Читать книгу Tell Tale: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel - Mark Sennen, Mark Sennen - Страница 14

Some time later Fox heard the tap, tap, tapping of the pipe on the tobacco tin. Then a faint acrid aroma caressed his nostrils. His grandfather. Fox kept his eyes closed, not wanting to believe. He waited for the old man to say something.

Again: tap, tap, tap.

‘Simon?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded muffled, as if the sound was coming from far off in the distance. ‘Simon, wake up.’

He’d been dozing, the warmth of the sun soporific, the slowness of the game of cricket lulling him to sleep. He’d open his eyes now and his grandfather would suggest they drove off to a pub where the old man would buy a pint of Guinness for himself and water with a splash of lime for Fox. Maybe, if he was lucky, a lemonade. Now he did believe. This wasn’t the ending, it was the beginning. Whatever had gone before was done. He could start all over again, full circle.

Tap, tap, tap.

Fox opened his eyes. He was still sitting in his car, the tools still gleaming on the rack in front of him. His eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror. The garage door stood open now and the early morning light streamed in, pale, cold and unwelcome.

Tap, tap, tap.

‘Simon, what on earth are you doing? I woke up and didn’t know where you’d gone. Thought you’d been called out.’

Fox turned his head to see Jennifer, his wife, bent to the window. She clicked the door open and looked to the rear of the car where the hose curled across the back seat. Wafted her hand in front of her face to disperse the exhaust fumes.

‘Oh God, Simon. Why?’ Jennifer reached in and turned the key to the off position. She collapsed to her knees, her hands grasping at the door sill, her head bowed. When she looked up, tears were streaming down her face. ‘Whatever’s happened?’

‘The air-conditioning,’ Fox said. ‘Positive pressure.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Kept me alive. Despite everything. I fucked up. Again. I should have known better than to even try and make things right.’

‘Simon. Please.’

‘I tried, didn’t I? Made sure the reports got mixed around. The teams checked the wrong cars. They never found out. Until now.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you on about, darling? Tell me.’

‘Tinkering, bloody tinkering.’ Fox moved a hand to the top of his wife’s head and stroked her hair. Then he reached for the ignition and pulled out the keys. ‘Let’s go inside.’

In the living room, Fox bade his wife to sit. He stumbled across to the drinks cabinet and took out an unopened bottle of premium malt and two tumblers. The glasses clunked down on the occasional table and he unscrewed the whiskey and poured a generous measure into each.

‘No,’ Jennifer said. ‘You had enough last night and it’s not even breakfast time.’

‘Drink up, you’re going to need it.’ Fox considered his own glass for a moment and then returned to the drinks cabinet. He selected a fistful of mixers: bitter lemon, ginger ale, tonic water. With an opener in one hand and the bottles in the other he went and sat on the sofa. The bitter lemon fizzed open and he took a gulp straight from the bottle. Three more gulps and he’d drained the contents.

‘Simon, I—’

‘You remember a few years ago that lass was killed up on the moor? A hit-and-run accident?’

‘No, I can’t—’

‘DI Charlotte Savage’s kid. Nine years old. We never caught the driver, never traced the vehicle.’

‘Oh yes, of course, I remember now. The poor woman. Losing a daughter must be awful. I can’t imagine what I’d have done had anything like that happened to our children.’

‘No, I dare say you can’t.’ Fox pointed to Jennifer’s glass. She’d drunk a mouthful. ‘More.’

Jennifer took another sip. ‘What’s this got to do with you, Simon? Have you caught the driver?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Fox fizzed open another mixer. Tonic. He downed the bottle, the bubbles catching at his throat. He swallowed a burp. ‘Owen was up on the moor on the day of the accident. He’d camped out the night before, somewhere north of Princetown, with a few friends. They’d had a party way off in the wilds. Plenty of beer, a couple of bottles of spirits, other stuff as well. Lauren was with him too.’

‘Other stuff?’

‘I’ll come to that. Back then Owen drove that Impreza, didn’t he? All souped-up like a rally car. The important thing is, Owen’s route back the next day took him past the spot where DI Savage and her family were picnicking.’

