Tell Tale (28 page)
‘Oh fuck!’ Savage said, starting to rise. ‘That’s not a sheep he’s got strung up there.’
‘No,’ Riley whispered as he pushed Savage on the shoulders. ‘We’ve got to stay down.’
Part of the fence Savage was standing on twanged. Creasey stopped and turned his head, his mouth drooping open at the sight of Savage and Riley. He looked back at the carcass and stuck his knife into the centre of the corpse. Then he bent and picked up a meat cleaver from the floor, his other hand reaching for another knife, this one larger.
‘Shit,’ Savage said.
‘Argh!’ Creasey yelled.
‘Split,’ Riley said, moving to the right. ‘And keep your distance from him.’
Savage went in the opposite direction, following the broken fence until she came to a section where the posts stood upright, the netting drooping between them. Creasey hesitated for a moment before darting round the A-frame and lurching towards her. For a man who was on the large side he moved fast, covering the ground to the fence in seconds.
‘What you doin’?’ Creasey said. ‘Checker check checking up on me was you?’
Savage stood still behind the wire. ‘Put the weapons down, Mr Creasey.’
‘Don’t like no ghosts sneaky sneak sneaking up on me. This is my domain, understand? My place, my woods, my business.’
‘And what exactly is that business, Mr Creasey? Bringing young girls up here and dismembering them?’
‘You’re wrong there, lady. I never membered any girls. But I might make an exception for you. You’re older than I like ’em usually but you’re still cute.’
‘That’s not a sheep you’ve got hanging there, Mr Creasey.’ In the corner of her eye Savage saw Riley pick up a fence post and move away to circle Creasey. She tried not to look. ‘Who is it?’
‘Never you mind, it’s you I want now. Chubber’s made a big, big mistake, but he’ll soon put that right.’ Creasey moved a couple of steps forwards and poked the wire netting with the cleaver. He seemed to have forgotten all about Riley. ‘If you’ll only stand still a moment.’
Riley was behind Creasey now. He braced his feet apart and then swung the fence post. The wood smashed into Creasey’s head and the man buckled and fell over. He lay on the ground, comatose.
‘Bloody hell, Darius,’ Savage said. ‘Did you have to hit him so hard? I think you might have killed him.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ Riley chucked the fence post away and knelt beside Creasey. He put his fingers to his neck. ‘No, he’s still alive.’
Riley moved Creasey into the recovery position. Then he gestured over to the A-frame.
Savage skirted the fence and walked over to the wooden contraption, standing alongside Riley as he looked at the body hanging down.
Close up, it was recognisable as human. Creasey had cut the skin away and rolled the layer down all the way to the chest. Muscle and fat remained. Human the corpse might have been, but Savage was unsure of the sex. She peered down to where the skin lay in folds, looking for the head. She found the back of it. Muzzy brown hair, short. A man’s style.
Riley stepped round the frame to approach from the other side. He bent to look at the face.
‘Oh fuck,’ he said, shaking his head and then putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Don’t come round here, ma’am. No need for you to see this.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Savage edged past the corpse and stood next to Riley. She crouched down and peered under the roll of skin. Mud smeared the forehead and one eye bulged out, a mess of bruised skin and blood. The nose was bruised too, bent to one side. The mouth wore a thin grimace, one lip curled back and trapped beneath a front tooth. But it was the scar which caused Savage to gasp. A scar, long-healed, sitting on the left cheek. The scar, she knew, had been caused by a man armed with a cutthroat razor. If it hadn’t have been for Savage’s quick thinking back then the officer would have bled to death. Her heart began to thump. She knew this man, knew him well. Riley had been right. She hadn’t needed to see this.
‘Oh no,’ Savage said. ‘Denton.’
Calter was in a bar in town when the call came through on Thursday evening.
‘Have you been drinking?’ the desk sergeant asked. ‘Because if not you need to come in. Now.’
‘No, not a drop,’ she said. She’d been planning to go on a long training run the next day so she’d been on orange juice. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Thing is,’ the sergeant said, ‘if I tell you you’ll want a drink so just get in here, OK?’
