Bad Blood (24 page)

‘They’re not.’

‘Wear gloves, did you?’ Savage said.

‘Didn’t do it, Inspector, that’s why.’

‘If either Owers or Redmond have been in your van, we’ll find something.’

‘Don’t think so, but be my guest. Just don’t scratch the paintwork.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it. By the time you get out the whole thing will have rusted to the ground. Your last stretch is going to seem like a mini-break compared to what you’ll get this time. Unless you can explain yourself. For instance, I get Owers, nasty piece of work, but Redmond? Why do him? I’ve had a word with my boss and he’s keen to see us strike a deal so we can sort this mess out. Help us, Stuart, and it can only benefit you.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘You can start by telling us who was the man with you in the van. A witness saw two people in the vehicle. You weren’t alone, were you? Maybe it wasn’t even you who killed Owers and Redmond, maybe it was this other guy. If that’s the case then he’ll be the one going down, won’t he? Tell us what you know.’

‘I don’t know fuck all,’ Chaffe said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, laughing. ‘And neither do you.’

‘And that,’ Bradley said, speaking for the first time since the interview proper had started, ‘is that. My client has co-operated fully with you and answered all your questions. I suggest you come up with something a little more substantive if you wish to continue to hold him.’

Chaffe turned and grinned at Bradley. She smiled back, showing her immaculate dental work.

‘We’re not done yet, Ms Bradley,’ Savage said, glancing at the clock on the wall and then getting to her feet. ‘I’ll see that Mr Chaffe gets something to eat and we’ll resume mid-afternoon.’

‘Sausage and chips’d be nice,’ Chaffe said. He gave Savage a wink and then laughed again. ‘With plenty of ketchup, get my drift?’

Back in Major Crimes at Crownhill, Savage went over the interview with Enders. Chaffe was right, they had nothing on him other than a sighting of his van. She’d speak to Layton about giving it the once over, but wondered if they even had enough to make that worthwhile.

Enders began to outline an idea he had for the second round, trapping Chaffe by making him think they had more than they did. Savage was only half listening. She couldn’t seem to concentrate, the affair with Jackman still uppermost in her mind. Enders stopped mid-sentence and she opened her mouth to apologise. Enders looked past her to a young DC hovering at the door. Savage told the DC to spit it out.

‘A woman is down at the front desk, ma’am. Miss Julie Meadows from the kids’ charity, NeatStreet. Wants a word with someone about DS Riley.’

‘Never heard of her,’ Savage said. ‘Can you deal with whatever she wants?’

‘Julie is Darius’ girl,’ Enders said. ‘His new squeeze. He met her when we were over in North Prospect investigating the Kelly Donal killing, tail end of last year. I think the pair of them are infatuated. I am trying to find out exactly what’s going on between them, but he keeps the details to himself.’

‘Sensible. If he told you, the news would spread like wildfire.’ Savage turned to the DC. ‘Perhaps you’d better send her up here.’

A couple of minutes later Julie Meadows appeared at the entrance to the crime suite. The little visitor’s badge was clipped to a big fluffy jumper which came down over curvy hips, and at first sight Savage didn’t think the woman looked Riley’s type. Short dark hair, little or no make-up, somehow too casual with no hint of glamour or style. But when she spoke to introduce herself the words came out like fizzing bubbles rising in a champagne glass and Savage wondered if the girl wasn’t the perfect complement to Riley’s neat, reserved character.

‘DI Charlotte Savage,’ Savage said. ‘And this is DC Patrick Enders, he works with Darius.’

‘For my sins,’ Enders said.

‘Thanks for seeing me,’ Julie said. ‘My concerns all seem a bit foolish now I am here.’

‘Tell us about them then, Julie.’

‘Well, as you will be aware, Darius is supposed to be on holiday.’

‘Yes, he told me all about his little trip,’ Enders said, shaking his head. ‘Winter sun. The bloody Caribbean. He kept ribbing me about my own holiday. I’ve got a week booked at Easter. Disneyland. And that’s Paris not Florida.’

‘Ha, small coincidence there. His family on his grandmother’s side are French.’

‘As are mine,’ Savage said, ‘but on my grandfather’s side. Another coincidence.’

