Tell Tale (25 page)
‘Hey!’ Savage shouted. ‘Over here!’
She waved and then followed Irina into the tent. Inside, a riot of living colour assailed her senses. The air was heady with the perfume of flowers and the earthy smell of greenery. A path wound through floral displays, waterfalls trickled and bubbled, pot plants sat in deserts of gravel. Savage saw the words ‘Kingsbridge Gardening Club’ above one of the displays as she rushed past.
Irina stood down the far end of the tent, cornered next to an impenetrable mass of fern and a trestle table full of dried flowers. Savage walked forward.
‘Easy, Irina,’ Savage said as she got to within arm’s reach. ‘Let’s talk about this.’
‘No way! You’re not taking me to them!’ Irina shouted at Savage and then struck out with her hand. The blow hit Savage in the face, below her left eye. Savage stepped forward again and crooked her right foot behind the girl’s legs. She pushed her back and Irina fell over, grabbing Savage as she did. The two of them crashed into the display of flowers and the trestles collapsed. Then somebody grabbed her arm, yanking her hard and up and away from the mass of flowers.
‘Alright then, madam. Out you come.’ Savage felt her arm twisted around behind her back and forced upward until she let out a scream.
‘Police!’ Savage said. She glimpsed a flash of yellow and the next moment one of the PCSOs was standing in front of her. ‘I’m a bloody police officer.’
‘Sure you are, love,’ she said, looking Savage up and down. ‘Glastonbury branch, is it? Now why don’t you keep quiet until we can get someone to take you in.’ She began to talk on her radio, something about requesting a pick-up car. Savage moved her free hand to reach into her jacket to get her warrant card.
‘Look out! She’s got a knife!’ The PCSO screamed and stepped forward, smashing a fist into Savage’s face.
Savage dropped the wallet holding her warrant card to the floor and went limp, allowing the man holding her to grab the free arm and bring that round behind her too.
The female PCSO bent and picked up the wallet.
‘Like I said, police,’ Savage muttered, tasting blood from a cut lip.
‘What is it, Mandy?’ the man asked.
‘Um, not a knife …’ The woman shook her head and opened the wallet. ‘Bugger, she
is
one of us. DI Charlotte Savage, Crownhill CID.’
Behind her Savage heard a cough and the man muttered a ‘Sorry, er, ma’am’, before he released her.
A crowd of people had gathered and Savage realised they were all gawping. Several were shaking their heads and someone even had their mobile out and was taking a photo.
‘The girl,’ Savage said, groping her way to a nearby chair. ‘Where is the fucking girl?’
Both PCSOs turned around full circle, all of a sudden keen to help, but their enthusiasm was pointless. Irina had vanished into the oasis of ferns, a few broken stems the only sign of where she had slipped away.
Gareth Collier, the office manager, shook his head. He looked down at his roster sheet. ‘The DSupt won’t like it, Darius. A proper surveillance takes three teams, two-up, to operate twenty-four-seven. That’s six people doing sweet FA apart from watching the woman go shopping for new outfits.’
‘Helen Peacock is our only direct link to what happened up on the moor – the only one left alive, that is,’ Riley said. ‘Even if just one officer spends a few hours tailing her we might get something. I’d be happy to do the job.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you would.’ Collier bit his lip, scratched his head and then nodded. ‘OK. We’ll do it, but I’m going to have to disappoint you; DC Calter will be the tail. I think she’s more likely to blend in should Peacock decide she needs some new knickers, yes?’
Two hours later and Riley stood next to DI Davies in the queue in the canteen. He told him about the surveillance op.
‘Peacock. Tail. Genius, Darius, genius.’ Davies chuckled and helped himself to several sausages and a couple of scoops of mash. ‘Anything so far?’
Riley shook his head and reached for a pre-packed salad. He explained to Davies that he’d had a text from Calter. So far Peacock had visited a nail bar, a hairdressers, two shoe shops, and spent an hour having herself measured in a fancy boutique.
‘Sounds like she spends a lot of time and money on her appearance,’ Riley said. ‘Not that I see the point. The female half of her audience probably couldn’t care less. The male half would still fancy her if she wore nothing but a bin liner.’
‘Nice thought.’ Davies added a spoonful of peas to his plate and then slid his tray along to the cashier. ‘Especially those recycling bags. See-through, yes?’
Riley was about to say something when his phone rang. He looked at the display. Calter.
‘Helen Peacock is a bad girl, sir,’ Calter said. ‘All that dolling herself up was for a reason. She’s having an affair.’
Calter gave Riley an address in the Peverell area of the city and twenty minutes later he was sitting in the front seat of an unmarked pool car, Calter beside him.
