Читать книгу The Boneyard: A gripping serial killer crime thriller - Mark Sennen, Mark Sennen - Страница 9

There was a rim of light beyond the wing when Kendwick awoke and slid the blind up. Dawn creeping from the east, the plane rushing to meet the new day with an eagerness which he didn’t much share.

Around him bodies stirred. An hour or so until they touched down. An hour until he walked away from the nightmare of the last twelve months.

We’ll be waiting for you, Mr Kendwick. Airside. We’ll take you through passport control and hand you over to officers from Devon and Cornwall Police. They’ll whisk you out of the airport without the press so much as getting an inkling of what’s going on. OK?

OK? No, it wasn’t OK. But the alternative to a little impromptu interrogation by National Crime Agency officers was a full-on assault by the British media. And they made the cops in the US look like kittens.

Kittens.

He turned his head, scanning the aisle for the blonde hostess. The one with the translucent shirt and the long hair in a bun. She was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she’d taken herself off to business class to give those who’d paid more for their ticket a breakfast treat.

He sighed and stared ahead not wanting another conversation with the person next to him. The man with the BO and the persistent chit-chat about his work, his family, his car, his fucking boring life which Kendwick wasn’t the least bit interested in hearing about.

‘Back home soon.’ Too late. The man had noticed Kendwick’s gaze move to the aisle in search of the hostess. ‘The Chilterns, me. Goring. Handy for the M4. Know it?’

Kendwick nodded even though he’d never heard of the bloody place. ‘Nice,’ he said.

‘You?’

‘Devon.’ Kendwick turned his head to the window, hoping the message that he wasn’t interested in talking would get through.

‘Lovely!’ BO seemed impressed and not at all put out by Kendwick’s failure to continue to make eye contact. ‘Long way though. Bit of a hike. But worth the journey. Me and the wife were down there a couple of years ago. The Rick Stein place. Padstow. Stayed in a little holiday cottage right on the harbour. Pretty as a postcard. Beautiful.’

Padstow was in Cornwall, not Devon, but Kendwick kept quiet. He wished he’d just named a random London borough. Then again, the man would have probably found something to say about that too.

‘Tell you what,’ BO continued. ‘My car’s in the long-term parking. I could give you a lift as far as Reading. I normally take junction twelve, but I could just as easily go off on ten and run you to the station. You could catch the Paddington train there. Save all that nonsense at the Heathrow end, wouldn’t it?’

Kendwick turned back. Tried hard not to tell the moron to fuck off. Said instead: ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m being met at the airport. I’ve got a lift all the way home. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try and get another hour or so sleep, OK?’

BO hesitated for a moment. ‘Sure,’ he said, nodding and swivelling in his seat and then muttering. ‘Only trying to be friendly. Some people.’

Yeah, thought Kendwick. Some fucking people.

Savage was pissed off. They’d got up and breakfasted in good time so as to arrive at the airport by nine as planned. However, as they’d parked the car she’d phoned her contact in the NCA, DCI Kevin Rollins. He told her Kendwick had taken a different flight.

‘United 901,’ Rollins said. ‘Direct from San Francisco instead of via LAX. Landed a little after seven o’clock. We’re all done and dusted and your man’s just waiting to be picked up. We’ll bring him round to the VIP arrivals lounge.’

Rollins hung up before Savage could say anything.

‘Ma’am?’ Riley read the displeasure on her face. ‘Everything all right?’

‘No it bloody isn’t.’ Savage slipped the phone into her pocket. She explained to Riley what had happened. ‘The NCA are playing games with us. They knew we’d stayed over and must have known Kendwick was on an earlier flight. Rollins thinks we’re no better than a taxi service.’

Fifteen minutes later and they were striding across the near-empty VIP lounge. In one corner, two men in suits and a third in a Coldplay T-shirt sat at a low table. Savage recognised the man in the T-shirt as Kendwick. Early thirties, with a muscular, well-defined torso. Long black hair tied in a ponytail, the hair with a sheen like something from a men’s toiletries commercial. As he laughed at a joke one of the men had made, his lips parted to show perfect teeth. American teeth. He was good-looking, for sure. Quite a charmer.

As they approached, one of the men in suits turned and then stood.

‘DI Savage?’ he said. ‘DCI Kevin Rollins. Sorry about the mix-up with the flights. No harm done and all that, hey?’

Rollins was at least a decade or so older than Kendwick and a bit flabby round the edges. A bald patch poked from greying hair. By his swagger he plainly fancied himself, but alongside the younger man he was nothing.

