The Boneyard: A gripping serial killer crime thriller

‘Where could they come from?’

‘No idea.’ Layton pushed himself up and turned to Savage. ‘One other thing I noticed when I was, er, down there. She’s not wearing any knickers. Do you think that’s suspicious?’

As one, Layton and Savage turned to Calter.

‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ The DC blushed. ‘I’m no expert.’

Savage rescued Calter. ‘She could have taken them off, and I guess the most likely reason for that would be to have sex.’ She peered down. Layton was correct about the lack of underwear; under the hem of the short dress, she could see the pubic area smooth and shaven, just a thin strip of hair above. ‘Perhaps this is a simple sexual encounter which went wrong.’

‘Dogging?’ Calter said.

Savage looked across to the rock. ‘An exciting place to do it. Up there. The dress suggests she’d been out somewhere, a club or a party. Could she have come here willingly with a lover?’

‘Too cold for me, ma’am, but I get your drift.’ Calter followed Savage’s gaze. ‘She climbed up onto the tor with her partner and then fell between the rocks. If the liaison was a risky one then whoever she was with may not have wanted to report the accident.’

‘Sounds unlikely,’ Layton said. ‘They could have at least made an anonymous phone call to alert someone. Plus an accident doesn’t explain why she’s holding the nail file.’

‘Ma’am?’ Calter touched Savage on the arm and gestured for her to step away. She lowered her voice. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking? The brief?’

‘What brief?’

‘The one from the FBI. Hardin circulated it amongst us junior detectives. More of an exercise than anything. Still, I remember reading that along with the human remains, the cops in the US found partially charred piles of clothing. Dresses, jeans, bras, shoes and socks. No knickers. The conclusion was the killer had taken the knickers away as some kind of trophy.’

Savage stopped a few metres from the body. She remembered scanning one of the FBI reports the night in the hotel. Tiredness had won over the reams of paper and hundreds of bullet points. She must have skipped over the section about the missing underwear. Now she turned back and looked at the girl and weighed the evidence. The victim had been dumped somewhere in the wilderness, had blonde hair just like the girls in the US, and was missing her underwear.

‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘Malcolm bloody Kendwick.’

Chapter Seven

Combestone Tor, Dartmoor. Saturday 22nd April. 9.11 p.m.

In the gathering dusk, Savage walked away from the crime scene and over to one of the other sets of rocks. She clambered up to the top and checked her mobile. Yes, she had a decent signal. She called DSupt Hardin. He wasn’t amused to be disturbed.

‘I’m out, Charlotte,’ he blustered into the phone. ‘This had better be good.’

‘There’s a body on Dartmoor,’ Savage said. ‘Female, blonde and with missing knickers. Dumped.’

‘OK, but can’t you deal with this?’ Hardin’s voice came and went and Savage could hear the chink of glasses and the murmur of conversation in the background. ‘I’m at the theatre, just about to take my seat after the interval. I don’t want to miss the second half.’

Savage shook her head. Hardin plainly hadn’t understood the connection.

‘Malcolm Kendwick, sir. He’s a definite for this. I repeat: the victim is female, blonde, she’s not wearing knickers and she’s been dumped in the wilderness.’

‘Kendwick?’ Hardin appeared to have cottoned on. ‘Surely he wouldn’t be so arrogant to kill within a few days of arriving back in the UK? Besides, he dumped the bodies where he thought they’d never be found. This one sounds entirely different.’

‘Perhaps something’s changed inside him,’ Savage said. ‘Serial killers aren’t necessarily cold-blooded and rational. It could be the move from the US has triggered a need to do things differently. Or perhaps he simply craves the attention he’s been receiving recently and wants more of it.’

‘You mean we’re responsible?’

‘Us, the media, the police in the US. We’re not to blame, of course not, but Kendwick has an ego and maybe this is a way for him to flatter himself.’

‘Jesus, Charlotte, you want to arrest him? Tonight?’

