Bad Blood (42 page)

‘No, I wasn’t, but we’re on the same side now. At least for the moment.’ Davies took a couple of nachos, munched them and peered out of the windscreen.

The lights were blazing, and earlier they’d seen Fallon and his wife and kids sit down in the dining room for tea and cakes before the maid drew the curtains. Home sweet home, Savage had thought, thinking of her own children stuck without their mother yet again.

Now lights went on upstairs and Savage imagined the children protesting at having to complete last-minute homework or have a bath before dinner and bed. Things were a little more lax in her household and she knew Pete and Stefan would be watching the afternoon Premiership match, Pete hoping Jamie might bath himself, get his own dinner and put himself to bed. Samantha would be on Twitter, Facebook, Skype or possibly all three. Doing her homework at the same time, most likely.

Savage leant back in the seat and closed her eyes for a moment. It would be nice to be home, she thought, cuddling on the sofa with Pete while Stefan joked around and—

‘We’re on!’

Savage snapped her eyes open, startled by Davies’ voice. Headlights swept the interior of the car as a vehicle came along the lane and turned right into the gateway to Fallon’s house. It was Fallon’s Range Rover, Kev – Fallon’s driver – at the wheel. Another car, some sort of BMW, followed the Range Rover down the drive.

‘Three up each vehicle,’ Davies said. ‘He means business alright.’

Before the cars had reached the bottom of the drive the front door to the house opened and out came Fallon. He had a long, thin bag under his arm.

‘Bloody hell,’ Savage said. ‘That’s a shotgun.’

‘Shit.’ Davies’ hand moved toward the ignition. ‘You still on for this?’

‘Of course. Riley is depending on us and I know how much you love him.’

‘Fuck off!’

Davies waited until Fallon had clambered into the back of the first car and then he turned the ignition. He’d kept the lights off and they both slumped low in their seats as the two vehicles turned around, came up the drive and out onto the lane. They immediately speeded up and headed into Saltash, turned right onto the A38 and went through the Saltash tunnel. Davies followed some distance behind. Plenty of cars were streaming across the bridge into Cornwall, late shoppers heading back home, and Davies tucked in a few cars back behind an empty flatbed truck.

‘How the fuck are we going to explain this to Hardin?’ Davies said. ‘He’s going to want to know how we knew where to go.’

Savage didn’t answer, just stared ahead, trying to keep track of the tail lights of the two cars as they left the town and headed into the countryside.

Denton hadn’t been keen on Calter’s plan to go it alone. As they turned off the main road and headed towards Constantine, he argued they should tell Savage the address immediately.

‘Suppose we need backup or something unexpected happens?’ he said.

‘The boss has got her own bit of surveillance to worry about, Carl. All we’ve got is a cross on a map. First sign it has anything to do with Budgeon we’ll call her, OK?’

‘OK.’ Denton switched from sidelights to headlights and swerved to avoid a large pothole. ‘If you say so.’

They drove on, Denton slowing when they reached Constantine, Calter reading from the satnav and peering down at the Ordnance Survey map she had open on her lap.

‘Right in the village and a mile or so farther on we need to turn off. Down a track and then find some place to park.’

Ten minutes later, and they were plunging down a tiny lane which led to a terrace of cottages next to a farm. Denton pulled the car onto a muddy verge and glanced across at Calter, who was pointing down at the map.

‘Got to walk across a couple of fields, Carl,’ she said. ‘We’ll be able to see the place on the other side of the creek. If this was summer and we had a picnic it might be fun.’ She peered out of the windscreen at the dark clouds overhead.

‘Jane?’ Denton said, pulling a Mars Bar from his pocket. ‘I brought this. I’ll share it with you if you like.’

Sweet boy, Calter thought, but a total pushover.

The farmyard appeared deserted, although smoke rose from a chimney on one of the farm cottages in the terrace. They headed out of the yard around the edge of a ploughed field which fell away down to a hedgerow. Beyond was a small area of pasture and some woodland and farther on, a line of mud marked the creek. The landscape ahead was greying in the coming twilight, the perspective flattening out the distance. The scene looked like a charcoal drawing.

