Tell Tale (29 page)

PC Ian Narry sat in his car in the driveway to DI Savage’s house. Narry yawned. In the last month he’d switched from nights to days and then back again to nights. The change was playing havoc with his circadian rhythms and staying awake tonight was going to be tough.

Narry glanced around. DI Savage had come back a short while earlier. She’d had a brief word with him and then disappeared inside. No offer of a tea or a beer or snack. Luckily Narry had brought along a good supply of nibbles. He’d also brought a magazine. He looked around to check nobody was watching and then reached down under his seat and pulled the mag out. Not exactly allowable reading material at work, but it would keep him awake.

He thumbed through, looking at the photo-sets, lingering over each picture. Lovely. Especially the bird with the double-Ds. In these days of laptops and tablets and mobiles it was good to know you could still buy a good old-fashioned porn mag. Mind you, with his new work partner – a young female probationer – he wasn’t going to be able to keep bringing the mags to work. She’d likely go ballistic.

‘Sara. No H,’ she’d said, when they’d been introduced last week.

No H, maybe, Narry had thought at the time, but quite a lot else to be thankful for.

He put the magazine on the passenger seat and leant back. Sara – no H – had a body not unlike the centrefold in the mag. A pair of double-Ds, with a matching set of hips. A real cracker. Pity she wasn’t with him tonight.

Narry saw a light go on in the house. The woman. Savage. He shook his head, wondering why he was here. DI Charlotte-fucking-Savage was well known as being able to take care of herself. According to rumour more than one perp had died at her hands. Why the hell did she need to be babysat? The guy who’d killed Denton was in custody after all, locked in some mental ward at the hospital. The bloody nutter was an animal. He’d skinned young Denton alive. It really was about time they brought back hanging.

‘Constable?’

Narry jumped. Somebody had banged on the roof of the car. He turned, his mouth dropping open when he saw who was standing by the open window.

‘Nice.’ The man pointed down at the porn mag. ‘But I have to remind you such material could cause serious offence to female officers. I’d keep it hidden from DI Savage.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Narry gulped. He grabbed the magazine and shoved it beneath the seat.

‘Anyway, I’m here to tell you you’re relieved. The danger has passed and Savage no longer requires protection.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘Yes, but before you return to the station and report back I’ve got a job for you. I’d like you to go down into Plymstock and grab me a couple of curries from the takeaway. Something medium. Chicken or lamb.’ The man produced two ten-pound notes. ‘This should do.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Narry took the money.

‘In fact, make that three curries.’ Another ten-pound note appeared at the window. ‘Get one for yourself, you deserve it.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Narry said, reaching for the key and starting the car. ‘Of course, sir. Right away.’

Savage stood in the garden. To the west a soft pink hue enveloped the low hills of Cornwall. If the old ‘red sky at night’ saying was to be believed, the sky forecast that the thunderstorms and rain of the day wouldn’t be repeated tomorrow. The breeze from earlier had died, and now there was but the merest whisper of wind. Still, the air was cooling fast and after a few minutes Savage went inside and closed the patio doors.

In the kitchen her mobile beeped. She picked the phone up and read the text message.

Anchored in the Helford River. Beautiful evening. Kids knackered and already asleep. Beer open. Miss you. Love, Pete.

Pete had texted her the night before from Fowey, but now he’d made it all the way to Falmouth. She wished she was on the boat with her family, being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ocean. Instead she was here alone. Apart, that was, from her protection officer.

The day had been long and frustrating. Adam Creasey, far from being a distraction for the
Piquet
team, was now occupying a major part of it. The pair of tights found in his shed almost certainly belonged to Ana or Irina and DC Calter had found a witness who said she’d seen Charles Milner outside Creasey’s house with Irina. A second interview had led to the woman admitting Irina had probably been forced into Milner’s car against her will. To add to the team’s problems Creasey was now out of bounds, having been taken ill. When Savage had broken the news to Hardin about Creasey’s seizure, the term ‘duty of care’ had come up once again. Savage had given Hardin a detailed description of DC Denton hanging from the scaffold in the wood, told him to stuff his ‘duty of care’, and stormed out.