‘I want to bring him in for questioning, yes. The sooner the better.’

There was a long pause and then she heard Hardin’s voice muffled and indistinct as if he had his hand over the phone. Eventually he spoke. ‘OK, but by the book. Any sense we’re harassing him and we’ll be in all sorts of trouble.’

‘I thought that’s what you wanted, sir? To harass him.’

‘I wanted to needle him. There’s a subtle difference in approach, do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll keep you informed.’

‘You do that, DI Savage.’

Hardin hung up, leaving her staring across the Dart valley. The light had all but gone and to the east the moor spread like a dark, heaving morass. Here and there a few lights glowed from isolated farmsteads, but mostly there was a near-black nothingness which reached to the horizon. Above the skyline, a lone star hung in the north-east, twinkling against the grey background. Somewhere in that direction lay the town of Chagford, where Malcolm Kendwick would be snug in his little cottage.

Not for long, she thought.

Before she set off for Chagford, Savage called Inspector Nigel Frey and asked about the possibility of sending the Force Support Group to assist with the arrest. There’d be a short wait before they turned up, but she reasoned it would be worth hanging on for their arrival. Frey’s officers would be armed and come equipped to cope with any eventuality. They’d be able to break down the front door and subdue Kendwick should that prove necessary.

‘You think Kendwick’s dangerous?’ Calter asked as they drove away from Combestone Tor, the car’s headlights piercing the darkness. ‘I mean, he won’t resist arrest, will he?’

‘That’s not the point. I don’t think we’ll have a problem but if we go in there with the FSG it will lay a marker down which tells him we’re serious and are, in effect, as bad-ass as the guys over the pond.’

‘I like your thinking.’ Calter smiled. ‘Rough him up a bit, hey?’

‘You said that, not me.’

By the time they got to Chagford, a starry sky hung above the town’s near-empty streets. They parked up a few doors from Kendwick’s place, Savage noting the front-room light was on. A few minutes later her phone rang.

‘We’ve got a possible on the girl, ma’am,’ DC Enders said down the line from the station, his voice squawking for a moment as the signal broke up. ‘Amy Glynn. Nineteen. She’s from Plymouth and was out in town last night. Her parents reported her missing first thing this morning after realising she hadn’t returned home. I’ll email you a picture, but I can tell you she was blonde and wearing a silver dress.’

Savage hung up and then checked her mail. Enders was as good as his word and after a few seconds she had his email. Savage opened the accompanying image and passed the phone to Calter.

‘That’s her, ma’am. Her or her doppelganger.’ Calter peered at the screen before handing the phone back. She shook her head. ‘Poor kid. A few years ago I could have been her.’

‘I can’t see anyone getting the better of you, Jane. What’s that sport you do? Jujitsu?’

‘That and Taekwondo. A bit of Judo too. Mixed martial arts, everyone does it now. But that’s beside the point. Why should women have to learn self-defence in order to feel safe? Still, if some fucker ever tried anything with me, I’d break their … well, you know, ma’am. Let’s say they wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again.’

Their conversation was interrupted by lights sweeping the interior of their car. Savage turned to see the Force Support Group vehicle rolling up behind them, Inspector Nigel Frey in the front passenger seat. Savage got out of the car to meet him.

‘Nigel,’ Savage said, as Frey hopped down. ‘Thanks for this.’

‘Not a problem,’ Frey said. ‘Quite the opposite. I’ve been reading all about your Mr Kendwick in the papers. Be my pleasure.’

Savage could well imagine. Dressed in black fatigues and with a pistol holstered under his left arm, Frey resembled a life-size Action Man. His notion of policing wasn’t finding lost children or catching speeding motorists, he liked to bash heads. If he wasn’t bashing heads he preferred the waters of Plymouth Sound to the city’s streets. A big police RIB was his plaything and he was often to be found zipping back and forth, buzzing yachts and other pleasure craft. Still, Savage had nothing against Frey since he’d saved her life on two occasions.