They reached a gate and went through into the pasture, crossing the field and finding a stile into the woodland. Now the land fell away to the creek and the path zig-zagged down beneath the bare trees. Despite the lack of leaf cover, in amongst the trunks night seemed almost upon them. Halfway down Calter paused next to a large oak and motioned Denton over.

‘Let’s stop.’ She moved past the oak and stood behind a pile of logs. She gestured down at the creek. ‘We can watch the property from here.’

‘What do you mean watch?’ Denton said. ‘I thought we were just going to check it and then call it in?’

‘Did you now?’ Calter smiled, lifted her binoculars and squinted through. ‘We’ve no idea if this has anything to do with Budgeon yet.’

Denton snorted and pulled out the Mars Bar, muttering something about a dinghy on the far shore.

Calter adjusted the focus ring and swept the binos around until she spotted the white shape at the high-tide line, a rope leading from a small rowing boat to a tree on the bank.

‘Must belong to the house.’ Denton tapped her arm and pointed at the grassy slope which ran up from the shore.

Calter lowered the binoculars. A large barn conversion sat in extensive grounds. Lights twinkled from the windows. To one side stood a tennis course and, attached to the house, a conservatory with a pool. To the other side a patch of ancient woodland and, to the front, a gravel drive swept past a barn and a long, stone building. The place was magnificent, a house fit for a lottery winner or a movie star, and the position was a bonus. Away from near neighbours, the closest habitation appeared to be a farm at the top of the hill. The only blot on the landscape was a shabby caravan in an adjoining field at the edge of the woodland.

‘Priceless,’ Calter said. ‘Sure beats my flat.’

‘Never,’ Denton said, handing her half the Mars Bar. ‘Your place is cosy. I like it.’

Bloody hell, Calter thought, the boy has lost it. She wondered who was worse: Denton or Bryant. Bryant was a dinosaur, but Denton dripped like a faulty tap.

‘Hang on,’ Calter said, looking at the caravan again. ‘Are we missing something bloody obvious here? I didn’t recognise the address I nicked from Bryant, but that caravan seems awfully familiar. I swear it’s the same one stuck on the board back in the incident room. This is the place where Patrick and DI Savage came to. You were right, Carl, I should’ve called it in. I’ll phone—’

‘Jane!’ Denton hissed. ‘Look at that!’

The sight caused Calter’s blood to run cold. The damp feeling in her neck sent icy fingers down her back and she shivered. The sudden harsh wash of a security light had come on and in the patch of white a man stumbled from the door of the long stone building and fell to the floor. Two other men strode into the lit up area and began to kick the first man where he lay. Then they picked him up and dragged him across the yard towards a different building. Calter raised the binoculars to her eyes and rammed the zoom lever to maximum. She twiddled the focus ring until the tableaux snapped clear. The men disappeared into the building, the door swinging shut. Calter blinked. It had happened in a flash, but one thing was unmistakable. The guy being manhandled was black.

‘Jesus, it’s Riley, come on!’ Calter dropped the binoculars and moved back from the pile of logs, grabbing Denton by one arm. They scrabbled back up the slope and behind the oak tree. She took her phone from her pocket and jabbed at the keyboard, putting it to her ear and taking deep breaths. Nothing. She looked at the phone. No bars. Shit!

‘You got one?’ she asked Denton, but he was already staring down at the display on his phone and shaking his head. ‘OK. You stay here. We need to know if they go anywhere. I’ll go back up the hill and see if I can get a signal there. If not I’ll go to the farm.’

‘But …’ Denton looked at her for a moment.

‘Which of us did the Plymouth half-marathon in under one forty?’

Calter placed her hands on her hips for a moment, took a deep breath and started to run up the hill. By the time she got to the top she was feeling the pain. She checked her phone again. Still nothing. Bugger. She climbed the stile and ran across the pasture to the gate that led into the big ploughed field. She fumbled with the latch, trying to work out how the hell you opened it, before the bolt came free and she wrenched the gate open. She started across the field, falling almost straightaway and rolling in the soft furrows, before staggering to her feet and lumbering on.

Five minutes later she reached the first of the farm cottages and stomped up the path and rapped on the door. Nothing. She leapt the little hedge to the adjoining cottage. This time she caught a movement behind the front room window, the twitch of a curtain and a shadow moving back. She pressed her face up against the window and saw an old lady raise her hands to her face and cower. Calter fumbled in her pocket and took out her warrant card, pressing it against the window.

