Touch dcs-1

by Mark Sennen

  ‘Sorry I do mind.’ Mitchell raised a hand to his forehead, wiping an almost imperceptible bead of sweat away before he continued. ‘Our daughter is upstairs. She has not been feeling well so she slept in our bedroom last night. I would hate for her to be disturbed.’

  ‘We will be back, Mr Mitchell.’ Riley beckoned to Enders and they left the house to the sound of Mitchell’s raucous laughter.

  As they walked to the car Enders was laughing too. Riley gave him a look of disapproval.

  ‘No, no, boss, this is serious. I need some professional advice. What the hell do I tell the wife when she asks how was my day?’

  Riley shook his head. He was more concerned with what he would tell DI Savage. Maybe it might be better to skip over the part with Mrs Mitchell and her dressing gown and only mention the pictures and the fact Mitchell wouldn’t let them upstairs because of his daughter. Then something came to him.

  ‘Patrick, we need to get back to the station pronto, there is a hunch I want to check. If I am right then I think we might have the bastard.’

  Chapter 25

  Harry woke late and took a shower. Truth be told the shower in the cottage was pretty ineffectual. The water dribbled out like pus from a sore and could hardly clean the dirt away, let alone the shame.

  Last night. Again.

  Strange, Harry thought, how the problems came the morning after the night before. Like a drunk, he never regretted his actions at the time, sorry came later.

  Never mind. He hoped Emma would be OK, but she would need to learn not to be naughty like that.

  When he had seen her out of her room he’d gone a bit mad and lost his temper. Guests shouldn’t go nosing about in other people’s houses as if they owned the place. And her seeing him with Lucy, he didn’t like that at all. What she must have thought of him he had no idea, but he reckoned she had been disgusted as well as scared and that was why she tried to run away.

  She didn’t get far. At the top of the stairs he had managed to grab her foot and she fell face down on the landing. He forced his body on top of hers, feeling the delicious skin-to-skin contact as she squirmed beneath him. He regretted to admit it but he nearly had her there and then. Shameful, disgusting, but of course Emma was to blame. He hoped she wouldn’t prove too troublesome, but either way there were only another six days and then the process would be done. God had only needed seven days to create the world, true, but Harry reckoned he needed fourteen to clean the girls and get all the badness out of their systems. Two weeks of fruit and water would purify their bodies and then he could test them.

  After the business with Emma he couldn’t bring himself to go back down to Lucy for quite a while, worried about what she would say. He knew she would have guessed what had happened, for naked girls did not turn up in the living room unannounced as a general rule.

  When he got back to her she sat still and said nothing. Harry decided not to try and explain. He simply kissed her, gave her a quick cuddle and said goodnight.

  Goodnight, Harry.

  Was the voice in his head Lucy or Trinny?

  Lucy, Harry.

  Strange. Where had Trinny gone?

  She’s gone for good. She left me to deal with you now.

  Thank goodness, Harry thought. Then he went to bed, leaving Lucy alone in the living room for the night.

  After taking the shower in the morning he thought about getting Lucy up to the bathroom so he could prepare her for her leaving. He had showered in order to save the hot water for her. She was heavy and uncooperative when he carried her up, but she seemed to brighten up a little when he plopped her in the bath.

  Nice smell.

  The bath overflowed with bubbles. Harry had tipped in half a bottle of Lucy’s favourite peach infusion.

  How sweet of you.

  He had wanted to make the occasion special since this was their last day together.

  Is it?

  Yes. He was sorry it hadn’t worked out.

  I am sorry too, Harry. I saw the new girl.

  Shit.

  Harry felt guilty now and the anger returned. Emma had spoilt things between Lucy and him. He tried to explain to Lucy, but she went all silent and moody. Still, he thought she was listening when he told her he still loved her and that he would never forget her.

  Thank you, Harry. I won’t forget you either.

  Good. He started to wash Lucy, rubbing the foam all over her and trying to ignore the patches of blue and purple skin.

  Harry. The little whore Emma isn’t the one you know?

  He hoped Lucy was wrong about that, but he knew he would have to wait and see.

