Two Evils: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel (44 page)

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘I guess I do.’

Riley didn’t return to work until the end of the following week. He tried to enter the crime suite discreetly, but his crutches put paid to that. A rousing cheer went around the room and the regular wags shouted out abuse.

‘Hopalong! Jake the Peg!’ The best came from Enders who came across to Riley as he hobbled across to his desk.

‘Puts a whole new meaning to your career path, doesn’t it, sir?’ Enders grinned and patted Riley on the back. ‘Fast-tracked, you ain’t!’

The banter was well meaning and the cheering came with official backing: Maria Heldon was putting Riley forward for a commendation for bravery, his actions almost certainly having saved Perry Sleet’s life. However, when Riley had dropped through the roof of the barn he’d fractured his ankle. Adrenaline had kept him on his feet for long enough to give Sleet first aid for a few minutes, but once medical help arrived, he’d collapsed in agony.

‘He’s a lucky boy,’ Enders said once the commotion had died down. Riley sat at a terminal browsing Sleet’s Facebook page. Catherine Sleet had posted some pictures of Sleet in hospital as well as a ‘thank you’ for messages of support. There was another picture of Catherine herself, bedside. ‘Rescued by you, and Mrs Gorgeous to tend to his every need.’

Sleet
had
been lucky. His injuries were similar to those Tim Benedict had sustained but, being younger, it looked as if Sleet would pull through. Plus he hadn’t had to endure being stuffed upside down in a wheelie bin.

Brenden Parker’s actions were plainly those of somebody with serious mental issues, but behind the monster image which the media chose to highlight, there was an explanation, albeit one with considerable controversy attached. Parker, some psychologists were arguing, had a form of dissociative identity disorder, better known as a split or multiple personality. In his time off work, Riley had read up on the subject. As far as he could make out, it was likely Parker’s experience in childhood had caused the affliction. The traumatic events surrounding the death of Jason Caldwell had led to the suppression of some memories and the development of an alternate personality. The death of his mother had caused a complete mental breakdown in Parker and led to the emergence of this alter ego – a new personality intent on punishing the people who had let Parker down in his childhood, even though that included Parker himself. Part of him wanted to expose what had happened at the home and part of him wanted vengeance. Where kidnapping and killing Jason Hobb and Liam Clough came into it, Riley had no idea, but it seemed likely that Parker was trying to recreate some aspect of his childhood. The raft had been part of that too and Parker’s alternate personality had seeded the first one with two chilling artefacts which pointed to a crime having been committed all those years ago: the finger bone and the piece of scalp belonging to Jason Caldwell.

Later in the morning he tried to explain dissociative identity disorder to Enders, but the DC wasn’t having any of it.

‘You’re joking me, sir, aren’t you?’ Enders said. ‘You’re saying none of this was Parker’s fault?’

‘No, merely that DID is an explanation for his behaviour.’

‘Crap.’ Enders shook his head. ‘It’s the way of the world these days, isn’t it? Always some excuse. Blame this, blame that, but don’t take responsibility for your actions. Doesn’t wash with me. You don’t cut an eleven-year-old boy’s head off and boil it up in a pot because of something that happened in your childhood. You do it because you’re a fucking nasty piece of work. End of.’

Riley smiled to himself as Enders stomped off, thinking the DC had pretty much nailed it.

By the weekend the weather was set fine, a light breeze from the north cooling the air, but bringing a blue sky and a strong winter sun. When Pete suggested a trip out on
Puffin
, Savage jumped at the chance. Jamie was as keen as ever and Samantha perked up when a pub lunch was added into the equation.

The sail across to Cawsand Bay took an hour, the yacht gliding through a flat sea with Savage at the helm. They dropped anchor and went ashore to eat and then afterwards sat on the beach while Jamie larked around at the water’s edge and Samantha played on her phone. Savage zipped her waterproof up against the cold and leant against Pete.

‘OK, love?’ he said, putting his arm around her.

‘Sure. Never better than this.’

‘No.’ Pete nodded out to where
Puffin
swung at anchor surrounded by a glittering sea. ‘Who needs exotic places, hey?’

‘You miss it, don’t you?’ Savage looked at Pete and shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘The Navy.’

