CUT DEAD: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel Read online

  Savage sat in one of the armchairs, while Farrell perched on the sofa next to Marion. Farrell’s unruly mess of hair and youthful demeanour contrasted with his sombre suit, the effect at once uplifting and reassuring. Whether intentional or not, Farrell’s presence always seemed to make both victims and other officers more relaxed.

  The details told, Marion confessed she’d known her daughter was dead from day one.

  ‘You do, don’t you?’ she said. ‘And yet, however much you wish it wouldn’t, somehow the sliver of hope conspires to stick around. A cruel and unusual punishment is what I’d call it.’

  Savage knew about that form of hell from when her daughter Clarissa had been in a coma after being knocked off her bike. Although at least in her own case, the hell hadn’t lasted much more than a day. Not the weeks and months which Marion Mallory had had to endure. Savage saw the anguish written in the lines on her face, could sense the emptiness sitting in the woman’s soul. That kind of void could eat you up little by little until nothing good remained. Savage had to prevent herself from clenching her fists in anger, instead making a silent promise that she’d get the bastard who had caused all this misery. She swallowed, aware of what she needed to say next.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t add to your distress, but the post-mortem has revealed that Katherine had given birth at some point. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything at the time. There’s nothing on the missing person report we have from Avon and Somerset police.’

  ‘Isn’t there? I guess it never crossed our minds. She had a child at fifteen, Inspector. A girl. Sadly Katherine had anorexia and other issues. There was no way she could keep the baby. I don’t think she regretted her decision. It wasn’t something we tried to keep secret, more we just didn’t want to be reminded of it. The baby was adopted years ago. Do you think it could have a bearing on the case?’

  ‘I doubt it, but we just need to cover all the bases. The child would be, what, twelve now? Is it possible Katherine tried to make contact?’

  ‘I don’t see why she would. She left that part of her life behind after she recovered from her problems.’

  ‘And you never tried to get in touch with the child’s adopted parents or your grandchild yourself?’

  ‘Grand …’ Marion reached out into the air, grasping at something invisible, before Farrell took her hand.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘To tell you the truth I desperately wanted to contact her when Katherine went missing, but my husband argued we should hold back because it would only cause the child confusion, maybe upset her. Katherine’s own problems began as she became a teenager and … well, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. It was a noble decision. Perhaps when the child turns eighteen?’

  ‘Ma’am?’ Farrell glanced across at Savage and then back to Marion. ‘It’s a good idea, but the child has the final say in this situation. There will need to be checks.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You don’t think this could be something to do with that, do you?’ Marion’s hand tensed, gripping Farrell’s for a moment before she let go and placed her hands in her lap.

  ‘Unlikely. But let’s say she had tried to contact her, perhaps she crossed paths with someone. A taxi driver, a neighbour of the adoptive parents perhaps. The person could be in our system, along with hundreds of others. If we could find a link between the victims we may be able to find Katherine’s killer.’

  ‘The Candle …’ Marion couldn’t complete the sentence, the tears coming again, before she wiped her eyes and composed herself. ‘I don’t understand how Kat got mixed up with this. I mean, she was living in Bristol. I thought the victims were from Devon. Anyway, it was years ago, wasn’t it?’

  Marion Mallory’s words stayed with Savage after they’d concluded the interview and said their goodbyes.

  Years ago.

  The time interval was significant. Serial killers usually increased their rate of killing and only death or capture ended a spree once started. Rarely did the gap between killings lengthen or the killings stop and restart.

  As Calter drove, Savage called up Dr Wilson and put the question to him.

  ‘Gary Ridgeway,’ Wilson said. ‘Known as the Green River Killer. Killed dozens of women and then the murders almost completely stopped.’

  ‘This is the States, right?’ Savage said.

  ‘Oh yes. They don’t do things by halves over there.’

  ‘And why did he stop killing?’

  ‘He found the love of a good woman. Between 1982 and 1985 he killed over forty women. Then from ’85 onward until 2001 when he was apprehended he only killed four more.’

