Stop them dead, p.10
Stop Them Dead, page 10
‘What about DNA testing?’ Norman Potting asked.
‘That would definitely be a good way to establish the provenance of a dog,’ Cartwright said, turning to Gee. ‘Be a good precaution to ask your CSIs, Chris, to preserve any baskets, rugs and toys the bulldogs had.’
‘I already have done,’ the Crime Scene Manager replied, looking just a little pleased with himself. He then gave the team a detailed update on the forensic examination of the scene and key items of interest.
‘Nice work, Chris,’ Roy Grace said, when he had finished. Then, addressing the team, he said, ‘OK, not much is likely to happen overnight. I have the press conference in the morning, in which I’ll put out an appeal to the public. So, our next briefing will be tomorrow evening.’
26
Thursday 25 March
The ghost train was hurtling towards closed doors. Gecko felt Elvira grip his arm tightly. Could she see them? He was never sure quite how much she could or couldn’t see.
BLAM!
She screamed as they burst through them and into pitch darkness. Then both of them screamed as the strands of something brushed their faces. A hideous luminous gargoyle popped out of the darkness ahead and cackled at them.
Elvira screamed again and clutched him even more tightly. He gripped her arm back. They were accelerating again. Towards more closed doors.
BLAM!
Then lights ahead. They were travelling downhill, then levelling out. They came to a halt under the glare of bright lights. She was laughing, her white stick wedged between her legs. ‘Oh that was so good! Can we go again?’
‘You weren’t scared?’
‘Just a little. Were you?’
‘Me, nah!’
She prodded him with a finger. ‘My brave soldier. Go on, let’s do it again!’
‘We have a dinner reservation.’ He said it importantly, like he’d once seen Daniel Craig in a Bond movie say it. And that’s how he felt right now, in his dark jacket and white open-neck shirt, beneath his anorak, with this beautiful girl in her pretty grey coat on his arm. He was James Bond!
‘Just one more time.’
‘I’ll go and pay,’ he said. ‘Need a token.’
Elvira found his face with her hand, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘That’s my token,’ she said. ‘My love token.’
Twenty minutes later they were seated side by side at a window table in the large, ornate interior of the Palm Court, a short walk down Brighton’s Palace Pier from the ghost train.
‘This is nice,’ Elvira said.
‘You are nice,’ Gecko replied.
‘You too, Marion.’
He’d felt so good with Elvira that he’d recently confided in her what his real name was, and she told him she loved it. ‘You will always be Marion to me,’ she had said.
And tonight, seated on the banquette, with the woman he adored beside him and the large plastic menu in his hand, he felt on top of the world, and important, as the waitress stood in front of them with her order pad. ‘We are celebrating!’ he told her. ‘We’ll have the cod and chips with champagne meal for two! And bring us extra mushy peas!’
‘Mushy peas?’ Elvira said.
‘Got to have mushy peas,’ he replied. ‘You don’t like them?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
As the waitress smiled and headed off, he looked into Elvira’s eyes. One was opaque, completely blind; the other had partial sight. It wasn’t important. What mattered was that she was beautiful to him, inside and out, with her shock of dark hair, cute nose and sweet, tiny mouth with a mole just to the left of it. She looked a little like a younger Helena Bonham Carter, only ten times prettier, in his eyes. And she was wearing a sexy dress.
‘Happy birthday!’ he said. ‘I’ve brought you a present.’
‘A present? You shouldn’t have!’
‘Course I should!’ He’d not had any time to buy wrapping paper, so he’d wrapped it in tissues from a box in his bedsit room and bound it with Sellotape. ‘I’m not very good at wrapping,’ he said, digging it out of his pocket and handing it to her, blushing.
As she tugged away at the sticky tape, their flutes of champagne arrived. He guided her right hand to the stem of hers, then raised his glass. ‘Happy birthday to the lady I think I’m falling in love with!’