‘I’m still in the Navy.’

‘You know what I mean. The travel, the ocean.’

‘Of course.’ Pete turned back and gestured at Jamie and then Samantha. ‘But it doesn’t mean I’d swap you and the kids for that life again.’

Savage said nothing. She was touched, but deep within she wondered if Pete was telling the truth. Since he’d relinquished his command, she’d seen a change in her husband. He’d been better with the kids, more sociable, but something was missing inside. A passion, a spark.

Half an hour later they dinghyed back to the boat and clambered on board. Pete hauled the anchor up while Savage took the helm. They motored out of the bay into the gentle north-easterly.

‘We’ll not bother with the sails,’ Pete said. ‘Be tacking back and forth forever to get home.’

Savage turned to look over her left shoulder. The sun hung above the Cornish shoreline. Dusk was a couple of hours away.

‘Can we take a detour?’ Savage said. ‘To Torpoint? We can cut inside Drake’s Island. It’ll only take us twenty minutes.’

‘Why …?’ Pete started to ask the question and stopped. ‘Sure. But if we’re on police business then I’ll be submitting an expense form for the diesel.’

‘No, not police business.’ Savage stared ahead. Wondered whether she was the one now being dishonest. ‘This is personal.’

After a few minutes, Savage swung the wheel to port and they passed between Drake’s Island and Cornwall. Not long after, the estuary narrowed and Royal William Yard appeared on the right and beyond it Mayflower Marina. Now the river opened out on the left, a vast expanse of mudflats, to the north of which lay Torpoint. Savage slowed the boat and studied the mud. Fingers of water had begun to invade the mud as the tide came in. Before her eyes, tiny veins became trickles, became streams.

‘I’ll need the dinghy,’ Savage said. ‘You could potter up to the Navy yards and pick me up on the way back.’

‘Right …’ Pete cocked his head. ‘Where are you off to then?’

‘Ashore.’ Savage pulled the throttle into neutral and the boat slowed. ‘Ten minutes once I get there.’

‘And where is there?’

‘That.’ Savage pointed to the ramshackle collection of wood which marked Larry the Lobster’s houseboat.

She killed the outboard motor a few metres from shore and the dinghy drifted in and beached where the mud turned to gravel. She jumped from the dinghy, bowlined the painter to one of the uprights on the gangway which led to Larry’s boat, and walked out. When she reached the end of the walkway, she realised something was different: the space where the pot boat had been tied alongside was now occupied by a small, wooden yacht. The yacht stood nestled in the soft mud but would float once the tide rose. A tap, tap, tap echoed from the innards of the craft.

‘Hello!’ Savage stepped onto the houseboat and edged round to the rear. ‘Larry?’

A mess of tools and cans of paint and varnish lay strewn about the cockpit, along with the innards of what appeared to be a diesel engine. Up on the foredeck, several coils of rope looked new, as did a set of bright white fenders.

The banging ceased and somebody huffed from below. The steps to the companionway creaked and Larry’s bearded face popped out.

‘I knew it be you,’ Larry said. ‘Heard someone on the gangway and said to myself, “It’ll be that Inspector Wotsit.”’

‘Charlotte,’ Savage said. ‘I’m not on duty, I was just passing.’

‘Passing?’ Larry clambered out into the cockpit. He gazed across the water to Plymouth. ‘Out for a swim, was you?’

‘No, I came by yacht and by dinghy. I—’

‘Never mind.’ Larry picked up a rag from the floor and wiped his hands. ‘You’re here now. What do you want? I thought you got the man who killed Jason?’

‘Yes we did. Both of them.’

Larry raised an eyebrow. ‘Both of them?’ He spat into the rag. ‘How’s that then?’

Savage explained as best she could. She told Larry about Brenden Parker and his deluded mission to reveal what went on at Woodland Heights. How he’d killed Liam Clough and Jason Hobb and sought revenge on those he held responsible for allowing the historical abuse at the home to continue. Then she moved on to tell of how Frank Parker had tried to cover things up by killing Jason Caldwell down on the beach and making his son believe that he was responsible.

‘I guess I wanted to thank you for your help,’ Savage said. ‘And to fill you in on what happened.’