‘Darius has gone to Martinique where the family were originally from. There are some nephews and cousins he has never met. He had planned to spend a week visiting them and then …’ Julie stopped and smiled. ‘Well, I am supposed to be joining him for the second week for a more relaxing beach holiday.’

‘OK. I am with you so far. What’s the problem?’

‘The arrangements with his relations were pretty loose. Darius was going to stay in a hotel in Fort-De-France and visit them from there.’

‘And?’

‘I texted a couple of messages to Darius about my travel arrangements, but I didn’t get any replies. I tried phoning but I couldn’t get his mobile. Finally I rang the hotel.’

‘And did you speak to Darius?’

‘No. They confirmed he had a reservation but said that he hadn’t turned up. I don’t have any contact details for his family either here or abroad so I tried phoning the airline. He took a flight from Exeter to Paris and then to Martinique. Neither Flybe or Air France would give me any information about passengers or whether or not Darius had boarded the flight.’

‘They wouldn’t. Security. But they will to us.’ Savage gestured to Enders and he moved back to his screen and picked up a phone.

The next few minutes were awkward as Savage tried to assuage Julie’s fears. She suggested there could be any one of a number of explanations. Perhaps Darius had changed his mind and gone to stay with a relative after all and maybe his phone had broken or been stolen. Despite Savage’s best efforts, Julie didn’t appear to be reassured.

‘Even if his phone was stolen surely he would find a way to call me, wouldn’t he?’

‘You would hope so but … Well, men can be complete tossers sometimes.’

‘Ma’am?’ Enders said, the expression on his face sombre. ‘Not good, I’m afraid. I called someone at force HQ in Exeter, a guy I know who has contacts at the airport. He made a quick enquiry and Flybe confirmed Darius was booked on the eight forty-five a.m. flight to Charles de Gaulle. However, he never boarded the plane. In fact he never checked in at all.’

‘But …’ Julie’s hand went to her mouth. ‘He texted me a couple of times first thing in the morning. The first message said he was waiting for the taxi to arrive and that the week coming was … well … it was going to be the longest week of his life because he would miss me so much. The second message was some sort of pun I didn’t understand. Just one word: Budgen.’

‘Like the supermarket?’ Savage said.

‘I suppose so, yes. Darius liked word games, silly innuendo and stuff, but this I didn’t get.’

‘You’ve checked his flat?’

‘Yes. I rang and I even went round although I couldn’t get in.’

‘OK. You were right to come and see us. I am going to make this official because things don’t quite add up. The best thing you can do is go home and we will call you as soon as we know anything.’

Julie thanked them and left, the fizz all gone out of her.

‘What do you think, ma’am?’ Enders said.

‘I am at a loss, Patrick. If Darius had been in an RTC, surely we’d know about the accident. You’d better get round to his flat right away. I’ll get someone here to begin chasing taxi companies. I only hope there is some simple explanation to this.’

Two hours later and the simple explanation Savage hoped would be forthcoming was conspicuous by its absence. Enders called through from Riley’s flat. He’d gained entrance and reported that the place seemed clean and tidy, fridge empty, everything looking exactly as one would expect if Riley had left the place to go on holiday. A card from a local taxi firm lay on the kitchen table and scribbled on the card a time: 5.30 a.m. Alongside the card there was a flyer offering a New Year, winter blues special: fifty per cent off pre-booked return trips to Exeter Airport. Savage called the firm – Moor to Shore Taxis – and spoke to a girl with a heavy Eastern-European accent. The girl confirmed a booking by a Mr D Riley and said the run had been made by one of their drivers, a Mrs Lynn Towner. Savage heard the clatter of keys and then the girl was saying there was nothing flagged up on the system to indicate any problems or complaints regarding the pickup.

Savage hung up, more confused than ever. Riley had somehow managed to go missing between the airport drop-off and check-in. Foul play seemed unlikely. He must have gone somewhere voluntarily. Had he got cold feet and decided to ditch Julie Meadows along with the holiday? Despite what Savage had said to Julie earlier, she thought it unlikely. Riley wasn’t that kind of bloke. At least she hoped not.

‘Ma’am?’ Denton called across from a nearby terminal where he’d been checking traffic reports. ‘Been looking through the accidents again. There was an RTC and a fatality occurred, but the accident involved a motorcyclist in collision with a milk tanker. The lorry had come down the slip road and onto the A38 at Chudleigh. The driver had neglected to use his mirrors and caused the motorcyclist to swerve into the outside lane where he had been hit by a car.’

