Bad Blood (40 page)

‘What about SCD?’ Savage asked. ‘Don’t they know where Budgeon is?’

‘All they are saying to me,’ Fox said, ‘is that he is in the area, meaning Devon and Cornwall. Members of the team are down here at the moment trying to track him down, but his precise location is unknown.’

‘And you believe them?’

‘Why not?’ Fox shook his head. ‘You think there’s some sort of conspiracy? DI Savage, this is the Met we are talking about, not a force in some third-world country.’

The CC waved his hand, dismissing any further objections, and then began to outline a plan of action which involved a fresh search of the whole force area. Isolated properties would be visited by local police, and soldiers from 42 Commando would be involved in scouting Dartmoor, Bodmin Moor and parts of the coast path. There would be an aerial search using the coastguard and police helicopters and all the data from numerous ANPR units would be deployed to try and track down the routes Chaffe’s white van had taken. In addition, known criminals were to be targeted in dawn raids and questioned about Riley. Radio and television appeals would be broadcast, but only after the searches had been carried out so as not to alert Riley’s captors as to what was going on. In short, the counties of Devon and Cornwall wouldn’t know what had hit them.

It sounded impressive, as it was supposed to, but Savage didn’t hold out much hope for Riley. She nearly found herself spitting out the word ‘tickboxes’ but managed to restrain herself. The Chief Constable was right: getting angry wasn’t going to help Riley now.

The meeting wrapped up and Savage and Davies left the Chief with Hardin. Savage stopped in the corridor and blocked Davies’ way.

‘Where is he?’ Savage said.

‘I have no idea where DS Riley is.’

‘And if you did?’

‘I’d tell you. On my word.’ Davies sneered. ‘For what it’s worth.’

‘Look, Phil, I know you’re up to your neck in Fallon’s shit, but if you can find Darius I’ll keep schtum.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about. I do know we’ve got a mutual friend on the council.’

‘Alec Jackman can shop me for all I care, although I doubt he’s much bothered now. If you and your crimo mates don’t help me find Budgeon, then I’ll ensure you go away for a very long time.’

‘And you? ACC Heldon will have you lynched.’ Even as he said the words Davies looked worried, as if he hadn’t considered Savage would drop herself in it.

‘I’ll get dismissed, maybe even charged with something, but I’ll survive because I did the right thing. You’ll spend your time inside prison in segregation, never knowing who to trust. If you ever get there. I don’t think Fallon will want to risk you spilling the beans.’

‘You stupid cow!’ Davies stepped forwards and went to push her, but someone appeared at the end of the corridor and he moved his hand and slapped the wall instead. The woman paused for a moment before entering a room down on the right.

‘For God’s sake, Phil, get a grip.’ Savage told herself she had to calm down too. Davies was canny and she knew he was trying as hard as her to find a way out of the situation. ‘We are both heading for code brown, as Hardin might say, and personally I’d like nothing better than to see you slip under. I know you feel the same way about me. However, we can both save each other and rescue Riley too.’

‘And how the hell are we going to do that?’ Davies said, stepping back and leaning against the wall.

‘If you are instrumental in rescuing Riley then, unless Riley himself brings up some compelling evidence to prove otherwise, you’re in the clear.’

‘Fucking hell, Savage,’ Davies said, his usual grimace broadening into a fully-fledged smile. ‘You’re one clever bitch, I’ll give you that. Still doesn’t help us find Riley though, does it?’

‘I’ve got an idea. I want you to get a message to Fallon. You and I will rendezvous tomorrow.’

‘Going on a date are we? Didn’t know you cared.’

‘Yes, and I don’t.’ The same DC re-emerged from the room at the end of the corridor and glanced up again, before turning her head and scuttling away. ‘Now, I’ll tell you the message I want you to pass to Fallon and then let’s get the hell out of this corridor before people start spreading unhealthy rumours about me.’

A scream jerked Riley awake. He blinked, trying to resolve an image in the almost pitch black. Was that Kemp? Then he heard the noise again. Not a scream, a
screech
. An owl outside somewhere.

Kemp lay on the other side of the room, snoring and wheezing. Riley wondered whether he’d be a hindrance. No matter, he couldn’t leave him. He sat upright. Nothing to hear now, not even the owl. The silence probably didn’t mean much out here in the country. He put his right hand to his left wrist, touching the skin where his watch had been. Knowing the time would have been handy, but he’d simply have to rely on his instinct. And now felt right.