‘Which house?’ Riley looked across at the terrace of grand Victorian properties.
‘Third one along,’ Calter said. ‘She went in about forty minutes ago and she’ll need to get her hair done again afterwards because I’m guessing a prolonged shagging session is taking place.’
Riley felt a frisson of jealousy. ‘Any idea who he is?’
‘No, but I wouldn’t mind finding out. He was as dishy as I’ve seen in a long time. Dark hair, nice smile, a healthy tan, and a great body.’
‘Is that what you’d like me to write down on your report? Because …’ Riley paused. The door was opening to reveal Helen Peacock standing there with a man in the shadows. The man stepped forward.
‘See what I mean, sir? He’s the type of hunk I could play with.’
A second tingle of excitement ran down Riley’s spine. But this time the feeling wasn’t down to Helen Peacock. It was down to the fact he recognised the woman’s lover.
‘Gotcha!’ Riley said. ‘Professor Falk, our expert in Satanism.’
‘Falk? He’s an
academic
? I don’t believe you. I thought they all wore cardigans and little round glasses?’
‘Times, evidently, have changed.’
‘Peacock’s married, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. As to whether Mr Falk is married, I have no idea. What I’m more interested in is the fact Helen Peacock denied having any knowledge or connection to Satanism. That woman’s got some explaining to do.’
Savage sat on a plastic chair in the St John’s ambulance tent, a cup of tea in her hand. The tea was hot, milky and over-sweet.
‘Get this down you, love,’ the paramedic had said. ‘Looks like you need it.’
‘Understatement of the year, hey, ma’am?’ Enders had said.
Now the DC stood beside Savage holding a plastic bag which contained the knife.
‘Lucky we were there,’ he said. ‘Otherwise the show would’ve been making headlines for all the wrong reasons.’
‘Who were the others with Milner?’ Savage said.
‘A surgeon, a farmer, a land agent and a guy who sells yachts.’
‘It seemed to be Milner she was interested in.’ Savage remembered the piercing look in Irina’s eyes. ‘Definitely.’
‘Yeah, but why, ma’am? What’s he got to do with Irina?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’ Savage took a sip of tea. ‘What did you tell Milner?’
‘Kept it simple. I apologised for disturbing his picnic and said we were chasing an animal libber. He barely acknowledged me. I don’t think he even spotted the girl.’
‘Good work.’ Savage took another gulp of tea and then poured the rest into the grass beneath her seat. ‘Any sign of Irina? I must admit I lost track of her once that idiot PCSO punched me in the face.’
‘On any other day “that idiot PCSO” would have been a hero, ma’am. Just unfortunate you turned out not to be some psycho tramp.’
‘Irina?’ Savage ignored Enders’ grin. ‘Where did she go?’
‘No idea.’ Enders held up the plastic bag and opened it so Savage could look inside. ‘I was too busy looking for this. Once I’d found the weapon I headed for the commotion in the floral tent.’
Savage peered into the bag. The knife was a serrated type, long, but with a blunt end. Fine for cutting bread but not much use for stabbing someone with. Unless Irina had managed to slice somebody across the neck, the weapon wouldn’t have done much damage.
‘What the hell was she up to, ma’am?’ Enders took the bag back. ‘And, more importantly, where the hell has she been all this time?’
‘I was wondering if Ana could have been in a relationship with Milner.’ Savage stood and began to brush some of the mud from her clothes. ‘If so, then perhaps Irina blames Milner for Ana’s death.’
‘Are you saying
Milner
killed Ana?’
‘No. But that doesn’t mean Irina didn’t think so. We need to find her, ASAP.’
‘Got a couple of cars touring the lanes around here at the moment.’
‘OK. What about the boy she was with, have you called him?’
‘Phone’s switched off. I’ve sent one of those PCSOs to wait at his parents’ place.’
‘Good. Let’s hope we can find Irina soon. For her sake.’ Savage flicked a final piece of mud from her shirt and pointed to the tent entrance. ‘And Charles Milner’s.’
In one smooth movement Irina vaulted the gate and rolled behind the hedge. A police car rolled to a stop in the lane. The officer inside clunked the door open and stepped out, then came over to the gate and made a cursory inspection of the field. Irina huddled behind a clump of nettles as the officer shook his head. He then moved to the gate post, undid the zip on his trousers, and urinated, letting out a long sigh.
A minute later, after another glance into the field, he got back into the car. There was a crackle from the radio.
‘Nothing here,’ the officer said.
The crackle came again, Irina unable to hear exactly what the voice said.
