Touch (31 page)

On the table a purple and green robot lay face down on a half-eaten potato waffle and an assortment of little monsters fashioned from Play-Doh clambered over the rest of the dinner.

‘Godzilla, King Kong, the Hulk,’ Stefan explained. ‘Don’t ask me where he knows them from though.’

‘The other kids in the playground. I am shocked at what the little ones are allowed to watch these days.’

‘Our parents said the same.’

‘Probably.’ Savage paused. Stefan did look shattered, really shattered. For an eighty kilogram grinder who thought nothing of hauling ropes for hour after hour on a race that was something. Jamie must have been one handful today.

‘Go on, get yourself back to your place, I’ll sort this lot out.’

Stefan nodded and stumbled from the room.

After a quick trip upstairs to find out what Samantha was up to – homework: no; IMing with friends: yes – she got down to clearing up. The simple monotony of tidying calmed her and contrasted with the hectic atmosphere of the incident room. Dishes in the dishwasher, Play-Doh separated in to constituent colours, a wipe round and then she grabbed a cold Peroni from the fridge with the intention to put her feet up in front of the telly while the frozen pizza she had put in the oven cooked itself.

The fridge door closed and the green and purple magnetic dinosaur’s eyes bobbed up and down. The tide times had been replaced by a colourful printout from Jamie’s school. In the top right corner two little pictures caught her eye, one of Jamie and one of his class. The word ‘Proof’ ran diagonally across the thumbnails and on the left of the page a list of various ordering options gave print sizes and prices. She remembered he had talked to her about his school photograph a couple of weeks ago, worried about a little spot on his chin. Getting him to go in on the day had been a real struggle. Examining the proofs now Savage didn’t think she could even see the thing. Probably the photographer’s lights had been strong enough to wash the red mark out.

Flash.

Shit!

She strolled across to a knife rack where a bottle opener hung and opened her beer. A quick gulp and she exchanged the bottle for the phone. Four rings and Ender’s voice came on the line. He sounded weary.

‘You still working, Patrick? You ought to get home and read your kids a bedtime story.’

‘Ma’am? I need the overtime. You know what the finances are like with three... sorry ma’am, I didn’t–’

‘That’s OK. Can you bring up the accounts for a few of the nurseries for me? Kelly’s, Simone’s and Alice’s?’

‘Sure, give me a minute.’

The keyboard clattered in the background and Enders said he had the documents open.

‘We’ve been concentrating on trades people and looking for the invoices the nurseries have received requiring payment. The accounts have been our way of linking the nurseries to people from outside of their direct employment, right?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Look on the other side of the sheet. The incomings.’

‘OK. I am on Little Angels, Kelly Donal’s nursery.’ A pause. ‘A whole load of entries, ma’am. All the monies received from the parents.’

‘Yes, of course. But scroll through. I am looking for a payment from somebody other than a parent. The name might appear only once in a year’s worth of accounts.’

Nothing but static for a few moments and Savage could visualise Enders running his finger down the screen. He wasn’t the most competent or the fastest with computers, but he was meticulous.

‘What have you got?’

‘I’ve got parents. Parents. Parents. Parents. More parents. Bloody hundreds of them. Interest from the bank. More parents.’

‘Keep looking.’

‘Parents. Interest. Parents... Hang on.’

‘What?’

‘Oliver Photographic?’

‘Bingo! You understand what I am talking about?’

‘Photograph commission the note says. That’s Rod Oliver isn’t it? The CSI photographer we use?’

‘Yes. Now check out the other two sets of accounts. Do a search for an Oliver.’

Some faint noise from the keyboard reached Savage’s ear before Enders grunted with frustration.

‘Control F,’ Savage said.

‘Oh yes. Thanks, ma’am.’ There was a further period of silence until Enders spoke again. ‘Got the results, ma’am. Yes, all three nurseries used the same company.’

‘Patrick, can you get Oliver’s number for me?’

She heard Enders tapping away at the keyboard and then he gave her the number.

‘Thanks. I’ll call you back in five.’

Savage hung up and punched in the number. Oliver answered in a couple of rings and Savage introduced herself.