Savage composed a short reply to Pete and then went to the freezer and pulled out a frozen lasagne. She’d promised DC Calter she’d come out with her on a run some time, but healthy could begin tomorrow. The ready meal went in the oven and a glass of wine came from a bottle in the fridge. She went to the living room and flicked the television on, more in hope than in expectation of finding anything decent to watch.

A few minutes later she jerked awake and blinked. She must’ve fallen asleep. Somewhere outside she heard a car in the lane followed by a beeping from the kitchen. Not the phone this time, the oven.

She got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen. The oven had turned itself off, a little light flashing in time with the rhythmic beep. Savage pressed the button to silence the noise and then reached for an oven glove. Out came the tray with the chips and lasagne. She placed the tray on a mat and then went to a cupboard for a plate. As she opened the cupboard, from the corner of her eye she noticed the kitchen door swing in the breeze. She’d forgotten to latch it properly when she came in from the garden. She moved across to the door and then stopped. She hadn’t come in through the kitchen. She’d been on the patio and had returned to the house by the living room. Her eyes flicked down to the floor, where a lump of fresh grass cuttings had been brought in.

Outside, the orange glow of sunset had gone and the garden stood painted in black and white. Black from dark shadows. White where the glare of a security light shone on the grass. Something had triggered the light. A cat or a badger? Possible, but neither animal could have opened the door.

Savage drew in a breath and held it for a moment. Then she exhaled and moved across the kitchen to the hallway. Was that a creak from upstairs, somebody on the landing, or just the house cooling as night fell?

She slid the soles of her feet across the wood flooring. At the foot of the stairs she peered upward into the darkness. Nothing.

Savage sighed and shook her head, feeling foolish. All this talk of the occult had spooked her. She needed a little of Collier’s scepticism. She turned, and as she did so the lights went out in the hallway, and in the living room and kitchen too.

She froze. For a moment it was pitch black, but within seconds she could discern the outline of the door to the kitchen. Somebody –
something
– stood silhouetted against the faint grey light from the garden. Whoever – whatever – it was, filled the doorway. Savage spun and made for the stairs. Behind her there was a grunt and the figure moved after her. She raced up the stairs, turned left and ran along the landing to the second set of stairs which led to the attic rooms where the children slept. These were steeper and she slipped up them, trying to move as silently as possible.

At the top she stood and looked down. The clump of feet sounded heavily on the first set of stairs. Somebody breathing hard. Now the feet dragged across the wooden floor of the landing. Savage stepped back from the stairs. Behind her was a skylight. Anyone looking up would see her against the night sky. She moved away and into Samantha’s bedroom. Over on the far side of the room she saw a dim white light flash on and off. The notification alert on Samantha’s mobile. Pete had mentioned that in the rush to get away her daughter had left the phone behind. He’d joked she was having withdrawal symptoms. Savage stepped over, pocketed the phone, and then moved to the large Velux window which was set into the sloping roof. She clicked the catch and swung the window open, a wave of cool night air washing over her.

From the floor below she heard an exclamation and the sound of somebody clomping up to the attic. For a moment she hesitated. The pitch of the roof was shallow, but the ground was a long way below. She turned. A man stood in the doorway, clad in black, eyes staring at her through the holes in a ski mask.

Savage dived for the window, sliding out and onto the roof. She rolled over and scrabbled for purchase. But the roof was mossy, damp from the evening dew, and she slipped down towards the edge. Her feet hit the guttering and for a moment she thought it would stop her. Then there was a cracking as the guttering split and fell away from the roof. She tumbled over the edge.

Freefall.

And then she stopped.

Savage came round to blackness and the smell of petrol. For one horrid moment she feared the worst, thinking she might have been hooded and doused in fuel, but then she moved and her head knocked against something plastic, liquid sloshing inside. A moment later and she was aware of engine noise and a rocking sensation. She moved again, finding herself confined in some sort of box-like space.

Not a box, a car boot.

