be checked to see if he used them, and so will taxis.