Frey made a hand signal back to the van and the side door slid open, four black-clad figures jumping out. Two of them held a big metal battering ram. A patrol car pulled past the FSG vehicle and edged along the street until it was well beyond Kendwick’s place. Then the driver turned the car sideways in the road and both officers got out. A motorcyclist was coming towards them, but the officers waved at the rider to stop.

‘OK, let’s do this, Charlotte,’ Frey said, setting off down the street with Savage trotting along beside him, trying to keep up.

They reached Kendwick’s place and one of the FSG officers bent to the door and peered through the letterbox. He mouthed an ‘all clear’ and stepped aside as two more officers moved to the door with the battering ram. They took a practice swing and then brought the ram crashing down against the Yale lock. The door smashed open, bouncing back shut before another officer shouldered the door and moved inside.

‘Armed police!’ the officer shouted, his weapon raised. ‘Stay where you are and don’t move!’

The other officers ran into the house too, Savage behind them. Kendwick stood in the archway to the little kitchen, a tea towel in one hand and a mug in the other. The first officer braced himself, his finger caressing the trigger on the gun. A red laser dot flickered on Kendwick’s chest.

‘Face down on the floor! Now!’

Kendwick moved slowly but purposefully. He placed the tea towel and mug on a work surface and lowered himself to the floor. One of the other officers went over and yanked Kendwick’s arms behind his back. He clicked a pair of cuffs in place and then pulled the man up. Kendwick winced.

‘Charlotte,’ he said, talking past the huddle of officers and meeting Savage’s eyes. ‘I was just making a pot of tea. Fancy a cuppa?’

Savage pushed forward through the scrum. ‘Malcolm Kendwick, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You don’t have to say anything, but if you do it might be used in evidence.’

‘Say something? Of course I’m going to fucking say something! This is bang out of order. I’ve been back in my home country less than a week and already you’re picking on me. I tell you what, this will be front-page news tomorrow and you lot will be in all sorts of trouble.’

‘I don’t think so, Malcolm,’ Savage said. ‘Nobody knows about this and to be honest I doubt if anyone much cares. You’re yesterday’s news.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Kendwick smirked and his eyes flicked up to the low beams above his head. As he did so, a female voice called out from upstairs.

‘Hello? Can I come down?’

One of the officers wheeled round, his weapon trained on the stairs. ‘Slowly!’ he shouted. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’

A figure emerged into view. High heels, legs encased in sheer nylon, a business-like skirt and jacket. The woman descended the stairs. She had blonde hair in a bouffant style, bright-red lips and plenty of make-up. The hair bounced with every step she took.

‘Lower your weapon,’ Savage said as she moved forward and waved the armed officer away. ‘And you are?’

‘Melissa Stapleton,’ the woman said. The red lips parted in a smile. ‘The Daily Mail.’

‘The bloody Mail, Charlotte?’ Hardin said as he paced the corridor outside the interview room at the custody centre. ‘You don’t think you could have gone one better, do you? Arranged for a live TV broadcast as well, one of those webcam live-streaming things perhaps? YouTube, Facecrap or some other bollocks?’

‘I obviously didn’t realise she was in there,’ Savage said. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have gone in like we did.’

‘Not “we”, you.’ Hardin jabbed a finger at her to emphasise his point. ‘I specifically told you to go by the book, but instead you called up Nigel Frey and his band of thugs and went in there gung-ho, as if you were taking down the Krays. A battering ram and weapons? Jesus, there was absolutely no need to go storming in like that. I dread to think what the headlines will be in the morning. She heard everything, right?’

Savage nodded. Melissa Stapleton, the Daily Mail’s star feature reporter, had been powdering her nose in the bathroom as Frey’s men had smashed open the door. Kendwick, it turned out, had signed a lucrative deal with the Mail to tell the story of his time in the US. Rough justice abroad. An innocent man facing the death penalty. The icing on the cake for Stapleton would be police harassment in the UK. A live TV crew or webcam wouldn’t be necessary, her lurid prose would paint the picture just as well.