  Harry washed her all over and then removed her from the bath. He dried her thoroughly, and because she had been a bit naughty in mentioning Emma he decided to fuck her once more. He moved inside her, trying to be gentle and came with a gasp after only a few seconds. His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked down on Lucy’s face, knowing he would not have her again. He rolled off and then took his sewing kit and did his work, making sure nobody else could have her either.

  All this time Harry had had the radio playing a local music station to try and take his mind off things. But just after he finished dressing Lucy, the bitch newsreader went and ruined the whole day.

  Mitchell.

  The police were closing in on him. The bulletin said Richard Trent had been arrested and the police had questioned his neighbours. Harry wished he had never got mixed up in Mitchell’s little game. If the police got Mitchell they would break him and then Harry knew he would lead them to him. Mitchell would be able to talk his way out of their hands, feed them some candy and fuck them over.

  Harry thought Lucy looked worried, but he told her it was going to be OK, that everything would be fine.

  Then, because Lucy was leaving, he thought of Trinny. How it wasn’t so fine for her. They had never had the time together she wanted and Harry had to leave her in the cold wood. He was truly sorry for her death and, although beyond his control, he had always thought somebody should pay for it.

  He looked at Lucy and saw she was smiling, a great big grin on her face as if she had thought of something ingenious. He asked her what it was.

  Mitchell, she said. Then she told him what to do.

  Chapter 26

  Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Wednesday 3rd November. 1.35 pm

  Savage moved the phone another six inches away from her ear in an effort to reduce the volume of the tirade coming from the earpiece. Hardin had called ten minutes ago and the bellowing hadn’t stopped long enough for her to get a word in.

  ‘Results, Charlotte. Yesterday would have been fantastic. Today would be good. By the weekend fucking mandatory. Understand?’

  She did and she knew the reason for the anger too. A couple of the Sunday papers had sent reporters down from London looking for titbits and they had been trawling round the city. They had even contacted one of the victims. If any of the papers went front-page with the murders and rapes on Sunday, the Monday morning briefing would be hell. Might be better to call in sick.

  Hardin’s rant continued but he began to veer into a more general moan about budget cuts and pressure from above to deliver, and Savage put her mouth on a ‘yes, sir, no, sir,’ autopilot setting, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the desk. When Hardin went off on one of his political diatribes the one-sided conversation could continue for a good half an hour.

  The return of Riley and Enders to the Major Crimes suite interrupted the rhetoric and Savage cut Hardin short, mentioning a possible new piece of evidence coming to light. Riley stuck his thumbs up and Enders nodded, a big smile painted across his face. Hardin told her to get back in touch. Soonest. Savage hung up and asked Riley what was up.

  ‘Mr Everett Mitchell is up,’ Riley said.

  ‘Aye,’ Enders said, ‘and from what we have just seen “up” is how he likes it. Priapic. A permanent condition.’

  ‘There’s the wife as well. She is, ah, well you might say
she is not shy about coming forward.’

  ‘Darius is right, ma’am. Mrs Mitchell is a bit of a stunner. No. I meant to say she is quite a lady. Well, maybe lady isn’t the right-’

  ‘I don’t do cryptic, Sergeant Riley and Constable Enders,’ Savage said. ‘Could you please tell me in plain English what the hell you two are talking about?’

  Riley explained about what happened with the camera and Mitchell’s refusal to allow them upstairs.

  ‘Well, I don’t think I would want a couple of strange men snooping around my house if Samantha was tucked up in bed. Maybe his daughter really is ill.’

  ‘I somehow doubt it, ma’am.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I did some checking and Mr and Mrs Mitchell don’t have any children.’

  ‘Well, well, looks like Mr Mitchell just perjured himself. The only thing worrying me is his eagerness to show you those pictures.’

  ‘I can tell you, ma’am, it worried me too!’

  ‘No. What I mean is you said the room in the pictures did not match the room in Forester’s videos.’

  ‘Those houses are four beds, ma’am.’ Enders this time. ‘They might have a special room for that kind of stuff. Lots of couples do.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Well, no, I mean not me and the wife. We haven’t got the space, not with-’

  Savage waved at Enders to stop and reached for the phone and called Hardin. He sounded sceptical but agreed that as a line of enquiry anything was worth a punt. If even one of the girls had been in the house then there would be some trace of them, and the video option and connection with Forester and Zebo would be a bonus.

  ‘So we need a warrant, and urgently, I’ll bet?’