She tried to turn herself over, then realised her hands were bound together in front of her. She pulled hard, feeling the sharp edge of a cable tie digging into her wrists. Whoever had abducted her was taking no chances. The engine noise changed tone and she felt herself being pushed backwards by the car’s acceleration, so she let her body relax and slump down.

Savage took a deep breath and tried not to panic. She moved again and felt something pressing into the top of her thigh. Something hard and flat. Samantha’s phone! With her hands tied together it was difficult to reach her pocket but she swivelled and managed to get a finger and thumb onto the top of the phone. She pinched and pulled the phone out. As she did so the car braked hard and she was thrown forward, the phone falling from her grasp and tumbling out of reach. She turned over again and scrabbled in the dark but the phone had gone, slipping down beneath a panel to one side of the boot.

Shit!

Savage cursed and then began to move her hands around again. The phone was out of reach but she came across a steel bar. She ran her fingers along the object, realising the cold steel was a wheel brace. She inserted one end between her wrists and using her thumbs applied leverage to the bar, hoping to break the cable tie. The tie cut into her wrists, but the force she could apply with her thumbs wasn’t enough. Lying on her side she drew her legs up to her wrists and clamped the bar with her knees. Then she straightened her legs. Pain seared her wrists as the tie sliced into her skin. She twisted again and jerked hard. The tie snapped.

She clenched her fists and resisted the urge to scream as her entire nerve system convulsed. Then she gulped some air and turned around. There was no time for crying or self-pity. She located the bar again and stuffed it into the back of her jeans, pulling her blouse over the top to try to conceal it. Then she picked up the cable tie and looped it round her wrists. Even though it was broken it would, at least for a few seconds, give the illusion of being in one piece.

The car lurched to one side and then braked hard once more. Then they were off-road and bouncing across rough ground, Savage airborne for a moment as the suspension bottomed out and sprang back. The brakes came on again and the car slewed to a stop.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then the sound of a door opening and staying open, somebody moving outside, a click as the boot lid was sprung and a creak as it opened. A torch flashed in, the glare straight in Savage’s eyes.

‘Charlotte,’ the voice said, the authoritative tone familiar. ‘Sorry it has to end this way. I always thought you were an outstanding officer. You will be a great loss to the Force.’

Simon Fox stepped away from the car, the glow from the taillights casting a red glow on his features. In one hand he held the torch, in the other, an automatic pistol.

‘Simon,’ Savage said, easing herself into an upright position. ‘This has to stop now before it goes too far.’

‘Stop?’ Fox put his head on one side. ‘You’re the one who’s taken things too far. What happened to your daughter was a bloody accident. Anything else was my fault, nothing to do with Owen. You should have come after me.’ Fox moved back a couple of paces and waved the gun at her. ‘Now get out of the boot.’

‘What’s the point of this?’ Savage wriggled to the edge of the boot and swung her legs round. She kept her hands tight together, hoping the cable tie wouldn’t slip off. ‘What can you possibly hope to achieve by kidnapping me?’

Fox shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? Milner has Owen. He wants a trade. Owen’s life for yours.’

Savage finished climbing out of the boot. Night had fallen now and the car sat in a circle of red and white light, the headlights burning a shining path through heather and small boulders, the taillights illuminating a smaller circle with Fox at its edge. He muttered something to himself and laughed again, shaking his head and repeating the same whispered words over and over. Savage realised he was in another place, far away. He’d completely lost it.

‘Sir,’ Savage said, lowering her voice and trying to sound calm. ‘We can work this out. You need help.’

‘Oh, very nice.’ Fox sobered up. ‘The “sir” bit. But I’m afraid it’s a little late for rules and regulations and doing things by the fucking book. Now start walking.’

Fox gestured with the torch, the beam picking out a sheep track edging into the heather. Savage paused but Fox glared at her and raised the gun.

‘Where are we going?’ Savage said as she started across towards the track.

‘Forensics,’ Fox said from behind her. ‘There’ll be a lot of blood.’

‘Your car, sir. There’ll be hairs, other evidence.’