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

‘Fuck!’ Hardin whirled on his heels, looking for something to take his anger out on. He slammed his fist against a noticeboard and the impact caused a poster on domestic violence to peel away and slide to the floor. The irony was lost on Hardin and he turned again towards the interview room. ‘And the only thing which could be worse than Stapleton’s presence at Kendwick’s house is that lawyer cow being in there with him now. There must be some kind of disease causing mass female delusion, no? How else to explain why two intelligent women would want to have anything to do with Malcolm Kendwick.’

Amanda Bradley was the ‘lawyer cow’ Hardin was talking about. Unfortunately, Stapleton knew how to pull the strings and as soon as Kendwick had been arrested the journalist had been on the phone to Bradley. She had, unsurprisingly, been only too keen to get involved. Savage had tangled many times with Bradley and knew she regarded her with contempt. The feeling was mutual.

‘Sir, we are where we are,’ Savage said. ‘Kendwick is under suspicion of murder, if he’s guilty it won’t matter if he’s got Wonder Woman in there with him.’

‘Huh? Oh, I see. Well then, get in there. Do your stuff.’

A few minutes later, Savage entered the interview room with DC Calter. Kendwick sat at a table with Amanda Bradley alongside. Bradley was, despite the time of night, immaculately turned out in her best suit, the jacket open and several buttons of the shirt undone so as to reveal her ample cleavage. Like Melissa Stapleton, Bradley wore bright-red lipstick. Savage wondered if the colour was a warning. Certainly, the solicitor always meant business and more often than not came out on top.

Savage and Calter pulled out chairs and sat. Bradley bared her teeth, showing what Savage had always assumed were artificially sharpened canines. Kendwick laughed, seemingly in good humour, despite his predicament.

‘I’m hurt, Charlotte,’ Kendwick said. ‘About this evening. You didn’t have to come in there like that. You could have just knocked. I’d have made you a cup of something or maybe poured you a glass of wine. We could have got friendly. Still, I like strong women.’ Kendwick turned to Bradley for a second and then glanced across at Calter and winked. ‘Looks like I’ve got my hands full tonight. I’d better be a good boy, right?’

Savage ignored Kendwick and gestured at Calter. The DC explained the interview procedure and set up the recording equipment.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Kendwick dismissed Calter with a wave. ‘I’ve been through this all before in the States. Mind you, the police can be a bit rough over there. Especially the females.’

‘Where were you yesterday evening, Malcolm?’ Savage said. ‘Specifically, from nine p.m. till three or four in the morning.’

‘You found a body,’ Kendwick said, ignoring the question. His right hand went behind his head and he began to twirl his ponytail round his forefinger. ‘I know because Amanda told me. Shocking. I was obviously wrong about Devon. It’s a dangerous world out there, even in sleepy cream-tea country. Better lock up your daughters.’ Kendwick nodded and gave a little smirk. ‘Especially your daughters, hey, Charlotte? Let them out of your sight for just one minute and they’re gone. Puff.’

Unlike at Kendwick’s place, this time Savage didn’t rise to the bait. The interview was on camera after all. Once more she wondered how the hell Kendwick knew so much about her personal circumstances, knew, it appeared, about the death of her daughter, Clarissa. But then Bradley had probably filled Kendwick in on the details he hadn’t been able to find on the web. She’d have delighted in telling him all about Savage’s problems.

‘Where were you yesterday evening, Malcolm?’ Savage repeated the question, this time speaking slowly and emphasising every word.

‘Look, I understand you’re worried there’s a serial killer on the loose, but you needn’t be concerned about me. The only young lass I’ve been near last night was the barmaid in the Globe Inn. She’s a lovely girl, top-heavy where it counts, know what I mean? Beautiful smile, too. Trouble is, she’s a brunette and, to coin a phrase, gentlemen prefer blondes.’ Kendwick smiled again and then opened his mouth in mock shock. ‘No! Don’t tell me, this new girl, she is blonde?’