‘Yeah, of course I checked. Yes in the field, yes in the lane, yes properly. Must have been a duff report, because there’s no sign of her. Heading down to Sherford and then Frogmore and then I’m due a break, right?’
The radio operator said something else and then the officer started the car and drove away. Irina extracted herself from the nettles, inspected her forearms for stings, and then went over to the gate. Until the police car had come she hadn’t had a clue where she was. Now she knew Frogmore, where the guest house was, lay the way the car had gone. She couldn’t return to the little log cabin, but she figured if she carried on down the lane it was unlikely the police officer would retrace his route. She clambered over the gate and began walking in the direction he’d gone.
The lane plunged down a hill and cut deep between high banks. Irina trudged along, beginning to feel hungry and thirsty. The sun was relentless and she began to flag. The stress of the past few days was starting to tell on her. Irina stopped. By the side of the road a stream of water cascaded from a drainage pipe and frothed down into a culvert. The water was unlikely to be clean enough to drink but at least she could splash some on her face. She bent close to the pipe and cupped her hands. The liquid felt cool on her skin. The water gurgled into the drain, the sound comforting. One day, Irina thought, she’d like to live by a stream. Hearing the bubbling of a little brook would be relaxing, the noise would drown out all her cares.
She sighed and stood.
Round the corner and ten metres up the hill a Mercedes 4×4 filled the lane.
According to one of the stewards, Milner had left the show ground.
‘Gone home,’ the man said. ‘A little bit the worse for wear to be honest.’
‘Home’ turned out to be Caulfield Manor, the ancestral pile Milner had inherited. The manor lay north of the A38, not far from Mortonhampstead. The little town was some ten miles from Exeter and had recently been colonised by London types. You could tell, Enders explained, because they were the drivers who refused to get over on the country lanes.
‘Scared of scratching their Chelsea tractors, ma’am,’ Enders said, as he pulled the car to the side of the road yet again, this time to let a large BMW 4×4 come past. ‘And the buggers haven’t a clue how to reverse either.’
Mortonhampstead itself bustled with both cars and people. The better dressed were heading for a late lunch at one of the many eateries, while those clad in waterproofs and walking boots were looking for simpler fare. They took a winding road eastward and then Enders was turning off and up a narrow lane, which twisted up through woodland before entering a wide valley, Caulfield Manor standing at the far end. The house certainly befitted the title of Manor. Built in dressed stone, large windows surrounded a columned porch, and two great chimney stacks towered at each gable end. A gatehouse stood at the entrance to the property and huge iron gates hung open, a driveway sweeping up to the house.
‘He’s not expecting us, ma’am, right?’ Enders said, as he turned off the lane. ‘Only there’s a sign there which says visitors by appointment only.’
‘No, he’s not expecting us.’ Savage shook her head. ‘So let’s hope he’s in.’
‘Oh, he’s in alright.’ Enders nodded ahead to where a Mercedes 4×4 stood in front of the steps. The number plate read CM1.
Enders pulled up alongside the Merc and they got out. They went up the steps and Savage pressed the bell push. Seconds later the door swung open, Charles Milner standing there in tweeds, face red from drink.
‘Yes?’ Milner cocked his head on one side, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. ‘Do I know you?’
‘DI Charlotte Savage,’ Savage said pulling out her warrant card. ‘And you’ve already met my colleague, DC Patrick Enders. I wonder if we might have a word about the incident at the country fair?’
‘The animal libber?’ Milner’s eyes narrowed and then he nodded at Enders. ‘I told your man there I didn’t want to press charges, that it was nothing. In my position you expect such things. Now if you’ll—’
‘I’m afraid this is altogether more serious.’
‘Then you’d better come in.’ Milner led them down the hallway and then into the largest living room Savage had ever seen. There were three separate seating areas and a huge fireplace, wood stacked either side of the inglenook. The furniture was a mix of antique and modern and Milner led them over to an old leather three-piece with a buttoned back. He gestured at the sofa and took one of the armchairs for himself. ‘So, what’s this about?’
Savage and Enders sat down and Enders pulled out his notebook. Savage looked around the room once more. There were paintings and tapestries on the walls. All that was missing was a suit of armour in one corner and a little cafe serving cream teas. She was tempted to make some small talk but Milner fiddled impatiently, his eyes glaring at her. There was no reason for him to be nervous and yet his body language suggested he was.
‘There was a girl at the fair today. She was armed with a knife and her intention, we believe, was to kill you.’
For a moment Milner didn’t respond and then he pushed himself up and moved across to the side of the room where there was a small bar area. A couple of clinks later and Milner was walking back and taking his seat again, a glass of sherry in his hand. He sipped the sherry and then nodded to himself as if he’d come to some sort of understanding.
