Bad Blood (33 page)

‘Too dangerous,’ Savage heard the man say and as she approached he turned to her to explain.

‘There are a lot of hazardous materials inside, ma’am. Fibreglass, resin, paint, thinners, diesel, petrol, gas for welding, propane and butane on the yachts. The place is a bloody fireball waiting to happen.’

‘Evidence,’ Hardin said. ‘We need the evidence.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll investigate fully once the fire is out and dampened down. We’ll find out how the blaze started.’

‘Not evidence of arson, we’ve got evidence for an ongoing case in there. We need to get in and seize computers and paperwork.’

Davies looked as if he wanted to say something, but all he did was shift his stance and glance across at Savage.

‘Sir?’ Savage took Davies’ cue and decided to draw the conversation away from the building. ‘The boats?’

‘Yes, the boats,’ Hardin echoed. ‘What idiot released them? We need them impounded immediately.’

‘
I
ordered the boats be cast off,’ the fire officer said. ‘It seemed better they float free than become part of the blaze. I am sure the lads across at Princess will help recover them when they have finished with their own boats. The RNLI are standing by, but their role is to protect life first. They’ve got a rib down at the far end of the pool checking for anybody aboard any of the boats. Your guys are down there too, I believe?’

‘D Section?’

‘Yes, Inspector Frey and his men.’

Hardin huffed and muttered something about trigger-happy cowboys, a jibe Savage thought entirely unfair. Time and time again D Section had proved themselves just about the most professional bunch of police officers you might expect to come across. But then Hardin had never been one for running around and getting all hot and sweaty.

Hardin had started off on some other rant when he was interrupted by a loud bang as a huge explosion roared out and a section of the roof gave way sending sparks, smoke and dust into the dark sky, followed by a plume of black smoke billowing up from the building. The fireman made his excuses and moved off to direct things. Davies stepped away too, muttering something about checking in with a couple of contacts.

‘Won’t be anything left for us at this rate,’ Hardin said, eyes tracing the plume of smoke heavenward. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘The whole of operation
Sternway’s
budget blown sky-high. Literally.’

‘Closed him down though, sir. Fallon isn’t going to be running any drugs through Tamar for a long time.’

‘It didn’t bring any busts though and I don’t think a little local difficulty like this is going to put paid to Fallon’s games. He’ll find a way to bounce back.’

‘Ma’am?’ Enders had approached with another guy he introduced as Steve Geet, the deputy yard manager. ‘Mr Geet, tell DI Savage what you just told me.’

‘It’s one of the boats. She’s missing.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘She’s a fifty-footer worth half a million, of course I’m sure.’

‘And she was tied up at the wharf?’

‘Yeah. She’s a boat we took in part exchange last year so she’s on brokerage, but in the books as being owned by us. We’ve been using her to demonstrate a load of new kit and to entertain clients.’

‘Couldn’t she have drifted off?’ Enders asked. ‘Got swept out to sea?’

‘No, lad.’ Geet stared at Enders like the DC had gone bonkers. ‘We’re on spring tides, see?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Springs are always morning and evening this part of the world. The tide won’t turn for a while yet. When the fire brigade arrived there was method in their madness at releasing the boats. The chief officer didn’t know the exact time of high tide, but he told me he’d noticed the full moon a couple of days ago. From that he knew we must be near springs and that high tide would be breakfast time or close to. Since it was three o’clock when they arrived he knew if he released the boats they wouldn’t go anywhere.’

‘Sorry?’ Enders still wore a blank face.

‘The tide was coming into the pool and the boats would merely drift around hereabouts. The worse that could happen is they might drift into the river and be swept upstream.’

‘And could that have happened to the missing boat?’

‘I doubt it. We’d have had reports or one of the MOD boats patrolling the navy yards would have spotted her.’

‘So she’s been taken.’ Savage said. A statement, not a question. ‘Was she locked up?’

‘You betcha. She had some fancy security too. Like I said, demo stuff.’

‘So who could have got access?’

‘Well the keys were kept in the office and that was locked up at night, but theoretically anyone could go in there and get them. In an emergency we might need to move her quick, see?’

‘And do you think that is what happened?’

‘Well if that was the case then where the bloody hell is she now?’