‘He was a witness to the accident? He saw the hit-and-run car?’

‘Oh yes, he saw the car alright. Owen and Lauren were in the car. Owen was the driver.’

‘What?’ Jennifer’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Our son? He killed the young girl?’

‘Yes.’ Fox paused. His wife’s eyes glistened as they filled with tears. Fox wanted to move across and hug her, but he couldn’t. He had more to say. Much more. ‘Owen drove off. He panicked. He called me and I went round to his place. He showed me the damage to his car, confessed everything. He wanted me to bring him in. He was a complete mess, blubbering and ranting. Crying like he was a baby again.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The other stuff I mentioned along with the drink? Drugs. Amphetamines, cocaine, cannabis.’

‘Owen was taking all those?’

‘He was on speed, yes. The other drugs, he was selling. That night on Dartmoor he’d shifted a load to his friends. Wouldn’t have looked good on the news, would it? Chief Constable’s son arrested on drug and murder charges.’

‘Murder?’

‘I don’t know what the CPS would have come up with but you can be sure it wouldn’t have been a speeding ticket.’

‘But you said Owen wanted to turn himself in?’

‘Yes, but I told him I’d handle it. And I did.’

Jennifer put her hands to her face. Fox rose and walked across to her. He knelt in front of the chair and reached out for her.

‘We’d have lost all this. Our son, my job, this beautiful house. For God’s sake, Lauren was pregnant with our grandson, I had to do something to protect my family. The child was dead. It was a terrible accident, but why compound the situation by bringing Owen, Lauren and the other kids into it?’

‘So you covered it up?’ Jennifer stared at Fox, her mouth half-open, as if she didn’t believe he was capable of such a thing.

‘Owen sorted out the car with a new front wing. He got a rush job done. The place I sent him to was suspect and dealt in stolen motors, dodgy insurance, that sort of thing. Besides, they didn’t know who he was and he paid cash. The police team investigating the accident began to trace Imprezas and I made sure Owen knew when to expect a visit. The car remained in his garage and when an officer came round and inspected the Impreza nothing was spotted. The officer knew I was Owen’s dad. No way was he going to press things any further.’

‘And after that?’

‘The team worked on, but got nowhere. Using contacts I’ve got with Special Branch I had a flag put on the registration number of the car. If anybody did a search for the details on the DVLA system I’d know about it. I told Owen to wait a few months and then sell the car, which he did. A year went past, then another. Apart from a parking infraction for the new owner, the car fell off the radar. It changed hands again and ended up somewhere in the Midlands. I thought that was the end of the matter. It was hell for a while, but I believed it was for the best, that the past could stay that way. Then a couple of months ago we had another hit-and-run on Dartmoor. You’ll remember a prison officer was killed? That got me worried, as I knew old accidents would be investigated. Yesterday I get an email from my Special Branch contact. He’d been away on holiday and had returned to find that the flag on the vehicle registration database had been triggered. An officer from Devon and Cornwall Police had requested the full details of the Impreza. He’d viewed all the records, going back years. The officer was a detective in the same squad as DI Savage. I knew then the game was up.’ Fox sighed and then went on. ‘Last night was stupid though. I drank way too much. All I could see was how my life was going to be destroyed, piece by piece. The newspaper stories, the media circus. Imagine me – a senior police officer – serving a long prison sentence. To be honest, I was a coward. Ending it seemed like the only way out.’

‘Oh, love.’ Fox bowed his head and let Jennifer stroke his hair. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked through this together.’

‘The fewer people who knew, the better. Now of course there are others. What I can’t understand is why I’ve heard nothing from this officer or Savage.’

‘Perhaps he hasn’t told her.’

‘Possibly. More likely he’s got plans to blackmail us or, worse, DI Savage does know, but she’s got plans too.’

‘So if neither of them has made this official, what does that mean?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Fox shook his head. ‘But I know what I have to do now. It’s time to stop digging myself deeper into a hole. It’s time to face the music. I’m going to turn myself in, admit to what happened, plead for leniency.’