‘And why would you want to do that?’

‘I thought you’d want to know.’ Savage stared at Larry and held his gaze. It was obvious now that beneath the weather-worn face and hidden under the beard was a much younger man. ‘Liam.’

‘Liam?’ Larry chuckled and shook his head. He used the hand with five digits to wipe the other hand, smearing grease from the knuckle where the thumb had been. ‘No, the name’s Larry now. Liam’s long gone. Better forgotten. Way past the time to move on.’

‘But you were out there, I saw your pot boat when I was at Soar Mill Cove. I didn’t twig at the time.’

‘When I read about that raft at Jennycliff and heard about them boys going missing, I knew something was keel up. I kept searching the coast looking for answers. I nearly found them up the Erme estuary but the guy ran off. I had my suspicions, but I never twigged it were Brenden until I heard on the news that you lot were looking for him. By then it was too late. Too late for Jason Hobb anyway.’

‘You tried. We all did.’ Savage half turned towards the shore, remembering the night Jason had gone missing. She said nothing for a moment and then turned back and gestured at Larry’s hand. ‘You told me you lost that at sea on a fishing boat.’

‘Well, I was at sea.’ Larry’s beard parted in a smile. ‘Just.’

‘Brenden cut it off, didn’t he? As he tried to prevent you from sailing off, you struggled and he lashed out.’

‘Well, Parker’s dead now and I did sail off. And as I said, I’ve moved on.’

‘And are you going to again?’ Savage ran her eyes along the lines of the wooden yacht. ‘Lovely boat.’

‘Aye. She is. She was chocked up ashore for years, but now there’s just a few more things to fix and then I’m off.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ll cross the Channel and head south. Hole up in a Spanish
ría
for the winter. Potter round to the Med in the spring.’

‘Why now?’

‘I’ll not get any younger, so I thought I’d take a year or two off. I’ve sold my pot boat and I’ve got a bit stashed away. I don’t need much to survive on. Never have.’

‘Can I ask you something, Larry?’

‘Sure. But I might not answer.’

‘Why did you stay hidden all these years? You’d done nothing wrong. You could have come forward. Certainly when you were eighteen.’

‘They’d have thought of something to keep me quiet. Look what happened to Jason. When the minister popped his clogs I considered telling my story, but by then I was in the Merchant Navy. Excuse the pun, but I didn’t want to make waves.’

‘But what about your parents? Wouldn’t they want closure?’

‘They got closure when they abandoned me to the care system. I owe them nothing. After I left the home, I had to fend for myself. For the first few years, I was begging and thieving and up to all sorts. Later, appropriately, I turned to the sea for answers. Got a berth on a deep-sea fishing boat. Discovered I loved it out there.’ Larry paused and then turned to look over his shoulder. A few hundred metres away,
Puffin
was circling in deeper water, Pete at the helm, Jamie and Samantha waving from the bow. ‘They’re waiting for you. Your family.’

‘You’ll be OK?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Look me up when you get back from the Med.’ Savage gestured at Larry’s yacht. ‘I’d like a sail in her. She’s a fine boat.’

‘I might do that. If I come back.’

Savage walked back along the gangway to where the dinghy now bobbed at the end of its painter. She climbed aboard, started the engine and manoeuvred round the houseboat. Larry stood watching her from the stern of his yacht.

‘Good luck,’ Savage shouted as she passed.

‘Luck?’ Larry shook his head. He raised a hand to the sky and pointed at the high cirrus clouds. ‘There’s no such thing. Just the wind and the waves.’ He laughed. ‘And the tides of course. Don’t forget the tides.’

Savage gunned the outboard and the dinghy rose on to the plane. She headed for Pete and the kids. When she arrived at
Puffin
, Pete tied the dinghy on and helped her aboard.

‘All right?’ Pete said as he engaged the engine and they began to move off.

‘Fine.’

She walked forward and stood at the bow with Jamie and Samantha as Pete steered them through the Narrows and turned for home. Out in the Sound a lone yacht slipped towards the breakwater, the genoa full with the northerly wind. She wondered where the boat was headed. A late afternoon sail around the bay, or perhaps, like Larry, bound for somewhere farther afield?

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