The Boneyard: A gripping serial killer crime thriller. Mark Sennen

to my history, that’s a matter of conjecture. History isn’t immutable, is it? Differing viewpoints tell differing stories. My story is I’m innocent of all the charges against me. I didn’t kill anyone in the US. I’m pretty sure the US justice system sees it that way too, otherwise I’d still be over there.’

      ‘So how do you explain your confession to Janey Horton?’

      ‘It wasn’t a confession.’ Kendwick scowled at Savage. ‘The bitch tortured me so I made stuff up to feed to her. If I hadn’t she’d have killed me. The confession was pure fiction. I just blurted out the names of the girls I’d read about in the papers or seen on the news.’

      ‘But your fiction happened to match fact. How come Horton was able to find a body from your directions?’

      ‘The irony was the body wasn’t her daughter.’

      ‘True, but once officers searched the area they discovered the remains of the other missing girls, including those of Sara Horton.’

      ‘It was luck. Just bad luck. If I’d mentioned a different river valley, a different forestry track, then she’d have found nothing.’ Kendwick half smiled. ‘Unless, of course, there are dozens of serial killers dumping bodies out in the wilderness.’

      ‘And you expect me to believe that?’

      ‘I expect you to believe the results of the polygraph test I took.’ Kendwick pushed himself upright and sat leaning forward. ‘Look, there was nothing found to link me to the body dump. What is it, Locard’s Principle? The notion that every contact both takes and leaves traces behind? Well, there were no traces at the site, at my house, in my car or on me. I’m either made of Teflon or completely innocent.’

      Savage stared at Kendwick, trying to keep a blank face. Body dump, Locard’s Principle? Kendwick seemed all too knowledgeable about police terminology.

      ‘What about the rape kit found in your car?’

      ‘Rape kit? Listen to you! I leave a few things in a rucksack and the cops immediately label them as the tools of the trade of a serial killer. It was just stuff anyone might have in their possession.’

      ‘Handcuffs?’

      ‘Really, Charlotte. I bet half the couples you know have played around with a bit of bondage. I like to imagine you have.’

      Savage ignored Kendwick’s smirk. ‘And the hair scrunchy found at your house? The one which belonged to Sara Horton. Strikes me that was a trace.’

      ‘I picked it up while crossing the park. Have you never done that? I bet you have.’ Kendwick cocked his head on one side. ‘I bet your daughter has.’

      ‘My daughter?’ Savage felt a lurch in her stomach. How on earth did Kendwick know about her daughter? ‘Leave her out of it.’

      ‘Touchy.’ Kendwick tutted. ‘But I understand why. I’ve been doing some research on you on the internet. I thought if I knew you a little better I might be able to understand you a little more. So, I put your name into Google and all these news stories came up. A mother, wronged. A hit-and-run. A family tragedy. One of your twin daughters taken from you by a rogue driver. The irony that you, a cop, can’t make the law work for you, can’t get justice. Well, Charlotte, it happens the other way around too. Justice can easily become injustice. Which is why you should sympathise with my predicament.’

      ‘I don’t.’ Savage stood. The interview was over. She’d delivered the message from Hardin and now it was time to go before the odious creature riled her. ‘Remember what I said, we’re watching.’

      ‘Oh, I know you are. But I’m not going anywhere. No need.’ Kendwick smiled again. He shifted his head and then craned his neck to peer over into the next-door garden. ‘I’ve got everything I want right on my doorstep.’

      Savage turned to look. The adjoining plot was neatly manicured. A large area of grass and, at the far end of the garden, a raised area of decking. Two expensive wicker loungers sat on the deck and lying on the loungers were two young women, sunning themselves in the unseasonal warmth. Twenties. Skimpy clothing. Blonde hair.

      ‘That’s why I’m out here. Mammary watch.’ Kendwick grinned. He reached for his glass and sat back in the recliner. ‘They’re down from London for a couple of days. Quite friendly really. I’d told them I’d go for a meal with them later, show them the sights of Chagford, act the friendly local. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be quite safe with them. They wouldn’t dare hurt me, not with a choir of guardian police angels watching on.’

      ‘Mr Kendwick, if anything—’

      ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Kendwick spat the words out, his mood changing in an instant. ‘I’m innocent, so just fuck off and let me live my life. Now, get out of here before I call my solicitor and ask her to look into pursuing a harassment case against you and the force.’

      ‘I’m off, but there’s one thing.’ Savage moved over to Kendwick and stood next to his chair. ‘If you ever mention my daughter again, I’ll …’

      ‘You’ll what?’ Kendwick jerked his head. One of the girls from next door stood beside the hedge. She smiled at Kendwick, mouthed a ‘sorry, later’ and then walked off.

      Savage waited until the young woman had disappeared inside the house and then she kicked the back of Kendwick’s chair, knocking the prop free. Kendwick fell backward in a heap, his drink sloshing over his chest.

      ‘I’ll fucking kill you, that’s what.’

      With DI Savage gone, Kendwick went back inside the house to dry off and change his shirt. Savage’s warning and sudden burst of anger had unsettled him, and staring at the girls next door was no longer fun.

      Inside, he cleaned himself up and then poured himself another Pimm’s. He went to the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa. He’d had a fair bit to drink and the alcohol was having a soporific effect. He sat back and tried to picture his neighbours, tried to imagine the pair of them sprawled naked in the garden. He sipped his drink, his free hand moving to his shorts, loosening the button. But then he shook his head. Nothing. He felt nothing.

      He put the drink on a side table and lay back and closed his eyes. Memories swirled in his head. A dream of another garden, another time, a time when he had felt something. Felt something for someone. What was she? Seventeen, eighteen? He’d been younger, having turned fifteen a few weeks before. They’d been in the back garden, his parents out somewhere, Kendwick left behind as usual. The girl had been from across the street. Lithe, leggy, confident of what she wanted. Still, he’d scoffed when she’d suggested a game of hide and seek. Wasn’t that for kids? ‘Depends what you’re seeking, doesn’t it?’ she’d replied with a coy smile. So he’d stood there, counting …

       Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here I come!

       He whirls round, scanning the garden. Beginning to search. Over by the rose bushes? No! Standing straight behind the big old oak? No!! Hiding beneath the tarpaulin which covers the wood pile? No!!! Where on earth is she? He shakes his head and turns round once more. He spies the shed. Of course! He creeps over the lawn and clicks open the door. There she is!

       Found you!

       She doesn’t move. Just lies there, her eyes closed but a smile gracing her lips, her pretty summer dress rucked up round her waist, her knickers round her ankles. He steps inside the shed and pulls the door shut. Darkness. A slant of golden light from the crack in the door running up her thigh. He breathes in. The air tastes dry and dusty, but there’s a hint of something else too, something sweet and intoxicating. He slips one foot across the wooden floor, then another. Now he’s standing over her. Marvelling at her stillness. He lowers himself to the floor of the shed and lies beside her. She doesn’t move. He reaches out with his finger and traces a line on her thigh, following the shaft of light. His heart is beating ten to the dozen, his breathing coming in tiny little gulps.