Mark Sennen - Touch

The woman followed Savage’s gaze.

‘Like one?’

‘No thank you, Mrs?’

‘Catherine Mitchell. But not for much longer. That’s why I am celebrating. The end of all this crap.’ The woman swung the bottle around in a sweeping gesture.

‘Mrs Mitchell, where is your husband?’

‘Everett is upstairs with some lout.’

‘What are they doing up there?’

‘No idea. Everett was in the bathroom when this idiot comes crashing through the door. We’ve got a doorbell but he didn’t seem to know how to operate the thing. So he says to me, “where is he?”, so I says “upstairs,” and then he rushes up without a word. He didn’t even apologise for that.’ She indicated the mess Savage had scrambled over.

Catherine Mitchell was swaying now and Savage feared she might fall over.

‘Could you please go out the front door. Put the glass and bottle down first and leave with your hands in the air. It’s not safe here.’

‘Really? Can’t say I had noticed.’

She turned and retreated into the kitchen and Savage was about to go after her when she heard a shout from upstairs. She recognised Donal’s voice, the distinctive brusque tone echoing through the house.

Savage left the woman in the kitchen and went up the stairs. Voices were coming from off to the right of the landing, and as Savage edged upward she could make out Donal’s words and those of another man, the latter almost a whisper.

‘I didn’t do it, Mr Donal. You’ve got the wrong man. A rather unfortunate case of mistaken identity, I am afraid.’

‘Oh but you did and now you are going to pay.’

Savage crossed the landing and now she could see through the door where the voices were coming from. A large bedroom, probably the master. Donal stood in the middle holding a loaded crossbow, the weapon incongruous against his jacket and tie. His bulky frame filled the clothing, red neck and face poking through the tight collar, and patches of damp showed at the armpits. He noticed Savage, met her eyes and then peered down the crossbow’s sights again.

‘He did it, Inspector Savage. He killed my Kelly.’ The crossbow moved a little as Donal’s hands shook.

Savage stepped forward to see more of the room. A man was standing over against a set of built-in mirrored wardrobes. He was wearing a blue towelling dressing gown and had wet hair, either from a recent shower or maybe sweat. The man was slumped over, his knees buckled, as if about to fall. He hadn’t done so because he had been impaled through his right shoulder by a crossbow bolt, the mirrored glass behind him cracked in a crazy cobweb pattern. There didn’t seem to be much blood until Savage looked down at the floor. A pool of red liquid was gathering on the snow white carpet at the man’s feet, oozing over and through the deep pile. Vivid colour, somehow both chilling and beautiful at the same time. The man raised his head at Savage.

‘Everett Mitchell. Your men were here this morning. I didn’t like their attitude but it was preferable to this. Perhaps you might…’ He made an almost imperceptible movement of his head in the general direction of Donal and let out an awful rasping sound.

‘Mr Donal,’ Savage began, ‘we need to question Mr Mitchell about some offences, but at the moment I have no evidence he is Kelly’s killer.’

‘Well I do. I got a package.’

‘What sort of package? Who from?’

‘Didn’t say. Came by courier this morning. Contained a DVD and a letter. Told me about Mitchell here who I now find out you had been questioning earlier. Told me to check out the DVD. I did. The material was shot by Forester. In this room. Everything makes sense now. The rapes, Kelly, the whole story. Just like the newspapers said.’

‘Don’t believe everything you read,’ Mitchell said. He laughed, but the noise turned into a sort of snort and he coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. Savage moved forward, sliding one foot across the carpet.

‘Mr Donal, think of your children and your wife, don’t throw your life away.’

‘I am thinking of my children. Not only my children. Yours as well. Everybody’s children. These people can’t be allowed to get away with their crimes. The judge says a dozen years and they are out in six. The rest of us get life with no parole.’

‘If Mr Mitchell is guilty you have my word he won’t be getting out in six years, but we need proof. Do you want him to die if he is the wrong man?’

‘OK. Tell me about it then.’ Donal turned to Mitchell. ‘FUCKING TELL ME!’

Donal clasped the crossbow and stared down the sights again. Savage risked another small step forward. She was now getting near to being in the line of fire and perhaps she had a chance to make Donal think twice about shooting. Mitchell groaned and muttered something about not knowing anything about Kelly’s killer.

‘Someone connected with a Spanish girl called Rosina Olivarez,’ Savage said, thinking about the photograph Nesbit had found inside Kelly.

Mitchell sniggered, a nasty bubbling sound came from his nose and a drop of blood rolled out.

‘Oh, Mr Weirdo. We had a lot of fun with him. You think I am bad? Well Harry is mad, crazy like nutcase crazy. Blame the parents, that’s what I say. Apparently mummy and daddy weren’t very nice to him when he was a kid. Poor Harry. Now he likes girls. Oh we all do, of course, but Harry likes the caring sort. Reminds him of when he was little, he told me. Never understood it myself, but each to his own.’

Mitchell was weaker now, his face pale, white like the carpet. Savage reckoned he didn’t have long unless she could end this quickly.

‘Harry who?’

‘Harry Houdini. Now you see him now you don’t. International man of mystery, our Harry. Except there is nothing mysterious about him. He is just a sad little pervert wanking over his pictures.’

‘SHE SAID HARRY FUCKING WHO?’ Donal shouted, enraged now and swinging the crossbow back and forth with a violent motion.

Savage moved again. Mitchell’s face was ashen, his eyelids flickering. She sensed he realised he was dying, either way.

‘You’ll never know,’ Mitchell said. ‘Never know who stripped and fucked your Kelly.’

‘BASTARD!’

Donal fired the crossbow and the bolt passed through Mitchell’s chest and embedded itself in the wardrobe behind with a thud, cracking the mirrored glass a second time. Blood spurted out splattering the mirrors and showering over the floor. Mitchell’s eyes rolled down, as if noticing the mess on the ground for the first time.

‘Didn’t like the carpets, Harry. Gave off the wrong sort of light he always said. Guess they can be changed now.’

Mitchell's eyes closed and he let out a horrible wheezing sound as a final breath of air was expelled from his lungs. Then his body went limp and slumped down. Donal dropped the crossbow to the floor, went over and sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. Savage walked over to where Mitchell hung like an inanimate puppet and placed two fingers on his neck. There was no pulse and, judging by the amount of blood on the floor, no chance of resuscitation. She went over to Donal and put a hand on his shoulders.

‘I wish you hadn’t done that, Mr Donal. I really wish you hadn’t done that.’

‘I had to, Inspector, I just had to.’

Savage thought of Kelly. The beautiful girl lying on the cold earth. Then she thought of the students Mitchell had raped. Finally she thought of her own children, Samantha and Jamie and poor little Clarissa.

‘I know,’ she said.

When Savage got outside Hardin was waiting for her.

‘I am not sure whether to give you a bloody medal or a suspension.’ Hardin shook his head. ‘Davies told me he ordered you not to enter the building.’