The Boneyard: A gripping serial killer crime thriller

‘He’s jealous, Charlotte,’ Kendwick whispered. ‘And I don’t blame him. On every count he’s a loser. Compare LA to London; the NCA to the FBI; me to him. His fat, frumpy wife to the sweet California girls I’ve been with. He’s a lot to be jealous about, don’t you think?’

Savage tried not to smile, but the man did have a certain charisma and the way he’d dissed Rollins amused her. Still, she wasn’t about to be taken in by Kendwick’s charm because that’s what made him dangerous. If he was dangerous.

Out front, Enders had pulled the car into the pickup area and Riley loaded the luggage into the boot, while Savage and Kendwick got in the rear. She wasn’t exactly keen to spend several hours sitting next to somebody suspected of having killed multiple times, but she was the senior officer and she didn’t expect Riley to do the dirty work for her.

‘Cosy,’ Kendwick said once they were all seated. ‘Just the four of us on a little trip to the countryside.’

Enders huffed from behind the wheel. He had already made it clear that in his opinion the best option would be to drive to a quiet lane somewhere and put a bullet in the back of Kendwick’s head. The DC flicked the indicator and pulled out into the traffic. Kendwick peered through the window.

‘Grim. After California, at least.’

‘Paradise over there was it, Mr Kendwick?’ Savage said.

‘Oh yes. Very much so.’ He swivelled round to face Savage. ‘Still, I’m very much looking forward to returning to Devon. My roots. Where the bones of my ancestors are buried. There’s something about feeling connected to a place, don’t you think? The US was exciting, vibrant, but I never felt truly at home there. It’s a dangerous place too. Not like where we’re heading. Cream teas. Watercolour pictures of little harbours. Dartmoor ponies. I bet you three don’t have to do much more than hand out speeding tickets for tractors, do you?’

‘I think you’re over-romanticising.’

‘Perhaps I am. But there’s nothing wrong with a touch of romance, is there, Charlotte?’

Kendwick smiled at her, his teeth shining. For a moment, Savage saw the attraction some women might feel for the perfect specimen before her. Fit and good-looking, intelligent, humorous, successful in his career. This was a man whose persona could well fool the gullible, the easily led, the young … and they’d been young, hadn’t they? The victims. Whether they’d been Kendwick’s victims or the prey of another man, she didn’t know.

Within minutes they’d escaped the confines of the airport and were heading west on the motorway. Kendwick turned back to the window and resumed his analysis of his long-lost homeland.

‘Sad,’ he said, gesturing out of the window. ‘All these people living with this around them. Hemmed in. There’s more space in America. At least where I was. More space to be yourself. I guess that’s why I chose to come back to Devon rather than get a job up here in London. At least there’s enough air to go around. A bit of wilderness to escape to. The sea. The moor. Doesn’t compare with the Sierra National Forest, of course. That was a real wilderness, a dangerous wilderness. Get lost out there and nobody is ever going to find you. Makes Dartmoor look like your back garden.’

‘I thought they did find them?’

‘The bodies? Yes.’ Kendwick nodded but continued to stare at the world rushing by. ‘But it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Sheer chance.’

‘I see.’

Now Kendwick did look back at Savage. ‘And when they did find them, most were so badly chewed up by wild animals or so decayed that they didn’t discover anything useful. No forensic evidence which could link the killer to the crime scenes.’

Savage took a deep breath. They had three hours or so but now was as good a time as any.

‘Mr Kendwick, let’s not play any more silly games. I don’t know whether you did or didn’t kill those girls. If you did then I’m with Rollins. I hope they find some evidence and extradite you. And not to California. Arizona would be my choice too, understand?’

‘I’m hurt.’ Kendwick made a sad face. Reached up with his hands and made his mouth droop like a clown’s. ‘We were getting along so nicely. Now you’ve ruined everything. Still, don’t worry about it. You see, even if I was guilty, there’s no way the nice legal system here would allow my extradition to the States. Not with execution on the cards. The European Convention on Human Rights wouldn’t allow it. They don’t bother with that sort of thing in America of course. Human rights. From the way you’re talking, you might be a wee bit happier living over there.’

‘I just want you to know where I’m coming from, Mr Kendwick. I can’t abide deliberate cruelty and what happened to those girls was beyond cruel.’

