‘Lizzy? An attractive girl, very pretty, but a bit quiet and in her own head. She was a few years below me when I left the local school. That’s closed now. Not enough children in the village, you see? Everyone moves away or dies.’
‘What happened to Lizzy?’
‘She left too. Got married and moved to a remote little cottage somewhere over Totnes way. She visited a few times, but as her parents got older she came less and less. When they died she inherited a tidy sum from the sale of the farm, her being an only child.’
‘And her husband?’
‘Richard Harrison his name was. A draughtsman by trade or an architect or something similar. He’d come to the farm to plan out a milking parlour and found a bride instead. Very romantic. At least we all thought so at the time.’
The information was coming, but was taking an age to arrive. Calter wriggled on the edge of her seat, itching to ask the obvious question, but Savage didn’t give her a chance.
‘Where did they get married, Mrs Harbersher?’
‘Oh, same place as I did. Right here. In the church.’ The old woman’s face wore a saddened expression and she looked much older as her eyes shifted their focus from Savage and stared out the window and across the green to the church. ‘I don’t suppose anyone else will want to do so now, will they?’
Savage didn’t think so either, but she didn’t want to get into a prolonged discussion.
‘What did you mean when you said you thought the way they met was romantic at the time?’
‘Well, history changes things, doesn’t it? When you look back with hindsight you bring the truth to bear on distant events. Everything comes out in the wash in the end.’
‘I am sorry, Mrs Harbersher, but I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you lot know anything? It happened over thirty years ago, but you do keep records, don’t you? Richard Harrison went down, convicted of rape and child abuse. The girl he raped was only seventeen and poor Matthew, what? Nine, ten, eleven? A disgusting business, he should have been hanged, Lizzy as well, if you want my opinion.’
*
After they left the cottage Savage strolled over to the church, leaving Calter and Enders next to the car. In fifty years time what had happened here and the sordid story Mrs Harbersher had told them about the Harrison family would have become just another Dartmoor legend. Visitors would talk in hushed whispers while they viewed the altar where the body of Simone Ashton had lain and a printed booklet, selling for a few quid, would tell the whole sorry tale, proceeds to the church roof repair fund.
Then all of a sudden Calter was waving across at Savage and shouting something about Riley being on the phone. It was a crap signal and she didn’t understand half of what he said, but it concerned a lead from a detective in Cornwall and a location for Harrison’s bolt hole.
‘Ten minutes drive, ma’am,’ Calter screamed. ‘Come on!’
Enders revved the engine as Savage ran across the green and jumped into the back of the car. He hit the accelerator and the car swung sideways tearing great chunks of grass out from under its wheels before they bounced onto the tarmac and screeched away.
‘Where to?’ Savage said.
‘Somewhere near Gara Bridge,’ Calter said. ‘Approximately five miles south of the A38. Riley’s coming from town with a bunch of cars. Blues and twos, ARVs, the lot.’
A few minutes of driving and the country lane had become like a tunnel, cutting through the land with the trees at the top of the steep banks curving overhead and almost blocking out the light. The speed of the car gave a sort of rushing sensation like they were playing in some giant video game. Objects by the roadside shot past in a blur, only sharpening for a frozen moment, a blink of an eye, before they vanished; green moss on a tree stump, a herd of cows waiting by a gate, a startled rabbit. There was a roaring noise in Savage’s ears too, but she didn’t think anyone else in the car could hear the sound.
In the front Enders was driving like a maniac and Calter sat beside him, eyes glued to the road, hands gripping the seat. The car ripped through the deep puddles that were everywhere, the spray blinding their vision forward until the wipers cleared the windscreen. Fast, too fast, Savage thought, but she had too many other things on her mind to worry about that, and the queasy sensation in her stomach had nothing to do with the style of Enders’s driving.
Another village went by in a flash of twee cottages and parked cars and then they slid sideways across the road leaving tyre marks and flattening a ‘Keep Off the Grass’ sign on a neat corner as Enders swerved to avoid a man on a bike. Savage muttered a ‘steady’ from the back of the car, but otherwise left him to it. She wanted to get to their destination as quickly as he did.