‘Anti-fox hunting, I’m assuming? I’ve been vociferous in my support for the farmers. I opposed the hunting bill, backed the culling of badgers, and I’m also on the board of a well-known pharmaceutical company. I’ve had threats before, but never anything like this. I guess that’s the way the world is going. These nutters will do anything to subvert democracy. We need to be vigilant in our—’
‘Mr Milner,’ Savage said. ‘Save your rhetoric for the Commons. As far as we know this girl has nothing to do with animal liberation. She’s apolitical, in fact she’s not even British, so I doubt she has much knowledge of your voting record.’
‘Not even British …? There you go then. She’s been radicalised by the Jihadists obviously. Down here, away from London, I’m an easy target.’
‘She’s not a Muslim terrorist, Mr Milner. She’s from Eastern Europe. Have you had any dealings with girls from Eastern Europe?’
‘No, of course not.’ Milner licked his bottom lip and then reached for his sherry glass. He studied the amber liquid and then looked straight at Savage. ‘What are you suggesting, Inspector?’
‘I don’t know, what am I suggesting?’ Savage glanced across at Enders. His pad had a few scrawls of pencil, but it didn’t look as if he had gleaned much from the interview so far. ‘So you’re saying you’ve had no contact with any women from Eastern Europe recently?’
‘Inspector, this sounds remarkably like an accusation. If it is, then I’d very much like to know what I’m being accused of. Are you telling me this girl who tried to attack me has been harmed?’
‘No, not that we know of.’
‘Well then, I fail to see what this is all about.’
‘There’s another girl, Mr Milner. She was found dead at Fernworthy Reservoir last week. The girl who attacked you was a friend of hers. I guess she thinks you might have killed her friend.’
‘Plainly ridiculous. As far as I’m aware no Hungarian girl has crossed my path, recently or otherwise. You say this woman is apolitical, but I think you should look again. This is obviously some ruse, perhaps dreamed up by one of our great newspapers. Quite frankly if it is, then you should be looking at their activities. Post-Leveson, such behaviour is outrageous.’
Savage stood up and walked away from the sofa. She gazed through the windows and then turned. Above the fireplace there was a painting, Pre-Raphaelite in style. A girl, hardly more than prepubescent, bathed naked in a lake while from the bankside a man, half goat and half human, watched on.
‘The name of the girl found at Fernworthy was Anasztáz Róka. Does that name mean anything to you, Mr Milner?’
‘No, of course not. To be honest, Inspector, this is beginning to get a little tiresome. I’m a busy man so unless there’s anything else I can help you with …?’
‘No. Thank you for your time. Come on, Patrick, it’s time we left Mr Milner to his work.’
Enders rose from his seat, his face puzzled. He nodded at Milner before following Savage from the room. Milner made no attempt to show them out himself. They walked down the corridor, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the porch. They had a good view down the valley now, at the fields either side of the iron fencing. A proper little estate.
‘You never mentioned Ana’s nationality, ma’am,’ Enders said. ‘And yet Milner knew she was Hungarian.’
‘I know.’
They went down the steps and Savage stood by the car. To the right of the driveway horses grazed in a small paddock, while to the left a strange strip of grass ran across a field, in one corner of which was a large barn with a curved roof.
‘Shit.’ Savage stared at the green grass. There were no animals in the field and the grass was short. It appeared to have been cut and yet around the edges were large areas of tall scrub. The impression was not unlike a golf course, with the strips of rough either side of the fairway. ‘Patrick, look at that.’
Savage patted Enders on the arm and they walked back to their car.
‘Ma’am?’ Enders said. He shook his head, not understanding. ‘Pitch and putt?’
‘Look again. That barn, what do you think is inside?’
‘No idea. I don’t have X-ray vision.’
‘What about if I said it wasn’t a barn, and it’s not pitch and putt?’
‘Not pitch and putt?’ Enders opened the door to the car and got in. ‘Horses?
‘Nope, I don’t think so. Let’s go and find out, shall we?’
Back at Crownhill, Riley and Calter presented Gareth Collier with the new evidence about Falk and Peacock.
‘So, what’s the story here?’ Collier said, scratching the top of his head. The stubble was extra short and sometimes Riley wondered if the office manager believed in a sort of reverse Samson effect; the shorter his hair, the more effective he was. ‘Are we saying Professor Falk is involved in all of this?’
‘He could be,’ Riley said. ‘Peacock definitely lied to us. We need to question her again. There’s more to her than meets the eye. She played me like a fish on the end of the line, and it wasn’t just feminine wiles.’
‘Are you certain?’ Calter smiled at Riley. ‘From what I’ve seen of her, she’s got plenty of those.’