‘Like I told Rollins, I didn’t kill them. Janey Horton, she set me up. What she did to me was way out of order, beyond cruel, if you want to put it that way. I’m the person whose human rights were violated.’

‘Or not.’ Enders. From up front. His hands clenching the wheel as he stared at the road ahead. ‘If you did kill those girls, then kudos to the lady cop.’

Savage cursed. This wasn’t the way she wanted to play things. The whole point of the journey was so they could have a quiet word with Kendwick, not get into some sort of slanging match.

‘That’s enough, Patrick. Concentrate on your driving.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘If we could just start over, Mr Kendwick. Devon and—’

‘Malcolm.’ Kendwick smiled. Those teeth again. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be seeing quite a lot of one another so we might as well keep this friendly, don’t you think?’

‘OK, Malcolm,’ Savage said. ‘As I was saying, Devon and Cornwall Police are agnostic on whether you committed those crimes in the US. However, we have a duty to protect those we serve. That duty extends to considering all the possibilities and putting plans into place to contend with every eventuality. To put it another way, should you even drop a piece of litter or park your car on a double yellow line, we’ll be onto you.’

‘Well, Charlotte, it’s good of you to be honest with me. I like that. Honesty in a relationship. And I hope we’re going to have a relationship.’

‘Now, there’s a way round this.’ Savage ignored the way Kendwick was attempting to flirt with her. ‘My boss has a proposal. If you consent to wearing an electronic tagging device then the need to keep an eye on you would vanish. You’d be able to go about your day-to-day life without scrutiny, without even a suspicion the police were harassing you. How would you feel about that?’

Kendwick laughed but then shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t feel good about it at all. It would be, how can I put this, a fucking imposition. What’s more, by letting you tag me I’d be admitting there was something for you to be worried about. Highlighting my guilt. I don’t think my legal team in the US would be very keen for me to do that, do you?’

Kendwick’s mood had darkened. The laugh had been ironic and the smile which had followed quickly turned to a grimace. Now he glared at Savage, his pupils like pinheads, a tiny red vein in the sclera of his left eye pulsing fast in time with his heartbeat.

The jokes earlier about capital punishment, the joshing and word play over whether he’d killed the girls, hadn’t touched him. This, though, had caused him to anger and, she realised, it wasn’t to do with civil liberties or any legal niceties. It was because if Kendwick had to wear a tag the police would be able to track his every move. He’d be free to go about his daily life, but he wouldn’t be free to do what he really wanted to do.

She held Kendwick’s gaze for several seconds but then had to turn away and stare through the window at the traffic. His eyes had told her everything she needed to know. Malcolm Kendwick was one of the most dangerous men she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Chapter Three

M4 Motorway, west of Reading. Sunday 16th April. 10.34 a.m.

From Reading onward, Kendwick dozed. At some point, he jerked awake, disorientated, muttering a string of obscenities. He apologised. Jet lag, he explained, before slumping over and resting his head against the window.

In the front, Riley and Enders chatted in low whispers, but Savage found it impossible to follow the conversation enough to be able to join in. Instead, she tried to rest herself. An hour or so later, Kendwick woke and wanted to stop.

‘A comfort break,’ he said. ‘I could do with something to drink too.’

A few miles farther along the motorway, just beyond Bristol, Enders took the slip road to Gordano services and parked up a little way from the main building.

‘I’d forgotten how grim these places were,’ Kendwick said, as he climbed out of the car. ‘Piss-and-shit stops, overpriced confectionery and crap coffee, right?’

‘The coffee’s got marginally better, but everything else is just how you left it.’

‘Let’s hope the same applies back in Devon.’ Kendwick smiled and then strolled off towards the building.

‘Do you want me to go after him, ma’am?’ Enders said. ‘Check he doesn’t get up to no good?’

‘No. He’s not under arrest. Let him go to the toilet in peace. If bodies start turning up in the next half-hour then we’ll know who did it.’

Savage walked across to several picnic tables which sat on a patch of grass to one side of the car park. Riley remained to talk to Enders and then, after a moment or two, joined her.

‘I’ve sent Patrick for some coffees,’ Riley said. ‘Reckon we could all do with a pick-me-up.’