‘We are here!’ Calter jabbed her finger at the Sat Nav and pointed ahead. ‘Into the wood.’
A forestry track curled up away from the road and disappeared behind a cluster of pine. The muddy track had deep ruts and a 4x4 would have been more suited to the task than the Ford Focus they were in.
‘Do you think we can manage it?’ Savage asked Enders.
‘Of course we can, ma’am.’ Enders seemed offended, as if Savage’s question was a personal affront to his driving ability.
They left the road and headed up the track, the car yawing to the side for a moment before Enders turned into the skid and they lurched onward. They crested a rise and headed down into a small valley, soon leaving the wood behind and bouncing along between stone walls behind which the occasional sheep could be seen nibbling at the poor pasture. Up ahead a little cottage sat on the far side of the valley, nestled under a vast conifer plantation.
‘Shit!’ Enders brought the car to a halt.
In front of them the track forded a fast-flowing stream, bank full thanks to the rain. The depth was hard to estimate, but Savage thought it could be anything up to a couple of feet.
‘We ain’t going through the water, ma’am. Too deep for us, I am afraid.’
Savage could see the cottage standing about half a mile away, no problem to walk to, but they would get wet crossing the stream.
‘Calter and I will go on. You reverse the car back until you can find a place where you won’t block the track. The others will be here by then, but if not come after us.’
‘I’m not sure I like this, ma’am.’ Enders hesitated. ‘I mean–’
‘You mean we’re both women?’ Savage glared at him. ‘I am aware of that. I am also aware Jane could have you for breakfast and still eat three Shredded Wheat afterwards.’
Enders looked sheepish, but said nothing.
Savage and Calter got out of the car and tried to find a shallow place to cross the stream, Calter peering down at her already mud splattered shoes.
‘I’m glad I am not wearing one of my many pairs of Jimmy Choos today.’
Savage took a double take at Calter before she realised she was joking.
They waded across the shallowest part of the stream, the freezing water coming up to knee height. Across the ford the mud was even worse and Savage realised they must look a right pair of clowns slipping and sliding towards the cottage. She wondered if anybody was watching them.
Enders had reversed out of sight and Savage thought he’d need to go all the way back to the edge of the valley where she had seen a gateway.
To one side of the cottage a large and newish looking black Shogun stood under a dilapidated car port, the modern shape of the vehicle out of place against the cottage’s lumpy walls and rotting window sills.
‘Forester’s car, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘And look at those tyres. Call me a trainspotter type but I bet they are Bridgestone D689s, size 265/70S15. The same as the ones in the field at Malstead Down.’
‘Do you have a life, Jane?’
‘Yes, but I spent half a day phoning tyre fitters so the type is stuck in my brain forever now.’
The cottage itself appeared neglected. Savage followed the mass of ivy on one gable end upward to where the dark green leaves spilled out onto the roof. Several tiles were missing and the chimney stack crumbled over at an alarming angle.
They approached the front door, a low portal with a huge stone as its lintel. The door itself was wooden and white paint flaked off revealing the dark oak behind. There was no doorbell or knocker so Savage rapped with her knuckles.
Seconds later came the sound of movement from within and they heard a bolt being drawn top and bottom. Following that a screeching and clanking which grated Savage’s teeth before the door opened a crack, a safety chain stopping it from going farther.
‘Yes?’
A male voice and in the gap a pale face with jet black hair.
‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage and Detective Constable Jane Calter. May we have a word please, sir?’
The door closed and the chain rattled off, before swinging wide and revealing a man dressed in a grubby blue boiler suit which he appeared to be wearing over a shirt and tie.
‘Matthew?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Of course. I recognise you from the other day. What do you want?’
‘We would like to ask you some questions. Perhaps we could come inside?’
Harrison’s mouth dropped open. He clasped his hands together and then raised them to his forehead before sliding them backwards over lank hair the colour of waste oil. In contrast to his hair the skin on Harrison’s face was pale, almost translucent, resembling quartz in the way it shone. In sunken sockets his eyes appeared devoid of any colouring, the white sclera merging into dark pupils with no iris. The pupils moved in circles as Harrison brought his hands down in front of him, wringing them over and over each other, the fingers dancing like spiders legs. On his neck a huge adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and gulped. His breathing had quickened and his eyes brimmed with moisture.