‘Police! DC Calter. I need to use your phone.’

The woman disappeared from view and Calter cursed. A few seconds later though she heard the front door click and it swung open, the old woman standing in the doorway, holding out a shaking hand, in which was a cordless phone.

For the first few miles they were both jumpy, thinking at any moment Fallon would turn off somewhere. After that though they settled down for a long drive. There was less traffic now and they reached Bodmin in thirty minutes. Fallon’s convoy swung onto the A30 dual carriageway and speeded up. Keeping tabs on them and staying a reasonable distance behind became more difficult and Davies kept shouting at Savage, concerned they were losing them. After less than a quarter of an hour they turned off the A30, heading for Truro and Falmouth.

‘Where the fuck?’ Davies said, smacking the indicator stick down as he took the sliproad. He tapped the dash behind the wheel. ‘Lucky I filled up before we left.’

Savage was about to answer and say something about there not being much of the country left, when her mobile chirped out.

Calter.

The DC’s words came out of the phone in a torrent, but Savage had the gist in the first five seconds.

‘Constantine,’ she said to Davies, thinking the name sounded familiar as she hung up and then realising why. ‘Of course, the bloody farm where Owers stayed! I’ll give you directions, you concentrate on the road.’

Directions weren’t necessary since Fallon led the way, his convoy anticipating the route as fast as Savage could call it out. They rattled round the outskirts of Truro, the two cars ahead paying scant regard to the speed limit, Davies struggling to keep up. Then Fallon skipped off the main road and dived down a country lane. They shot through a small village with a few streetlights and then they were in darkness.

Up ahead, the two vehicles turned right at a crossroads. Davies slowed to take the turn. As he pulled out into the road a loud honking came from their left as a patrol car shot into view. Davies braked hard and Savage felt the seatbelt dig into her chest.

‘What the hell?’ Their car had stopped in the centre of the road and Davies slammed into reverse, backing out the way. The patrol car came roaring past, blue lights flashing and siren blaring, closely followed by a police van and another car. Davies smashed the gearstick forward again and turned to follow.

Up ahead, the convoy Fallon was in had pulled to the side of the narrow road, the nearside wheels of the vehicles riding the verge. The police cars slowed down and eased past before accelerating off again.

‘It’s not them they are after!’ Savage said. ‘Get moving!’

Davies floored the accelerator and the back end swung round. The wheels screeched and they surged forward. A quarter of a mile farther on Fallon had got out of his car and walked back to the second vehicle. He looked up. Savage lowered the window as they approached and Davies slowed the car.

‘Going somewhere, Kenny?’ she said. ‘Only you said you’d call me, remember?’

‘Charlotte, Phil. What the hell are you playing at?’

‘Drive on,’ she said to Davies, flicked the switch and the window slid up. She turned in her seat to see Fallon thump the roof of the car and start bellowing something to the driver. ‘Jesus, he’s not happy.’

‘Saved him a stretch,’ Davies said. ‘On reflection he’ll thank us.’

Davies put his foot to the floor and they sped away, Savage hoping to God Davies was right.

‘Wakey wakey, it’s show time!’

Riley blinked, Budgeon’s voice was on the edge of his consciousness, but the bright light was real enough, drilling into his eyes and causing his head to pound. He made to move his hand to his right cheek where a sharp pain throbbed, but couldn’t. Either his limbs weren’t working or … he was tied up.

‘Now Darius,’ Budgeon continued. ‘Stuey said you put up a bit of a struggle, that you didn’t answer his questions.’

Riley screwed his eyes shut, before opening them and blinking several times. A shadow loomed over him for a moment and then moved back so the light fell on his face again.

He was in some kind of vast barn or workshop. Off to one side was a workbench with tools hung on a pegboard, a large vice fixed to the edge. Strip lights floated above him, suspended from the ceiling. He lay on some sort of table, the hard surface doing nothing to ease the pain from the bruises. He tried to move again, feeling cold chains against his bare arms and hearing them rattle down on the table as he gave up any further exertion as pointless.

‘Questions,’ Riley said looking up at Budgeon’s face, remembering only the pickaxe handle blurring as Stuey swung the weapon over and over again.