‘OK. So what’s your point?’

‘Well the eastbound carriageway was blocked for three hours from five in the morning while an investigation took place,’ Denton said, rubbing the scar on his cheek with his hand. ‘If the taxi got stuck in the jam then Riley would have missed his plane.’

‘Yes,’ Savage said. ‘But maybe she didn’t get stuck or managed to find an alternative route.’

‘Possible,’ Denton agreed. ‘But we should ask her anyway.’

‘This is more substantive, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘I’ve been going through the incident log for that morning. Under “crimes reported” nothing. I then went back and examined all logged calls. Just come across this one: a pensioner called one-oh-one to report something suspicious taking place on a country lane near Ashburton. The caller, a Mr Ron Jeffreys, said he spotted a taxi parked in a lane near the A383 just off the main dual carriageway and close to his bungalow. This was at six in the morning. The man reported a black guy getting out of the taxi and acting suspiciously. He phoned us immediately, the call was logged and the man told to call back if he saw anything else.’

‘And did he?’ Savage said.

‘No, doesn’t look like it.’

‘Riley, got to be,’ Denton said. ‘Why would the taxi have stopped there?’

‘This doesn’t smell right,’ Savage said. ‘If you ask me it’s beginning to appear as if the taxi never went to Exeter.’

Denton and Calter said nothing and Savage got up and returned to her own office, needing some space to think. Thankful DI Maynard – with whom she had recently been forced to share the small room – wasn’t there, she sat in his chair, her own being stacked with files. She stared at a cup of cold coffee Maynard had left on his desk, her own concerns all but forgotten.

This was serious. If Riley had gone AWOL voluntarily his behaviour was out of character. Savage had only known him a year, but his diligence, intelligence and coolness had endeared him, not only to her, but to many other officers. She couldn’t see him abandoning his usual values on a whim. Unless there was something he hadn’t told them.

Savage reached out for the cup and touched the little plastic stirrer. A skin had formed on the surface of the coffee and as she moved the stirrer the skin slipped away, revealing the pale, cold liquid concealed beneath.

Riley had been undercover up in London. He was someone who was comfortable playing a role, hiding his real self away far beneath the surface. Who down here in Devon really knew him? Savage pushed against the thoughts bubbling up in her mind. She liked Riley and didn’t want to imagine him being involved in any kind of deception; and yet beyond some sort of sudden madness, it was difficult to come to any other conclusion.

She picked up the phone and called Hardin and began to explain the situation. Before she had got far into the story a whooshing sound came from the earpiece and then some mumbled swearwords.

‘
Sternway
,’ Hardin said. ‘We are going down. Sinking.’

‘What makes you think this has anything to do with
Sternway
, sir? Riley’s on holiday. This could be some sort of misunderstanding.’

‘Hey? Oh yes, of course, Charlotte. You are right, that’s what it is. A misunderstanding.’

The phone went dead and Savage was left staring into space, wondering what the hell Hardin was talking about.

Cattedown, Plymouth. Tuesday 22nd January. 12.07 p.m.

Savage was still pondering Hardin’s cryptic remarks at a little after noon when she drove into the pothole-strewn car park at the front of Moor to Shore Taxis. Office was too grand a word for their HQ, a Portakabin-like structure with a tarpaulin secured over one end.

To the left of the office was an open-sided shed where a green and blue car stood on a set of ramps. The buzz of an electric welder came from under the car and a shower of white stars bounced out onto the ground, reminding Savage of Bonfire Night sparklers.

Savage had seen the Moor to Shore vehicles around town, even taken one a couple of times. A cursory glance at their premises made her decide she would settle for paying a couple of quid more the next time. It was like a budget airline: you
really
didn’t want to know what went on in the maintenance hangers.

The budget airline analogy made her think of Flybe. She’d flown with them a few years ago when she’d gone on a weekend away to Paris. The kids had gone to the grandparents and she and Pete had taken a taxi from Plymouth to Exeter Airport the same way Riley had. She always had a few cards from local taxi firms in her wallet and had picked one at random and phoned and booked the cab. That was the way most people would do it. If Moor to Shore had been involved in any way with Riley’s disappearance, how had they planned it?