‘Is this about the girls? Which one? Trinny or Lucy? Or both of them? Lord knows I have had some trouble with them. And Emma. Oh dear. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Isn’t that what they say?’
Savage and Calter looked at each other and the man’s eyes darted between the pair of them, his head twitching back and forth as if he had some sort of nervous affliction.
‘Please, Matthew.’ Savage gestured inside with her hand.
Harrison retreated into the house. Savage turned and she could see Enders at the ford now, inching his way across. She and Calter followed the man into the house.
Once inside he seemed a little less agitated and a sense of calm descended.
‘Oh yes. Yes, yes. The girls. Of course you have come about the girls. THE GIRLS!’ He stopped for a moment and made a sort of huffing, sighing noise and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I think I need to show you something. Here.’
Harrison opened a door straight ahead of them. Steps led downward into some sort of cellar. Harrison reached in and touched a switch. There was a flickering and then a hum before a fluorescent white bathed the area below.
‘Ma’am?’ Calter sounding nervous.
Savage peered through the door and then turned to Harrison. He looked at both of them in turn again.
‘Of course. How silly, how silly. Please follow me.’ Harrison moved downward.
Savage followed, taking care on the steps which were rough and uneven, almost as if they had been cut from the bedrock. To one side a couple of ropes acted as some kind of handrail, although Savage doubted if they would hold her weight if she grabbed them. Calter hesitated and glanced back through the doorway.
‘Enders, he’s on his way now,’ she said and started to descend as well.
Harrison stood at the bottom and he turned back towards Savage, his mouth opening into a smile and his tongue flicking a wad of spittle onto his lips. Suddenly he moved forward and grabbed one of the hand ropes, snatching it with a sharp tug. Behind Calter the door to the cellar slammed shut and at the same time Harrison made a dive for a switch on the wall and the lights went out.
Black. Pitch black. Savage’s heart thumping.
‘Stay where you are, Matthew.’
From below came a scuffling sound, something moving away from her, a metallic click that sounded like a door latch and then nothing.
‘Jane?’
‘Ma’am, I am here. Trying to find the bloody door handle.
Savage stayed still. Some distance away a chink of pale light shone out for a couple of seconds and then black again.
‘Shit, he’s out of here. Jane, for God’s sake hurry up.’
‘Got it, ma’am.’ There was a creak and a rectangle of light appeared above, Enders’s beaming face right in the middle.
‘Stop grinning you idiot,’ Savage said. ‘Make sure he doesn’t go off in the car. Calter, come with me.’
Savage found the switch at the bottom and turned the lights back on. Now she could see the ropes were not designed as a handrail, but rather they linked up to some sort of pulley mechanism that had allowed Harrison to close the door from the foot of the steps.
She looked around, amazed at the sheer size of the cellar. The space must have been the same dimensions as the cottage. Dotted everywhere brick supporting pillars held up RSJs and they appeared to be newish, like the cellar had been dug out and the pillars had been necessary to prevent the cottage above collapsing. A door in one wall stood ajar and must have been where Harrison had disappeared to. Savage walked over to investigate.
It seemed to be some sort of bathroom because tiles covered the floor. Savage reached in and searched for the light switch.
White. Bright white light, shiny white tiles not only on the floor but the walls too. Spotless.
Jesus!
What was that in the centre of the room? A chair? Or maybe a bed? Except the thing wasn’t full length. The monstrosity resembled something from a hospital. A reclining, adjustable bed with... leg stirrups.
Savage remembered the picture of Simone Ashton and a sickening feeling spread in her stomach. At the head end of the chair a set of padded restraints didn’t look like anything you would purchase in an Anne Summers shop, nor did the piece of leather with a rubber ball spliced into the middle of it. More like a dog toy or something.
‘Jane! Get in here!’
‘Ma’am?’
Savage jumped. Calter was right beside her. Savage nodded into the room and Calter peered past her, drawing breath at the sight of the bed.