got to Chagford, a starry sky hung above the town’s near-empty streets. They parked up a few doors from Kendwick’s place, Savage noting the front-room light was on. A few minutes later her phone rang.
‘We’ve got a possible on the girl, ma’am,’ DC Enders said down the line from the station, his voice squawking for a moment as the signal broke up. ‘Amy Glynn. Nineteen. She’s from Plymouth and was out in town last night. Her parents reported her missing first thing this morning after realising she hadn’t returned home. I’ll email you a picture, but I can tell you she was blonde and wearing a silver dress.’
Savage hung up and then checked her mail. Enders was as good as his word and after a few seconds she had his email. Savage opened the accompanying image and passed the phone to Calter.
‘That’s her, ma’am. Her or her doppelganger.’ Calter peered at the screen before handing the phone back. She shook her head. ‘Poor kid. A few years ago I could have been her.’
‘I can’t see anyone getting the better of you, Jane. What’s that sport you do? Jujitsu?’
‘That and Taekwondo. A bit of Judo too. Mixed martial arts, everyone does it now. But that’s beside the point. Why should women have to learn self-defence in order to feel safe? Still, if some fucker ever tried anything with me, I’d break their … well, you know, ma’am. Let’s say they wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again.’
Their conversation was interrupted by lights sweeping the interior of their car. Savage turned to see the Force Support Group vehicle rolling up behind them, Inspector Nigel Frey in the front passenger seat. Savage got out of the car to meet him.
‘Nigel,’ Savage said, as Frey hopped down. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘Not a problem,’ Frey said. ‘Quite the opposite. I’ve been reading all about your Mr Kendwick in the papers. Be my pleasure.’
Savage could well imagine. Dressed in black fatigues and with a pistol holstered under his left arm, Frey resembled a life-size Action Man. His notion of policing wasn’t finding lost children or catching speeding motorists, he liked to bash heads. If he wasn’t bashing heads he preferred the waters of Plymouth Sound to the city’s streets. A big police RIB was his plaything and he was often to be found zipping back and forth, buzzing yachts and other pleasure craft. Still, Savage had nothing against Frey since he’d saved her life on two occasions.
Frey made a hand signal back to the van and the side door slid open, four black-clad figures jumping out. Two of them held a big metal battering ram. A patrol car pulled past the FSG vehicle and edged along the street until it was well beyond Kendwick’s place. Then the driver turned the car sideways in the road and both officers got out. A motorcyclist was coming towards them, but the officers waved at the rider to stop.
‘OK, let’s do this, Charlotte,’ Frey said, setting off down the street with Savage trotting along beside him, trying to keep up.
They reached Kendwick’s place and one of the FSG officers bent to the door and peered through the letterbox. He mouthed an ‘all clear’ and stepped aside as two more officers moved to the door with the battering ram. They took a practice swing and then brought the ram crashing down against the Yale lock. The door smashed open, bouncing back shut before another officer shouldered the door and moved inside.
‘Armed police!’ the officer shouted, his weapon raised. ‘Stay where you are and don’t move!’
The other officers ran into the house too, Savage behind them. Kendwick stood in the archway to the little kitchen, a tea towel in one hand and a mug in the other. The first officer braced himself, his finger caressing the trigger on the gun. A red laser dot flickered on Kendwick’s chest.
‘Face down on the floor! Now!’
Kendwick moved slowly but purposefully. He placed the tea towel and mug on a work surface and lowered himself to the floor. One of the other officers went over and yanked Kendwick’s arms behind his back. He clicked a pair of cuffs in place and then pulled the man up. Kendwick winced.
‘Charlotte,’ he said, talking past the huddle of officers and meeting Savage’s eyes. ‘I was just making a pot of tea. Fancy a cuppa?’
Savage pushed forward through the scrum. ‘Malcolm Kendwick, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You don’t have to say anything, but if you do it might be used in evidence.’
‘Say something? Of course I’m going to fucking say something! This is bang out of order. I’ve been back in my home country less than a week and already you’re picking on me. I tell you what, this will be front-page news tomorrow and you lot will be in all sorts of trouble.’
‘I don’t think so, Malcolm,’ Savage said. ‘Nobody knows about this and to be honest I doubt if anyone much cares. You’re yesterday’s news.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Kendwick smirked and his eyes flicked up to the low beams above his head. As he did so, a female voice called out from upstairs.
‘Hello? Can I come down?’
One of the officers wheeled round, his weapon trained on the stairs. ‘Slowly!’ he shouted. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’
A figure emerged into view. High heels, legs encased in sheer nylon, a business-like skirt and jacket. The woman descended the stairs. She had blonde hair in a bouffant style, bright-red lips and plenty of make-up. The hair bounced with every step she took.
‘Lower your weapon,’ Savage said as she moved forward and waved the armed officer away. ‘And you are?’
‘Melissa Stapleton,’ the woman said. The red lips parted in a smile. ‘The Daily Mail.’
‘The bloody Mail, Charlotte?’ Hardin said as he paced the corridor outside the interview room at the custody centre. ‘You don’t think you could have gone one better, do you? Arranged for a live TV broadcast as well, one of those webcam live-streaming things perhaps? YouTube, Facecrap or some other bollocks?’
‘I obviously didn’t realise she was in there,’ Savage said. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have gone in like we did.’
‘Not “we”, you.’ Hardin jabbed a finger at her to emphasise his point. ‘I specifically told you to go by the book, but instead you called up Nigel Frey and his band of thugs and went in there gung-ho, as if you were taking down the Krays. A battering ram and weapons? Jesus, there was absolutely no need to go storming in like that. I dread to think what the headlines will be in the morning. She heard everything, right?’
Savage nodded. Melissa Stapleton, the Daily Mail’s star feature reporter, had been powdering her nose in the bathroom as Frey’s men had smashed open the door. Kendwick, it turned out, had signed a lucrative deal with the Mail to tell the story of his time in the US. Rough justice abroad. An innocent man facing the death penalty. The icing on the cake for Stapleton would be police harassment in the UK. A live TV crew or webcam wouldn’t be necessary, her lurid prose would paint the picture just as well.
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
‘Fuck!’ Hardin whirled on his heels, looking for something to take his anger out on. He slammed his fist against a noticeboard and the impact caused a poster on domestic violence to peel away and slide to the floor. The irony was lost on Hardin and he turned again towards the interview room. ‘And
