She stood up straight and looked around. A house stood a little way down the road and a dog barked somewhere way off in the distance, but there was no sign of anyone coming to investigate. Savage turned and walked back to the MG, climbed in and closed the door. She sat still, trying to think. Her heart was beating fast, but she took slow, deliberate breaths and after a few seconds she felt calmer. Mind made up she reached for the key and started the engine. She reversed into a gateway and turned round, driving back up the hill. Then there was a sudden flare of light in the rear view mirror and an orange glow flooded the inside of her car. She never heard the explosion, only the roaring in her ears again, the volume subsiding until all that remained was the noise of the little car flying along the lane, its headlights slicing a path through the blackness towards home and Samantha and Jamie.
Two weeks later.
Rain. It never seemed to stop in Plymouth and right now the deluge came down as heavy as ever. The wind had returned with a vengeance too and the crowd of people waiting on the dockside struggled to hang onto their hats and umbrellas and their banners and flags. Everybody seemed in a good mood though, every last face painted with a wide smile. The weather might do its worst but nothing could dampen the high spirits.
Savage stood at the front of the crowd and she felt elated too. Jamie bounced up and down on her right, holding her hand in a clam-like grip and Samantha was to her left. For once she had ceased texting and put away her mobile. Savage noted with some pride she had even switched the damn thing off. Instead she fiddled with her hair, trying to keep it neat under her waterproof hood.
A shout went up from somebody on the dockside and all eyes turned to look down the estuary. Through the driving rain a huge grey shape was coming round the bend beyond the Torpoint ferries. The warship sounded a horn and Jamie jumped with fright and squealed with delight all at the same time.
‘Mummy, he’s here!’ He held Savage’s hand even tighter and she hoped he wouldn’t wet himself in all the excitement.
Now she could see the crew lining the deck, standing to attention in their crisp uniforms, as oblivious to the weather as the waiting crowd. The boat was slowing and Savage spotted a group of officers outside on the starboard bridge wing. She couldn’t see Pete yet, but he was there for sure.
The vessel’s movement forward seemed almost imperceptible now as it stemmed the tide and ferry-glided sideways toward the dock. The ship had been gone nine months and sailed to the Falklands and then circumnavigated South America, returning via the Panama Canal. Tens of thousands of miles lay in its wake and yet the final few minutes seemed to be taking a lifetime.
Savage thought about the past month. It was two weeks since Harrison had died in the car crash and the investigation was winding down. Much work remained to do, of course, but the major part of the inquiry was over. Harrison’s parents had been taken to hospital and his mother had recovered sufficiently to be discharged. Because of the fury whipped up by the press the Chief Constable had decided the good people of Devon and Cornwall posed a real threat to her life and her safety could only be ensured by moving her to a secret location. The father remained in intensive care and in a terminal condition. In private the doctors told the
Zebo
team that he wouldn’t ever be leaving.
Donal had been charged with the murder of Everett Mitchell, although his brief was trying to get him off on an admission of manslaughter. Savage should have been pleased the law was being upheld, but the events at her home made her more sympathetic towards Donal. He had broken the law, true, and Hardin saw Donal as just another crime cleared up, another point on the score sheet. Somehow that didn’t wash with Savage. Few people would be worried about the death of Mitchell. Many more would be lining up to congratulate Donal for what he had done. Savage understood the sentiment. She had killed Harrison after all.
When the newspapers dredged up all the stuff about Harrison’s parents she had questioned her actions and her judgement. The father had served his time for the abuse of his son and the rape of the nanny, and on his release the couple had moved to London. Many years later they had returned to the West Country and settled in St Ives. Harrison knew nothing of this, but on his eighteenth birthday he had been given the cottage near Gara Bridge and a sum of money, as if that was reparation enough for his suffering. Harrison had been a disturbed young man, but somehow he had managed to control himself until the encounters with Mitchell and the return of his parents pushed him over the edge. The abused went on to abuse, it was a common story and a sad one.
So did that mean Harrison deserved to burn to death in the car? She didn’t know even now. But at night, when she closed her eyes to sleep and lay in bed thinking about the petrol can and Harrison’s plan to torch the house with her, Jamie and Stefan inside and to kidnap Samantha and do God knows what to her, she knew the choice had been right. Just like Donal had made the right choice for himself when he shot Mitchell.
Jamie tugged at her coat and brought her back to the present. He jumped up and down some more and pointed at the ship.
‘Look, it’s Daddy!’
Pete stood high on the bridge wing, a microphone to his lips as he issued instructions to guide the vessel the final few metres. He was too busy to wave, but he caught her eye and smiled. Savage squeezed Jamie’s hand.
‘Not long now,’ she said.
I would like to thank everyone who helped me with this book, whether wittingly or unwittingly! Thanks to Sandy Stanton for the brilliant cover design and a big virtual kiss to Joanne Craig for email encouragement and support. Special thanks must go to my partner, Gitte, for allowing me time to see this through, to my daughters for putting up with a dad who is too often lost in his own head, and to my parents for unwavering confidence in my abilities in whatever area I choose to apply them.
There are two worthy organisations that appear in
Touch
and they would appreciate your interest and support:
Devon Air Ambulance
www.daat.org
Dartmoor Rescue Group
www.dartmoor-rescue.org
Please visit
www.marksennen.com
for information on the DI Charlotte Savage series.