Tell Tale: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel. Mark Sennen

      ‘He’ being a young lad by the name of Owen Fox.

      Savage sat up, her husband, Pete, stirring for a moment before settling back to sleep. She hadn’t told Pete about Owen Fox. Pete was a Royal Navy officer, had been for all his adult life. He’d been commander of a frigate until recently, when the ship had been scrapped. Now he was shore-based, training naval cadets while waiting for another command. On-board the ship everything was governed by rules and regulations. You did the right thing. You served your country. Even when you gave the order to fire a cruise missile, you knew the destruction you were about to wreak was backed up in law. What Savage wanted to do to Owen Fox was far, far from legal.

      She climbed from the bed and headed to the kitchen. The kids wouldn’t rise for another couple of hours, but Pete would be up soon. With Stefan, their unofficial Swedish au pair, away racing yachts for the summer, Pete had to juggle his new duties with looking after the children. Often he’d wake early and come downstairs to read some document or other. Savage needed to be out of the house by then. She’d leave a hastily scribbled note explaining that a call had come in. Not the first time she’d have lied to her husband, but she told herself the deception was necessary. Pete simply wouldn’t understand or accept the truth – and what she intended to do about it. It didn’t make her feel any less guilty.

      Breakfast was a bowl of cereal, a piece of fruit and a cup of black coffee. She slid the patio doors open and took her food onto the deck. An area of lawn spread from the deck to a hedge, beyond which cliffs fell sheer to the sea. It was still early but a couple of yachts had slipped their moorings and were cruising down the Sound. They’d be catching the tide, intent on getting a free lift westward to Fowey and beyond. If they’d set off a couple of hours later then they’d end their journey pushing against a foul current, getting nowhere fast.

      Savage sat at the garden table, watching the yachts. Timing was the issue. Owen Fox wasn’t just another boy racer. When she’d found out the name she’d been shocked for the first few seconds, but then everything had become clear. How the lad had managed to remain under the radar and escape detection. Dozens of officers had gone well beyond the call of duty trying to find Clarissa’s killer, and yet they had failed. Not surprising really – for Owen Fox was the son of Simon Fox, the Chief Constable of Devon and Cornwall Police.

      She finished her breakfast as the yachts passed the breakwater and turned west. A puff of pink exploded from the lead yacht as the crew launched a colourful spinnaker, the huge sail filling and billowing as the breeze caught it. For a moment Savage felt an almost overwhelming sadness that she wasn’t aboard the boat. What joy it would be to have Plymouth at the stern, the bow forging through clear blue water, perhaps – if she was lucky – dolphins racing alongside.

      Then she gathered her breakfast things and went back inside the house.

      DC Jane Calter glanced at the clock on the dashboard and then out at the open moorland stretching away in all directions. Nothing moved in the bright summer sun, other than a heat haze rising from the undulating terrain. She thought for a moment of the man she’d left lying in her bed and wondered if he’d woken and seen the note she’d left on top of his clothes. Wondered if he’d be there when she got back.

      Calter slumped sideways in the passenger seat, as next to her DC Patrick Enders swung the car round yet another sharp bend. Her stomach heaved and she hoped she’d be able to hold on to her breakfast – a slice of toast, plus half a Mars Bar, courtesy of Enders. Last night had been epic in more ways than one, but if she’d known she would be subject to an hour’s car journey with Enders at the wheel she’d have taken things a little easier. Enders was as chirpy as ever, prattling away as Calter tried to doze. The DC was the same age as her – mid-twenties – but already married with three kids. He was Irish and usually Calter found his accent soothing. Right now though she was so, so tired she wished he would shut the fuck up.

      The call had come at eight, just a couple of hours after she’d fallen asleep.

      ‘That misper from last week,’ the voice had said. ‘Her clothes have turned up at Fernworthy Reservoir. Looks like she either topped herself or …’

      It was the ‘or’, left hanging by the officer on the end of the line, that had pulled Calter from a state of half-slumber to wide awake. As the officer had given her the details she’d headed for the bathroom. In five minutes she was washed and dressed and in the kitchen, a slice of toast popping up as she gulped down a pint of water and tried to banish her hangover and focus on the task in hand.

      The missing person was a twenty-two-year-old Hungarian by the name of Anasztáz Róka. She’d been in the UK for six months, working as a waitress in a coffee bar. A week ago a housemate had reported her missing. The report had been logged but other than a few preliminary enquiries, no action had yet been taken.

      ‘We’re here, Jane,’ Enders said as the car rumbled across a cattle grid, woodland closing in on both sides. ‘Fernworthy Reservoir. Been up here many a time with the kids. Lovely spot for a … you alright?’

      Calter nodded and glanced at the Forestry Commission sign by the side of the road, interested in another nearby which said it was but three hundred yards to the car park and toilets. If she needed to be sick she’d prefer to do the business away from the gaze of other officers.

      Enders turned off the road and was ushered into the car park by a couple of uniformed officers. Calter caught sight of the reservoir for the first time. The surface of the water was alive, little wavelets reflecting the sky, a tinge of brown in with the blue. Even on a hot day the water would be cool. Only the foolhardy would ignore the ‘no swimming’ signs.

      ‘D Section,’ Enders said. He stopped the car and pointed across the car park, where three men were unloading boxes of equipment from the back of a large van. ‘Hope they’ve packed their beach ball.’

      D Section provided water-borne tactical support and had expertise in underwater search operations. The head of the section, Inspector Nigel Frey, stood next to one of two patrol cars, talking to another uniformed officer. Frey was dressed in black, military-style boots on his feet, only a peaked cap and a Heckler & Koch submachine gun missing from his usual attire. He waved when he saw Calter and Enders get out of their car. Calter sucked in a few mouthfuls of fresh air and tried to banish her hangover.

      ‘Morning, sir,’ Calter said as she crossed the car park to Frey. ‘What’s the story?’

      ‘You tell me,’ Frey said. ‘Thought we were coming out here on an emergency. But it looks like this could be more of a recovery operation. Am I right?’

      ‘The girl’s been missing for a week, so yes, unfortunately you might be.’ Calter turned to look at the lake. ‘What’s it like in there?’

      ‘Don’t know yet, I’ve only had a quick shufty. Cold and deep. The water clarity’s not too bad though. If she’s in there we’ll find her, but it will take a while. Going to work up a search grid now and then I’ll get the lads in the drink.’ Frey nodded over to where two of his men were struggling into drysuits, the third preparing an inflatable dinghy. ‘Got the light with us this time of year, but there’s no way we’ll complete today.’

      Calter left Frey and moved over to the car park entrance where Enders was talking to one of the uniformed officers.

      ‘Found by a fisherman,’ Enders said, pointing down to a plastic carrier bag which sat on the road verge next to a small boulder. ‘Unfortunately the fisherman moved the bag and touched the contents, but they haven’t been touched since except to examine the driving licence to confirm ID.’

      ‘Sorry, I didn’t wear gloves.’ The officer Enders had been talking to shrugged his shoulders. ‘But I thought I was dealing with something either as simple as lost property or as tragic as a drowning. I never—’

      ‘Not a problem,’ Calter said. ‘Can you show us where the bag was found?’

      The man nodded and then beckoned one of the other officers over to take his place at the car park entrance. Calter and Enders followed the man as he led them through a