  ‘Only. Jesus.’

  ‘Yes. Like I said, that’s the US for you.’

  ‘This woman …’

  ‘Ridgeway met someone in 1985 and later married her. It was his third marriage but this time the relationship worked out. At least until he was arrested.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about prison or the killer being abroad as the reason for the gap in the killings; do you think instead it could be something like you just described?’

  Wilson didn’t answer and there was a long period of silence. Savage checked her phone to see she still had a signal.

  ‘Dr Wilson?’ she said. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m thinking.’ There was a further pause before Wilson continued. ‘There are no women in the killer’s life; he hates them, remember?’

  ‘But if there was someone, could her presence explain the lull?’ Savage stopped for a moment herself. Thought about Glastone. ‘Or maybe even the reverse?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Could the presence of a woman in the killer’s life where before there was none cause him to kill?’

  Again silence. Wilson computing the question. Savage imagined him in his consulting room staring at his beloved picture of the Deputy Director of the FBI for inspiration. Some seconds later Wilson’s voice came whispering through.

  ‘Yes. I believe it could.’

  Then the line went dead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Clifton, Bristol. Thursday 19th June. 3.55 p.m.

  The details of Katherine Mallory’s ex had come from Avon and Somerset police, Calter managing to arrange an appointment to interview her for Thursday afternoon. The woman, Rachel Grenfield, lived in the Clifton area of Bristol on College Road. Savage let Calter drive, but even with the DC hitting the speed limit whenever she could the journey still took over two hours.

  ‘Lucky to find a space round here, ma’am,’ Calter said to Savage as they parked up right opposite the house. As they got out she gestured at the stone wall which ran along one side of the road. ‘You know what’s on the other side of this don’t you?’

  Savage confessed she didn’t and Calter smiled. ‘The zoo. Her flat is on the top floor, right? Bet she has a great view of the gorillas.’

  Savage glanced across the road at the imposing stone terrace. The houses were four- and five-storey and the top floors almost certainly would offer a vista which took in the zoo.

  They crossed the road and went up some steps. A moment after Calter had pressed the doorbell they were buzzed into a lobby and a voice shouted down for them to ‘come on up’.

  At the top of three flights of stairs the door to Rachel’s flat stood open. Savage knocked and entered, turning to the right into the living area where a woman stood gazing out of a window. The flat was smart, clean and uncluttered; Rachel the same. She wore a suit, her brown hair just brushing the padded shoulders of a dark jacket.

  Mourning? Savage thought, but when the woman turned from the window the expression was one of bewilderment rather than sorrow.

  ‘Nice place,’ Calter said as she came through and indicated the room and the view.

  ‘I’m a solicitor,’ Rachel said, as if that explained everything.

  It did explain the neat sheaves of paper on the glass coffee table
, the law books too. Maybe it explained the woman’s manner as well. The officer at Bristol CID had mentioned Rachel did criminal defence work. She’d be used to dealing with the police. Used to putting them in their place.

  ‘We’re sorry about Katherine Mallory,’ Savage said.

  ‘Don’t be.’ Rachel dismissed the comment with a wave of a hand and then indicated they should sit.

  Savage eased herself down into the low sofa while Calter opted for a steel and wooden contraption in a corner, pulling out her notebook as she tried to make herself comfortable.

  ‘When I heard yesterday I shed a tear but Kat was just a fling. Ten or eleven weeks, no more.’ Rachel moved across the room and through a doorway, the sound of running water coming a moment later and then the hiss of a kettle starting to heat. ‘We had loads of sex, but that was about the extent of the relationship. Kat was immature. It was hardly a meeting of minds.’

  Cups rattled and Savage and Calter said yes to the offer of tea. The kettle rumbled to a boil and Rachel brought out three mugs and a fancy glass tea pot, the steam condensing on the inside.

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, thank you,’ Savage said, thinking the woman herself was cold as the fridge. ‘When she went missing, you weren’t troubled?’

  ‘Kat was flighty. She stayed round my place most nights, but she’d disappeared once before after we’d argued. Didn’t turn up until two days later.’

