Tell Tale (26 page)
‘You have to, sir. Milner’s an arrogant bastard, used to getting his own way. He’ll assume he’s above the law. We know different, don’t we?’
‘Don’t start, Charlotte. This job is hard enough without your clever quips.’ Hardin clicked a couple of times on his screen and then pushed the mouse away. Put both hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward. Whispered. ‘You really think he kidnapped Ana and killed her? That he’s involved with these Satanists?’
‘Nigel Frey said the tie-down found in the reservoir could well have come from an aeroplane. Milner has a plane. Irina, the Russian girl seems to want to kill him. Milner also went to Cambridge and studied Social and Political Sciences, graduating in 1989.’ Savage bit her lip and then held Hardin’s gaze. ‘What more evidence do we need?’
‘Right,’ Hardin huffed. He scratched his chin, puzzled for a moment. ‘There’s something missing here, something important about Milner. For the life of me, I can’t remember what it is.’
‘The Home Office Committee? With respect, sir, his membership shouldn’t make any difference.’
‘No, you’re right, it shouldn’t. In reality though it does and means I need to get clearance if I’m—’ Hardin raised his hands and buried his head in them.
‘Sir, what is it?’
Hardin didn’t appear to be listening. His hand shot to his keyboard, his fingers a blur as he typed and then thumped the ‘enter’ key. He clicked and then shook his head before swivelling the laptop round so Savage could see.
The screen displayed the website of a local newspaper, the story from eighteen months ago. The lead picture showed Milner as a proud grandparent. In his arms, a newborn swaddled in white fabric. To one side, the mother. To the other side, the father. The story gave further details.
Savage blinked and felt her body jump in an unconscious reflex. She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood.
‘Charlotte,’ Hardin said, as he reached for the phone and waved for her to leave. ‘Now you can see why I need clearance from the Chief Constable.’
Savage nodded blankly, turned away and stumbled to the door. She wrenched the door open and half-fell into the corridor. She rested against a wall for support, closed her eyes and thought about what she’d just seen: Milner with his granddaughter, who was named Milly. The baby’s mother; Lauren. The baby’s father; Owen Fox.
It’s late but Chubber’s still up. He’s waiting for the light to come. Only then will he feel able to go to bed. The dark brings nightmares and ever since that time on the moor he’s had trouble sleeping. Especially now, thinking about the empty shed in the wood.
Don’t think about it, Chubber! Don’t think about what Antler Man is going to do to you!
He can’t help it. The thought of being entombed in the ancient grave with worms and maggots eating his skin, rats gnawing at his face, unable to free himself, nothing but darkness and the heavy, heavy stone above. You’d claw, you’d scrape, you’d knock, knock, knock on the stone …
Tap, tap, tap.
The window, Chubber!
The window. Chubber rises from the chair at the kitchen table. Midnight’s come and gone, but Chubber knows who’s there. It’ll be Mrs Grately. She’s crazy. Wanders the streets in the middle of the night. Whenever she sees Chubber’s kitchen light on she comes calling, looking to see if he’s got a few choice cuts. He hasn’t. And thanks to the police, he doesn’t know when he’ll get any more. Chubber moves to the window to pull back the blind, expecting to see Mrs Grately’s face beaming through the glass, dentures missing, rollers in her hair, nothing but a velour dressing gown to keep her warm against the cold night air.
‘I’m sorry Mrs—’
Chubber! It’s not Mrs Grately!
No. There’s a smile. A leering sneering grimace, behind which a snake’s tongue flickers. Above the mouth, the nose and eyes covered with a mask. Above that, a towering headdress of horns.
Antler Man!
Antler Man taps on the glass again. Points towards the back door. ‘Open it,’ he mouths.
Chubber lets out a little bleat. Like a sheep trapped in the corner of a shed. He moves towards the door and, hand shaking, reaches out and shoots the bolt. The door swings wide and Chubber is stepping backwards and the man is stepping forwards and Chubber is falling to his knees.
‘Please!’ Chubber says, aware as he does so that you don’t beg in front of Antler Man. Antler Man gives and Antler Man takes but he does so at his own whim. ‘I didn’t let her out. She escaped.’
‘We know.’ Antler Man reaches out a hand and places it on Chubber’s shoulder. ‘Remember what you promised, remember if you don’t do what we want you’re going to hell.’
‘She must have fl … fl … fl …’
Spit it out, Chubber.