The question was a good one and as Geet went back to trying to save the business and thus his job, Hardin wanted to explore the issue of the missing boat some more.

‘So where might it end up?’ he said to Savage.

‘I’m no expert on motorboats,’ she said, ‘but she’ll probably do twenty-five knots. In a few hours she could be anywhere.’

‘Please, Charlotte, “anywhere” is not helpful, be more specific.’

‘The Channel Islands, France, on route to Southern Ireland or Spain.’

‘Across the Atlantic?’

‘No. These type of motorboats don’t have the range for that.’

‘So, what do we reckon? This new man, Ricky Budgeon, he sets the fire and then takes the boat. Another strike at Fallon?’

‘He kills Owers and Redmond, which disrupts Fallon’s drugs business. Doing this,’ Savage waved her hand in the direction of the burning buildings, ‘removes it altogether.’

‘Bugger.’ Hardin followed Savage’s gaze. ‘We’ve got nothing.’

A vibration in Savage’s pocket came a moment before a brief warble and she reached for her phone. The screen glowed in the darkness, Vanessa Liston’s number at the top of the list of messages. She pressed a key to access the text.

drug boat in cawsand bay tonight be there

‘Anything for us?’ Hardin said, moving closer to peer at the display.

‘No,’ Savage said, deleting the message. ‘Junk.’

It was two hours later when the chief fire officer revealed that they’d found a body over in the loading bay.

‘Not pretty,’ he said. ‘You’ll be glad you’ve not had breakfast.’

Within thirty minutes Savage had been joined by Layton and a very bleary-eyed Nesbit and together with Enders they suited up and then picked their way through the remains of the main building. A firefighter led them over a section of collapsed roof, the warped metal straining underfoot and steam rising all around. As they clambered down from the wreckage into the loading bay area Savage smelt the unmistakable whiff of burnt flesh. The stench was like bad meat grilled on a barbecue. Savage wore a face mask, as did the others, but the thin material did nothing to lessen the awful smell. On the far side of the bay a forty-five gallon oil drum lay on its side, wisps of smoke still curling out from the open end. The thing inside, burnt to a crisp, could just be seen.

‘Thing’ was the wrong word, Savage knew. The blackened mass of flesh and bone had once been somebody, but she was finding it hard to equate the horror in front of her eyes with anything which had ever been living. There was no hair, no patch of skin which hadn’t been burnt, no eyes and just stumps of raw flesh where the ears had once been. The lips had gone too and the shiny enamel of the teeth shone out against the soot like a smile in an advert for a whitening toothpaste.

Two fire officers stood next to the drum. In their protective clothing they looked more like astronauts or divers. Savage was envying them their filtered breathing system. They bent and began to pull the corpse from the drum, easing it out onto a large tarpaulin which had been spread on the ground. The body came out head first, the skin scorched all over and the colour of charcoal. The arms had been pulled up, as if the person was trying to protect themselves from the fire, the fists clenched. Likewise, the knees had been raised.

‘Were they alive when the fire started?’ Savage said, thinking the position of the limbs must indicate some last-ditch attempt at survival.

‘Not necessarily,’ Nesbit said. ‘The body tends to assume that stance as a result of the heat. Which by the look of things was extreme.’

Nesbit moved closer and pointed down to the abdomen and then to the thighs where the skin had split in great gashes, well-cooked muscle visible beneath.

‘Note the clothing,’ he continued. ‘Any artificial fabrics have melted away and the natural ones are almost completely carbonised.’

As the fire officers completed the removal a photographer took pictures. Nesbit indicated that she should take some close-ups of the head, where Savage could see part of the top of the skull was missing.

‘Andrew?’ she asked.

‘The calvarium – the skull cap – is absent.’ Nesbit knelt on the tarpaulin and put his face down close to the head. ‘Again, that could well have occurred because of the fire. The pieces might be inside the drum. However, look at the nasal bone. Parts of the frontal bone remain above it and I can see certain characteristic markings, a splintering if you like, which indicate that this person didn’t die from fire-related injuries.’

‘You’re talking in riddles, Andrew. Give it to me straight.’

‘He – and from the size of the body we can say it’s a “he” – had the top of his head blown away by something. Best guess would be a shotgun fired from point-blank range.’

‘Shit,’ Savage said. Rather than take a closer look she turned away, taking in the surroundings of the loading bay. The area was strewn with debris from the collapsed roof. ‘Here?’

