Cut Dead (33 page)

Wilson moved towards Savage.

‘No, Dr Wilson, you’re wrong.’ Savage moved across to another nearby boulder and stepped up. ‘If you’ve misread me then I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in you. Come on, let’s head back. We can forget this ever happened.’

‘Forget?’ Wilson looked up at her, the lump of granite still in his hand. ‘I’ve been trying to forget for most of my life. Women like you remind me all too often.’

‘Look, you’ve made a mistake,’ Savage said. ‘Don’t make the same error you made on the last investigation.’

‘A mistake? There’s no mistake, I think I’m in love with you!’

Wilson stepped forwards and Savage leapt down, the boulder now between them. Wilson’s smile became a sneer and he darted to the left, intending to come round the side. Savage moved in the opposite direction, keeping the boulder as an obstacle.

‘Come on, Charlotte!’ Wilson spat her name out. ‘Let your hair down for once. Turn off the freezer. Deep down you’re aching for me.’

‘I can assure you I’m not.’ Savage spun round and ran away from Wilson. A tumble of rockfall surrounding the tor a hundred metres away was her target.

‘I want you and I mean to have you!’ Wilson yelled and came after her, arms lunging forwards. He lobbed the rock and it crunched into the ground just beside her.

Savage ran on, but Wilson’s long legs carried him over the rough ground faster. She felt a hand brush her shoulder as he caught her up. She made an extra effort and sprinted, but as she reached the rockfall she dropped to the ground in a ball. Wilson was right behind and he careered into her, falling over the top and rolling onto the sharp granite.

‘You bitch!’ Wilson shouted out as he lay on the ground. He scrabbled around for a rock, but the pieces were all too large. He panted and rubbed his arm where the sleeve had scuffed up, a patch of grazed flesh visible. ‘You’re a feisty number. Must be that red hair. Red for danger. No matter, I like a challenge.’

‘Forget it!’ Savage said. ‘You haven’t got a chance.’

She stood and moved away. As she did so there was a trilling and a vibration in her pocket.

The sound caused Wilson to put his head to one side, as if he couldn’t work out what the strange noise was. Savage pulled out her phone and trotted back the way she had come.

‘DI Savage,’ she said.

‘DC Calter, ma’am. Where are you?’

‘Dartmoor. With Dr Wilson.’

‘Not good, ma’am. Not good at all. Dr Wilson is now a suspect.’

‘
What
? Are you serious?’ Savage turned back towards Wilson. He was picking himself up, limping in her direction. And he’d managed to find another large rock. ‘On the other hand, it could make a lot of sense.’

‘You OK, ma’am? Do you need backup?’

‘Um, might be a good idea. Can you see to it? Discreetly.’

‘You’ll need to tell me where you are.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Savage looked across at Wilson. He was closing. ‘We’re up on Sharpitor. Amazing views. You should come up here sometime.’

She scampered back to the original chunk of rock. Clambered up on top again.

‘You’re in luck, ma’am, there’s somebody in the area. Can you see the road from where you are?’

Savage turned away from Wilson for a moment. A line of black snaked up from Yelverton to where she had parked and then dropped away again, before rising once more towards Princetown. A car, driving at what seemed an impossible speed, shot into view about a mile to the south. Not exactly discreet.

‘Yes.’

‘Guardian angels, ma’am. You keep talking to me, OK?’

‘Sure thing.’

Wilson moved closer, but he’d seen the car too. His frenzy seemed to have diminished. ‘Problems?’

‘Not at all,’ Savage said. ‘New evidence. A suspect. Let’s get down there and see what it’s all about.’

‘I’m sorry about just now. Can we forget it happened? Just like you said.’

‘Sure,’ Savage said, resisting the temptation to tell Wilson to get fucked. ‘No worries.’

Wilson shrugged. He stared down at the rock in his hand. Weighed it. Then he flung it away. The rock bounced a couple of times, little chips of granite flying off, and then thudded into the ground. The psychologist lowered his shoulders, gone limp.

Savage went ahead, bouncing down the slope and keeping a good distance between herself and Wilson. When she reached the bottom Riley and Davies were standing beside their car.

‘Thought I’d return the favour from earlier in the year,’ Riley said, nodding over Savage’s shoulder at Wilson who was still fifty metres away. ‘Nick of time and all that.’

