TOUCH: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel. Mark Sennen

divers had the body in the shallows now and it lay face up, the belly swollen with gas making it look like a stranded whale. As each wave came in to the beach it moved in the water, the arms and legs rising and falling like a floundering swimmer captured in slow motion. Now Savage could tell the corpse belonged to a woman but it was difficult to know much else since the water-wrinkled skin gave no clue as to her age.

      With some difficulty, the divers, along with the CSI officers, began to move the body out of the water and onto a waiting body bag. Savage stepped forward to make a closer inspection.

      ‘Jesus, look at the hole in her head!’ Jackson had moved closer too and Savage understood why he was regretting it. A lot of the hair on the scalp had gone and white bone was showing through. Just above the right temple was a neat, round hole about the size of a penny.

      Savage noticed a flash of metal around the neck. A little cross on a silver chain. Blind faith had never appeared so pathetic, she thought.

      ‘Could you?’ she asked one of the white-suited CSIs, pointing at the cross.

      He bent over and held the cross in his gloved hand, turning it over to reveal an inscription.

      ‘RSO,’ the CSI said.

      ‘Rosina Salgado Olivárez,’ Savage said. ‘Our missing student.’

      ‘Bugger. Hardin will be livid,’ Davies grunted. He said nothing else. Just pulled his jacket collar up against the driving rain and stomped away, Jackson scampering after him like a terrier after its lowlife master.

       Chapter Two

      Love. Harry didn’t understand why but he hadn’t ever got much of it. Not from his parents anyway. The pet cat had been shown more affection. He remembered his mother cooing and feeding the kitten titbits from the dinner table. It always got a stroke, even when naughty. Harry just got beaten. He loved the little tabby, but he felt angry when it competed with him for attention. So he strangled it. He buried the corpse in the garden, marking the grave with a brick. Many months later, lonely and needing a cuddle, he lifted the brick and started to dig. He was surprised to find only the white bones of the skeleton remained. The cat’s flesh had decomposed, the animal’s soul seeping into the ether, forever beyond his reach. The discovery made Harry wonder how you preserved things, how you stopped the flesh you loved from rotting away. There didn’t seem to be anything in his life other than decay.

       Me, Harry. Me.

      Trinny.

      Her voice snapped him out of his half-slumber and he sat bolt upright, confused for a moment. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, grasping at consciousness, trying to pull the tangled threads into some sort of order. A wan light slipped past the curtains and painted the room with the awful chill of reality.

       Naughty Harry.

      Yes, but there was no going back, not after what he had done to Trinny.

      I didn’t mind, Harry. I love you, just like all those years ago.

      All those years ago back when he was a kid. There had always been a girl in the house to help out, a nanny or an au pair employed to do the chores his mother and father couldn’t be bothered with. Those girls had been the only ones who loved him. He was sure they guessed about his parents too. In the dead quiet of the night they must have heard the screams and wondered what was going on. And even though they never said anything, in the mornings they saw the bruises as they held him and rocked him and dried his tears. In some small way that helped. Believing somebody cared made him feel he was worth something after all.

       I still care, Harry. I really do.

      Maybe they did care all those years ago, but they never stayed long. A few months at most and his father and his wandering hands became too much for them.

       He was disgusting, Harry. Dirty!

      So they left. Went. Decayed.

       I left, Harry. Yes. But decayed? No. Never. You never forgot me and I never forgot you. I’m still here, am I not?

      Yes, Trinny was still here. Part of his collection. His growing collection.

      Harry? I’m the one. You want me, not the others.

      True. He did want her. And he’d had her too. Many times. Not good. Not right. Shameful.

       Shameful? Harry, you are wrong. Sex is beautiful. I mean the stuff you did to me last night … I loved everything. Every minute. Every inch!

      Trinny’s words ended with a dirty cackle. This was bad. She had become too much of a handful, not like he expected her to be. He needed to deal with her once and for all. Trinny seemed to read his mind because her voice became serious with a scolding tone that sliced into his heart.

       Harry, do you still love me? I mean like before, like back then?

      He didn’t know. He clenched his teeth and tried to hold back the saliva building in his mouth. But he should know, shouldn’t he? It was his business to know. If he didn’t know something he got a little edgy, panic set in and he began to breathe too fast and he didn’t like that. He really didn’t like that.

       Harry?

      He swallowed the spit and mucus and sucked in air. In, out, in, out, in, out. Last night he shut Trinny away. Downstairs. So he didn’t understand why she was still pestering him. She wasn’t the girl he was looking for because she was too dirty. She knew. He’d told her.

       You did tell me. You called me a slut. And after you called me a slut you screwed me. How does that work?

      He couldn’t explain. It was too complicated.

       Complicated?

      Yes. Complicated. Trinny wouldn’t be able to understand. Nobody understood. Nobody knew about being mad but him.

       Yes Harry, you are mad. Not to mention bad and sad. You can’t go around—

      Harry couldn’t stand the wittering any longer so he reached out and pressed the button on the clock radio next to his bed and Trinny’s voice vanished beneath the local station’s jingle. Top of the hour and the news. The usual regional mediocrity had been abandoned and the headline spewed out a tale of rape, violence and murder. The police had found a body of a woman down on Wembury beach.

      He turned off the radio. Fast. Not good. Not good at all.

       Carmel, Harry! Carmel is back! Yuk! I bet she doesn’t look so pretty now.

      Trinny sounded excited. Hysterical. But could it really be Carmel? Nausea began to rise within him like dirty water overflowing from a blocked toilet. He fought back the urge to vomit.

       Carmel. You didn’t get her, did you? She is lost forever now. Decayed.

      He ignored Trinny and wondered if the story signified something. Carmel back from the dead. Telling him he was on the right track, but also reminding him that Trinny didn’t compare to her. Couldn’t be the one.

       Harry, what do you mean?

      He’d kept her because he hoped she would change. She had been fun at first. Cute, lovely, bubbly. But now she went on yapping and nagging. And she was dirty. Very dirty. He had slapped her a couple of times, but it hadn’t made any difference. The simplest thing would be a clean break. Splitting up would be for the best. For both of them.

       Harry! You bastard! I am your girl. Me. Not Carmel. She is dead. Rotting. Mitchell killed her. Remember?

      Mitchell.

      Harry didn’t like to hear that name. Not after what Mitchell had done to Carmel.