Tell Tale (16 page)

Irina hadn’t managed to sleep much. The pile of paper sacks was no substitute for a mattress and her reading material – Ana’s notebook – wasn’t the sort of bedtime tale to bring sweet dreams.

‘Not just Creasey,’ she’d muttered to herself before she’d finally dozed off.

When she woke, Creasey’s face hung for a moment in the motes of dust swirling in light shining above. Now, thanks to Ana’s scrawl in the notebook, Irina knew there were others involved too. Their names meant nothing to Irina and the story barely seemed credible. And yet in Russia such tales of corruption and illegality were commonplace. Why would things be any different here?

She sat up and tasted the stale, dry air. For a moment she thought she caught a hint of Ana’s favourite perfume layered over the musty smell. She shook her head. She was imagining things. Trying to bring Ana back to life. A sadness welled up inside. Ana wasn’t going to come back to life because she was dead, killed by Creasey and the others. Why, Irina didn’t know, but then ‘why’ rarely counted for much. All that mattered was the fact that men used women as playthings and when they got bored, or the playthings displeased them, then they discarded the women.

Irina pushed herself to her feet. Was she destined to be a plaything? Or was her abduction for some other reason? Most likely simply turning up at Creasey’s house was enough to make her a threat that needed to be eliminated. Again she thought of her home country. Rich men got what they wanted through the use of money and influence. They paid somebody to do something or pressurised them to bend to their will. But there was enough incriminating evidence in Ana’s notebook to end all that, at least in this case. If Irina could escape she could see these people got what they deserved.

She looked around the room at the walls lined with sheet metal. The metal extended to some two metres from the floor and above that, wood panelling rose to where the roof pitched inward. Wooden beams latticed their way across the centre of the room, huge oak trusses supporting the roof. Up there more tin had been tacked in place, but sections of it had peeled away, old and rusty. The shafts of light which illuminated the dust particles came from several holes, but the roof was way up high, maybe seven or eight metres above. Even the beams that crossed back and forth were a good two metres beyond her outstretched arms.

Earlier she’d found a plank over by one wall. The piece of wood was a metre and a half long by half a metre wide. At the time she’d thought the discovery meaningless. The plank was too short to be of any use. Now, however, Irina nodded to herself and then smiled. Whoever had imprisoned her in the room must have decided the place was all but escape-proof. Nobody could hope to jump high enough to reach the beams and, even if by some miracle they did, climbing any further would require the skills of a contortionist and the strength of an athlete.

Or, Irina thought, the agility and physique of a championship gymnast.

Dozens of images of Helen Peacock filled the terminal screen in front of Riley, many of the pictures looking as if they had been taken directly from the television.

‘Snapped by the more obsessed members of her fan base,’ Riley said. ‘Screen caps, they call them.’

‘Hey?’ Davies peered at the images.

‘Screen captures. Peacock is all over the web forums as one of the best-looking older women on TV. Type “cougar” into a search and she comes somewhere near the top.’

‘Don’t these saddos have anything better to do?’ Davies tapped the screen as Riley enlarged one of the images. Peacock on a studio couch, the screen capture showing the exact moment her dress had ridden all the way up her thigh. ‘Sitting around at home all day, waiting for that one moment. Mind you, she’s certainly a looker.’

‘I guess they all are,’ Riley said. ‘TV people. Goes with the territory.’

‘Fair enough. I expect something for my licence fee. What did she have to say for herself?’

Riley recounted yesterday’s meeting, leaving aside the come-on Peacock had made.

‘Guilty as,’ Davies said. ‘Her explanation won’t wash. She’s been up on that moor, dancing naked under the stars and slicing up ponies.’

‘But why? She’s got fame and money, a nice place in Cornwall. Why on earth would she get involved with something like this?’

‘Excitement.’ Davies made a succession of chopping movements with his right hand and then pinched some invisible dust between finger and thumb and raised it to his nose. ‘Like the old laughing powder. People want more. Drugs, swinging parties, devil worship. Most of us would be happy with what she’s got, but famous people don’t think like normal folk. I guess that’s how they got to where they are.’

