Bad Blood (34 page)

‘And Budgeon?’ Jackman put a finger to his mouth, started to worry at a fingernail. ‘What about him?’

‘Forget about Budgeon. We concentrate on this. After tonight we’ll sort Budgeon. Once and for fucking all.’

Jackman hung up and chucked the phone on the desk. He could hear Gill sobbing now, a sound almost like a wail echoing down the hall. He reached across and pushed the door hard so it slammed shut. Bit his fingernail again.

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Friday 25th January. 11.27 a.m.

Bodies pressed against walls, people sat on desks, a few had spilled out into the corridor. Savage had never seen the Crime Suite so packed. And yet the voices didn’t rise beyond a whisper. When DSupt Hardin entered the room even the whispering stopped. Hardin had put on his uniform, an ill-fitting affair which had seen better days. Still, Savage thought, it was a nice gesture.

‘This is a sad day,’ Hardin said. ‘DS Riley was a capable and intelligent cop and a fine man. He only arrived here a year or so ago and yet in that time he managed to make many friends and to impress all his colleagues with his hard-working attitude. He was instrumental in the conclusion of a number of significant cases. He will be greatly missed.’

A chorus of ‘hear-hear’ rang out and Savage noted as well that several officers were openly crying.

‘It goes without saying,’ Hardin continued, ‘that we are going to catch the bastards who did this. However long it takes, whatever resources are required, we’re going to get them.’

This time voices were raised higher, anger and aggression evident in the responses and as Hardin continued with his eulogy-cum-briefing Savage sneaked from the room and returned to her office. She felt overcome by tiredness and simply didn’t want to hear any more. For once she would have been glad to see DI Maynard, but as usual he was nowhere to be seen.

Savage sat at her desk and wrapped her arms around herself. Until now she’d kept herself together, tried to act with professionalism. Riley had deserved no less, she’d thought. Now a wave of bleakness washed over her. She’d liked Riley. A lot. In fact, when Julie Meadows had turned up she’d felt a tinge of jealousy. In a different life Savage could have imagined herself with Riley. Now though he’d gone forever, taken away before she’d had a chance to express her feelings.

Savage reached for the phone as the tears began to flow. She’d call Pete now, tell him what had happened, tell him how much she loved and needed him.

The door burst open before Savage had dialled the outside line.

Layton. Standing there with a wide smile on his face. Laughing. Drunk on something much stronger than alcohol.

Savage scowled at him and wiped at her face.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’

‘It’s not Riley!’ Layton shouted. ‘Nesbit just called from the hospital. When they were transferring the body to the morgue drawer he took a look. The body had to be straightened to get it in and when they did so he could see the man wasn’t tall enough to be Riley. Nesbit decided to do a preliminary examination there and then. There was a patch of unburnt skin on the man’s back. White skin. He’s a Caucasian! IC bloody one!’

‘But the shoes? Several people confirmed they were Riley’s. They were the correct size too.’

‘Who cares? The body isn’t Darius’. One hundred per cent confirmed.’

Savage felt the tears come faster as she stood up, but this time she was smiling, laughing too, Layton’s happiness infectious. Through the door behind Layton, bodies surged in the corridor, a single euphoric voice shouting above the growing crescendo. The shouting ceased as Enders barged past Layton and fell through the doorway and into Savage’s arms.

‘Darius, ma’am,’ Enders said, all inhibitions forgotten as he held her for a moment. ‘He’s alive!’

‘Begs the question though,’ Layton said flatly, as he tried to ignore Enders’ overt display of affection, ‘exactly whose body is it?’

The answer to Layton’s question, Savage thought, lay in the fact that although the body wasn’t Riley’s, the shoes were. When the news came back from the inquiry teams that all seventeen employees from Tamar had been accounted for she knew the corpse must be another of Budgeon’s targets. Somebody from the past, somebody who had crossed him and had now paid the ultimate price.

After Enders had calmed down she pointed him in the direction of the car park. Half an hour later they were parked on the front lot at Moor to Shore Taxis in Cattedown. They got out and Enders opened the door of the shabby Portakabin office. Elina sat at the desk wearing the phone headset over the top of iPod earphones. She looked up and plucked the earphones out.

‘Is Dave around, love?’ Enders asked, climbing the step and going in, Savage following. ‘And if he isn’t, do you know where we can find him?’

