The Midden

Chapter 22

Miss Midden was entirely a different person when she arrived in Fowey. She had had to change trains to get to Plymouth and had had very little sleep. Looking at her face in the mirror of the station lavatory, she thought it was suitably careworn for the role she had chosen for herself. She went out and bought a round hat and a blue coat at a charity shop and put them on. She also bought a large canvas hold-all. Then she went to a car rental office, hired an Escort for the day, and drove to Pud End. She intended to arrive at lunchtime when Mr Gould would be too busy or hungry to want to bother asking too many awkward questions.

He hardly asked any at all. He didn't want to know about bloody Timothy Bright. He was still seething over Bletchley's rudeness on the phone.

'I'm from the hospital,' she told him. 'I've come for Timothy Bright's things. He's ever so much better now he's off the drip and he's asked for them.'

Victor Gould said he was glad to hear it, though whether he was glad Timothy Bright was off the drip or in hospital or simply because he didn't want the bloody lout's things in his house it was impossible to say. He went to fetch them and Miss Midden bustled along behind him chattering about how busy she was and how she had to go over to Bodmin because old Mr Reavis needed his insulin and...

Victor Gould watched her drive off before realizing he hadn't asked which hospital his damned nephew was in. Not that he cared. He was expecting Mrs Gould back next day and wasn't looking forward to her return. He decided to say nothing about Timothy or his things. Silence, where the Bright family was concerned, was golden, and anyway he was going to have enough of her forgiveness without getting further into guilt.

By two o'clock Miss Midden was back on the train. She had phoned the Major and told him to pick her up at eleven that night.

By that time Inspector Rascombe's investigation into any unusual activities in the Stagstead area had unearthed the anonymous phone call.

'Came in on Monday morning at 11.12 a.m.,' the WPC on duty told him. 'Man's voice. Wouldn't leave his name or address. Using a public phone booth. It's written down here.'

The Detective Inspector looked at the message.' "Boys being buggered Middenhall," repeated twice. Interesting, very interesting. That's where that awful woman lives, isn't it?' he said. 'Gave us a lot of trouble some years back.'

The WPC didn't share his dislike. 'Miss Midden. Very respectable lady by all accounts. Middens have been up there for yonks.'

'That's all very well, but who are the people at the Middenhall?' said Rascombe, and went on to check out two car thefts at Pyal and a break-in at Ratfen and finally some sheep stealing over on Loft Fell Moss. Nothing added up to a definite lead to paedophilia.

He had more luck on the computer file of sex offenders and was particularly struck by the name MacPhee who had done time in 1972 for 'cottaging' and whose address in 1984 had been the Ruffles Hotel, Stagstead. MacPhee had also been arrested and charged on four charges of being drunk and disorderly over the years. 'You'd better check that fucker out,' said the Inspector. 'Yes, I'd like to know a bit more about this Major MacPhee.'

But in fact the Major came fairly far down the Inspector's list of interesting sex offenders and the area had a sufficient number to keep him busy for some time. It was only when he came back to his office and found that the same Major MacPhee's present address was The Midden Farm that he took notice of him again. 'We get a call from a hoaxer about some boy being buggered at the Middenhall and we find this bloke living up there with a record for D and D and cottaging. This smells dirty to me, don't it just. What else do we have up there, Sergeant? I want to know.'

'There, or down the road at the Middenhall as well?' the Sergeant asked.

'The Middenhall? What's that?'

'Don't know how to describe it,' said the Sergeant. 'It's not exactly a guest house or a nursing home. At least I don't think it is. It's some sort of community place people come and stay in.'

'Really? A community place? What sort of people?' said Rascombe, whose nose for dreadful dirt was now firmly fixed on the Middenhall.

'Well, I don't know exactly. I heard someone say Miss Midden she's the old biddy who owns the place Miss Midden had told this person that they were all family and entitled to live there for free.'

'Really? Family? What sort of family? Got kids, have they?' said the Inspector. 'I want to know about this family.'

'I'll get the names from the council offices, the names for poll-tax purposes. Could get a lead that way.'

