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

train there. Save all that nonsense at the Heathrow end, wouldn’t it?’

      Kendwick turned back. Tried hard not to tell the moron to fuck off. Said instead: ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m being met at the airport. I’ve got a lift all the way home. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try and get another hour or so sleep, OK?’

      BO hesitated for a moment. ‘Sure,’ he said, nodding and swivelling in his seat and then muttering. ‘Only trying to be friendly. Some people.’

      Yeah, thought Kendwick. Some fucking people.

      Savage was pissed off. They’d got up and breakfasted in good time so as to arrive at the airport by nine as planned. However, as they’d parked the car she’d phoned her contact in the NCA, DCI Kevin Rollins. He told her Kendwick had taken a different flight.

      ‘United 901,’ Rollins said. ‘Direct from San Francisco instead of via LAX. Landed a little after seven o’clock. We’re all done and dusted and your man’s just waiting to be picked up. We’ll bring him round to the VIP arrivals lounge.’

      Rollins hung up before Savage could say anything.

      ‘Ma’am?’ Riley read the displeasure on her face. ‘Everything all right?’

      ‘No it bloody isn’t.’ Savage slipped the phone into her pocket. She explained to Riley what had happened. ‘The NCA are playing games with us. They knew we’d stayed over and must have known Kendwick was on an earlier flight. Rollins thinks we’re no better than a taxi service.’

      Fifteen minutes later and they were striding across the near-empty VIP lounge. In one corner, two men in suits and a third in a Coldplay T-shirt sat at a low table. Savage recognised the man in the T-shirt as Kendwick. Early thirties, with a muscular, well-defined torso. Long black hair tied in a ponytail, the hair with a sheen like something from a men’s toiletries commercial. As he laughed at a joke one of the men had made, his lips parted to show perfect teeth. American teeth. He was good-looking, for sure. Quite a charmer.

      As they approached, one of the men in suits turned and then stood.

      ‘DI Savage?’ he said. ‘DCI Kevin Rollins. Sorry about the mix-up with the flights. No harm done and all that, hey?’

      Rollins was at least a decade or so older than Kendwick and a bit flabby round the edges. A bald patch poked from greying hair. By his swagger he plainly fancied himself, but alongside the younger man he was nothing.

      Kendwick didn’t bother to get up. Savage could see he was well aware the handful of passengers in the lounge were looking their way and assuming he was some kind of star, the two men in the cheap suits his bodyguards.

      ‘Ah, my chauffeur,’ he said. ‘Or should I say, chaperone? Someone to stop me getting into trouble, right?’

      ‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage,’ Savage said. She held out her hand and Kendwick reached up and took it, his palm cold and dry. ‘If you’ve finished your business with DCI Rollins then we may as well get going. It’s a long journey.’

      ‘I like the way you said that, Charlotte,’ Kendwick said. He paused and held her gaze for several seconds before smiling. ‘My business with them, rather than the other way round. Gets us off on the right foot. Gets me off, anyway.’

      ‘Your bags?’ Savage withdrew her hand and pointed at a nearby trolley laden with several cases and a rucksack. Kendwick nodded. ‘Darius, would you?’

      As Riley went across to the trolley, Savage thought about saying something to Rollins. Something about his behaviour being bang out of order. But she didn’t want a confrontation in front of Kendwick and it was better he thought they all sang from the same hymn sheet. Besides, Rollins was a rank above her.

      ‘Been nice meeting you, Mr Rollins, Sergeant.’ Kendwick grinned as he stood. ‘We must do it again sometime, but not too soon, hey?’

      ‘Remember what I said, Kendwick,’ Rollins said. He put his arm out, blocking Kendwick’s way. ‘A single piece of evidence from the States and you’ll be going back there. And when you do, they’ll kill you.’

      ‘Now, now, Kevin, that’s not very nice.’ Kendwick pushed the arm down. ‘Besides, they don’t kill people in California any more. The death penalty is out of fashion and they haven’t carried out an execution since 2006. Something to do with the Eighth Amendment. Cruel and unusual punishment. That’s irony for you, huh?’

      ‘One of the girls was snatched from over the border in Arizona. They do still carry out executions.’

      ‘Well, that might worry me if I was guilty, but we’ve just had a long conversation where I told you I’m innocent, so let’s leave it be, shall we? No hard feelings.’ Kendwick grinned again and then winked. ‘Mate.’

      As they walked away, Riley following with the trolley, Kendwick cocked his head towards Savage. She could smell mint on his breath as he spoke.

      ‘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