‘You reckon?’ Riley put his head on one side. Davies didn’t usually get so philosophical. ‘Well, at the moment all we have is the sigil and she’s given us an explanation as to how that got on the moor.’

‘Bollocks. Just because she’s BBC doesn’t mean you have to believe everything she says.’

‘Well then we need to discover the connection between Peacock and the lads from North Prospect.’

‘Those scrotes and a woman of her class?’ Davies chuckled and then pushed back his chair, indicating to Riley he was going for coffee. ‘Beauty and the beasts. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’

By the time John Layton arrived some ninety minutes later the drizzle had turned into a cold rain, the grey sky darkening. Layton’s battered old Volvo bore several sets of ladders on the roof, the ends festooned with red rags, the whole affair giving the impression of odd job builder. Savage got out of her own car and went across. Layton wound down his window.

‘Not magic, then?’ Layton said.

‘No.’ Savage moved back as Layton opened the door and got out. ‘And if my hunch is correct it could explain why Frey and his men were unable to find the body on the first attempt.’

Savage helped Layton in untying and then unloading a large extending ladder. Layton pulled on a large rucksack containing his gear and they hefted the ladder onto their shoulders, Layton at the front, Savage at the rear.

‘Thank God there’s no one here to see us,’ Layton said. ‘We look like a right pair.’

Layton was right; they resembled some comedy duo, a circus act, maybe a scene from a Laurel and Hardy movie. Walking round the edge of the lake was easy but negotiating the woodland was harder. Unable to weave between the trees, the length of the ladder made progress frustrating. Several times they had to back up and try a different route. Under the thick canopy of leaves the rain turned into large droplets of water that splattered down. By the time they reached the scene, Savage was soaked through.

Layton sniffed, bashed some water from his Tilley hat, and then turned to Savage. Together they manoeuvred the ladder into a vertical position, pushing the upper section up through the branches until they could lean it against the tree. The feet of the ladder sank into the soft ground. Layton hopped onto the bottom rung.

‘Hold tight, would you?’ The CSI peered up to where the ladder disappeared into foliage and gloom. ‘It’ll be a bit wobbly when I get near the top.’

Layton tested the next step and then began to climb. Savage held on to the bottom of the ladder as Layton pushed up through the branches, cursing as he went. Savage glanced up but Layton was out of sight and all she received for her efforts was a face full of water as his movement dislodged droplets from the branches above. After a minute or so, Layton shouted down.

‘She was up here, you were right.’ Layton’s voice sounded excited, though muffled by the foliage and the rain. ‘Looks like she was lying on a web of branches and then she fell off when it got windy or when she was trying to move. If Nesbit’s time of death is correct and Frey’s search didn’t miss her the first time then it all makes sense. Hang on a moment.’

Savage waited, staring through the rungs at the tree trunk. Sure it made sense, Savage thought, but only in a very limited fashion. Without a ladder, the tree was unclimbable. They were back to magic again. Layton hollered down again, his voice fainter.

‘I’ve gone up a couple of metres and I can see some strands of hair caught on a thin branch. For the life of me I can’t understand how she got up this far. The branch I’m talking about would barely hold a squirrel.’

A couple of minutes later Savage felt the ladder shake as Layton descended. Clump clump clump he came, moving down two rungs at a time with little care. As he came into view Savage glanced up and a drop of water hit her in the eye. She flinched, for a moment relaxing her grip on the ladder. The whole thing wobbled and Layton’s feet slipped off the rungs. He tumbled down, landing prone on the soft pine needles.

‘Shit.’ Layton lay still for a second, then pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his back.

‘Sorry,’ Savage said, stepping forward and offering him a hand up. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah. But that could have been nasty. Twist an ankle up here and you need mountain rescue to get you out.’ Layton took Savage’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He reached into a pocket and took out a plastic ziploc bag. He held the bag up. ‘Several blonde hairs, almost certainly from Ana. She was up in that tree, but how she got there I’ve no idea.’

Layton brushed the pine needles from his back and then the two of them went about lowering the ladder. Layton explained he would come back the next day with a full team and some sort of scaffolding tower.

They walked in silence back through the wood, carrying the ladder along the lake shore to the cars. Layton tied the ladder onto the roof.

‘I’ll get these hairs off to the lab. I’m convinced they’re Ana’s though.’