'Follow that up, Sergeant. I want to know everything there is to know about this Middenhall place and the people up there. Send someone over to the Council. Oh yes, and make sure the enquiry is discreet. This could be a very important case indeed.'

As a result of this instruction a plainclothes man visited the Community Charge offices with such awesome discretion that the news that the police were interested in Miss Midden and the goings-on at the Middenhall was guaranteed to spread rapidly through Shire Hall and thence to the general public in Stagstead.

That afternoon the Inspector brought in some of his men from Tween and set up a special unit to watch the Middenhall. 'I've called you here,' he told them, 'because this could be a big one and if it's as big a one as I think it is we've got to play dead cagey. We get this one right we're going to give our public image the car-wash it needs. What we are about to uncover is something the media's going to love us for. And considering the shit they've flung fanwise at us, this time they're going to lick arse and love it.' He paused to let the point sink it before going on. 'Only thing is we're up against people with a lot of influence and political pull. That's why I've called you in. You're not locals and you aren't known in the district. We can't afford any slip-ups. Right? Right. Any questions?'

A detective sergeant in the front row put up his hand.

'Yes, Bruton, what is it?'

'I'm local,' he said

'Yeah, well, we need you because you know the area. That's why you're here.'

'Could we know the area where all this is taking place, sir?'

'In due course, yes, of course you can. I'm just trying to set the scene in your heads so we don't blow the case. And the way we can do that is by being too nosy. In fact the moment these people get a whiff of copper in the air they're going to go to ground so fast we won't know they was ever there. So it's long-range surveillance all the way, which of course doesn't make it any easier for us. Right? Right.' And having answered his own question the Inspector asked if there were any from the floor.

And again the Sergeant in the front row put up his hand. 'When you say long-range surveillance, sir, what exactly had you got in mind?'

Rascombe looked at Bruton doubtfully. He was beginning to wonder if it was wise to have such a troublemaker on the team. In the Inspector's mind questions equalled trouble. The fewer anyone asked the better he liked it. And them. He was beginning to dislike the Sergeant.

'By long-range surveillance, Sergeant,' he said, going into official patter, 'we mean the avoidance of any line-of-sight contact with the suspect or, as in this case, suspects; the use of audio-visual auxiliary equipment in a non-observable context for the maintenance of continuous monitoring of said suspects' modus vivendis and operandis, the assessment of the material so obtained by trained officers with a view to building up a comprehensive and in-depth psychological profile of the suspect's psychology. I hope I've made myself clear, Sergeant.'

For a brief moment Sergeant Bruton looked as though he were going to give a truthful answer. But discretion prevailed. 'Sure, sir. I just wanted to know,' he said. 'Very clear, I'm sure.'

Inspector Rascombe checked the corridor outside, then shut the door with a furtive caution before turning back to the team. 'When I tell you the area of our investigation I think you will all appreciate the need for absolute discretion,' he said in a hushed tone, and unfolded a large-scale map of the fell district to the north. There was a sudden look of interest on the detectives' faces. They all knew who had a place up there.

Inspector Rascombe's pointer moved over to the Middenhall. 'As you can see from this map the particular target is not one that can be easily approached. That's almost certainly the reason it was chosen for these horrible activities. And it makes surveillance bloody difficult. Over here we have open fell country stretching away for several miles until you get to the Parson's Road and Six Lanes End here. No cover on that side except for one or two drystone walls and a number of sheep which as you can see is not a lot of help. Up here is the Midden Farm which is to be under surveillance at all times. Right, then over here down the road is the place called Middenhall. That is a major target, the major target in fact. And again as you can see there is a lake to the south and round the back here through these here woods is the quarry garden. Beyond them there's the river Idd with good cover along the banks and the water meadows in the valley here. That is as far as I can tell the only feasible route for the surveillance teams to take and that being the case we aren't going to take it. Anyone here tell me why?'

'I don't suppose it could have anything to do with the fact that Miss Midden might expect us to use it?' said Sergeant Bruton in the front row.

The Inspector looked at him with fresh interest. "That's very smart of you, Bruton,' he said, 'working that out for yourself. And may we know how come you know who I've been talking about all this time?'