‘No, Simon. The man I married all those years ago would never give in so easily and he certainly wouldn’t plead.’

‘What?’ Fox felt his wife’s hand under his chin. She lifted his head and met his eyes. ‘What else can we do?’

‘We’re going to fight this. What about Owen, his wife and children? We can’t let this destroy everything. There must be friends who can help us.’

Fox stared at Jennifer. All these years she’d stood at his side; doing the little wifely things he’d always dismissed as largely irrelevant. She cleaned the house, raised the kids – a life on the sidelines done well, but a life anonymous and largely meaningless. Now he realised just what she was made of. How hard she was willing to fight for them and their family. She was stronger than him, no doubt about that.

‘Yes,’ Fox said, thinking his wife was correct. On Sunday night he’d given in too easily to the feelings of self-pity and guilt. Now the effects of the alcohol had worn off, he could see that. He smiled at Jennifer. ‘You’re right as ever, darling. There are friends who can help us.’

Savage was woken by Jamie at a little after nine on Monday morning.

‘Mummy?’ he said, bouncing on the bed. ‘Daddy says it’s time to get up.’

Savage glanced at the clock and groaned. She hadn’t arrived back until four a.m. and it seemed mere seconds ago she’d collapsed on the bed. She reached out and pulled Jamie to her and gave him a hug.

‘No huggles, Mummy!’ Jamie wriggled free, slid off the bed and ran to the door. ‘Breakfast time!’

A couple of minutes later Jamie returned with Pete, her son holding a glass of orange juice, Pete a tray with toast and tea.

‘What’s this?’ Savage said as Jamie plonked the glass down on the bedside table while Pete placed the tray on the bed. ‘Room service?’

‘You were working all day yesterday and had a late one last night,’ Pete said. ‘Thought you might need a lie-in and then a pick-me-up.’

‘Thanks. Both of you.’

Jamie grinned and then scampered off.

‘It’s all over the news,’ Pete said. ‘Sounds horrible.’

‘They always are. Especially close up.’

‘Look …’ Pete sat on the edge of the bed. He said nothing for a few seconds and then touched Savage on the shoulder. ‘I’ve been thinking. This break I’ve been having since I’ve been ashore … well, it’s done me the world of good. Training the cadets, spending more time with you and the kids, getting out on our boat. Perhaps you—’

‘No.’ Savage shook her head and then, aware she had snapped, smiled. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

‘But seeing this sort of thing week in, week out. Can’t be good for you. And this latest one. Another girl. I mean …’

Savage knew what Pete meant and there was an element of truth in what he’d said. ‘The girl isn’t the problem, is she?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘I’ll get over it. I am getting over it. It takes time.’

‘It’s been years, Charlotte. None of us find it easy, but lately I’ve been wondering if time’s moved on for you at all. You haven’t slept well for months. You’re tired, grumpy. The last few weeks—’

‘I’m sorry,’ Savage said. ‘I’ve had things on my mind.’

‘You need to talk to me, love. Tell me what’s going on. I know I haven’t always been here, but now I am … I want to help.’

‘You are helping,’ Savage said. She indicated the toast and then reached for the cup of tea, wanting to bring the conversation to a close. ‘And everything will be OK, I promise.’

Pete leant over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’ Savage blinked. Saw Clarissa tumbling over the bonnet and hitting the road. Imagined putting the gun Fallon had given her to Owen’s head. ‘I’m sure.’

Despite the grand name, the Agricultural Crime Squad had been allotted but a small corner of the crime suite. The ‘pigsty’, as Davies called it. Three tables in a ‘U’ shape were home to several terminals and monitors and beneath the tables there was room for a few file boxes. DI Maynard had gone all proprietorial over the area and pulled a couple of freestanding whiteboards to act as a wall between the space and the rest of the room.

‘So we can’t see them sniggering,’ Davies had said, adding, ‘and they can’t see us crying.’