They clinked glasses. A little spilled from hers, but he didn’t mind. She sipped some, put the glass down and he quickly steadied it. Then she removed the tissue, fumbled the box open, peered inside with it inches from her face and squealed with delight. ‘Oh my God, oh wow!’
He helped attach the silver strap to her slender wrist, smelling her gorgeous perfume as he did. ‘You just tap it!’ he said.
She tapped the face. A voice said, ‘Eight minutes past eight.’
‘Oh wow!’ she exclaimed.
‘Tap it twice, fast!’
She did so and the voice said, ‘Thursday, March the twenty-fifth.’
‘I love it!’ she said.
‘I think I love you.’
‘You only think?’ she chided, with a smile.
‘I know I love you!’
‘And I know I love you!’ She touched the watch’s face again. ‘It must have cost you a fortune!’ she said.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a uniformed police officer enter the restaurant. Followed by another.
Shit.
He grabbed her face and kissed her passionately, watching the two officers, warily, out of the corner of his eye. His heart racing. Not now, please not now!
Then, to his relief, he saw the restaurant manager lead them to a table and they sat down.
‘You OK, my sweet?’ Elvira said, drawing back a fraction. ‘Something’s spooked you?’
‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’
The two coppers were studying menus. That was good. ‘You haven’t told me about your day,’ he said. Elvira worked on the helpline of a computer company.
‘I had a complete dickhead on the phone. Well – what’s the female equivalent?’
‘A dickheadess?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, well this was the crown princess of all dickheadesses. She complained that nothing was coming up on her desktop screen. I went through all the checks, then finally asked her to check it was plugged in. She told me she couldn’t see, because she was in a room with no windows and there was a power cut!’
Gecko laughed.
‘You haven’t told me about your day,’ she said.
‘It was OK,’ he replied. ‘I think we’ve found a nice home for a rescue spaniel,’ he lied.
‘I love what you do, the way you’re so dedicated to helping dogs. You’re such a good person.’
‘I try,’ he said.
‘I love that you do,’ she replied.
He glanced at the two coppers. Then he looked back at Elvira. ‘Always,’ he said. He glanced at the coppers again. One was looking at him. With a little too much interest. Before turning back to her menu.
‘Do you need the toilet?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘No.’
‘You need the toilet,’ he said.
‘I don’t need the toilet.’
‘I’m telling you, you do,’ he said urgently. ‘Trust me, you need the toilet.’
‘My love, what are you talking about?’
‘I’m going to pretend to take you to the toilet, then we are going to run. Bring your stick.’
Shaking her head in confusion, Elvira eased out from behind the table, and Gecko reached over to grab her stick. Arms locked, he led her across towards the back of the room and the exit to the toilets. All the time surreptitiously glancing at the female copper, who was still reading her menu.
As soon as they were outside, Gecko said, ‘Run! Hold my arm and run!’
‘Why? Why, Marion?’
‘Do you love me?’
‘Yes, yes I love you.’
‘Then, just run!’
27
Friday 26 March
The capacious L-shaped canteen at Sussex Police HQ was often used out of mealtimes for large gatherings, such as on ceremonial occasions, the Chief Constable’s welcome speech to a fresh intake of recruits and for press conferences, which for major crimes would be well attended. This morning, press and media reporters occupied the three rows of chairs that had been laid out.
The local BBC, ITV and Latest TV news camera crews as well as BBC Radio Sussex and Siobhan Sheldrake, the Argus reporter – and Glenn Branson’s wife – were here.
Roy Grace faced them alongside ACC Hannah Robinson and the RSPCA inspector Kirsty Withnall. The conference was being broadcast live on Microsoft Teams by Sussex Police Media and Comms, to enable other journalists and media outlets to participate virtually. And, in particular, they were now involving social media, including Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, in the conference to get as broad a reach as possible.