Kendwick didn’t bother to get up. Savage could see he was well aware the handful of passengers in the lounge were looking their way and assuming he was some kind of star, the two men in the cheap suits his bodyguards.

‘Ah, my chauffeur,’ he said. ‘Or should I say, chaperone? Someone to stop me getting into trouble, right?’

‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage,’ Savage said. She held out her hand and Kendwick reached up and took it, his palm cold and dry. ‘If you’ve finished your business with DCI Rollins then we may as well get going. It’s a long journey.’

‘I like the way you said that, Charlotte,’ Kendwick said. He paused and held her gaze for several seconds before smiling. ‘My business with them, rather than the other way round. Gets us off on the right foot. Gets me off, anyway.’

‘Your bags?’ Savage withdrew her hand and pointed at a nearby trolley laden with several cases and a rucksack. Kendwick nodded. ‘Darius, would you?’

As Riley went across to the trolley, Savage thought about saying something to Rollins. Something about his behaviour being bang out of order. But she didn’t want a confrontation in front of Kendwick and it was better he thought they all sang from the same hymn sheet. Besides, Rollins was a rank above her.

‘Been nice meeting you, Mr Rollins, Sergeant.’ Kendwick grinned as he stood. ‘We must do it again sometime, but not too soon, hey?’

‘Remember what I said, Kendwick,’ Rollins said. He put his arm out, blocking Kendwick’s way. ‘A single piece of evidence from the States and you’ll be going back there. And when you do, they’ll kill you.’

‘Now, now, Kevin, that’s not very nice.’ Kendwick pushed the arm down. ‘Besides, they don’t kill people in California any more. The death penalty is out of fashion and they haven’t carried out an execution since 2006. Something to do with the Eighth Amendment. Cruel and unusual punishment. That’s irony for you, huh?’

‘One of the girls was snatched from over the border in Arizona. They do still carry out executions.’

‘Well, that might worry me if I was guilty, but we’ve just had a long conversation where I told you I’m innocent, so let’s leave it be, shall we? No hard feelings.’ Kendwick grinned again and then winked. ‘Mate.’

As they walked away, Riley following with the trolley, Kendwick cocked his head towards Savage. She could smell mint on his breath as he spoke.

‘He’s jealous, Charlotte,’ Kendwick whispered. ‘And I don’t blame him. On every count he’s a loser. Compare LA to London; the NCA to the FBI; me to him. His fat, frumpy wife to the sweet California girls I’ve been with. He’s a lot to be jealous about, don’t you think?’

Savage tried not to smile, but the man did have a certain charisma and the way he’d dissed Rollins amused her. Still, she wasn’t about to be taken in by Kendwick’s charm because that’s what made him dangerous. If he was dangerous.

Out front, Enders had pulled the car into the pickup area and Riley loaded the luggage into the boot, while Savage and Kendwick got in the rear. She wasn’t exactly keen to spend several hours sitting next to somebody suspected of having killed multiple times, but she was the senior officer and she didn’t expect Riley to do the dirty work for her.

‘Cosy,’ Kendwick said once they were all seated. ‘Just the four of us on a little trip to the countryside.’

Enders huffed from behind the wheel. He had already made it clear that in his opinion the best option would be to drive to a quiet lane somewhere and put a bullet in the back of Kendwick’s head. The DC flicked the indicator and pulled out into the traffic. Kendwick peered through the window.

‘Grim. After California, at least.’

‘Paradise over there was it, Mr Kendwick?’ Savage said.

‘Oh yes. Very much so.’ He swivelled round to face Savage. ‘Still, I’m very much looking forward to returning to Devon. My roots. Where the bones of my ancestors are buried. There’s something about feeling connected to a place, don’t you think? The US was exciting, vibrant, but I never felt truly at home there. It’s a dangerous place too. Not like where we’re heading. Cream teas. Watercolour pictures of little harbours. Dartmoor ponies. I bet you three don’t have to do much more than hand out speeding tickets for tractors, do you?’

‘I think you’re over-romanticising.’

‘Perhaps I am. But there’s nothing wrong with a touch of romance, is there, Charlotte?’

Kendwick smiled at her, his teeth shining. For a moment, Savage saw the attraction some women might feel for the perfect specimen before her. Fit and good-looking, intelligent, humorous, successful in his career. This was a man whose persona could well fool the gullible, the easily led, the young … and they’d been young, hadn’t they? The victims. Whether they’d been Kendwick’s victims or the prey of another man, she didn’t know.

Within minutes they’d escaped the confines of the airport and were heading west on the motorway. Kendwick turned back to the window and resumed his analysis of his long-lost homeland.