He pushed himself up and stood, feeling the cold beneath his bare feet. He moved to the door and examined the surround. All through the day, while Kemp had slept, he’d used a sharp stone he’d found on the floor of the stable to chip at the mortar around the coachscrews. Now he was sure a good strong shove would either crack the frame or dislodge it from the wall.

Riley stood and listened again. Was it quiet enough outside to allow them a fair chance of getting away? Him? – yes, but Kemp? The man was knackered, broken in body if not in spirit and he didn’t look as if he was going anywhere soon. Riley moved back over to where Kemp lay sleeping.

‘Mate.’ Riley touched Kemp’s arm. ‘Wake up. Time to go.’

‘Huh? What?’ Kemp rolled over and flinched. ‘Shit! That hurt.’

‘You alright?’

‘Yeah. OK. Sort of.’

‘Think you can run?’

‘Nah, mate. Not with this rib.’

‘Walk?’

‘Stagger, maybe. Will that do?’

‘It will have to,’ Riley said, turning away so Kemp wouldn’t catch the grim expression on his face. ‘Come on.’

Riley helped Kemp to his feet and then moved over to the door. Light streamed through the cracks and Riley put his eye against one. An empty corridor stretched away to a door at the end which had a glass panel in the centre and through the glass, nothing but black. On the ceiling a fluorescent tube flickered on and off, but other than a moth trying to make sense of the intermittent light, nothing appeared to be moving in the corridor. True, if someone was sitting or standing to one side of the door they wouldn’t have a chance, but he suspected they didn’t have a chance anyway so there was nothing to lose.

‘We good to go?’ Kemp coughed from behind Riley. ‘Because I fancy a full English for breakfast and all we got yesterday was a few slices of bread and no tea. Hospitable these guys ain’t.’

‘We’re good.’ He pulled back from the door and turned to Kemp. ‘When I break the door we have to move fast. I am hoping the door at the end isn’t locked. We get through and go to the right. That takes us away from the house and the other buildings. Beyond that, fuck knows.’

‘Let’s hope for something better than a Little Chef,’ Kemp said. ‘And I’m buying.’

Riley nodded and put his hand up and fingered the crack in the door frame. He placed his shoulder below the crack, moved back half a step and took a couple of practice shoves. Then he stepped back a good two paces, took a breath and lunged at the door. A sharp retort rang out as the crack opened and the right-hand part of the door frame came away from the wall. Riley grasped the frame and pushed forward. There was the sound of splintering wood and the frame fell outward, dangling from the left-hand side where a coachscrew held fast. Riley stepped through the gap into the corridor and beckoned Kemp.

The corridor was empty. On the left there were a couple of doors, both closed, and down at the end, the exit. Riley moved down the corridor, hearing Kemp stumbling behind him, and reached the door at the end. He tried the handle and pulled the door inward. Unlocked.

Kemp raised a hand, thumb pointing up, smiled at Riley, and collapsed. Riley ran back and helped him to his feet, supporting him under the arms. Together they staggered to the door.

Outside, the lights from the house blazed out. From one window came the characteristic flicker from a television. A halogen security light fixed to one corner brought daylight to a section of the driveway in front of the house, leaving shadows where the beam didn’t penetrate. Riley helped Kemp away from the building and they crossed a patch of gravel and headed towards a hedge where the darkness appeared absolute. As Riley stepped from the gravel onto the strip of grass in front of the hedge, a blinding light flooded his vision. The entire area was now lit up and they stood bathed in a white glare which came from another security light high on a steel pole.

Then the dogs started barking.

‘Come on!’ Riley pulled Kemp and dived for the hedge. It was some sort of evergreen, soft leaves but dense within. Riley pushed through, feeling twigs scratch across his face as he dragged Kemp after him. On the other side a stock fence ran parallel to the hedge. Riley started to straddle the fence, too late realising it was topped with barbed wire. His trousers ripped and a barb caught him halfway up his thigh, digging into his flesh. He threw himself up and over and rolled into the pasture. Kemp lurched up to the fence and simply folded himself over, screaming as the barbs caught him across the stomach. He fell down beside Riley.