‘John?’ Nesbit nodded at Layton.

‘Impossible to say at the moment,’ Layton said. ‘We’ll need to scour the area for pellets. If we don’t find any, then unless we find another crime scene, we’ll probably never know.’

‘Ma’am?’ The voice at her shoulder belonged to Enders. He’d been talking to a firefighter at the edge of the bay and now he strolled over and gazed down at the body. ‘Fuck!’

‘Not pretty,’ Savage said. ‘Let’s move away for a moment.’

‘No, ma’am, the shoes, the bloody shoes!’

‘What are you talking about?’ Savage turned to the body and followed the blackened legs down to the feet. There
was
a pair of shoes, the soles melted, but the leather above dried and still with a distinctive cut-out pattern on. She still didn’t understand what Enders was trying to tell her. ‘And?’

‘They’re … oh my God … they belong to …’ Enders put his hands up to his face and something like a wail came out. Then he was sobbing.

‘DC Enders, pull yourself together. Tell me what you think you’ve seen.’

‘The shoes, ma’am,’ Enders said, tears now streaking down his cheeks. ‘They’re DS Riley’s.’

Jackman strode into his kitchen for breakfast to find his wife staring at the flip-down television. Her mouth hung open, shock on her face, as she looked at the orange glow on the screen.

‘Jesus,’ Jackman said. ‘Is that …?’

‘What’s going on, Alec? Just what the hell was Gavin involved in?’

Jackman didn’t reply. Instead, he left the kitchen and went down the hall to his study. Flicked on the little TV in there and watched a reporter interview a fire officer. ‘Arson,’ the officer said when asked about the probable cause. Jackman switched the TV off and wondered if the cop woman had come good. She’d set the fire to destroy the evidence. For a moment he felt a frisson from the realisation of the power he must hold over her, but then he was worrying. She’d gone too far, mucked things up. Fallon would go apeshit. He stood at the window, shaking his head as he dialled. Fallon answered in a couple of rings.

‘You watching this, Alec?’ Fallon said. ‘Budgeon’s work.’

‘Budgeon?’ As Jackman said the name he felt a moment’s relief before his head filled with new worries. ‘Shit. The business, the pickup, everything. What the hell are we going to do?’

‘Forget that, pal. I was there last night. I’m down on the pontoons when the alarm goes off. I’m thinking about investigating when the bloody place goes up. I was an inch from getting fried. All that talk about your supposed influence with the police, all that poncing around and fancy words. Done nothing, has it? Budgeon’s running around doing as he pleases. We don’t do something we’re fucked.’

‘We’re fucked anyway, Kenny. Tamar Yachts has gone.’

‘That’s what I thought at first, but I’ve been thinking on it. Apart from scaring me witless Budgeon’s actually done us a favour in torching the place.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. The pigs ain’t going to be interested any more. The business will get a payout from the insurance and we’re off the hook.’

‘The delivery, you idiot. No Redmond, no Tamar, no boat. What are you going to do?’

‘The word is
we
, Alec. And I’ve got us a boat. That’s what I was doing there last night.’

‘What?’ Jackman shook his head. Crazy. Clearly Fallon had no idea. ‘The pickup is ten miles offshore, it will be dark and we’ve got to locate and grab a small bundle in a two metre swell. Who the fuck is going to be able to do that? Ellen bloody MacArthur?’

‘You’re not far wrong there, mate.’ Fallon chuckled. ‘Who do you think helped me last night?’

‘I’ve no …’ Jackman got it then and turned from the window, smacked the desk with his free hand and sat down hard in his chair. ‘You are joking, right?’

‘Nah, mate. She’s a good little girl. Must be in her genes because she knew her way around that boat as well as her old man. The only thing I don’t understand about the girl is why she is letting you pork her, but each to their own.’

‘So we …?’

‘Yes. Tonight. We head out there, retrieve the goods and we’re quids in. Five million profit, minimum. That and the insurance money funds my new development. A luxury waterside collection of apartments on the Tamar Yachts site. Gold dust, Alec, gold dust. And I’ve thought of a name too: Phoenix Heights.’

‘You’re mad, Kenny.’

‘You better believe it, because I am going to need your help to push through the planning.’