Half an hour later and Calter was hearing the news about DC Denton along with the rest of the team. A palpable anger and frustration rose in the room, everybody wanting to get on with something, to bash heads, to bring people in. Only there was nobody to bring in. Adam Creasey was in custody and would be questioned in the morning. Not much more to do other than blitz Creasey’s place.
Calter volunteered. She’d been there before so it was only right she should be in on the job, wasn’t it?
Collier agreed and Calter accompanied Layton and his team over to Glenmore Avenue. It was after eleven before they got started and Layton reckoned the job would take all night.
A couple of hours into the search, Calter helping to fingertip the backyard, there was a knock at the gate. An old woman from three doors up. A Mrs Grately.
The woman was wearing a dressing gown and little else. She’d seen all the activity and wondered what was going on. Creasey was often up late, she said, but he didn’t have many visitors. Calter stood at the gate, not allowing Mrs Grately in.
‘Lovely man, he is,’ the woman said. ‘Always helping people. He never minds if I don’t have quite enough money for the meat.’
Calter nodded, willing the woman to bugger off so she could get on with the search.
‘What’s this about? Adam’s not in any trouble, is he? If he is I should watch it. Adam’s got friends in high places, don’t you know? That MP chappie. The one who goes fox hunting.’
‘What?’ Calter opened the gate a little. ‘Charles Milner?’
‘That’s him. He was round here just last week with his big car.’ Mrs Grately lowered her voice. ‘An assignation with a young girl. Black hair, a pale-looking thing. I don’t like to gossip, but he’s married, you know? Mind you, she wasn’t much of a laugh, she was only half-awake. Or drunk. Shocking what these young lasses get up to. In my day it was half a lager and lime.’
‘Sorry? Could you repeat that?’
‘Lager and lime, love. You must have had it?’
‘You said the girl was only half-awake?’ Calter shook her head. The general public’s capacity for stupidity never failed to amaze her and she feared Mrs Grately was up there with the worst of them. ‘Was she conscious or not?’
‘Not.’ The woman gave a coy little smile. ‘She was out for the count. Eyes closed and everything. In fact she was so far gone Adam and Charles had to carry the poor girl to the car.’
Fox’s morning had been taken up with firefighting. When a police officer died on duty whispers about funding became roars. At a press conference conducted at force HQ the questions from the media came thick and fast.
DC Denton had been single-crewed, was that down to lack of resources?
No it fucking wasn’t, Fox wanted to scream, it was because he’d gone AWOL and disobeyed orders.
Four murders in not much more than a week. Was that acceptable?
Did he need to consider his position?
How many more killings before he would resign?
By the end of the conference Fox was in near-despair. His PR adviser wanted to brief him on some new developments, but Fox pushed the man away and headed for some fresh air. Outside, towering clouds built in the sky. Pillars of cotton wool piling on top of each other, turning blacker and blacker.
To one side of the HQ building there was an area of grass, a few trees clustered together. Fox walked round to the trees and hid within them. Beneath their leaves the sky couldn’t see him. Nobody could know what he’d done.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and shrank when he saw who it was. Christ!
The voice on the end of the line was curt and to the point. They needed to meet. The Three Crowns, Chagford. Within the hour.
‘Yes,’ Fox said and hung up.
He moved over and leaned against a tree. He risked a glance upwards. The sky. Poking through. Watching him. Oh God!
‘Sir?’ A uniformed officer ducked under a tree branch, invading Fox’s little haven. The young man cocked his head on one side. ‘Are you OK, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Fox said. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’
Then he ran for the car park.
Had a bad night, did Chubber. Hard bed and cold room. Bit of a headache. Some doctor came to take a look. Said Chubber would be OK. Don’t feel OK though. But the pain in the side of his head is the least of his worries.
Trouble, Chubber, trouble.
Chubber knows it. All down to that night on the moor. Antler Man. Now the police want to know what he’s been up to and they’re not interested in sheep any longer. He’s sitting in another cold room. Bare. Some old dear beside him. An appropriate adult. She’s just about the least appropriate adult he can think of. A girl would be nicer. On the other side of the table there’s two more adults. Police. One man, one woman. Black and red. Chubber doesn’t like the look of the red one. Cold.
Chilly.
Yes, that’s it. Not that the black guy is any friendlier.
Black guy?