The forty-three-year-old ACC, fair hair pulled up in a neat bun, was in full dress uniform, and the RSPCA inspector, in her late thirties, with a serious face beneath elegantly styled brown hair, wore a white shirt with dark epaulettes sporting two gold pips, a black tie and black trousers. Roy Grace, aware of always needing to convey to the public the reassuring image expected of an SIO, was dressed in one of his trademark dark suits, white shirt, sober tie, and black shoes with a near-military shine. This latter was something he had learned from his father, that properly polished shoes were a sign of someone you could respect.
Hannah Robinson started the conference by introducing herself, Grace and Withnall confidently, then briefly set the scene. ‘In the early hours of yesterday morning, Thursday, Timothy Ruddle, a farmer in Balcombe and a dedicated family man, was murdered, brutally and senselessly. Disturbed from his sleep by a commotion, he went out into his farmyard to see what was going on and found four intruders who were in the process of stealing a litter of French bulldog puppies he and his wife had recently bred, as well as the puppies’ parents, and loading them into one of two vehicles they had arrived in. Mr Ruddle died attempting to prevent them from driving off. I will hand over to Detective Superintendent Roy Grace, who has been appointed the Senior Investigating Officer, and who will give you more details.’ She sat down.
Grace took a deep breath, as he had long learned it had a calming effect. What he was about to say could have a major impact on the enquiry. In as few words as possible he needed to emotionally engage every member of the public, and hopefully fire their anger at this horrible crime sufficiently to make every single one of them wrack their brains for anything, even the tiniest nugget they might recall, that could be helpful to his enquiry.
‘Timothy – Tim – Ruddle was a decent man who wanted nothing more than to provide a good life for his family,’ he said, aware of the nervous tremble in his voice before he settled into his stride. ‘He and his wife, Sharon, made the decision a few years ago to move from London into the Sussex countryside, giving up their city jobs to become farmers. Their dream was it would provide an idyllic childhood for their children. They found it tougher to make a living off the land than they had planned, but they got an unexpected bonus due to Covid, which brought about a large increase in the value of dogs.’
He then gave a brief summary of the events that took place in the early morning of 25 March culminating in the murder of Tim Ruddle. He concluded by saying, with heartfelt emotion, ‘If anyone watching has seen – during the time period I’ve mentioned, or outside of it – two similar vehicles in convoy, please call the Incident Room for Operation Brush on the number displayed or, completely anonymously, please call Crimestoppers on their number which is also displayed. I’m now going to hand over to Kirsty Withnall, a senior inspector with the RSPCA.’
Kirsty spoke calmly, but with palpable anger in her voice. ‘We are all aware of the impact that lockdown had on the price of many popular breeds of dog. In turn this enabled criminals to cash in. These people, unlike respectable breeders, don’t care about where their dogs go to. They provide fake vaccination certificates, fake documentation regarding the provenance, age and pedigree of the dogs, and often keep them in appalling conditions.
‘Many dogs will be advertised for sale at vastly inflated prices. Farmed puppies bred mostly in Romania, Poland and the Republic of Ireland – but also in Wales and other parts of the UK – are being sold illegally. People desperate for a puppy are paying these inflated prices only to find they have a very sick dog which, if it survives, will have cost them in vet fees many times the original purchase price. I will now hand back to Detective Superintendent Grace.’ She turned to him and sat back down.
He stood. ‘Operation Brush, as you will now see on your screen, is a significant operation deploying a number of officers, including members of the Rural Crimes Team, in the search for the offenders. Our appeal this morning is to anybody who may have information as to the identity of those involved. We believe they may be local, all wore dark clothing and it appeared there were four of them in total. Two of them were younger, in their late teens or early twenties, and the other two men were older, in their thirties or early forties. They left the scene with a double-barrelled twelve-bore Webley and Scott shotgun they stole from the farmhand.
‘The vehicles were described by witnesses as being an old-model Range Rover with a noisy exhaust and a cracked windscreen, and a Ford Ranger, both dark in colour, but no other details have been established to date. Were you in the area at this time, perhaps driving past the location, did you see anything suspicious around the time of the incident or perhaps in the days before? If you think you have anything that may be helpful, as I’ve said, please call us directly on the number now displayed or anonymously on the Crimestoppers number, also now displayed.’ He read them both out. ‘I will now hand back to the Assistant Chief Constable.’