‘Shit,’ Kemp said. ‘I’m fucked.’

‘Come on, you can make it.’

‘No, mate.’ Kemp spluttered the words out. ‘Here, I want you to have this.’

Kemp scrabbled in the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a small square of card and handed it to Riley.

‘What—’

‘Her real name’s Ellie, not Elsie,’ Kemp said as shouts echoed in the night air behind them. ‘My only chance is if you can get help. Now go!’

‘Breakfast,’ Riley said and clambered to his feet. ‘Full English, right?’ He didn’t wait for Kemp’s answer but began running away from the fence and down the field towards what appeared to be a copse at the bottom. When he reached the woodland he turned back. A beam from a powerful torch swept the hedge and two large black shapes shot along the path of white light. A moment later the shapes collided with something and a frenzied barking and growling filled the air. Kemp screamed for perhaps five seconds, before his voice changed to a low, wailing moan which seemed to go on and on and on.

Riley slunk back deeper into the shadows at the edge of the copse and moved along its boundary. The torch flicked this way and that, the light approaching the dogs. Voices floated down to Riley: Budgeon, Chaffe and the Columbian. When the torch reached the dogs someone said something in Spanish, ‘Hijo de puta!’ the only words he could make out.

Next came a bang.

Riley didn’t wait any longer. He ran along the edge of the woodland, past an old caravan, until he reached a place where the rickety fence had fallen over. He trampled across the wire, feeling a barb scrape across his soles, and into the wood. Now the land fell away at a much steeper angle and the ground underfoot was uneven. Twigs cracked and brambles pulled at his clothing as he headed downward. He stumbled forward, tripping over a root and fell against a tree trunk, knocking his head. Disorientated, he glanced upwards and glimpsed torchlight overhead, the beam waving back and forth, picking out the skeletal shapes of the bare branches. Now the sound of panting and whining floated amongst the trees and when he looked up the hill he saw two men entering the wood. The dogs were on leads now, but lunging forward, eager to be free.

He rolled away from the tree and onto a path which ran across the hill. It was wide and grassy, possibly for forestry vehicles. He stood up and started to run. Up above him a yell rang out followed by a crashing as the men lumbered their way down the hillside. The path ran parallel to the contours, weaving this way and that as the hillside curved round, but the ground was easy and soft under his bare feet and he sprinted along, heart pounding. Behind, the noise from the chase diminished. By the sound of things the dogs were still on their leads which meant his pursuers wouldn’t be able to move as fast as him. The path began to climb and after another quarter of a mile or so it ended in a five-bar gate. He vaulted over and landed in a narrow lane. The barking became a frenzy of yapping and snarling.

The dogs were loose again.

Riley headed right, his shredded feet pounding on the tarmac. He just had to reach a larger road, one with traffic, one where someone could help him or at least see what was going on and report it. The road began to climb, at first only gently, but after a short distance the hill became steeper. He took in great gulps of air, but he was tired now. No way would he be able to outrun the dogs.

He turned and looked back the way he had come.

Headlights!

A car was coming up the hill, the engine slipping into a lower gear as it hit the steeper part. Riley held up his hands as the light dazzled him. He waved at the vehicle as the car slowed, a door opening as it stopped alongside.

‘Get in, I’ll give you a lift.’ Gruff. Hint of a Geordie accent from the plush white leather interior.

Riley bent to peer inside and found himself looking down the barrel of a sawn-off shotgun, Budgeon grinning at him.

‘Darius,’ Budgeon said. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Ricky,’ Riley said.

‘Of course! Who were you expecting, your fairy bloody Godmother?’

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Sunday 27th January. 10.23 a.m.

Calter dialled the mobile number she had for Tom Bryant, the detective with the Met’s Specialist Crime Directorate she’d spoken to a few days ago. Getting the number from the over-officious administrative assistant at New Scotland Yard hadn’t been easy, so she was relieved when an answer came in three rings.

‘DCI Bryant.’ The low whisper sounded cautious. ‘Who’s that?’

‘DC Jane Calter. Devon and Cornwall. Remember.’

‘How could I forget a beautiful voice like yours? What can I do for you, love?’

‘I heard a rumour some of your boys were down this way. I wondered if that included you and if it does would you like to buy me Sunday lunch?’