‘Oh hello, Charlotte, not another body I hope?’

‘No, Rod. Are you out on a shoot?’

‘No, at home. About to clear up the dinner before the wife starts giving me earache over the mess.’

‘Just a question about your assistant, Matthew, is it?’

‘Yes, why, what’s up?’

‘Has he been with you long?’

‘Ever since I went independent. He is not the sharpest tool in the box, but he is good with the equipment and takes cracking pictures.’

‘Ever had any problems with him?’

‘He is not always reliable, but he only works for me part-time so I can’t expect him to drop everything and come running. Other than that I’ve no complaints. He’s got a great eye for a picture. Some people have a way of seeing things which enables them to simply point the camera at something, click, and get a brilliant photograph. Matt is a natural, but that’s really all there is to him. He doesn’t say much, just gets on with the job. That’s not a crime, is it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Savage paused for a moment. ‘Rod, you introduced him to me back at the Malstead Down crime scene. I want to confirm his surname in case I misheard.’

‘Is it important?’

‘It might be. Can you give me his address too?’

Oliver reminded Savage of the name and gave her an address and she thanked him and hung up.

She dialled the number for the incident room and within seconds Enders answered.

‘Ma’am? You got something?’

‘Riley said Julie Meadows encountered a guy with a camera. He got into a fight with David Forrester, I believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Done That Danny discovered the camera used in the attack on Simone Ashton’s boyfriend. He saw the flash of the camera and we found those awful images of Simone Ashton.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we know Mitchell and Forester were both into photography, and a neighbour of Mitchell’s reported the flashes coming from a window.’

‘You mean Rod Oliver is the killer?’

‘No, not Oliver. Everett Mitchell mentioned somebody called Harry, remember? The killer’s name is Harry. Oliver’s assistant is called Matthew Harrison.’

‘Harrison... Harry?’

‘Yes. He was over at the Kelly Donal crime scene gloating over the body he had just dumped.’

‘Bloody hell, ma’am. That’s sick.’

‘Gather some bodies together. We are going to need a TAG team in on this as well so I’ll get on to Hardin and fill him in on the details. And don’t leave without me. I am on my way in.’

Harry sat in the dark in the living room at the cottage examining the pictures on the screen on the back of one of his cameras. The images scrolled by and Harry studied the faces looking out. Lovely, all of them, but none resembled any of the girls from his past. No Deborah, no Katya. Perhaps he was going to have to widen his search. He chewed his tongue and began to feel uncomfortable with the thought. Other types of girls wouldn’t have the exquisite qualities that he wanted, the inner qualities he remembered from long ago.

He switched the camera off and the room slid into darkness. He liked that. Safe. Then there was a noise from the ceiling, a creak of a floorboard. Emma. She must be moving around up there. Poor girl. He felt sorry for her now. The final test had taken place and the result disappointed him. Chasing her naked through the house had made him suspect that the girl was no different from Trinny or Lucy, despite the cleansing regime he had carried out. And so it proved. All that fresh fruit and bottled water had made no difference. He would have to deal with her. Tonight. Of course he would keep her for a while after she had been preserved and have some fun, but in the end that wasn’t very edifying. Eventually he would have to dispose of her like the other two.

Harry felt the weight of the camera in his hands. Funny how all those girls were in there, somehow captured on the chip. He had hundreds of pictures of girls, thousands even, and it was comforting to know that they would remain living for ever.

He put the camera down and moved across the room in the dark. He walked to the fireplace and groped for some matches on the mantelpiece. Finding them he lit a candle and began to lay a fire in the grate. As he crumpled sheets of newspaper and laid the kindling on top he noticed the headlines and the pictures of the dead girls,
his
dead girls. The pictures of Carmel showed how lovely she had been, but Harry knew that she didn’t look that way now. Not after having been in the sea for all those months. Trinny had looked better when she was dead, he knew, but even she would be rotting soon.