  ‘Please, sir.’

  ‘OK, but Garrett and Davies will be doing the knocking. This sounds like it has more to do with operation Leash.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Charlotte, you had better be right on this one. The spotlight is shining on us. Any cock-ups will be all too noticeable. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As she hung up Savage couldn’t help thinking of Riley’s description of the pictures on Mitchell’s camera. Noticeable cock-ups seemed to be everywhere.

  She was starting to explain to Riley that it was jobs-on-the-line time if his hunch didn’t pay off when the phone rang. Hardin again. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but Davies was already on his way to Moor Vale. Along with an Armed Response Vehicle.

  *

  Enders did the driving while Savage got Riley to get on the radio and find out the full story.

  ‘Triple nine, ma’am. From one of the neighbours. A man has driven into Mitchell’s front door ram-raid style. The neighbour saw the man get out and rush inside with some sort of weapon. Sounds as if someone has beaten us to it. But they can’t have known we were coming back, can they?’

  ‘No, but one good thing is this gets us in with no waiting around for the warrant.’

  As they raced into the estate it was obvious which house had been targeted. A blue Ford Galaxy had smashed into the front colonnades of number seven and the porch had collapsed on top, smashing the windscreen. After mounting the three little steps the car had flattened the door and torn away the frame and a substantial section of the supporting wall. Enders brought them to a halt next to a patrol car and even from fifty metres Savage spotted the Plymouth Snappers sticker on the rear window of the Galaxy.

  ‘It’s Donal’s car.’

  ‘Kelly’s dad?’ Enders said.

  ‘Yes. How the hell he has connected Mitchell with Kelly I have no idea.’

  Nearer the house another two patrol cars and an unmarked vehicle lay scattered across the road with several men crouching on the ground, keeping a good chunk of metal between themselves and the house. Standing behind one of the vehicles two armed officers covered the front door with their Heckler and Koch MP5s.

  DI Davies sat up against the unmarked car and seemed to be in overall charge, barking out orders to everyone around him, a cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth. He’ll be loving this, Savage thought, as she jumped out. She took a glance at the house, sprinted across to him and dived behind the car.

  ‘Inside with a crossbow. He appeared at the upstairs window a few minutes ago. Next time there’s a clear shot they’ll get him.’ Davies nodded at the armed officers.

  ‘No they won’t, I am going in.’

  Savage stood up, catching the attention of the two men covering the door. Davies went apoplectic.

  ‘Get down you stupid bitch. I am in command here and I say the situation is too dangerous.’

  ‘Fuck off. I know the man. Donal has lost one child, I don’t want his other two to lose their dad.’

  Savage moved out from behind the car and edged across to the driveway. The damage to the front of the house and the rubble lying on the ground made the place resemble a war zone and, like a derelict property, it appeared deserted. She held her arms out to the sides, palms forwards.

  ‘Mr Donal,’ she shouted. ‘This is DI Charlotte Savage. I am unarmed and I am coming in.’

  Nothing. No sound, nobody moving.

  She stepped onto the driveway, her feet crunching on the gravel.

  Gravel?

  Trent’s drive was brick; the Leash girls had talked of gravel. Riley and Enders hadn’t mentioned anything to her in their report, but this was not the time to ponder on the significance of the driveway and she continued walking toward the front door. She scrambled over the debris, squeezed past the car and then ducked down and crawled under part of the doorframe, all too aware of her vulnerable position.

  Inside she stood up and surveyed the damage. The white carpet glistened with the remains of a chandelier, the little crystals scattered everywhere and reflecting the light like a dewy lawn on a spring morning. Bits of plaster and wood lay strewn around and a large RSJ had come out of the wall above the door and crushed a small table. She picked her way across the floor and stood in the centre of the hall. The light streamed in through the doorway and dust floated in the draught. To one side of the hall was the living room, to the other the diner and kitchen. Stairs swept upwards in a grand fashion to a landing above.

  ‘They are upstairs.’

  Savage whirled round to see a woman standing in the kitchen doorway, a wine glass in one hand, the bubbles in the glass fizzing in the light. She was tall with a curvy figure and wore jeans and a fisherman’s smock, but still managed to appear glamorous, like a catwalk model. Savage noticed the other hand was holding a bottle of champagne.

  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.’