‘Thanks.’ Savage moved to one of the tables and sat down. She nodded at Riley to sit too. It was the first time they’d been able to talk since they’d picked Kendwick up. ‘What do you think of our passenger?’

‘He’s a cool one, for sure.’ Riley gazed towards the main entrance of the service station. Kendwick had just pushed in through the doors and disappeared from view. ‘All the joking and the double entendres. Would he really act like that if he’d killed those women?’

‘I think his behaviour is very carefully calculated. It’s a double bluff. Or even a double double bluff. He knows that we know that he knows that we know.’ Savage paused. ‘What about Kendwick as a man, as a person?’

‘Tosser.’ Riley smiled. ‘But then us blokes are pretty shallow when judging each other.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s about the competition for a mate, isn’t it? Kendwick’s got all the attributes: good-looking, intelligent, talkative, well-off. Lesser mortals, such as myself and DC Enders, feel threatened.’

‘Don’t put yourself down, Darius.’ Savage smiled back at Riley. ‘Women would be better off with you than Kendwick.’

‘They would be, yes, but that’s not how the female mind works. Ask yourself why so many women end up with unsuitable characters? We see it every day at work, the scrotes with a cute girl in tow, ready to do the scum’s bidding. There are plenty of nice guys out there, but a lot of women seem to be programmed to go for the arseholes.’

‘Perhaps you’re wrong about the number of nice guys. Perhaps there aren’t enough to go round and the reality is that most blokes are arseholes.’

‘Thanks.’ Riley looked wounded. ‘But back to Kendwick. He believes his charm will win out and he doesn’t seem to care what we think.’

‘Because he’s home free.’ Savage turned her head to where a soft-top BMW Z3 had slipped into a parking bay. Two young women climbed out. ‘As long as he keeps his hands to himself, he’s in no danger. He’s already laughed in the face of the US justice system so they won’t extradite him now, not without new evidence.’

‘And can he keep his hands to himself?’ Riley pointed discreetly at the women as they walked away. ‘I mean, he’s been inside for the past twelve months and now he’s going to encounter temptation daily.’

‘Recidivism is pretty much hard coded into people like Kendwick. If he is guilty, if he is a serial killer, then he’s going to commit another murder. More than one if he gets the chance.’

‘So we’ve got to stop him, is that Hardin’s idea?’

‘Probably. I think he planned this trip around some nebulous idea that everything would come good in the journey from Heathrow to Devon. He thinks I’ve got a handle on how men like Kendwick work.’

‘You have, haven’t you, ma’am?’

‘Perhaps.’ Savage nodded but didn’t say anything more. Hardin’s trust in her was a last-ditch percentage play, the best card in a bad hand. The only option he had remaining. Picking Kendwick up and ferrying him back to Devon was more about Devon and Cornwall Police being seen to do something. Anything.

A few minutes later, Enders appeared with three cups of coffee stuck in a cardboard tray.

‘You didn’t get one for matey boy, then?’ Riley said.

‘No I fucking didn’t,’ Enders said. ‘Besides, he’s happy as Larry in there, playing the slot machines.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their coffees. As Savage drained the last dregs from her paper cup, Kendwick emerged from the services, a small bottle of Coke in one hand. He paused at the entrance, glancing at an attractive woman as she walked past him, before strolling over.

‘Made any money?’ Riley said.

‘Not a cent – or should I say penny.’ Kendwick shrugged his shoulders. ‘But that wasn’t the point. I was watching other people play. Trying to understand the motivation behind their actions. I must say I don’t get it.’

‘What don’t you get?’

‘The attraction of gambling.’ Kendwick took a sip from his bottle and turned his head back towards the service station. ‘Why do something which has failure built in?’

Savage turned away as Kendwick began to expound his theory on human nature to Riley. People, he said, turned to fantasies rather than pursue reality. The lottery was a case in point. A one in God-knows-how-many-million chance but you hang your dreams on that. Kendwick said he didn’t understand.

‘It’s the only hope some people have,’ Riley said. ‘Better that than nothing, surely?’

‘Nonsense. Opium for the masses, isn’t it? Fantasise about winning the lottery or becoming a YouTube sensation or appearing on some reality TV programme. They should try taking control of their lives instead of being pushed around by others. Make it real. Go out and get what you want. That’s what I did.’