There was, Riley thought, as he walked into the crime suite armed with breakfast for himself and Davies, an element of truth in the DI’s statement. Tracking down a missing tractor or arresting a bunch of sheep rustlers was never going to be as glamorous as working on the Major Crimes Investigation Team. Still, just a few more weeks and hopefully he’d be right back where he belonged on the MCIT, penance for his past sins well and truly served. Riley believed the punishment had been unfair; it was Davies and Savage who’d delved into the murky elements of Plymouth’s underworld and got a little too close to Kenny Fallon. He’d been guilty only by association.

He paused halfway across the room. There’d been a vicious racially motivated killing in the city centre and several detectives were poring over a set of CCTV stills showing the last moments of the victim. This was real crime. Put the guys who did this away and you were removing scum from the streets, helping the family, proving a moral point. Lord knows what good tracking down a bunch of pony perverts would do.

Davies seemed to be thinking along similar lines, because when Riley plonked the sandwich down in front of the DI he contemplated the food for a moment, then smiled.

‘They eat horses in France, don’t they?’ He shook his head and began to unwrap the sandwich. ‘So quite what we’re getting so excited about, I don’t know. Still, at least the case is a little more interesting than trying to catch these sheep rustlers.’

Riley nodded and glanced up at one of the whiteboards where a map of South Devon was dotted with yellow stars. Each star represented a farm where sheep had been stolen from. Mostly it was single animals, leaving the farmer concerned unsure as to whether the sheep had simply escaped. By tracking all the reports of missing animals, Riley and Davies had ascertained there were too many for that to be the case. So far they’d identified over one hundred. At the top of the board a wag from MCIT had stuck a printed message: Devon’s most prolific cereal killer. Have ewe seen him?

Riley had wanted to take the message down, but Davies had stopped him. ‘We take it down and they put up something else. We leave it and they’ll get bored.’ Davies was right. The banter they’d endured at the beginning had now all but ceased and they’d been left to get on with their work. Clear up the rustling case and figure out what was going on with the pony on the moor and they’d be done with Maynard for good.

‘Where to start?’ Davies said. ‘The internet?’

‘Not sure, sir,’ Riley said. ‘Type “devil worshippers” into Google and I reckon you’ll get all sorts of rubbish. I think we need some sort of expert, although where we’ll find one I have no idea. First I’m going to look on the PNC and see if there are any similar incidents in the area.’

‘Good idea.’ Davies unfolded his newspaper and began to eat his sandwich. He mumbled through his BLT. ‘Let me know if you find anything, OK?’

An hour later, showered, dressed and at least partially refreshed, Savage drove to Crownhill. On the way in she took a call from John Layton. The CSI was round at Anasztáz Róka’s digs in Mannamead, turning the room upside down. The team had nearly finished, so if she wanted to come across for a gander she was more than welcome.

The Mannamead area of the city was home to wealthy middle-class professionals. Solicitors, lecturers, junior consultants, maybe even middle-ranking police officers, jostled for the best double-fronted Victorian and Edwardian houses, pushing prices up and up. Ana’s place was on Fernleigh Road, and usual student fare it wasn’t. Savage parked behind John Layton’s crusty old Volvo and got out, wondering why the landlord would decide to rent to students and low-paid youngsters rather than tenants who might be able to afford more money.

A fence of iron railings sat atop a stone wall with a gate leading to a flagstone path. The path ran through a low-maintenance gravel garden to the front of the period property, which had bay windows and an imposing porch. Savage walked up the path to the front door, where a CSI stood trying a Yale key in the front lock.

‘Found this on her bedside table,’ the CSI said. ‘It doesn’t seem to fit this door though.’

‘It could be for her home in Hungary,’ Savage said.

‘Don’t think so, ma’am. Says Timpson on the key. Unless they’ve got branches in Europe, this is for a property in the UK.’

Savage nodded and went through the door. From behind her the CSI called out that Ana’s room was upstairs. Savage walked down the hallway and climbed the wide staircase, which had a decent carpet secured with polished brass stair rods. She once again wondered why the high-end property had been rented to Ana and her housemates. At the top of the stairs a door to the right stood open, a mess visible within. Layton stood next to the bed, arranging several evidence bags on the mattress.