‘No he isn’t,’ the girl said. ‘And I’d bloody well like to know where he is too. I had to open up this morning and then deal with a load of customers from last night. They’d booked pickups but it turns out nobody was here to assign the jobs. Plus he usually pays me Fridays. Owes me for a couple of weeks he does. Stingy bastard.’

‘That his car?’ Savage pointed through the window over to a battered Nissan parked between a pair of taxis.

‘Yes.’ The girl squinted and her forehead creased, as if she’d just noticed the car for the first time. ‘Don’t know what it’s doing here. He usually walks to work and if he drove then where the hell is he?’

She picked up a nail file from the desk and began to work on one of her fingers, the varnish blood red. Then she stopped, bit her lip and stared up at Enders as if he might have the answer.

‘You got petty cash here?’ Savage said. ‘Some sort of float?’

‘Yes. A few hundred in the safe. Nothing more.’

‘I suggest you go and get your wages from there, plus a bit extra. I doubt Moor to Shore’s going to be opening tomorrow.’

‘You’re telling me to … You
are
police, aren’t you?’

‘Can’t be any harm in taking what Dowdney owes you,’ Savage said. ‘After that give us the keys and get off home. There’ll be lots more police round here soon and they are going to want ID and all sorts. Understand?’

The girl’s face appeared blank for a moment and then she was standing up, smoothing down her skirt as if in a vain attempt to make it a little less revealing, and tottering on her tiny heels into the next room.

‘Ma’am, what are you doing?’ Enders said. ‘She’s probably a part-time tom, maybe an illegal. We should be bringing her in, not letting her nick a load of Dowdney’s dosh.’

‘The girl could do with the money and Dowdney isn’t going to miss it since he is, to use an unfortunate expression, toast.’

‘Bloody hell, ma’am. Are you saying the body at Tamar is Dowdney?’

‘Lynn Towner. Do you know who she is?’ Enders shook his head. ‘Budgeon’s old squeeze from way back. I reckon Dowdney’s been shacking up with her on and off over the years. That will have pissed Budgeon off, but worse, Dowdney was the guy who shopped Budgeon to us. Undoubtedly he was under Fallon’s orders, but I don’t suppose that would cut much ice.’

‘What made you suspect?’

‘Budgeon’s acting like a psycho, but everything he’s doing is calculated. As soon as we had the confirmation that nobody from the Tamar workforce was missing then I knew the body had to be part of Budgeon’s plan. His anger isn’t random, it’s unleashed against certain targets.’

‘That includes Riley,’ Enders said, raising a hand to his head and rubbing. ‘Whatever he’s done.’

‘That’s the point: whatever Riley’s done. I don’t think he was taken because of his knowledge of operation
Sternway
. That might be useful to Budgeon, but it’s incidental. Riley worked UC up in London and Budgeon was there too. I bet there’s a connection.’

‘Riley never talked about anything he did in his time on the Met.’

‘No, he wouldn’t have done. He’s not a show-off and he follows the rules to the letter. You don’t blab about undercover work, you keep operational details to yourself. Even when it’s all over.’

‘The ironic thing is, ma’am, if he
had
said something we might be in a better position to help him.’

Savage couldn’t argue with that. Instead she nodded over to where the girl was coming out of the office, a big smile on her face, tempered when she realised she was being watched. Then she shrugged and was across the room and out the door. The last sight Savage had of her was through the office window, the girl dodging puddles on the forecourt, still teetering on the heels, but a definite spring in her step nonetheless.

Savage moved into the inner office, noted the small safe secured to the floor had been left open, and pointed out the sofa and duvet to Enders.

‘Doesn’t look too comfy,’ Enders said. ‘But then again, neither does Lynn Towner.’

‘When you get to Dowdney’s age, Patrick, you’ll realise that Lynn Towner’s still got something men want.’

‘Some men.’

‘Putting that aside, Budgeon got Dowdney and Towner to get Riley in the taxi. Dowdney was really only peripheral, and once he’d served his purpose Budgeon kills him. That leaves Towner.’

‘He’s going to kill her too?’

‘He hardly needs to, does he? She’s unconscious in the ICU at Derriford. Even if she wasn’t I doubt he’d harm her, there’s too much history between them.’ Savage knelt in front of the safe and peered in. ‘Which is good news for us, because she’s Budgeon’s Achilles heel.’

‘She is?’