  ‘Which is why you didn’t worry.’

  ‘I’d been busy, but the next day I found her bag behind the sofa. Her purse and mobile were inside. She never went anywhere without them so I called the police. Told them I was concerned. They came round here and sent someone over to her old digs, but said there was little they could do. Kat wasn’t a kid, she was mid-twenties, mind of her own.’

  ‘And this time you’d also had an argument?’

  ‘Yes, a silly one really, about me flirting with another girl. Well, as I said, the relationship was physical. For me it was going to be good while it lasted, but it wouldn’t last. If you get my meaning.’

  ‘So she wasn’t your soulmate or anything,’ Savage said. ‘I can understand that. But she was your friend, right?’

  ‘Yes. Obviously. I’m not heartless.’

  ‘Did she confide in you, perhaps tell you secrets about her past life?’

  ‘About lovers and stuff?’ Rachel considered the question for a moment before answering. ‘No, not really. I knew she came from a privileged background, that her parents were stinking rich and didn’t care much about her.’

  ‘Did you know Kat had a baby when she was fifteen? That she gave it up for adoption?’

  ‘But …’ Rachel’s face bore a genuine look of astonishment which then slipped into understanding. ‘You’ve thrown me, but it makes sense. Like I said, Kat was childlike herself. Clingy at times, aloof and moody at others. I thought it was the lack of love from her parents. I can see now it could have been to do with the baby.’

  ‘Yes.’ Savage got up and moved to the window. Calter was right about the zoo. Over the high wall Savage could see the gardens spread out, people wandering the paths, kids running ahead of their parents, eager to chalk up another animal to the day’s tally. Close at hand there was some sort of enclosure with water, a series of interlinked pools with walkways between them. A dark shape came to the surface and the smooth black head of a seal emerged before sliding under again and leaving nothing but a ripple. Not much more than that for Kat Mallory. Savage turned back to Rachel. ‘And apart from the argument there was nothing else amiss, nothing unusual?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Any odd behaviour, something she may have said, something worrying her.’

  ‘No. And to be honest the argument was over and she’d already apologised in her own way.’

  ‘Sorry? I thought you said you didn’t see her again.’

  ‘I didn’t. But she left me a present. After I realised she wasn’t coming back I began to see it as a leaving present rather than a kiss and make up present. Now I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Can we see it?’ Calter said, looking up from her pad, shifting to let the steel frame dig into a different part of her back. ‘The present?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Rachel laughed, but all of a sudden Savage could see tears in her eyes as well, the recollection of the gift bringing forth memories of Kat. ‘You don’t keep something like that, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rachel,’ Savage said. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell us what it was and what you did with it?’

  ‘I ate it, of course.’ Rachel shook her head, the tears gone in an instant, the contempt for the oh-so-stupid police back. ‘What else would you do with a bloody cake?’

  So far Thursday had, in Riley’s opinion, been a waste of time. There was still no sign of Corran and no further developments. Leads were drying up.

  ‘Like my throat,’ Davies said at five o’clock. ‘Fancy stopping off for one on the way home?’

  Riley declined. He had something else in mind.

  He found John Layton in the canteen enjoying a glass of orange juice and a light read. The light read being dozens of photographs of the bodies from Tavy View Farm.

  ‘What’s this?’ Layton asked, nodding a ‘thanks’ when Riley placed a new glass of juice in front of him. ‘Something about the Dartmoor hit and run?’

  ‘Yes,’ Riley said, ‘but not the one the other day.’

  Layton cocked his head, puzzled. He reached for the orange juice.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘DI Savage. The RTC which killed her daughter.’

  ‘Forget it.’ Layton placed the glass back on the table. Looked like he was going to get up and walk away. ‘The whole thing is done and dusted. We found nothing.’

  ‘But it’s not done and dusted, is it? Not for DI Savage.’

  Layton sighed, shook his head and reached out and tidied the crime scene photographs into a neat pile. He gestured at Riley to sit down.