‘Stop playing fucking games with us, Malcolm. It’s a bit of a coincidence that a few days after you arrive in Devon a girl is abducted, murdered, and left on the moor. This isn’t a joking matter, so just answer my question. Where were you?’

‘I told you. I was in the pub to start with and then I shifted to a restaurant down the street. I had a leisurely meal and I think I tumbled in to my place around eleven-thirty. I was tucked up in bed and sleeping like a baby by twelve.’

‘So you can’t prove where you were after that?’

Kendwick shrugged. ‘No, not unless a full transcript of my dreams might convince you. Then again, I think I might need to plead the Fifth Amendment before I let you into that little world. My dreams are, well, they’re a little sordid.’

‘Do you know the moor up near Combestone Tor?’

‘No, but it sounds like my kind of place. Is that where the girl was found?’

Savage ignored Kendwick’s question. ‘You’ve never been there then?’

‘Not that I can remember.’ Kendwick shook his head. ‘I guess I could have visited when I lived in Devon years ago.’

‘But not since you’ve been back here?’

‘No, definitely not.’ Kendwick grinned and moistened his top lip with his tongue. ‘Wild, is it? Remote? The sort of place you might hide something if you didn’t want anybody to find it?’

Savage paused. Kendwick was either very good at bluffing or he really knew nothing about Combestone Tor’s proximity to the road and popularity as a picnic spot. She turned to Calter.

‘Mr Kendwick,’ Calter said. ‘You’re aware we’re searching your house?’

‘Malcolm, please.’ Kendwick leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I do so like to be on first-name terms with gorgeous women.’

‘Ms Bradley?’ Calter said, turning to the solicitor. ‘You might like to inform your client that acting like a creepy little slug isn’t going to do his case any good.’

‘Cut the compliments, Malcolm,’ Bradley said. ‘They’re wasted on these two anyway.’

‘Suits me.’ Kendwick shrugged. ‘I’ll save the tongue-work for the barmaid at the pub.’

Savage stared across the table at Kendwick, trying to work out the man. Surely he didn’t believe in his own patter? Likely he was someone who got a thrill out of using his power to subjugate other people. The power could be simple physical force, or it could be psychological. Savage tapped Calter on the arm, encouraging her to go on.

‘As I was saying,’ Calter continued. ‘We’ve got a team going through your house at the moment.’

‘Well, they won’t find much. I only arrived with a couple of bags and haven’t had time to do much shopping yet. I need to get some pictures up, personalise the place, scatter a few little … knick … knick … knick … around the house. What’s the word? Oh yes, knick-knacks.’

‘You’re on dangerous ground, Malcolm,’ Savage said. ‘Are you aware the killer in America took the girls’ underwear as some kind of memento?’

‘He didn’t?’ Kendwick feigned surprise and then half turned to Bradley. ‘Can we get this over and done with, Amanda? These two are making it up as they go along.’

‘How long will the search take, DI Savage?’ Bradley said. ‘Because I assume that once you’ve finished and, provided you’ve found nothing, my client can go.’

‘Mr Kendwick will be released when I’ve satisfied myself he played no part in the killing of this girl. So far your client has been rude and obstructive and we’ve made little progress. I suggest we conclude this session and you try to convince him of the seriousness of the situation. A night in custody will help. We’ll resume in the morning.’

Savage pushed back her chair and stood as Calter officially suspended the interview. Once the recording equipment had been switched off Savage placed both her hands on the table and leaned across towards Kendwick.

‘Look, you little piece of shit,’ Savage said. ‘There’s a young girl lying dead in the morgue and a mother and father grieving for the loss of their daughter. Yet all you can do is make stupid jokes and fill every other sentence with mindless innuendo. We’re going to start again tomorrow and I expect you to be more cooperative. Otherwise—’

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