‘She must have flown out.’ Chubber blurts out the words. He puts his hands out either side of his body and mimes the action of flapping wings. ‘Tweet, tweet, tweet. Like a little bird.’
There’s a horrible pause and Chubber wonders if Antler Man is going to get angry. But then there is a strange sound, almost a chuckle, and Antler Man is grinning.
‘Forget about her. Get back up to the wood and repair the shed. We’re going to need it again.’
‘How am I …?’ Chubber thinks about the bent tin roof, wonders how he can stop a bird getting out.
‘Use your initiative, your brain.’ Antler Man taps his skull head and it’s all Chubber can do not to laugh. ‘Make sure there’s no way of escaping and don’t let the police catch you this time. Otherwise we’ll be in a mess that nobody can clear up, understand?’
Say you understand, Chubber, say it!
Chubber nods. Antler Man smiles and slips backwards through the door into the yard and dissolves into the black night.
Savage awoke with a start. Her side of the duvet was rucked up, her skin clammy and cold. Pete snored lightly for a few seconds before rolling over on his side. He muttered something but in seconds was fast asleep again. She blinked. Tried to remember the dream, but this time there wasn’t anything to recall. No Clarissa, no Owen Fox, nothing. She looked over to where a pale glimmer showed behind the curtains, but it was the light from the moon, not the dawn. Savage sighed. She was wide awake. For a few minutes she just lay and stared at the ceiling. Then she decided to go downstairs and get something to drink. Some milk or some juice.
She padded out of the bedroom along the landing, checked the kids, and then went down to the kitchen. The fridge opened with a sucking sound, the light splaying onto the floor. She took out some milk, retrieved a glass from a cupboard and filled it. The liquid felt cool and comforting. She rinsed the glass and stood at the sink for a moment. In the garden everything was monochrome, the moonlight incandescent. All of a sudden she wanted to be out there, to get some fresh air and to look up at the stars.
In the living room the patio door slid open and cool air wafted over her face. The scent was heavy with the smell of seaweed and salt and a hint of damp grass from the cuttings Pete had left on the lawn. She stepped outside and onto the patio. Across the Sound near the breakwater the deck lights of a large tanker glowed orange, and in the still night air Savage could hear the faint rumble of its engines. Then there was another sound, something from round the front of the house. Somebody moving on the gravel drive.
Savage shivered. She was wearing just a slip and nothing on her feet. She turned to go back inside when something glinted to the right of the door. A garden fork. She hefted the fork into her hands and held it out in front like a bayonet. That sound again. She walked across the patio and down a couple of steps to the lawn. The ground beneath her feet was wet with dew and pieces of grass stuck to her soles. She moved across the lawn and skirted a flower bed to reach the corner of the house. A narrow path led down the side past an old oil tank and a little house on stilts Pete had built for Jamie. Savage stopped at the wooden structure and stood in its shadow. The noise came again. Feet on the gravel drive. A voice whispering. One voice or two? She wasn’t sure.
She edged forwards, her bare feet on the paving slabs. Now she was at the corner of the garage and could see the driveway. At the entrance to the road a figure moved and then vanished into the lane. Savage walked across the front of the garage, the gravel beneath her feet painful, like stones on a beach. She stood and waited. A minute went by and then another and then a car started some way down the lane. There was a screech of tyres and twin beams of light scythed into the sky and then faded.
Whoever the intruder was, he’d done what he wanted to do. Savage walked across the driveway. She had a hunch that the visitor had been at the front door. Sure enough, in the porch, a small package sat on the step. The cardboard box was a few inches cubed and even in the twilight Savage could read the printed label: FAO Charlotte Savage.
She reached for the package then stopped. This wasn’t FedEx or Citylink, this was a personal delivery in the small hours. She left the package on the step and went back round the house, leaving the fork on the patio. Inside she retrieved a pair of latex gloves from a coat and opened the front door. The parcel didn’t weigh much and she carried it in and placed it on the kitchen table. She flicked on all the lights, found her phone and took a picture. The box was unremarkable. Brown cardboard, some parcel tape, a white sticky label with her name printed in black ink.
A kitchen knife sliced through the tape and she pulled back the flaps to reveal a small square Tupperware container. On top of the container sat a slip of paper. Savage picked up the paper and read the printed message.
Next time this will be closer to home and somewhat smaller.