  ‘Darius,’ Layton said. ‘Don’t you think we tried? More than just about any other case, we tried. The poor woman. Her husband, Pete, away, her working all hours doing the job, having to look after three kids and then suddenly only two. I’ve got a daughter near the same age. Tugged at my heart, I can tell you.’

  ‘From the start, John, if you please.’

  For a moment Riley thought Layton was going to refuse. The frown on his face suggested some sort of inner conflict, as if he didn’t want to go over the affair again. But then he took a deep breath. Exhaled.

  ‘Yes. OK,’ he said. He reached for the fresh glass of juice again and took a sip. Put the glass down and looked across at Riley. ‘August. Charlotte is on Dartmoor with the three kids. It’s a beautiful sunny day and the four of them are picnicking beside a stream.’

  ‘Pete?’

  ‘He’s away. For the moment.’ Layton took another sip of juice. ‘The twins – that’s Samantha and Clarissa – are nine. I can tell you that age they’re a handful, think they know everything. Anyway, Clarissa is on her bike on the road. The lane’s a very quiet one, not the sort of place you’d go speeding along.’

  ‘But someone did?’

  ‘Yup. Fifty to sixty miles an hour-plus, I reckoned from the damage to the bike. Clarissa is knocked off, she’s unconscious and in a critical condition. An air ambulance arrives within fifteen minutes, but Charlotte can’t go with the crew, she has to stay with her children. Eventually she gets to the hospital. Pete, by a stroke of luck, is on his frigate in Gibraltar. He’s able to get a military flight back. The little girl is in a bad way, brain dead the doctors say. She never recovers consciousness and the life support is switched off a day later.’

  Riley drew in a breath, closed his eyes for a second, seeking some sort of answer from somewhere. When he opened them he could see Layton staring forward into space, his own eyes focused on thin air.

  ‘And you never traced the car?’

  ‘Self-bloody-
evident that, Darius,’ Layton said. ‘Believe me, no stone was left unturned. At least not on the scientific side of things. DI Savage didn’t get the index but she’d clocked the make: a Subaru Impreza. From a scrap of paint on the bike we worked out the car was a second generation model constructed sometime between 2001 and 2007. There were fifty-seven matching cars registered in Devon and Cornwall. Another twenty-five in Somerset. All the owners were visited and their cars checked for damage. Four of the cars had evidence of nearside damage or repair. One had been damaged before the incident in a crash Traffic had attended, leaving three possible suspects. One had a cast-iron alibi and the other two were questioned, but in the end to no avail. It wasn’t considered feasible or – get this – economically worthwhile, to extend the search beyond that. Still, there were people putting in dozens of extra hours unpaid. Detectives took it upon themselves to visit cars farther afield. One of my CSIs spent the next year tracing every V5C2s and 3s that flagged up on the DVLA system.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A transfer to a new owner or to a motor trader or dismantler. The lad followed up each form submitted countrywide and there were hundreds.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Layton shook his head. ‘Same for the other investigative avenues. Was this some kind of revenge attack? Was it deliberate? In the end no one knew.’

  ‘Still open then?’

  Layton nodded. He reached for his drink and necked the remaining couple of inches in one go. Picked up his photographs. Stood.

  ‘Your heart’s in the right place, Darius, but I’d forget trying to resurrect the case. For one thing you’ll be wasting your time. For another it will only cause Charlotte more agony. No way any of us want that, do we?’

  No, Riley thought as Layton walked off. Of course not. But if he owed Davies for saving his life he owed Savage too, and somehow he was going to find a way to pay her back.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Calter said as they got back into the car for the drive back to Devon. ‘She never realised and nor did the police.’

  ‘They didn’t know about the candles,’ Savage said. ‘By the time they’d turned up she’d eaten half the cake and chucked the candles in the bin. She told them about the cake alright but they never questioned that it had been baked by Katherine. Why would they? Our case was five years ago in time and a hundred miles down the motorway away in distance. Katherine Mallory was just another person on the misper list. No reason to think she was connected with the Candle Cake Killer.’