Cut Dead by Mark Sennen

Author:Mark Sennen [Sennen, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Sunday 22nd June. 7.45 a.m.

Savage was at the station by seven-thirty the next morning. She wanted to clear some of the endless admin work before the nine a.m. briefing. Earlier, as she’d climbed out of bed, Pete had moaned about yet another weekend without her around. Could she, by any chance, remember the names of her children?

Coming from him Savage had thought the jibe unfair. Who was it who had been away on his ship for half the kids’ lives? Besides, work had been slack recently and she had been around. Anyway, a week ago, staring down into the hole at Tavy View Farm, she’d made a promise to the bodies lying in the sludge. Family or no family, she intended to fulfil it.

In her office, she’d read halfway through one email when a knock at the door brought Calter in.

‘Phil Glastone, ma’am. The DSupt says we’re to go and question him again.’

‘Really?’ Savage said, thinking Hardin must have been lying awake brooding half the night. ‘Glastone knew we were on to him, I’m sure of it. I can’t see him committing a crime when he was aware he was being tailed. Also, the car the witness spotted bears no resemblance to his Alfa. The fact a kidnapping took place yesterday almost confirms he isn’t the Candle Cake Killer.’

‘Hardin’s adamant, ma’am. He wants something for the media. They’re asking about previous suspects and he’s worried it won’t be long before they doorstep Glastone.’

‘Right.’ Questioning Glastone would at least put him from the frame once and for all, Savage thought. TIE. Trace, interview, eliminate. Repeat a million and a half times across Devon and Cornwall and they’d be left with the killer. ‘But at least let’s take a pool car today. I need aircon.’

Calter drove the Focus while Savage pondered the possibility that Glastone could have anything to do with the disappearance of Paula Rowland.

‘If he did do it then he’ll have an alibi,’ she said. ‘If we can’t get round that then there’s not much we can do.’

‘Might be like the other time, ma’am. The wife. If she’s scared of him she’ll say or do anything.’

‘She can say what she likes, but her story will need to hold water. Phil Glastone can’t get out of this with mere fairy tales.’

‘So if she doesn’t come up with something substantial we’ll bring him in?’

‘Let’s see.’

Savage stared out at the countryside as they crawled out of Plymouth. Traffic snaked from the city and onto the country roads as people looked to take advantage of the hot weather. Locals heading for the beaches at Bigbury-on-Sea and Bantham, tourists intent on reaching Kingsbridge, Salcombe or Dartmouth for lunch. She wondered if people now felt safe knowing the killer had taken his victim. Safe, at least, until next year.

They pulled up on Devon Road a little after nine, Calter slotting the car in behind Glastone’s Alfa. As they got out of the car a shout echoed down from the house. The sound of something breaking too.

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