Was the message supposed to be a threat? If so, she didn’t understand what it meant. She put down the slip and then lifted the container out of the cardboard box. She peered through the translucent sides but couldn’t make out the object inside. Something the size of a large orange, but liquid in there too. Her fingers caressed the top of the box and she prised open the lid. She stared down at the dark-red object swimming in blood. For a second she had no idea what she was looking at, but then an image of Andrew Nesbit came into her head. He was standing by the side of a cadaver, holding something in his right hand. Savage closed her eyes and remembered his words.
You wouldn’t think it could be so small, would you, Charlotte. Amazing, hey?
Savage opened her eyes and stepped back from the table. The lid slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. She bumped into the sink and reached out and grasped the worktop for support as the room began to spin. She gulped air and tried to pull herself together. Two steps forward and she was looking at the object again. Red and white and not much bigger than her fist.
Thor Wodan’s heart.
The squad meeting on Thursday morning was a sober affair. Savage sat at the head of the table alongside Hardin and Davies and tried to keep awake as the DSupt gave a prolonged briefing. Since her unwelcome present the night before she’d managed barely an hour’s sleep. And that had been curled on the back seat of a squad car. Within minutes of calling it in, the area around her house had been swarming with armed officers. Nesbit and Layton had arrived, Nesbit confirming the organ in the Tupperware box was indeed a human heart and very likely to belong to Thor Wodan. Layton had cordoned off the driveway and a portion of the lane and, under an array of floodlights, his team had scoured the ground inch by inch. They had found nothing.
After calling for back-up, Savage had crept upstairs and woken Pete. She had packed a few things for the children and explained the situation to him. It would be wise, she had said, if he took the kids to her parents for a few days. Pete shook his head. He had a better idea. Their yacht. A load of kit from the summer cruise was still on the boat and she was prepped and ready to go. He’d take off for a few days and work his way west to Falmouth. Anchored upriver in some deserted creek, they’d be safe. The kids would think the whole thing was an adventure. Pete, Savage knew, was happier when things were under his control and he was responsible. He’d heard her talk about police cock-ups too many times to allow anyone else to protect their children.
Hardin’s speech was building to a crescendo, fist banging the table, voice booming out, face becoming redder and redder.
‘We’re going to catch these people and we’re going to catch them soon, OK?’ There was a succession of ‘yes, sirs’ and some vigorous nodding from the younger officers. ‘Right. Gareth.’
‘I’m still trying to get the SPS class of ’eighty-nine list from Cambridge but we know Martin Hedford and Charles Milner went there.’ Collier stood and strode to the whiteboard. ‘Interestingly, according to the bio on her webpage, so did Helen Peacock. Likely as not, if Thor Wodan is to be believed, there are others who’ve so far not revealed themselves.’
‘So if you studied Social and Political Sciences at Cambridge and graduated in ’eighty-nine, you’re guilty?’ someone shouted out.
‘No. Thor mentioned seven people, and Peacock commissioned seven Satanic crosses. We’ve identified potentially two of them – Peacock and Milner. We need to work on whittling it down, and find out what the connection to Anasztáz Róka is.’ Collier stopped, then gestured at Layton. ‘Speaking of which, I believe John’s got some news that might help us. Some
big
news.’
‘DNA.’ Layton stood and held up a printout. It showed the familiar barcoding pattern of a DNA sequence in three columns. He pointed to the left-hand column. ‘Anasztáz Róka’s DNA. And in the middle, the DNA from the hair found in Hedford’s flat. Identical.’
‘We know that,’ somebody said. ‘She had the key so she was in the flat.’
‘Yes.’ Layton scowled. ‘Of course. But here’s the thing. Look at the third sequence. The one on the right is somewhat different. However, I can tell you there is a familial relationship between Ana and this other sequence.’
‘So who does it belong to, John?’ Savage said.
‘Well …’ Layton scowled again, plainly annoyed at having to end his party piece so soon. ‘It’s a father-daughter relationship. The daughter being Ana and the father being Martin Hedford.’
‘
What
?’
‘Yes.’
‘Figures.’ Collier was on his feet and pointing at the whiteboard. ‘Hedford’s been in Hungary and we know he lived abroad when he was younger. Ana came to this country recently. My guess is she came to see what had happened to her dad.’
‘But he had his own family here in the UK,’ Savage said. ‘A wife and child. Before they both died.’
‘So? People split up all the time. Hedford had a child over in Hungary in the Nineties and then came back to the UK and started another family.’
Savage nodded. Collier’s hypothesis made sense. When Hedford’s wife and son in the UK both died in a run of extreme bad luck, he went back to Eastern Europe to reacquaint himself with Ana. She in turn visited the UK when contact with Hedford ceased. Maybe he’d even told her his suspicions about the Satanists.