Yes. This one has black skin. The woman has red hair. They’re not too pleased about what he did to the other policeman. The one up in the wood. He’s tried to explain to them that the whole thing was a misunderstanding, that he got confused, but without telling them about Antler Man’s instructions he hasn’t got very far. And he daren’t mention Antler Man.
No, Chubber. He wouldn’t like that at all.
Chubber stares at the black man. Black men, he thinks, must be like black sheep. He remembers he’s skinned black sheep before. Makes no difference. Underneath, they’re identical. Black or white, you chop them up the same way, you get the same cuts, and the meat tastes the same. Police officers can’t be much different.
The silence hangs in the air. Neither officer has said anything for the past five minutes. Before, there had been questions. Like
Mastermind
, only harder.
‘Why did you take the girl, Mr Creasey?’ The black man. For some reason he’s decided to speak again. Chubber would have preferred if he hadn’t. ‘We know she visited your place and we’ve found her tights in your feed store up in the wood.’
Chubber shakes his head. Girls mean trouble. Best to keep quiet about them.
‘Look.’ The redhead leans forward. Her lips part. The woman doesn’t really smile, but Chubber thinks her expression is as close to one as he’s going to get. Considering. ‘You’ve killed a police officer. It can’t get any worse for you, but if you tell us what you know about Ana and Irina we can see you get the kind of help you need. Do you understand?’
Chubber doesn’t understand. All he’s ever tried to do is to be happy. To make others happy. The little old ladies he gave meat to. The girls he left money for. Didn’t those acts of kindness mean he was entitled to some happiness himself?
‘The girl.’ The black man again. He doesn’t look like he’s ever been happy. The two words come out sounding like an ultimatum. ‘You need to tell us.’
Tell them something, Chubber, anything.
‘I didn’t kill anybody,’ Chubber says. He knows that’s not strictly correct so he tries again, hoping the truth will win them over. ‘I didn’t kill any girls.’
‘You killed Detective Constable Denton and then strung him up by the ankles and skinned him. No one else was there, Mr Creasey. This was as cold-blooded a killing as can be imagined. Brutal, premeditated.’
‘It wasn’t me, it was … it was …’
Chubber! No!
‘Antler Man.’ Chubber blurts out the words without thinking and then realises what he’s done. He feels something constricting his throat, almost as if an invisible hand is grasping his neck. ‘He told me to. He told me to clear up the mess. It was … the … devil’s … work … I …’
Chubber can feel a cold sweat rising. He raises a hand to his forehead and wipes moisture away. Memories of Antler Man begin to return. The horns, the skull with the black eye sockets, most of all, the grating demoniacal voice.
Chubber! Chubber! Chubber!
‘No!’ Chubber stands. Pushes the chair back. Feels his legs buckle beneath him. Gives in and slumps down again. ‘I can’t. He’ll kill me. Antler Man’s coming! I tell you, he’s coming!’
The woman next to him seems concerned. She reaches across and touches him on the arm.
‘Adam, it will—’
‘Calm down, Mr Creasey,’ the redhead says, waving the woman’s attention away. ‘Tell me who this Antler Man is.’
Don’t, Chubber, don’t!
‘I can’t. I mustn’t. He’ll know. He’ll bury me in the ground. He’ll send me to h … h … hell!’
Chubber’s shaking now, gripping the arms on the chair, the whole thing jumping up and down. Tippling, toppling, crashing over. Chubber’s on the floor. Face-down on the rough carpet tiles. Antler Man has his heart, hands squeezing. Chubber can hear voices shouting. The redhead, the black guy, the old dear and now others, the room filling with people, hundreds of people, cramming in so tight he can’t breathe.
‘The devil,’ he hears himself say, froth bubbling from his mouth. ‘He’s taking me to hhhheeeellllllll!’
And then the blackness.
The Three Crowns in Chagford was an upmarket gastro pub. Not the sort of place where a local could sip a pint of bitter and make it last an hour or two. Fox found Milner in the glazed courtyard, big fat raindrops from the darkening sky just beginning to splatter down on the glass. He was seated at a table over in a corner, his eyes focused on the puddles forming outside. Fox approached the table and gave a polite cough.
‘Simon.’ Milner turned his head but didn’t rise, didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he nodded at the chair opposite him. ‘Take a seat. I’ve ordered for you.’