‘John,’ Savage said. ‘I’ve got an idea about how Ana ended up in the tree. It’s a bit off the wall, but hear me out, OK?’

‘Sure. Go ahead.’

‘It was when you mentioned mountain rescue. I thought of the Dartmoor Rescue Group, of how they get to people deep in the moor. When you can’t walk there or the casualties are too injured to be hiked out.’

‘And?’ Layton had his hand on the door of his car. He removed his hat revealing hair plastered to the top of his head. Rain streaked down his face. He’d had enough.

‘They use a helicopter.’ Savage paused, but Layton didn’t cotton on. ‘What about if Ana fell or was pushed from a low-flying helicopter or light aircraft and she ended up in the tree? Maybe she was already dead, or maybe she hit her head on the way down. Whatever. Her body entered rigor mortis and was stuck up there, rigid. Then the rigor mortis wore off and the wind dislodged her. She fell to the ground after Frey had conducted his search.’

‘Jesus, Charlotte,’ Layton said, grinning, his mood brighter. ‘That’s brilliant. Crazy, but bloody brilliant. The girl’s injuries – her scratches – could have been caused by the initial fall through the canopy. She was still alive then because she wouldn’t have bled if the fall had happened post-mortem. However, the shock of landing on that large branch may have caused the concussion which Nesbit talked about.’

‘And the bag of clothes,’ Savage continued. ‘It could have been thrown out at the same time. Maybe they wanted the girl to land in the lake but they got their timing wrong.’

‘I’m thinking low-flying,’ Layton said. He put his hand out, flat, and moved it over the roof of his car. ‘From high up there would have been many more injuries and much more damage. And I think it was a fixed-wing aircraft, not a helicopter, otherwise they wouldn’t have mistimed the drop. Also, it must have been in the night-time. In the daytime the flight would have been far too risky because somebody would have seen the aircraft.’

‘Unless it was a genuine accident.’

‘But you don’t believe that, do you?’

‘No. For a start she was naked. Unless something very kinky was going on I can’t see why anyone would be without their clothes in a small aircraft. This was murder.’

By Friday afternoon Riley had managed to finalise arrangements for moving the stone covering the kistvaen. English Heritage and rangers from the Dartmoor Park Authority were going to be attending as well as members from the Dartmoor Rescue Group. The search and rescue team were not only going to provide safety cover in case of accidents, they’d undertake to move the stone as well.

Davies hadn’t been too interested in yet another trip into the wilderness so Riley headed off alone, leaving the DI staring at pictures of Helen Peacock in various states of undress.

As Riley drove the twisting route from Yelverton to the stone circle, rain teemed down, the drizzle of earlier now more persistent. At the circle Riley found the leader of the rescue group, Callum Campbell, leaning nonchalantly against the DRG Land Rover and talking to a park ranger, seemingly impervious to the weather. Campbell’s giant frame towered over the ranger, his Scottish accent booming across the landscape. Three DRG members and a couple of DPA workers stood over by the stone circle and nearby the archaeologist from English Heritage was setting up a video camera on a tripod, struggling to keep the camera’s waterproof cover secure in the wind. She looked up as Riley climbed out of his car and strolled across to Campbell.

‘Buried treasure?’ Campbell said. ‘Or did you just fancy a spot of weightlifting?’

‘Neither.’ Riley looked at Campbell. The man had a physique that suggested he might be able to shift the stone all on his own. ‘But the rock has moved and I want to know why.’

‘Aye. I’ve not been over this way for a while but I remember the kistvaen being open. It’s a strange little box-shaped compartment. The kids jumped in and out of the hole when I was here for a picnic a couple of years ago.’

‘Definitely open,’ the DPA ranger said, wiping a drop of water from his nose. ‘And messing with something like this is against the law. Damaging an ancient monument. Although to be honest, judging by the state of those ponies, there’re other things the blighters could be arrested for too.’

‘Well,’ Riley said, ‘you’ll be glad to hear we’ve caught them. I’m just looking for some additional evidence.’

‘No time like the present,’ Campbell said. ‘Let’s get started.’

The archaeologist nodded at Riley as he came over to inspect the rock.