He struck a match and lit the paper, watching the girls die a second time. Things were better kept alive, like Emma, but sometimes it just wasn’t possible. If they didn’t behave as they were supposed to, if they didn’t get clean, then he had no other option. Once they were dead he knew that he should get rid of them, but then they would just rot away and he would have nobody to talk to. Which was why he kept them. At least until they lost their beauty. That was why he’d had to get rid of Trinny and Lucy. Their bodies had gone saggy and started to smell. Which was hardly surprising considering they had been frozen and defrosted half a dozen times.

Grand Parade, Plymouth. Monday 8th November. 11.17 pm

Inspector Nigel Frey was commanding the Tactical Aid Group and Savage had briefed him on the situation, emphasising the possibility of a hostage scenario.

‘Alice Nash. We are pretty certain he has her.’

‘Alive?’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘But you are not sure?’

Savage told Frey about the frozen bodies of Kelly Donal and Simone Ashton and also about the murder of Forester and the attempted murder of Simone Ashton’s boyfriend.

‘He doesn’t think twice about killing so if he does have her we need complete surprise.’

‘Two armed officers will enter first,’ Frey said. ‘They will sweep and clear. Then the rest of us pile in en masse.’

‘We need to remember the house is a crime scene. If Harrison isn’t in there we want to keep the number of people entering the building to a minimum.’

‘Understood. But safety comes first. It is my call as to if and when you get in. Sorry, instructions from Hardin. He mentioned something about the Moor Vale incident.’ Frey’s tone came across as serious, but he was grinning at the same time. ‘If you ever fancy a change of career I am always looking for officers with a bit of backbone.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Savage smiled back. ‘Once is enough. I’m quite happy watching you guys from a safe distance.’

*

A safe distance equalled fifty metres up the street in an unmarked car. Savage, Riley and Enders waited in the darkness for the TAG team to appear. A few minutes earlier Enders had cruised the car past Harrison’s place. Even an estate agent would have been hard pushed to describe the property as anything other than grotty. Paint peeled from the window frames and the railings on the first floor balcony were rusty. On the front wall a hunk of plaster had fallen off and lay in pieces in the tiny garden. Alongside the rest of the street’s smart looking dwellings the house stuck out like a sore thumb.

‘The press will love this,’ Riley said. ‘Fit’s their stereotype perfectly.’

‘And if it doesn’t they will make it,’ Enders said.

Savage brooded, her own thoughts blocking out the chat of the other two officers. Had they missed something which might have led them here earlier? The house flagged Harrison up as different, but should someone else have spotted other things that might have drawn him to the attention of the authorities and prevented him being able to work at the nurseries? Savage didn’t know, but she reckoned she had done her best. In the end no one could expect more.

‘Ma’am?’ Enders nodded toward the house. The front door opened and light washed out onto the street. Two girls dressed for a night on the town tottered down the steps and walked along the road.

‘Students,’ Riley said. ‘Ground floor and basement are rented out. Harrison has his studio on the first floor, flat on the second and third.’

‘Nice looking tenants,’ Enders said as the girls breezed past the car, a whiff of perfume noticeable a few moments later. ‘Don’t suppose that is a coincidence. Whatever, they will be searching for new digs come tomorrow.’

‘Maybe your missus would be happy to give them a room, eh?’ Riley said.

‘Shut up, ladies,’ Savage said. ‘Here we go!’

The TAG van drove by and drew up alongside the curb in front of them. The rear doors opened and six men jumped out, Frey leading the way. Black clothing, body armour, SWAT team boots and guns. They jogged down the street to Harrison’s house. Two of the team now held the enforcer – a tubular steel battering ram – between them while a third peered through the letterbox. ‘Clear,’ he mouthed.

The two officers swung the ram and the door crashed open, splintering around the lock. Two more officers with weapons drawn now raced past and into the house. Savage heard muffled shouting from inside and the rest of the team rushed in.

‘OK, we’re on.’ Savage opened the door and got out of the car. As they walked down the street and neared the house they heard commotion from inside. A crash as an internal door caved in and a high-pitched warble sound from a burglar alarm. More shouting. Bodies thumping up and down stairs. Now doors were opening on houses either side and a couple of the TAG team were screaming at the residents to get back inside.

‘Give me CID any day,’ Enders said. ‘All this running around would leave me too knackered for anything.’