Savage nodded and then began to go through the contents of the safe. On the top shelf a cash box was open, only coins rattling around in the bottom, and there were various documents, car registration papers, and forms from the council. Enders moved up behind her and leaned over.

‘What you looking for, ma’am?’

‘I was hoping for a satnav unit. When I was here on Tuesday Dowdney pointed out a car Towner had trashed a couple of weeks ago. He said she’d crashed it down in Cornwall but lied about it. He knew she was lying because he’d seen the route on the satnav. It’s a bit of a long shot, but Chaffe was heading across the bridge into Cornwall when he was caught.’

‘You reckon Towner’s met Budgeon down there somewhere?’

‘I reckon she’d have needed to in order to plan Riley’s kidnapping. I don’t think Dowdney had a clue where Budgeon was, hence he didn’t realise he could have been revealing Budgeon’s location when he told me about Towner’s bump.’

‘And wherever she went the route will be in the satnav?’

‘Yes. Even if she cleared it there could still be evidence the boys in Hi-Tech Crimes might be able to get at.’

‘Bloody hell, ma’am!’ Enders beamed at Savage. ‘If you’re correct, the satnav could take us straight to Riley.’

‘Except,’ Savage said, pointing back at the safe, ‘the wretched thing’s not here, is it?’

The bang had started Riley out of his sleep. A gunshot, close at hand. The retort echoing through the building. For a second he’d raised his hands in defence. As if it would have made any difference.

Afterwards, he and Kemp had worked their way through the possibilities. An unlucky rabbit? Or Budgeon?

‘Maybe he’s had an accident,’ Kemp had said. ‘Blown his bloody head off.’

Fat chance, Riley thought. Life didn’t go like that. Kemp seemed to be able to draw on an infinite well of humour and good spirits, but his own was running dry.

Sometime mid-morning Stuey brought in more food. Two loaves of white Hovis and three litres of milk. Stuey pushed the food in with his foot while pointing a shotgun at them, taking no chances now he had two prisoners to deal with. He muttered an ‘enjoy’ as he slammed the door shut, the padlock and chain clinking on the outside and then a whistle echoing in a corridor as he walked away.

Riley went to retrieve the food. As he picked up the milk pain shot up his shoulder. He leant against the door and cursed. As he shook his head and straightened he noticed something odd about the doorframe: a large crack had appeared, running from close to the middle right up to where the frame met the lintel. The whole thing was set into the stonework in an amateur fashion. Bodgit and Scarper had clearly been at work because a couple of large coachscrews had been driven into the ancient mortar between the large stones. The mortar didn’t provide much of a grip and the wood had splintered around one of the screws and the split passed close by the other. A good shove on the door and the frame might well give way completely. The door would still be locked with the bolts, but it wouldn’t take much to force the whole lot – door, frame and all – out of the way, especially if he spent a few hours working away at the mortar.

He didn’t say anything to Kemp, just took the food over and plonked it down.

‘We get out of this, Darius, I’ll treat you to Sunday lunch at Gidleigh Park.’ Kemp tore open one of the packets of bread. ‘You know, the Michelin place over near Chagford?’

‘You’re on.’ Riley said as he unscrewed the cap on the milk carton and took a long draught. ‘As long as it’s something better than a swilly roast.’

‘Hey?’

‘Plymouth slang for beans on toast. In certain parts of the city it’s what passes for Sunday lunch.’

‘Been a revelation working down here I can tell you, mate,’ Kemp said through a mouthful of bread. ‘Coming, as I do, from the refined environs of Manchester.’

‘Manchester?’ Riley had started on the bread too, mumbling his words out. ‘Must have pained you playing a Liverpudlian then?’

‘Not really. Chance to act like a right dickhead.’

‘But Redmond knew the truth?’ he asked, passing Kemp the milk carton.

‘He knew most of it, yes,’ Kemp said, nodding towards the door. ‘And it seems like he told that to this lot.’

‘To Budgeon.’

‘The way you said that, sounds like Budgeon is your bête noire. Not sure if the phrase is appropriate, you being black. But there you go.’

‘It’s spot on.’

‘Well, your Mr Budgeon wanted to know all about operation
Sternway
.’

‘And you told him?’

‘Of course I did. Everything I knew.’ Kemp moved a hand to his chest. Winced. ‘Not that it helped much. I think he thought I’d give him details of the pickup. I told him I didn’t know. Which was when he got a little mad. From what I’ve seen of the man so far, neither of us have got a hope.’