thinking that showing half their bodies off is necessary when all it does is show how thick they are. When I think of my own daughter, I don’t like the fact I can count female role models who deign not to get their kit off for some men’s mag on the fingers of one hand. However, I never forget that whatever we, as girls and women, do, the men do the looking and in the end the men commit the crimes. All of which means I am going to try my hardest to get Kelly’s killer. Whatever it takes.’
Mr Donal looked up, drew in a large breath and let it out, pursing his lips as if about to whistle, but instead making a long, tuneless hiss.
‘It started so young,’ he said, unburdening himself without prompting. ‘Just family pictures, family snaps. But even years back we could see she was different. Then she was the carnival queen one year and a local photographer asked if she would pose for him. Of course I went along too, and that’s how I began to get interested.’
‘You took up photography?’
‘I had dabbled before, but I bought a better camera and some studio equipment and joined the Plymouth Snappers. They saw my pictures of Kelly and wanted her for a shoot. For the first couple of years it was innocent enough stuff, fashion shots and the like. But she was growing up, filling out and soon some of the members were asking for more. Trouble was Kelly loved it, loved the attention, loved the fawning. When she was around fifteen there was a night where she was dressed in club gear, nothing outrageous, the sort of thing all young girls wear. Anyway, one member jokingly asked her to take off her top and she did. Just like that, bra and all. I should have stepped in and called a halt, but I didn’t. As soon as she was sixteen she went topless legitimately and they couldn’t get enough. We had glamour shoots with clubs visiting from all over the South West.’
Donal stopped and Savage heard the clock in the hall tick-tocking, marking the silence. She struggled for what to say to a man who was happy to have other men leer at his daughter, but could think of nothing. After a moment Donal continued.
‘I suppose you wonder at how I could stand it? Well, I can’t explain. She was happy doing it and earning money. Plus it was tasteful at first, nothing you don’t see in magazines or on the television. Trouble was they soon wanted more and Kelly wouldn’t say no. You might think it odd me being there at the shoots, but by going along I knew she was safe and nothing untoward was taking place. At least that was how it was before she met Forester.’
‘Which was at the Metropolis?’
‘Yes. Back in the spring. An all-day shoot. Kelly was getting a couple of hundred quid net for it after we had paid a sum to the club management and something for equipment hire. The money worried me because Kelly was beginning to get used to it. She had already moved out and rented the place in Plymouth. She said it made it easier to get to college and to her work placement, but I thought she might drop her studies if too many rewards came her way. I think that was how Forester got to her.’
‘Because you were not around?’
‘Yes.’ Donal’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And he promised her more money and other stuff too.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Yes.’
‘For doing the videos?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which from what we have seen weren’t quite so tasteful.’
‘No.’ Donal lowered his head and looked down at the floor and Savage let him brood for a moment.
‘Was there anybody else she saw, apart from Forester?’ She asked.
‘What, you mean at the shoots?’
‘No, I mean generally. Other men interested in her.’
‘Oh, there were lots. If you are a woman who takes her clothes off for money you get interest. After a shoot my phone would ring red hot for the next few days. “Does Kelly do girl-on-girl, Mr Donal?”’ Donal put on a weasel- like voice. ‘“Can she use her fingers for me, Mr Donal? For an extra couple of hundred?” They wanted to get as much flesh into their cameras as possible. You were right in what you said earlier, Inspector. It had got out of control, it had gone too far. Her innocence had gone.’
Donal glanced up at the big picture of Kelly and bit his lip. Savage wondered whether he thought it was all his fault the innocence had slipped away along with Kelly’s clothing.
‘What about other boyfriends?’
‘I wish there had been, Inspector, but no, Forester would have killed them.’
‘But he didn’t seem to mind other men getting off on pictures or videos of her, did he?’
‘Some men like that, owning something others can’t have. Anyway, with Forester I reckon it was the money. Kelly was his way out. His way up.’
‘He was hardly the next Mario Testino.’
‘Forester wouldn’t see it like that. You know how these estate kids are, they think they are the best at everything. Stupid, because he was an all round loser, a right scrote. Poor Kelly got hooked on whatever crap he was peddling and look where she’s ended up.’
At that point the living room door opened and Farrell came in with some cups on a tray.
‘Mrs Donal has gone to have a lie down so I thought I would do the honours. Have I missed anything of importance?’
Calter opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but Donal got there first.
‘No, Luke, not really.’ Donal was half-smiling now, but shaking his head at the same time. ‘Only the sound of some birds flapping their wings.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Chickens. Coming home to roost.’ The smile vanished from Donal’s face and a tear rolled down the man’s cheek.
Chapter 11
North Prospect, Plymouth. Wednesday 27th October. 2.20 pm
They drove back from Yelverton in silence. Calter stared out of the window, arms folded across her chest. Savage just let her stew. The girl had to learn that real life situations differed from those encountered during training. Donal needed to be told. Maybe now the truth had been knocked home he might come to his senses and realise what he had done had, at least in part, led to Kelly’s death. It wasn’t going to be easy for him, but better to face up to the facts now than let them stew for the rest of his life.
Back in town Savage drove them through Beacon Park, where Kelly had lived, and then into the adjoining area of North Prospect. The place had a reputation for being rough and crime-ridden, filled with youths who liked nothing better of an evening than indulging their passion for a bit of anti-social behaviour. Thanks to the efforts of community workers and the police the reputation diminished a little every year. Nevertheless, the council had plans to transform the neighbourhood, despite the protestations of many of the residents, by demolishing half the properties and refurbishing the rest. In Savage’s eyes it didn’t seem too bad; you would feel far more nervous walking through so-called good areas in London, and in the summer the place had an aura nearer to that of a leafy suburb than a location associated with high deprivation.
Appearances could be deceptive though, and in the mile or so distance from his parents’ house in St Budeaux to his flat in North Prospect David Forester had moved down the social scale, hitting rock-bottom with a grotty place on the ground floor of half an old council semi. Cracks in the pebbledash, metal window frames crusty with corrosion and a pile of junk in the minuscule front garden didn’t make it inviting, and inside was worse. Officers were trooping in and out with plastic boxes filled with what looked to Savage like rubbish.
‘Evidence,’ a member of the search team assured her. ‘Mind you, the place is a complete tip. Cigarette butts ground into the floor, empty cans of coke, Stella, half-eaten Indians, McDonald’s, pizza, you name it. And the whole thing nicely festering since it has all been sitting for a few months.’
‘Lovely.’
‘There’s worse. Dog shit everywhere as well and a thousand flies swarming around. We couldn’t figure out