‘We’re here to arrest Wilson,’ Davies said. ‘Suspicion of.’

‘For real?’ Savage said.

‘On the instructions of Hardin. He said you’d want to do the honours. Correct?’

‘Too bloody right.’

Wilson reached the car park and stumbled across to his 4x4. The lights flashed as he unlocked the doors.

‘You’ll need to give those keys to me, sir,’ Riley said, stepping forward. ‘We’ll send somebody to come and pick your vehicle up.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Wilson turned away from the car and glared over at Savage. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

‘Peter Wilson,’ she said. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Paula Rowland. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence.’

Wilson stumbled away from the car and began to run back along the path to the tor. Seconds later Riley collided with him and Wilson went down in a heap with Riley on top.

‘Now, sir,’ Riley said, pulling himself up. ‘Come along with me and try not to upset DI Savage. You wouldn’t like her when she gets angry.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Wednesday 25th June. 2.12 p.m.

Dr Peter Henry Wilson was booked into the custody centre at Charles Cross at a little after one-thirty. Back at Crownhill the atmosphere was of near-jubilation.

‘In the good old days,’ Davies said from one side of the room where he and Riley were back to working on their own investigation, ‘we’d have been in the pub by now. All of us.’

A few minutes later Layton turned up with the evidence which had led to Wilson’s arrest.

‘Mud, John?’ Savage said to the CSI as he plonked the two bags of soil samples down on a desk. ‘That was enough to arrest him?’

‘No. Not alone. The mud was enough for me to confirm my suspicions. I should have told you but I had an inkling. Yesterday I took a look at a hair I found snagged on the door at Paula Rowland’s place. As you’ll know I have samples from officers working on the case which I use for elimination purposes. It’s almost impossible to prevent some kind of contamination what with all the people going back and forth at a crime scene. When Wilson came on board he had to provide fingerprints and a sample of hair. His sample matches the one from the house.’

‘So?’

‘Dr Wilson never went to Rowland’s place. I thought he’d have gone to the scene to check it out, but turns out he didn’t. I checked the log.’

‘You’re sure on this?’ Savage glanced at Layton. ‘Scrub that. Of course you are.’

‘I’ve had the hair fast-tracked overnight. Should get the DNA analysis through within the next hour or so. Incontrovertible.’

‘That he was in the house, yes. Not incontrovertible he’s the murderer.’

‘Nesbit’s doing the post-mortem on Paula Rowland today and I wouldn’t mind betting we’ll get semen from inside her. And you’re forgetting the mud.’

‘There could be an explanation to that too. This needs to be watertight.’

‘There’ll be more. We can blitz his car and we’re getting a warrant for his house as well. You know my motto.’

Layton didn’t say anything else, just turned and went to find Hardin and chase the warrant.

With Layton gone Savage went through an interview strategy with Calter and Enders. Junior officers would be conducting the formal interviews with Wilson. He was a man who considered himself important, somebody who’d had the ear of the Deputy Director of the FBI. He didn’t need his ego inflating any more. In fact, the opposite technique would work best. While the preliminary interviews were taking place, other detectives would be trying to get background information on Wilson. They’d be speaking to people in his professional and personal circles and trying to get a handle on the psychologist’s life.

Savage arrived at the custody centre an hour later with the two young DCs in tow. With the evidence from Layton looking solid, Savage was obliged to disclose it. There didn’t seem much point in waiting for the DNA confirmation so she went along to speak to Wilson and his solicitor before the formal interview began.

‘This is utterly ridiculous,’ Wilson said, standing up as Savage entered the room. ‘I would be laughing if the situation wasn’t so serious. Do you realise what you’re doing to my reputation?’

‘Your reputation,’ Savage said, waving Wilson back to his seat, ‘is the least of your worries.’

Sitting beside the psychologist was his brief, Amanda Bradley, a solicitor well-known to Savage. She doodled on a legal pad, fingers clutching the pencil, her red nails like talons. Bradley’s style was verging on the ridiculous and the tight blouse and short pinstripe skirt she wore wouldn’t have been out of place in an office-set porn movie. She reached across and touched Wilson on the arm and then turned and smiled at Savage, showing her perfect teeth.