‘So what do we do?’ Another voice from the back of the room. ‘Bring in the ones we know about?’
Collier shifted his stance and rubbed his chin. ‘The Peacock woman is going to get another visit today. There are, um, issues, with Milner.’
‘What issues, Gareth?’ Savage said. ‘If one of the obvious actions is to bring him in for questioning then we bring him in, right?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Collier appeared increasingly uneasy. ‘I’m not recommending questioning of Milner at this time.’
‘Why ever not? He’s directly linked to the crimes. Have you gone out of your mind?’
‘Not out of his mind,’ Davies said in a low voice. ‘Down on his fucking knees with his tongue out.’
‘I resent that,’ Collier said. ‘I’m only obeying orders.’
‘Exactly,’ Davies said.
‘I’m overruling you, Gareth,’ Savage said. ‘We bring Milner in and we question him hard. We try to connect him with Peacock and Hedford. We break him.’
‘No,’ Hardin said abruptly. ‘Absolutely no way.’
The room went silent, all eyes suddenly interested in the carpet or the ceiling.
Hardin coughed. ‘The Chief Constable says we’re to steer well clear. He wants a written report from the Operation
Piquet
team ASAP. Without additional evidence, he won’t sanction any kind of surveillance on Charles Milner. Understand, Charlotte?’
‘No, I don’t understand, sir. It’s a bloody cover-up. Milner and the Chief Constable are related. Milner’s daughter is married to the CC’s son. There’s a conflict of interest. Simon Fox can’t have a say on how this investigation proceeds.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman. Now pipe down and stop being hysterical.’
Savage placed both hands flat on the table, intent on pushing herself up and exploding. She began to stand when she noticed Riley sitting impassively, his face inscrutable. He made a small shake of his head. The movement was enough to bring her to her senses. This, Riley was saying, was not the time for confrontation. Savage paused, aware that everybody in the room was staring at her. Then she sat back down.
Carl Denton was pissed off. While Riley and Davies had managed to segue the pony-killing investigation into a full-blown murder inquiry, he was left doing paperwork. Along the corridor a squad meeting was taking place and just about the whole Major Crimes team was in there. Except for him.
‘Sorry, son,’ Davies had said. ‘DI Maynard is back from his birdfest next week and we need to dot the Is and cross the Ts on the sheep rustling case. Wouldn’t want him to think we’d been slacking.’
Denton stared at his screen as yet another crime report flashed up. Two sheep missing from a field near Ashburton three months ago. Another theft they could attribute to Creasey, another crime cleared up.
And then there was Calter. Since the debacle with Creasey she’d given him the cold shoulder. All in all, moving to the Agricultural Crime Squad had been a bad idea. The move hadn’t prevented Denton from thinking about her, and his heroic deeds in tracking down the pony killings hadn’t impressed her. Rumour was she’d recently been on a couple of dates with a helicopter pilot who’d seen action in Afghanistan. The ACS just didn’t cut it.
He pulled up the next incident. Sheep missing, Creasey responsible, case closed. Click, check, click. Click, check, click.
Denton sighed and pushed back his chair. He stood, went to the window and looked down into the car park. Creasey was a weirdo and yet it appeared as if sheep rustling was as far as his criminality went. Calter had thought the whole thing was a big joke. Denton had seen the pictures she’d taken of Creasey’s little arrangement up in the wood. The snaps had done the circuit of the station in a round robin email and had made the ACS even more of a laughing stock.
A white CSI van pulled into the car park and two CSIs got out. Denton stared at the van. Then he had it. Creasey’s place in the woods had been dismissed as merely an illegal sheep slaughterhouse, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if DI Savage had been too hasty? Such lowly crimes didn’t attract many resources. Certainly there’d been no crime scene investigation, no CSIs, no John Layton. Aside from Calter’s pictures – taken on her phone – there’d been nothing else to properly document what was there, and there’d been no wider search of the area.
Denton went back to his terminal. If Calter’s pictures were the only documentary evidence then he needed to look at them again. He’d had a glance when they’d done the rounds but dismissed them. The joke had been on him and the ACS after all. In seconds he had the shots on the screen. Coming from a mobile and having been taken in low light, they were of poor quality. Nobody had enhanced them because there was no need. Creasey’s case was a minor one.
