Tell Tale (6 page)
‘Andrew?’ Savage said. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Dislocated.’ Nesbit looked over at Savage and then at the ground surrounding the body. ‘The knee and the shoulder. Difficult to see how this happened here. A considerable amount of force must have been used and there’s no sign of a struggle. Am I right, John?’
‘Yes. As I said there’s nothing on the ground. No indentations, no scuffing, no footprints. There are some small marks to one side of the body, possibly made when she fell or was placed.’
‘There’s some bruising on the arms and legs and also the torso.’ Nesbit bent and examined the legs again. ‘Some marks on her ankles too. Indentations, as if something has been wrapped around them. Rope or chain maybe. The dislocations happened while she was alive. Painful as they would have been, they aren’t what killed her.’
‘Any idea what did?’ Savage said. ‘Strangulation, possibly?’
Nesbit bent to the body again. His fingers moved to the girl’s forehead and he lifted each eyelid in turn. Then he examined the neck, spidery fingers creeping across the pale skin.
‘No signs of petechiae in the eyes, no marks on the neck, no sign a ligature was used.’ Nesbit looked across at Savage and shook his head. ‘I’ll know more when I get her on the table back home.’
Savage forced herself to suppress a smile. She assumed Nesbit was talking about the mortuary rather than where he lived.
‘What about the time of death, anything you can tell me?’
‘If you give me a moment I’ll take a temperature reading, but the rigor stage has passed. Looking at the appearance of the body I would think something between twenty-four and forty-eight hours, no longer.’
‘The bag containing Ana’s clothing was found this morning. The fisherman who found the bag had been in the same spot two days before and swore it wasn’t there then. So we’re looking at some time in the night before last.’
‘That would work, yes. But there’s still some explaining to do about the body. How it got here and why it was moved.’
Savage said nothing as Nesbit continued to work on the corpse. He removed a thermometer from his bag and inserted its remote probe into the girl’s rectum. He spoke into a small dictation device as he went over the body again, concentrating on the process of pulling apart the evidence, everyone else all but forgotten.
She left him to his work and headed back to the incident room vehicle in search of Inspector Frey. She found him inside the van, staring at a laptop screen.
‘Can’t fathom it, Charlotte.’ Frey’s finger hovered over a map of the reservoir and surrounding woodland. ‘The area where the body was found was searched not once, but twice. She definitely wasn’t there. But how did the bugger manage to enter the area with the body when the place was swarming with us lot?’
‘Maybe he didn’t arrive with the body.’ Savage pointed at the screen. ‘The boundary to your search grid is only a hundred metres from the dump site. My hunch is the body was somewhere beyond the boundary. The killer returned sans body, picked up the corpse from the initial hiding place, and carried the body back to where we found it.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To prevent the body being found.’
‘Because we’d already searched the area.’ Frey nodded as if in agreement, but then shook his head. ‘But who would be stupid enough or bold enough to do that?’
‘Kinver?’
‘The fisherman?’
‘Yes. Seems a bit too much of a coincidence that he found the clothes
and
the body, don’t you think?’
‘He said he was walking back from his fishing position along a woodland path. He claims he heard something, went to investigate, and found the body.’ Frey smiled and then jabbed a finger at Savage. ‘He’s seen too many detective shows on TV too. Knew he shouldn’t approach the body, so he never went within ten metres. Layton pointed out the man’s footprints to me. There’s a distinct trail coming and going.’
‘Could he have thrown the girl that distance?’
‘Be sensible, Charlotte. Kinver’s telling the truth.’
‘You believed him?’ Savage wondered what Frey was on. Kinver, in her book, should at least have been arrested and brought in for questioning. ‘Nigel, I don’t want to—’
‘No, of course not. But I believed his wife. She and a friend were with him. Unless they’re in it together, Kinver’s in the clear.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah. We’re back to Layton’s version. Hocus pocus and witchcraft.’
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.