‘Let’s go,’ Savage said, moving back to the car and opening the rear door. She’d had enough of Kendwick’s fatuous moralising. ‘We’ve still got at least an hour and a half left and I’d really like to get home in time for dinner.’

‘Me too!’ Kendwick beamed across at Savage. ‘What’s on offer?’

Savage didn’t respond. Instead she ducked into the car. Moments later they were driving off and she settled back into her seat. Not too long now, she thought. They’d leave the motorway at Exeter and head up onto the moor. Chagford was a little town on the eastern edge. They’d see Kendwick into his house and then be done with him.

Stop-start traffic around Weston-super-Mare and an RTC which blocked the motorway just past Taunton saw them delayed by some ninety minutes, so it wasn’t until after three o’clock that they took a winding road out onto the moor. As the countryside became wilder, Kendwick’s interest was piqued. He stared out at the stone walls surrounding the little fields, at the distant tors standing guard over the landscape.

‘Quaint, this,’ he said.

‘As DC Enders can tell you, the moor can be far from quaint in the wrong weather. There are areas of pure wilderness up there, right, Patrick?’

‘Yes.’ Enders gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead, apparently unwilling to elaborate further.

‘I know the moor from my childhood and it’s hardly a wilderness.’ Kendwick tapped the window. ‘What is it, a hundred square miles, two? The Sierra National Forest is ten times the size and you’ve got Yosemite and Kings Canyon National Parks right next door. Real wild country, not this cream-tea countryside.’

‘And that’s where the killer took them, is it?’ Savage said. ‘Out in the wilds?’

‘The girls?’ Kendwick turned back from the window and met her gaze. He didn’t blink. ‘That’s what they say. But to be honest, I’ve no idea, Charlotte. They found the bodies, but who can tell how they died or who killed them?’

Savage looked away. Kendwick’s eyes were beguiling, but not in a good way. Serial killers were supposed to be sociopaths, unable to discern or empathise with other people, but Kendwick seemed to see right inside her. She sensed he might be able to unearth her vulnerabilities and use them against her. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

They continued the journey in silence, eventually descending a twisty road and then climbing out of a valley and into the small town of Chagford. The place wasn’t much more than a handful of roads meeting at a square. A few tourists shuffled along the streets, heading for the pubs and restaurants, but otherwise the place was quiet. Kendwick said something about stopping and having a late lunch or early dinner; his treat, he insisted.

‘No,’ Savage said. ‘Not today.’

Kendwick nodded. ‘Next time then?’

No one said anything until Enders spoke.

‘Here,’ he said, pulling into a parking space in front of a short terrace on the edge of town. ‘And about bloody time too.’

Kendwick’s house was the one on the end. A little two-up and two-down cottage with a long strip of back garden which bordered open fields. Beyond the fields, the moor rolled into the distance beneath a bank of dark cloud.

‘Well,’ Kendwick said. ‘Despite what I said earlier, the view is certainly better than the one from the Fresno County Jail.’

They piled out of the car and Riley and Enders sprang the boot and retrieved Kendwick’s luggage. Savage went to the front door with Kendwick. She pulled out a set of keys Hardin had given her and unlocked the door. Kendwick pushed it open and stepped in, crouching to avoid banging his head on the low beams. There was no hallway, the door opened straight into the living room. A narrow open staircase led up one side of the room, while to the back, an arch divided the living room from the kitchen area. Two rather tired armchairs and a sofa clustered round a fireplace. A pile of magazines sat on a low table in the centre of the room. Atop the magazines lay a chunky key fob, a local car rental company’s name emblazoned over some paperwork beneath.

‘Looks like your sister’s thought of everything,’ Savage said. ‘Transport and a place to stay. You’re lucky to have her to look out for you. She must be giving up a small fortune by letting you stay here.’

‘It might surprise you to know I’m quite popular in some circles.’ Kendwick strolled in. He stared down at the brown carpet. ‘But I’ll have to have words with sis about the state of the place.’

Behind her, Enders and Riley clumped the bags down just inside the front door. Riley went upstairs and a minute or so later came back down.

‘Everything’s fine,’ he said. ‘Two bedrooms and micro bathroom. Regular cosy.’