Denton stared at the shot of the wooden A-frame. You could barely see anything in the darkness and Calter had focused on the crate of entrails and a pile of sheepskin. He opened a fresh copy in an image-editing program. With a few clicks he’d adjusted the contrast and light levels. The sheepskin and crate were now flared out and almost white with over-exposure, but the A-frame was much clearer. At the top right of the image, wrapped around part of the frame, was some sort of webbing. Denton zoomed in and as he did so, a smile spread across his face. He clicked the program closed, logged off from his terminal and headed downstairs.
The safety net for Riley’s visit to Helen Peacock turned out to be DC Jane Calter.
‘She might be able to eat you for breakfast, Darius,’ Calter said. ‘But I can tell you her charms won’t have any effect on me.’
Peacock had done back-to-back presenting shifts the previous day, so she had Thursday off. She lived across the river in Cornwall, on the outskirts of the village of Millbrook. Riley and Calter took the chain ferry across the Tamar. Riley never ceased to be fascinated by the journey, even though the crossing took just a few minutes. He left Calter in the car and went up top to admire the view. The chain made a clank, clank, clank, as the ferry gorged itself on the huge links and spat them out again, the chain sinking beneath the swirling waters. Other watercraft using the river risked collision by diving under the bow or else waited to pass astern. The ferry ploughed on regardless.
Back in the car, Riley drove them off the ramp and into Cornwall. They went through Torpoint and then took a succession of lanes which led them around Millbrook Bay and to the village. Peacock’s place sat on the edge of the village, behind an imposing brick wall. High double gates and an entryphone system suggested somebody concerned with keeping their home life private. Riley lowered his window and reached out to press the button next to the entryphone grille, but the gates began to open before he’d a chance to speak.
‘She’s expecting you,’ Calter said. ‘And all too eager to let you in. So to speak.’
‘Very funny,’ Riley said. ‘Remember, you’re here to protect me, right?’
‘I can hold your hand if you like.’ Calter grinned. ‘Mind you, that’s not the part of your anatomy she’s interested in.’
Riley wondered about censuring Calter. After all, she was the junior officer and her comments were becoming a little risqué. Instead he gunned the car forward and up the short gravel track and parked in front of the large barn conversion. Huge areas of glass reflected the sunlight and Riley squinted in the glare. They got out of the car as the front door opened, Helen Peacock standing there in a summer dress that left little to the imagination. From behind, Riley heard Calter make a meowing sound.
Riley stepped forward, said ‘hello’ and introduced Calter. Then Helen Peacock was ushering them inside, through a plush hall and into a giant open-plan kitchen-diner.
‘We’ll sit outside if you don’t mind,’ Peacock said. She indicated a set of patio doors that opened onto a terrace. Beyond, a swimming pool sparkled. ‘I’ll get Jim to fix us some coffee, OK?’
‘Jim?’ Riley said.
‘Yes, he’s my husband.’ Peacock raised a hand and touched between her breasts in the deepest part of her cleavage. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘No. Yes. I mean, we may want to discuss some things in confidence with you. It could be embarrassing – or worse. Do you understand?’
‘Don’t worry about Jim, I don’t keep anything secret from him and he does as he’s told. Now, why don’t you go and sit outside while I sort out the coffees, OK?’
Riley and Calter went out onto the terrace, where a set of brick benches fitted with cushions surrounded a barbecue pit. From inside they heard Peacock shouting, her strident tones ordering her husband to bring coffee and biscuits onto the patio.
As they sat down Riley glanced at Calter.
‘Looks like she knows what she wants and how to get it.’ Calter smiled and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Fair play to the woman.’
‘Coffees won’t be long.’ Peacock strode out, stiletto heels clicking on the slabs
.
‘Now, what’s this about? I thought I’d given you what you wanted.’
The double entendre again, Riley noted. Not exactly subtle.
‘I came to give you this,’ Riley said, pulling out a little plastic ziploc bag, the Satanic sigil gleaming within. Returning the piece of jewellery was ostensibly the reason for their visit. ‘We’re done with it, thank you.’
‘Two experienced detectives to bring back a sliver of metal?’ Peacock nodded her head. ‘No wonder the police are strapped for resources. Wouldn’t licking the back of a stamp and sticking it inside a jiffy bag have been a little easier?’
Riley glanced across at Calter. The DC was smiling, enjoying the way the woman was using her power. Shit, wasn’t Calter supposed to be on the same side as him?
‘I also wondered if you remembered anything more about how the item went missing. We’re really trying to understand how the cross came to be on the moor.’
‘As I told you before, I don’t remember exactly when it went missing and I’ve no idea how it reappeared in such a remote location.’