Sergeant Bruton looked down at his knees and then up again. 'Well, sir, you said the Middenhall was to be kept under surveillance at all times and Miss Midden owns the Middenhall and the Midden Farm so I just reckoned she might be involved or something.'

'Very good. Glad to see you're taking an interest. Anyone else got any comments?'

'If we're not going to use the cover along the river to go in, where are we going to go?' asked a detective in the third row.

Inspector Rascombe smiled. 'Here,' he said and pointed to the open fell to the west. 'By coming up this way we will avoid doing the obvious which is what they'll be looking for. The last place they'll expect us to come is over the fell. So that's the way we'll take.'

'But I thought...nothing, sir,' said Sergeant Bruton and refrained from pointing out that, if what Inspector Rascombe had said just now was correct and the suspects at the Middenhall would go to ground the moment they got a whiff of copper, they would already be well away and wouldn't be seen for dust because everyone in Stagstead knew Miss Midden was being investigated. It seemed safer not to say anything. In any case he had been involved with Miss Midden on several charity money-raising committees and he couldn't see her being involved in a paedophile ring. Still, if the idiot Inspector wanted to go ahead there was no way he could be stopped. Best to keep his own nose clean.

The Inspector was drawing up the various units and giving them their duties. 'Unit A is assigned to traffic identification,' he said. 'Symes, Rathers, Blighten and Saxton. Round-the-clock observation of all vehicles moving along this road here.' The pointer moved along the line of the road to the Middenhall and the farm. 'I want every vehicle number and, if there is anything unusual, you will call in to base here where Unit B will do the tracing and in the event of an outgoing vehicle needing trailing or intercepting they will do it.'

As the orders went out it became clear just how comprehensive the operation was. 'There will be no radio communication unless there is an absolute emergency,' Rascombe went on. 'Communication between Units A and B will be by direct telephone line. I have made arrangements with the telephone authorities for a line to be available as soon as possible. In the meantime Unit A will use the phone box at Iddbridge to report to Unit B. On the other side of the same surveillance coin this road at the back across the Idd valley will be watched by Unit C with men here on one side of the river and here on the other and a mean time of travel between the two watches will be established. Any vehicle which fails to emerge within the mean time and which may therefore have dropped off or alternatively picked up someone from the surveillance object will be noted with particular interest and if need be intercepted here.' He pointed to the crossroads three miles to the north.

'What if they're coming the other way, sir?' a detective asked, and was rewarded with a scowl which the Inspector turned into a smile.

'Very good point, very good point, glad you raised it,' he said in an almost staccato parade-ground voice. 'Vehicles proceeding in a north-south direction will be intercepted...' the pointer waved vaguely around in search of a suitable crossroads and finally settled on Iddbridge five miles away, 'Here. Or alternatively, here.' This was a cattle track some two and a half miles down the Iddbridge road. But before there could be any discussion of the various problems this might entail Inspector Rascombe had turned to another issue. 'I myself intend to direct Units D and S, which will be surveillance units covering the farm, the house and the estate. I intend to establish a mobile base in the approximate area here at Six Lanes End. We will move at night and hopefully be able to interpolate the estate grounds under cover of darkness and work in twenty-four-hour shifts depending on the circumstances obtaining at the time...'

For another three-quarters of an hour the Inspector droned on and it was only when Sergeant Bruton had scribbled 'Must look up "interpolate" in dictionary' for the fifteenth time to keep himself awake that Rascombe got back to the nature of the crimes they were supposed to be investigating.

'We have,' he said, 'to be on the particular look-out for any child or children plural being taken into the Middenhall area and hopefully taken out again...Yes, Sergeant?'

'You can't be suggesting that Miss Midden can have anything to do with child abuse, can you, sir?' asked Sergeant Bruton almost in spite of himself. 'I mean she's, well...I mean...' He gave up.

'When you've been in the Force as long as I have, Sergeant,' said the Inspector, who had in fact been in a shorter time than Bruton, 'you will learn that the outward appearance of some of the nastiest villains is in direct contradistinction to their horribleness. Remember that, Sergeant, and you won't be taken in. And of course vice versa.'

By the following night, the various units were in position around the Middenhall. Operation Kiddlywink, the codename Rascombe had chosen, had begun.