‘Believe me, I’d noticed,’ Riley said. ‘It’s hard not to.’
‘People,’ Collier said. ‘If we could just get back to the matter in hand.’
‘Sure,’ Riley said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think we’ve got to play this one carefully.’ Collier bit his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the board. He picked up a marker pen and scribbled Falk’s name next to the picture of Helen Peacock. ‘I could put a tail on Falk but I don’t think the DSupt will wear it, not without some additional evidence. I think the best thing is to come up with some dummy excuse so you can re-interview Helen Peacock. It shouldn’t be too hard to think of one. Do you think you can do that, Darius? Pull her string without her pulling yours?’
‘I can try,’ Riley said. ‘But to continue the fishing analogy, I might need a safety net.’
They drove back down the driveway and turned into the lane. Enders cruised slowly along as they skirted the boundary of Milner’s property. He took another left and then right and then they could see the pale green of the corrugated iron structure ahead of them.
‘Park here,’ Savage said, pointing at a passing place in the narrow lane. ‘We can walk along and see if we can find a gateway.’
A hundred metres along from where they parked they found a gap in the hedge. The fence behind the hedge had seen better days and Enders pushed the barbed wire down while Savage climbed over.
‘He can’t see us, can he, ma’am?’ Enders said. ‘Because we don’t have a warrant.’
‘Don’t worry, Patrick, I’ll take the rap. Anyway if we approach from this direction the building is between us and him.’
They walked along the edge of the field until they reached the building. It had a curved roof like a Nissen hut and Savage estimated it was something like twenty by thirty metres. In front of the building, a large area of hardstanding had been laid. The white concrete glared in the sun but here and there darker splodges had spread, black, like oil. To the front of the building two huge doors hung from a cross beam, while to the right there was an ordinary-sized door with a glass panel. Savage approached the small door and peered in, cupping her eyes to reduce the glare. Inside there was a small workshop, boxed off from the rest of the building. Enders pressed his face against the glass alongside hers.
‘Not much clue as to what’s inside, ma’am. Tractors and farm machinery I expect. Maybe the tosser’s collection of classic cars.’
Savage tried the door, but it was locked. She gestured along to the pair of larger doors. Enders strode across and put his eye to the crack between the two doors.
‘Shit.’ Enders pulled back from the doors and smiled at Savage. ‘Now I see what you were on about.’
Savage took Enders’ place. Shadows filled the interior of the building. Even so, she could easily make out the single object inside. It was a vehicle – in that Enders had been correct – but it wasn’t a tractor or an old car. It was an aeroplane.
Back at Crownhill, Savage went to her office. She needed to see Hardin and arrange a search of Milner’s place, but first she wanted to get some background information on the MP. She sat at her desk and did a web search. Thousands of Milners came up, but right at the top, with a Wikipedia entry to his name, was one Charles Milner, Member of Parliament for South Devon. She skipped down through the page, quickly absorbing the information. He was one of the landed aristocracy, with remnants of an ancient estate scattered across Devon. Much had been sold off but he still owned several thousand acres of valuable farmland. His great-grandfather had been MP for the same area and Milner had been variously a local councillor and a justice of the peace before he stood in the general election of 1997. While the Tories had been wiped out by the Blair landslide, Milner, a right-wing independent, had snuck under the radar. His anti-EU, pro-farming, pro-fox hunting stance had continued to go down a treat in the rural area he represented.
Savage scrolled back up the page to Milner’s early life. He had been educated at a small private school in Devon and then gone up to Cambridge, where he graduated in Social and Political Sciences in 1989.
Shit! Here was the connection to Martin Hedford. Milner had been his contemporary at Cambridge. Milner was one of the Satanists.
In Hardin’s office, Savage tried her best to explain what had happened. Hardin listened. Patience was something you learnt when you reached the upper echelons of the police. Still, his head shook back and forth at various points.
‘Charlotte,’ Hardin said when she finished. ‘Charles Milner is not only a respected member of the community, he’s a bloody MP. I can’t send a bunch of officers to go snooping around his house without good reason.’
‘Not a bunch, sir,’ Savage said. ‘And not his house. We just need to give the plane a once-over. If Ana was in there then she’d have left traces. Just give John Layton an hour and he’ll find something, I know he will.’
‘And if he doesn’t? It could be a coincidence Milner has an aeroplane.’
‘Come on, sir, you don’t believe that? His place is on the flight path Layton worked out. The line runs right over his house.’
‘Jesus.’ Hardin shook his head again and then tapped his hand on the table. He reached for his mouse. ‘This is beyond my pay-grade, Charlotte. I can’t make this decision.’