Kendwick wandered through to the kitchen and popped the fridge open.

‘Sweet,’ he said, reappearing with a bottle of white wine in one hand. ‘If I can just find a corkscrew we can have a moving-in drink. You guys take a seat while I fetch some glasses.’

‘I don’t think so, Malcolm.’ Savage tapped Riley on the shoulder and pointed outside. ‘We’ve got better things to do. I can just about stomach being a taxi service, but I draw the line at socialising.’

‘Shame.’ Kendwick frowned and then cocked his head on one side. ‘We’ll meet again though, won’t we? You and I?’

‘I’m sure we will.’ Savage followed Riley and Enders through the door. ‘Try to be good, Mr Kendwick.’

‘Oh, I intend to.’ Kendwick grinned. ‘Very good.’

He peered out of the tiny window and watched as they drove off. The black guy, the annoying Irish git and the woman. Yes, the woman. Kendwick considered her for a moment. She was … interesting. Too old though. Not really his type. Still, he wouldn’t say no if he got the chance.

He turned to where his luggage stood in a heap. A flight bag, two Samsonite cases and a rucksack. He had a few books and some other oddments coming by freight but, aside from them, this was the sum of his ten years in the United States. Almost everything he valued was here.

What a waste. And all down to that bitch cop, Janey Horton. Kendwick shook his head. No good going over everything again. What was done was done.

He reached for a carrier bag which contained a litre of duty free rum. He still had most of the bottle of Coke he’d bought at the services so he took that and the rum into the kitchen, found a glass, and mixed himself a large drink.

Back in the living room he slumped down in one of the armchairs and sipped from the glass. His eyes were drawn to a map of Devon which hung above the mantelpiece. He found himself shaking his head once more. Strange to be back here. Where he’d grown up. Where it had all started.

He’d been born in an anonymous suburb of Torquay to what, from a casual glance, must have seemed loving parents. In reality their relationship to him was always somewhat distant. Later in life, Kendwick put that down to him being an accident, a conclusion he drew from the fact that his siblings were over ten years older than him. He was an afterthought and the young Kendwick had got in the way of his parents’ lifestyle. As he grew up, he often found himself offloaded onto various relatives as they went about their lives or took long holidays. Inevitably, when he asked, he was fobbed off with excuses: ‘You can’t ski well enough, darling.’ ‘It would be much too hot for you, Malc. You know how you hate the heat.’ ‘We’ll be gone for four weeks and that would mean missing school. Best not, hey, love? Maybe next year.’

Kendwick compensated for his parents’ behaviour by acting with a nonchalance intended to show an exterior face vastly different to the turmoil he felt within. He craved love, but didn’t know how to ask for it. The various relatives he stayed with thought him grown-up for his age, but he was an emotional retard, the sociopathic tendencies misread for maturity. He never cried, never seemed to anger or throw tantrums like other children did.

Mostly, when his parents went off on their jaunts, he stayed with his uncle. His uncle lived on Dartmoor and Kendwick credited that fact as nurturing his love of wild spaces. Out on the moor you had to be self-reliant. Alone with nothing but the wind for company, your thoughts turned inward. He found when he was on the moor he became overly reflective, trying to find a reason for everything, trying to understand life and the cards he’d been dealt.

As Kendwick entered his teenage years, his parents began to realise their son wasn’t like other boys. While adolescence had made his classmates go crazy, their bodies overladen with hormones, their minds stuffed with nonsense, Kendwick had passed the time more interested in chasing grades than chasing skirt. He didn’t appear to care a thing for anyone. He went for long walks on his own, disappearing for hours at a time. Yet he never stayed out late, never went to parties, never got even slightly tipsy.

But then he began to adorn his bedroom with gothic imagery. Vampires and graveyards. Girls in black PVC dresses swooning in the moonlight, breasts full and white, tears of blood weeping from their eyes. Mist rising around some forsaken tor, another girl draped over the granite with her head arched back.

His parents shook their heads, but at least this new behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary. Secretly they were glad about the girls appearing on the walls of his bedroom. The girls showed he wasn’t … wasn’t … well, they showed he was normal.

However, even back then, Kendwick had known he was far, far from normal and had his parents bothered to pay a little attention, they might have been a good deal more concerned.