Mark Sennen - TOUCH - A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

‘If he’s implicated there is going to be some serious press heat,’ Riley said.

‘Yes, but for once it won’t be on us. Should have been banged up.’

‘Go on,’ Savage said. ‘There’s more.’

Enders continued reading from the notes.

‘Seems like Kelly told the flatmate she was going to a friend’s house for the weekend, something she often did. The next day was a Friday and the flatmate came back to find Kelly gone.’

‘And she didn’t worry because she thought she had gone away?’

‘Precisely.’ Enders pointed at the screen again. ‘It wasn’t until Monday evening that she called Kelly’s parents to ask them if Kelly had been there. They said that they hadn’t seen her and in turn called us.’

‘Appears we did bugger all,’ Riley said.

‘They were told to call again at the end of the week and did so. Seems like then someone decided the girl had gone off to London modelling. She mentioned something about an agent to the flatmate and in the weeks before she had fallen out with her parents. Further investigation led to the incident being classified as low risk with a flag to review the case and reassess it at a later date. As of today it doesn’t seem as if that has happened.’

Savage could understand why. The amount of resources needing to be deployed was not inconsiderable. They would need to get search teams into Donal’s property, obtain the necessary permission to access landline and mobile telephone records and bank accounts, liaise with the Met to see if there was any evidence she had ever made it to London, check with the UK Border Agency as to whether she might have left the country … Now those resources would be forthcoming, but Savage wondered if the officers on Kelly’s case had been hesitant in taking the investigation to the next stage because of cost worries or if the error was down to negligence.

‘This is all news to me,’ Savage said. ‘I think I was on holiday at the time.’

‘You’d flown out to Brazil to meet your husband,’ Riley said. ‘I remember the sun, sea and sand on the postcard made us all depressed.’

‘You shouldn’t have transferred down here if you like the weather sunny and warm.’

‘It was a little too hot in London, I was in danger of getting burnt,’ Riley said, without further explanation. ‘Anyway, where does Forester fit into all this?’

‘I’m on the case, Darius,’ Enders said. He typed and clicked and the results of a new search for male mispers came up. He pointed to the screen. ‘David Forester, twenty-nine, of North Prospect. Reported missing by his parents on the eighth of August.’

‘Damn. Why didn’t that get linked in with Kelly’s case?’ Savage said. The date was two weeks after Kelly’s disappearance, but there should have been some sort of flag in the system to draw attention to the previous incident; a definite mistake on somebody’s part.

‘Someone missed the connection,’ Riley said. ‘For a mispers case it doesn’t seem much of an oversight, but now we’ve got a body …’

‘Exactly. Forester is now the prime suspect,’ Savage said. ‘Right, we need to generate some action points on this. One, get family liaison to inform Kelly’s parents and arrange for formal identification of the body. Two, let’s get the Beacon Park officers involved in the domestic and ABH incidents in, plus those on the Kelly mispers case, we need their input. Three, get a search team into Kelly’s and Forester’s properties. Four, re-interview Kelly’s parents and her flatmate. Five, interview Forester’s parents and employer.’

‘He was unemployed,’ Enders said, pointing to the screen again. ‘Used to work at Tamar Yacht Fitters, but was dismissed after the conviction for ABH.’

‘Still, might be worth a word. You and DS Riley will take that one and I’ll see what I can get out of his parents. I also think we need to make an appeal for David Forester to come forward. This isn’t a missing person inquiry anymore, it’s murder. Let’s ditch the interview with Isaacs and ask the CPS if they want to charge him with the sexual offence on the body. Then we can concentrate on Forester.’

‘But taking Kelly all the way over to Malstead Down? Forester? We don’t know much about him, but he doesn’t seem the type to go to all that trouble.’ Enders sounded sceptical, as if he didn’t agree with Savage.

‘Taking her over there might have seemed like a good way of misdirecting us. But first we find Forester and then let’s see where we are. It is my guess he’s our man.’

The damp shirt stuck to DS Kevin Tatershall’s skin as he shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The heater had been going full-blast on the twenty-minute drive from Penzance but the fan hadn’t dried him much and he was still soaking. The downpour had started first thing in the morning and he’d got wet on the walk to work. He’d just about got dry when DI Peters came across with a piece of paper and a nasty smile, which Tatershall guessed meant an assignment outside of the station. The run from the building to the pool car left him at square one all over again.

In St Ives the rain continued to fall. Cats, dogs and pretty much everything else tumbled from the sky, and lashings of water filled the roads with runoff. Tatershall didn’t want to think about leaving the warm cocoon of the car and he pitied the tourists working their way up and down the streets with their odd shuffle, looking as if they were in harness rather than on holiday. They must be crazy to bother coming to Cornwall at this time of year.

‘I wish I was a tumble dryer, I’d run my program through.’ The soft, husky voice came from DC Kate Simbeck and she smiled as she continued her rhyme. ‘I wish I was a tumble dryer, I’d dry your clothes for you.’

Simbeck didn’t look too keen to get out of the car either, but apart from her long pony tail, which she wore on the outside of her over-sized Musto, at least she’d stayed dry. As they sat contemplating the rain the windows began to steam up and Tatershall drew a quick stick figure on the windscreen, completing the drawing with a hangman game gallows.

‘That DI Peters?’ Simbeck said.

‘Yuppee doodah. Can’t draw what I’d really like to do to him or we’d have the obscene publications law to deal with.’

Simbeck giggled and the noise and the way her cute little nose wrinkled caused butterflies in Tatershall’s stomach. He wished they had parked somewhere a little more remote and he wasn’t married with three kids. Maybe then she would say ‘yes’ if he asked her for a shag.

Driving somewhere remote wouldn’t be a problem. Within five minutes they could be out of town. Within fifteen Tatershall knew dozens of places quiet enough. The wife and kids were more of an issue though, and the chance of a pretty twenty-something girl saying ‘yes’ to an early fifties guy like him were in the arena of having a winning lottery ticket. Of course, if he’d won the lottery he wouldn’t be on some stupid mispers goose chase involving an elderly couple DI Peters had chosen to push his way. No, he’d be on a golden beach somewhere hot, rubbing suntan oil into Kate’s glorious—

‘Kevin?’ Simbeck pointed out through a patch of window where she had smeared a circular hole in the condensation. A well-filled uniform stood some way up the street looking wet, miserable and not a little angry.

‘Bugger.’ Tatershall sounded the horn, wound down the window and waved at the PC. ‘Over here mate.’

The PC jogged down the pavement, dodging umbrellas, baby buggies and a group of disgruntled tourists. The latter glowered at him as if the local police were responsible for the weather as well as crime. The officer arrived at the car puffing and leaned in, dripping rain and a palpable hostility.