Mark Sennen - Tell Tale - A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

‘Morning, sir,’ Calter said as she crossed the car park to Frey. ‘What’s the story?’

‘You tell me,’ Frey said. ‘Thought we were coming out here on an emergency. But it looks like this could be more of a recovery operation. Am I right?’

‘The girl’s been missing for a week, so yes, unfortunately you might be.’ Calter turned to look at the lake. ‘What’s it like in there?’

‘Don’t know yet, I’ve only had a quick shufty. Cold and deep. The water clarity’s not too bad though. If she’s in there we’ll find her, but it will take a while. Going to work up a search grid now and then I’ll get the lads in the drink.’ Frey nodded over to where two of his men were struggling into drysuits, the third preparing an inflatable dinghy. ‘Got the light with us this time of year, but there’s no way we’ll complete today.’

Calter left Frey and moved over to the car park entrance where Enders was talking to one of the uniformed officers.

‘Found by a fisherman,’ Enders said, pointing down to a plastic carrier bag which sat on the road verge next to a small boulder. ‘Unfortunately the fisherman moved the bag and touched the contents, but they haven’t been touched since except to examine the driving licence to confirm ID.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t wear gloves.’ The officer Enders had been talking to shrugged his shoulders. ‘But I thought I was dealing with something either as simple as lost property or as tragic as a drowning. I never—’

‘Not a problem,’ Calter said. ‘Can you show us where the bag was found?’

The man nodded and then beckoned one of the other officers over to take his place at the car park entrance. Calter and Enders followed the man as he led them through a small gate and across a patch of neat grassland designated as a picnic area. At the water’s edge he headed along the foreshore, crunching over the exposed lake bed where the water level had dropped over the summer, dry for once in Devon. After a few minutes the officer pointed to a section of bank where a tree had fallen into the water.

‘There. Just to the right of the stump of the tree. The fisherman says he found the bag by the stump. You’d not see it unless you were wading or you’d pushed through the vegetation to get to the water’s edge.’

‘What the hell was she doing out here?’ Enders said. ‘We’re miles from her digs, in the middle of nowhere and she didn’t have any transport. Not even a bike. I suppose she could have hitched a lift, but why?’

‘Is all her clothing in the bag?’ Calter said to the officer.

‘Yes, everything.’ The officer blushed. ‘Even a pair of knickers and a bra.’

‘I don’t like it, Jane,’ Enders said. ‘I don’t like it one little bit.’

‘Neither do I,’ Calter said. ‘She either came here of her own free will, stripped off and went for a swim – possibly with the intention of killing herself, possibly she succumbed to cramp or the cold – or else …’

‘It’s that bit I don’t like. The “or else”.’

Five minutes later and they were back at the car park. Frey’s men were already in the water, the divers in the shallows, a man in the dinghy dropping weighted buoys to demarcate search areas.

‘I’d be surprised if she’s down there,’ Frey said, looking out across the lake. ‘If she’s been in the water any length of time she’d have been a floater. There’s a lot of people around here in the summer so somebody would have seen the body before it sunk again.’

‘And the water level’s lower than usual, isn’t it?’ Calter pointed to the strip of exposed lake bed around the edge. ‘So she couldn’t have been swept through the outflow.’

‘No. The underwater outlets will have grilles on too.’

‘But if this wasn’t an accident or a suicide then she could be on the bottom.’

‘Sorry, I don’t get you?’

‘If the body had been weighed down with rocks for instance, put in a sack. She could have been taken out in a boat and dumped in the deepest part of the reservoir.’

‘Possibly, but when? Middle of the night? We’re at the height of the tourist season, so any other time of day and there’d be witnesses. I suppose bad weather would keep the tourists away, but we haven’t had any recently.’ Frey paused. He glanced at the water and then back at the surrounding woodland. ‘It’s a big job, all this. Is Charlotte coming out?’

Calter felt put out for a moment. Frey plainly believed the situation merited the attendance of more than a couple of junior detectives.

‘No, sir,’ Calter said. ‘She isn’t. I’m sure she’s got better ways of spending her Sundays.’

Savage slipped out of the house unnoticed. She drove from Plymouth to the outskirts of Newton Abbot and a large park and ride, slotting her car into a bay, the vehicle anonymous amongst hundreds of others. Being spotted here, being seen with the man she’d arranged to meet, was a definite no-no. She got out of her car and looked around until she saw the Range Rover. She walked over and opened the door.

Kenny Fallon turned and looked at Savage as she got in. ‘Unfinished business, Charlotte. Is that what this is?’ He reached for the ignition and started the car. ‘Or are we just going over to have a recce?’

Unfinished business.

Yes, you could call it that, Savage thought. Only the business was personal.

The Range Rover glided out of the car park and onto the main road heading for Paignton. Fallon’s hand went up and rubbed his goatee beard.

‘Well, Charlotte?’ He glanced at her and the hand moved from the beard to stroke his huge mane of white hair. The hair tumbled down to well beyond his shoulders. Plymouth’s premier gangster might have resembled a sort of cuddly Hell’s Angel, but in Fallon’s case appearances were definitely deceptive. More than one or two rivals had misjudged the man’s intelligence and guile and not all had lived to regret their mistakes.

‘I just want to see him, that’s all,’ Savage said. ‘I’ll decide what to do afterwards.’

‘Right.’ Fallon chuckled. ‘Ask him if he’ll say sorry and then kiss and make up? After that maybe send each other Christmas cards every year.’

Savage didn’t respond. She stared at the traffic rushing towards them on the other side of the road. Headlong. That’s what it felt like sometimes. Her family had been wronged, Clarissa killed. Nobody punished. How could that be right?

‘Whatever.’ Fallon spoke again. Took one hand off the steering wheel and patted her on the knee. ‘Uncle Kenny will sort things for you. Mind you, considering who the killer is, we’ll need to go careful. You don’t go messing with the Chief Constable’s son.’

When Savage had discovered the truth, it had at first seemed unbelievable. But then, turning things over in her mind, it had made more sense. How, for instance, the driver of the car which had hit Clarissa had managed to avoid detection. The police had known the make and model – a Subaru Impreza – yet they hadn’t been able to track down the owner. That Simon Fox was behind this failure to find and implicate Owen, was in no doubt in Savage’s mind. The trail must’ve been covered up, records obfuscated, perhaps even officers told to keep quiet.

A few minutes later and they were on the outskirts of Torquay, the Range Rover purring through a recently built estate. Neat little lawns with brick-paved driveways stood in front of two- and three-bedroomed houses. This was the preserve of newly formed families, the first or second step on the housing ladder. Owen lived here with his wife and young children. Did he sleep easy at night in the serenity of his suburban idyll? Or did he toss and turn with worry, Clarissa Savage haunting his dreams?