Hannah Robinson stood again. ‘I would like to repeat that this is a murder enquiry and we need the help of the public. Local and rural officers have been tasked with increasing routine patrols, particularly at night-time, and my message to the public is that if anything similar looks like it is happening on your land or farm, please contact us using 999, or Crimestoppers, anonymously, and do not go out to confront any intruders.’ She paused and then said, ‘We have time for a couple of questions.’
Several hands shot up and a barrage of shouts came from the reporters. Although he knew he shouldn’t really have done, Grace favoured Siobhan Sheldrake first, nodding at her.
‘Detective Superintendent,’ she said, displaying no signs that she knew him personally, ‘the Ruddles advertised their puppies on a number of websites, including Gumtree and Pets4Homes. Do you think it’s possible the offenders found out about the Ruddles’ dogs this way – and if so how do you advise legitimate dog breeders to protect themselves against this happening to them?’
‘In answer to the first part of your question, I think it is highly likely the offenders would have seen the dogs advertised on one or more of these sites. Regarding how legitimate breeders can protect themselves, I would advise all dog breeders to be vigilant, and without causing too much concern, to take every security measure possible, including intruder alarms, CCTV and security lights.’
Grace next nodded at a reporter from Latest Television.
‘Detective Superintendent,’ the young man said, ‘can you confirm that despite Mrs Ruddle dialling 999 the moment they saw the intruders, it took some time for the police to arrive at the scene? And even longer for an ambulance?’
Grace shot a glance at the ACC before responding, aware he could fall into a massive elephant trap here. ‘You can rest assured we will be looking into both of these response times.’
‘I’ve a question for the RSPCA inspector,’ the BBC TV reporter called out.
Kirsty Withnall acknowledged her.
‘Ms Withnall, this horrible trade must have a devastating impact on the animals themselves. What message can you give to members of the public to help protect them from buying puppies from rogue dealers?’
‘It’s a good question,’ she replied. ‘I would like to direct anyone interested in buying a puppy to our website, which is now on the screen, displaying the simple tips and advice we have suggested to establish whether you are dealing with a legitimate dog breeder or not.’
Hannah Robinson stood up. ‘Thank you everyone for attending, that’s all we have time for today.’
An ITV reporter called out, ‘How worried are any of you that the offenders made off with a shotgun?’
‘As I said earlier,’ she replied, ‘do not go out and confront anyone. Call 999.’
‘And wait an age for an officer to turn up?’ the reporter said.
His question was met with a brief, stony silence. ‘I’m afraid that’s all we have time for,’ the ACC said. She stood up and walked out, followed by Roy Grace and Kirsty Withnall.
As he reached the door, Grace heard another voice call out, ‘ACC Robinson, can you confirm that Sussex Police makes arrests in just five per cent of the county’s recorded burglaries?’
Grace was sorely tempted to respond that this wasn’t the fault of his overworked force, that the blame lay with budget cuts, leaving them with just six response cars at that time of night, covering eight hundred square miles of the county. But he said nothing, silently following the two women out, and privately reiterated his determination to do whatever was needed, however hard he had to work and however long it took, to find these four individuals.
If Operation Brush was going to be just one of that five per cent, he was going to make damned sure it was the one that punched above its weight.
28
Friday 26 March
The longer he practised family law, Chris Fairfax thought, cynically, the more he could understand the reasons why some family members murdered each other, rather than going through the traumas of legal intervention. It really was a lot simpler. On the surface, anyway.
It was 3.45 p.m. on a bright, sunny afternoon. Longer days, lighter evenings, and he was going home earlier than he had planned. The weekend lay ahead, no more warring families to deal with, and tomorrow night they were going to a birthday dinner at his and Katy’s favourite Brighton restaurant, the Gingerman, with a group of close friends.