‘Sad,’ he said, gesturing out of the window. ‘All these people living with this around them. Hemmed in. There’s more space in America. At least where I was. More space to be yourself. I guess that’s why I chose to come back to Devon rather than get a job up here in London. At least there’s enough air to go around. A bit of wilderness to escape to. The sea. The moor. Doesn’t compare with the Sierra National Forest, of course. That was a real wilderness, a dangerous wilderness. Get lost out there and nobody is ever going to find you. Makes Dartmoor look like your back garden.’

‘I thought they did find them?’

‘The bodies? Yes.’ Kendwick nodded but continued to stare at the world rushing by. ‘But it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Sheer chance.’

‘I see.’

Now Kendwick did look back at Savage. ‘And when they did find them, most were so badly chewed up by wild animals or so decayed that they didn’t discover anything useful. No forensic evidence which could link the killer to the crime scenes.’

Savage took a deep breath. They had three hours or so but now was as good a time as any.

‘Mr Kendwick, let’s not play any more silly games. I don’t know whether you did or didn’t kill those girls. If you did then I’m with Rollins. I hope they find some evidence and extradite you. And not to California. Arizona would be my choice too, understand?’

‘I’m hurt.’ Kendwick made a sad face. Reached up with his hands and made his mouth droop like a clown’s. ‘We were getting along so nicely. Now you’ve ruined everything. Still, don’t worry about it. You see, even if I was guilty, there’s no way the nice legal system here would allow my extradition to the States. Not with execution on the cards. The European Convention on Human Rights wouldn’t allow it. They don’t bother with that sort of thing in America of course. Human rights. From the way you’re talking, you might be a wee bit happier living over there.’

‘I just want you to know where I’m coming from, Mr Kendwick. I can’t abide deliberate cruelty and what happened to those girls was beyond cruel.’

‘Like I told Rollins, I didn’t kill them. Janey Horton, she set me up. What she did to me was way out of order, beyond cruel, if you want to put it that way. I’m the person whose human rights were violated.’

‘Or not.’ Enders. From up front. His hands clenching the wheel as he stared at the road ahead. ‘If you did kill those girls, then kudos to the lady cop.’

Savage cursed. This wasn’t the way she wanted to play things. The whole point of the journey was so they could have a quiet word with Kendwick, not get into some sort of slanging match.

‘That’s enough, Patrick. Concentrate on your driving.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘If we could just start over, Mr Kendwick. Devon and—’

‘Malcolm.’ Kendwick smiled. Those teeth again. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be seeing quite a lot of one another so we might as well keep this friendly, don’t you think?’

‘OK, Malcolm,’ Savage said. ‘As I was saying, Devon and Cornwall Police are agnostic on whether you committed those crimes in the US. However, we have a duty to protect those we serve. That duty extends to considering all the possibilities and putting plans into place to contend with every eventuality. To put it another way, should you even drop a piece of litter or park your car on a double yellow line, we’ll be onto you.’

‘Well, Charlotte, it’s good of you to be honest with me. I like that. Honesty in a relationship. And I hope we’re going to have a relationship.’

‘Now, there’s a way round this.’ Savage ignored the way Kendwick was attempting to flirt with her. ‘My boss has a proposal. If you consent to wearing an electronic tagging device then the need to keep an eye on you would vanish. You’d be able to go about your day-to-day life without scrutiny, without even a suspicion the police were harassing you. How would you feel about that?’

Kendwick laughed but then shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t feel good about it at all. It would be, how can I put this, a fucking imposition. What’s more, by letting you tag me I’d be admitting there was something for you to be worried about. Highlighting my guilt. I don’t think my legal team in the US would be very keen for me to do that, do you?’

Kendwick’s mood had darkened. The laugh had been ironic and the smile which had followed quickly turned to a grimace. Now he glared at Savage, his pupils like pinheads, a tiny red vein in the sclera of his left eye pulsing fast in time with his heartbeat.

The jokes earlier about capital punishment, the joshing and word play over whether he’d killed the girls, hadn’t touched him. This, though, had caused him to anger and, she realised, it wasn’t to do with civil liberties or any legal niceties. It was because if Kendwick had to wear a tag the police would be able to track his every move. He’d be free to go about his daily life, but he wouldn’t be free to do what he really wanted to do.

She held Kendwick’s gaze for several seconds but then had to turn away and stare through the window at the traffic. His eyes had told her everything she needed to know. Malcolm Kendwick was one of the most dangerous men she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.