Fox took off his coat, pulled out the chair and sat down. He wasn’t used to kowtowing to anyone and didn’t like Milner’s attitude.
‘What the hell were you thinking, Charles?’ Fox said. ‘You can’t get away with murder. How are you going to deal with Savage when you’re under suspicion? I’ve tried to stall the investigation but there’s only so much I can do.’
‘Anasztáz Róka’s death was unfortunate, I admit. I forced her to take a load of Nembutal and then intended to dump her in the reservoir. She had other ideas. It was all I could do to throw her out and prevent her from crashing the plane. If she’d landed in the water the police would have thought the death was a drug-related drowning. End of story. Case closed.’
‘And that would have been OK?’
‘People die all the time, Simon. Accidents happen. As you well know.’
‘Don’t play games with me. What about the guy on the moor buried alive in the kistvaen? The other girl who’s gone missing? The bookshop owner? I’ve had DSupt Hardin on the phone asking how to proceed. I had to stall him, say I want all the evidence presented to me before any action is taken.’
‘There isn’t any evidence, Simon.’ Milner shook his head. ‘None. I suggest you calm down and listen to what I’ve got to say.’
‘Listen to …’ Fox paused. Milner had leaned forward, hands flat on the table as if he was issuing some kind of ultimatum. ‘Why the hell should I listen to you?’
Milner’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Because if you don’t, you’ll never see Owen alive again.’
‘
What
?’ Fox leaned in too, unsure if he’d heard Milner correctly. ‘Owen? What’s this got to do with Owen?’
‘You said that I was to stop at nothing, remember? You said you’d pay whatever it took to get Savage off your back. Too late to chicken out now.’
‘Chicken out?’
‘They’ve got Owen.’
‘W— What? Who?’ Fox stumbled on his words, not sure of the implication in Milner’s voice.
‘I thought you knew, Simon? The Satanists have got him. Didn’t you get my message?’
Fox was already struggling with his phone, switching it back on again. Within seconds it vibrated and beeped. Fox’s hand shook as he looked down at the screen.
‘The Satanists? Why?’ Fox felt sick. A waft of food odour drifted across from a nearby table. He glanced over. A woman bent to a plate of rare beef, blood oozing from the meat. No, not meat, brains. The white plate wasn’t a plate at all, it was a child’s skull cracked open in a car crash. The bone gleamed, the woman forked the brains into her mouth and Fox retched. He swallowed back vomit and closed his eyes.
‘Simon?’ Milner’s voice was soft and silky.
Fox blinked his eyes open and stared at Milner. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Simon. Of course.’ Milner reached out across the table and patted Fox on the arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I must call this in.’
‘No, not yet. They’ve made demands. If we’re to save the day we need to do exactly as they say, OK?’
‘Save the day?’
‘Yes. Save Owen.’
Fox nodded and then pushed back his chair and stood up. The chair toppled over and other diners looked across at him as he moved away from the table.
‘I need air, Charles. I feel sick.’ Fox turned and staggered from the room, aware Milner was following. The MP stopped to pay the bill, but Fox didn’t wait. He headed outside and surged along the street, back towards his car. Rain splashed down around him. He’d left his coat in the pub and within seconds his shirt was sodden. He reached his car, opened the door and slumped in.
‘They want Savage.’ Milner stood by the open door, preventing Fox from closing it. Somehow he’d got there only seconds after Fox. ‘Bring her to them and they’ll release Owen.’
‘How do you know all this, Charles?’ Fox turned sideways. Milner’s eyes had widened and his face twitched with excitement. ‘God, you’re—’
‘Here’s the chance you wanted. Bring us Savage and we’ll take care of her. Owen’s waiting for you.’
‘I …’ Fox faced forward again, staring into the Jaguar’s dashboard, for a moment memories of his grandfather flooding his senses. He felt Milner’s hand on his shoulder.
‘Simon.’ Fox turned and saw Milner had something in his hand, something wrapped in a small towel. ‘You’ll need this.’
Mi
lner pushed the bundle forward and Fox took the towel, feeling the weight of something heavy inside. He nodded blindly and pulled the door shut. He put the package on the passenger seat and started the engine, aware that the towelling had slipped away from the object to reveal the dull grey of gunmetal.