‘Blitzed it, Charlotte,’ Layton said, indicating the upturned room where the doors to a wardrobe hung open, drawers had been removed from a chest, and the furniture moved away from the walls. ‘Take a look.’

On the bed several polythene packets held the girl’s clothing. A cardboard box contained some of her student work. Layton indicated the pillows at the head of the bed.

‘I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a match from the hair we found on the webbing at the reservoir. There are a number of blonde hairs on the pillow and a quick look with my big magnifier leads me to think they’re the same.’

‘Great,’ Savage said. She waved a hand around at the room and its furnishings. ‘This place is all a bit plush for a student.’

‘Prostitution, you mean?’ Layton smiled. ‘Well, since you’ve brought up the subject of sleaze, I’ve found something else of interest which might explain things.’

He moved across to the chest of drawers where a picture of Ana cuddling a small white dog sat to one side of an open jewellery box. The box contained trinkets, nothing of more than a few pounds value. Above the chest of drawers was a large mirror. Layton reached out and tapped the glass.

‘Sorry?’ Savage stared at the mirror and at her reflection. She needed a haircut.

‘Look.’ Layton moved alongside Savage and reached out. He lifted the mirror from the wall and put it to one side of the chest of drawers. ‘Smile, you’re on camera.’

On the wall, a little way below the hook the mirror had hung on was a hole the size of a penny. A flash of light came from a piece of glass set back in the hole.

‘The landlord?’

‘Got to be, hasn’t it?’ Layton smirked. ‘Dirty bastard’s been getting a peep show for free.’

‘How’s the camera connected up?’

‘Wireless I expect. He’ll have installed the camera when he redecorated the room. Hard-wired the power supply into the mains. Wouldn’t mind betting he’s got the other rooms covered too.’

‘That could explain a lot about the house. High-quality rooms, attracting high-quality girls. How many other tenants are there?’

‘Four. Girls only, and all of them are foreign.’

‘Do you think Ana knew?’

‘If she did then why hide the camera? I’ll need a warrant to search the other rooms properly, but I could take a quick peek now …’

‘How would you get in?’

‘These.’ Layton held up a bunch of keys and jangled them. ‘The landlord gave me his master set. What do you say?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Savage bit her lip, then nodded at the camera and winked at Layton. Then she went towards the door and stepped out onto the landing. Layton followed and Savage lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Thirty seconds in each room, wear gloves, and don’t touch any of the girls’ stuff. Oh, and it never happened, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Layton chuckled. ‘But the subterfuge isn’t necessary because I’ve unplugged the internet router and bagged it for evidence. The camera is dead.’

Layton was still laughing to himself five minutes later as he came down from the second floor.

‘Well?’ Savage said. ‘Any more?’

‘All four rooms. There’s a big full-length mirror in the shared bathroom too, but I can’t remove that without a major DIY job. We’ve got the router though, so we can call Hi-Tech Crimes out here. They can plug the router back in and see all the devices that are connected wirelessly. If we find more than Ana’s camera, which of course we will, then we can ask the other girls for permission to look inside their rooms and make the discovery official.’

‘How’s the landlord viewing the material?’

‘Remotely. He could log on from anywhere as long as he had a connection.’

‘Nice work if you can get it.’

‘I couldn’t possibly comment, Charlotte. Not without finding myself in front of the Professional Standards Department, keen to know about my attitude to women. But four nubile Eastern European girls? Well, that’s a lot of flesh to get excited about.’

‘And it went further than that, didn’t it? Voyeurism to violence. It’s not the first time and I doubt it will be the last.’

Savage thanked Layton and went downstairs and out onto the street, where she phoned through to the station to set up interviews with the other tenants and the landlord. There’d need to be considerable tact involved in speaking to Ana’s housemates, but from what she had seen inside tact was the last thing she’d be using when she interviewed the landlord.