‘I am sure, Inspector,’ Bradley said, ‘that this will all turn out to be a big misunderstanding. If we can expedite the interview process with regard to the harm the uncertainty over my client’s position is causing to his professional—’

‘There’s no uncertainty,’ Savage said. ‘We’ve found hair matching that taken from samples provided by him in Paula Rowland’s house. The material is being DNA-tested right now. We fully expect a match.’

‘Is that true?’ Bradley removed her hand from Wilson’s arm and shifted in her seat. Her clients ranged from low-life pond scum to super-rich criminals, but Savage knew the solicitor drew her own line of morality somewhere between bad and evil. ‘Can there be some mistake? Cross-contamination?’

‘Fit-up,’ Wilson said. ‘Ask them about DCI Walsh.
Ex-
DCI Walsh. He’s behind this. It’s professional jealousy. Because Walsh cocked things up the first time around, he wants to ensure nobody else gets the glory.’

‘Jealousy?’ Bradley looked across at Wilson, her face askance, bright red lips pouting as if she could never imagine possessing an ounce of the stuff. ‘How so?’

‘Walsh is a washed-out has-been in a regional force. I’ve been lauded by the Deputy Director of the FBI. If I had been retained in the original investigation the case may well have been solved by now. Deaths would have been prevented. When I get out of here I’m going to draft a report and I’ll see to it the press get a copy. I wouldn’t be surprised if legal action is taken by the families.’ Wilson smiled at Bradley. ‘You might even see if your firm could represent them.’

‘I see.’ Bradley reached for her pencil. ‘I assume you refute these allegations, DI Savage?’

‘Entirely. Now I expect you’ll want to consult with your client before we continue. In light of the developments.’

The clock had just ticked up to four when John Layton came crashing through the double doors into the major crimes suite.

‘Bang to!’ he said, flapping a piece of paper in his hand and waving it over his head as if he’d just found a winning lottery ticket. ‘DNA’s come in and Wilson’s name is there in black and white stripes.’

‘Barcoded!’ someone shouted from the back of the room and there was a chorus of ‘fucking got him’ too.

Savage got up from where she was sitting and went over to Layton. Held out her hand.

‘Superb work, John. This is one hundred per cent down to you.’

‘Bloody good policing,’ Enders said in a passable imitation of DSupt Hardin. ‘Suck on one of my liquorice sticks.’

‘Over to you now.’ Layton handed Savage the piece of paper. ‘He was at Paula Rowland’s place, he was at the railway bridge too. You just need to get him to come clean.’

‘Be my pleasure.’

‘Hopefully I’ll have more later. Off to Wilson’s house right now.’ Layton paused. ‘You know where he lives don’t you?’

‘No. Enlighten me.’

‘Crapstone. Near Yelverton, but not a million miles from the Bere Peninsula either. Sort of places doctors and the like live so it could be a coincidence, but I think not. Too close to the farm for that.’

‘When we were on the moor Wilson talked about where the killer lived. He said it would be in a big house in a posh village. It’s almost like he was directing me.’

‘Perhaps he was. Anyway, as soon as the warrant arrives we’ll go in. You’ll be there, I take it?’

‘Of course. After I’ve checked on the progress of the interviews.’

An hour later and Savage was back at the custody centre with Hardin. They sat at a desk watching Calter and Enders interview Wilson on a small monitor. Non-specific questions received a polite answer. Questions having any bearing on the murder of Paula Rowland met with a ‘no comment’. Bradley fiddled, wiggling a pencil between her fingers so it appeared to be made of rubber.

Calter and Enders had begun by outlining the murders and establishing the parameters for the interview. Wilson was providing no alibis for any of the crimes, either the recent ones or the historical ones. Forensic evidence would show he’d been at Paula Rowland’s house and crossed the bridge to the farm. He had a history of sexual harassment. The latest incident being his odd behaviour towards DI Savage.

‘We’re sure on this one, Charlotte?’ Hardin said, tapping the screen with a fingernail. ‘I mean the man is not without influence.’

‘Are you scared a load of G-men are going to tip up at the station, guns blazing?’

‘No. Not the FBI. I’m thinking of the Chief Constable. He’s been on the phone with congratulations, but he wasn’t exactly gushing. Remember, Fox was the one who insisted we recruit Wilson in the first place.’

‘DNA, sir. We’ve got a strand of hair, remember?’

‘Follicles?’