After mounting the three little steps the car had flattened the door and torn away the frame and a substantial section of the supporting wall. Enders brought them to a halt next to a patrol car and even from fifty metres Savage spotted the Plymouth Snappers sticker on the rear window of the Galaxy.
‘It’s Donal’s car.’
‘Kelly’s dad?’ Enders said.
‘Yes. How the hell he has connected Mitchell with Kelly I have no idea.’
Nearer the house another two patrol cars and an unmarked vehicle lay scattered across the road with several men crouching on the ground, keeping a good chunk of metal between themselves and the house. Standing behind one of the vehicles two armed officers covered the front door with their Heckler and Koch MP5s.
DI Davies sat up against the unmarked car and seemed to be in overall charge, barking out orders to everyone around him, a cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth. He’ll be loving this, Savage thought, as she jumped out. She took a glance at the house, sprinted across to him and dived behind the car.
‘Inside with a crossbow. He appeared at the upstairs window a few minutes ago. Next time there’s a clear shot they’ll get him.’ Davies nodded at the armed officers.
‘No they won’t, I am going in.’
Savage stood up, catching the attention of the two men covering the door. Davies went apoplectic.
‘Get down you stupid bitch. I am in command here and I say the situation is too dangerous.’
‘Fuck off. I know the man. Donal has lost one child, I don’t want his other two to lose their dad.’
Savage moved out from behind the car and edged across to the driveway. The damage to the front of the house and the rubble lying on the ground made the place resemble a war zone and, like a derelict property, it appeared deserted. She held her arms out to the sides, palms forwards.
‘Mr Donal,’ she shouted. ‘This is DI Charlotte Savage. I am unarmed and I am coming in.’
Nothing. No sound, nobody moving.
She stepped onto the driveway, her feet crunching on the gravel.
Gravel?
Trent’s drive was brick; the Leash girls had talked of gravel. Riley and Enders hadn’t mentioned anything to her in their report, but this was not the time to ponder on the significance of the driveway and she continued walking toward the front door. She scrambled over the debris, squeezed past the car and then ducked down and crawled under part of the doorframe, all too aware of her vulnerable position.
Inside she stood up and surveyed the damage. The white carpet glistened with the remains of a chandelier, the little crystals scattered everywhere and reflecting the light like a dewy lawn on a spring morning. Bits of plaster and wood lay strewn around and a large RSJ had come out of the wall above the door and crushed a small table. She picked her way across the floor and stood in the centre of the hall. The light streamed in through the doorway and dust floated in the draught. To one side of the hall was the living room, to the other the diner and kitchen. Stairs swept upwards in a grand fashion to a landing above.
‘They are upstairs.’
Savage whirled round to see a woman standing in the kitchen doorway, a wine glass in one hand, the bubbles in the glass fizzing in the light. She was tall with a curvy figure and wore jeans and a fisherman’s smock, but still managed to appear glamorous, like a catwalk model. Savage noticed the other hand was holding a bottle of champagne.
The woman followed Savage’s gaze.
‘Like one?’
‘No thank you, Mrs?’
‘Catherine Mitchell. But not for much longer. That’s why I am celebrating. The end of all this crap.’ The woman swung the bottle around in a sweeping gesture.
‘Mrs Mitchell, where is your husband?’
‘Everett is upstairs with some lout.’
‘What are they doing up there?’
‘No idea. Everett was in the bathroom when this idiot comes crashing through the door. We’ve got a doorbell but he didn’t seem to know how to operate the thing. So he says to me, “where is he?”, so I says “upstairs,” and then he rushes up without a word. He didn’t even apologise for that.’ She indicated the mess Savage had scrambled over.
Catherine Mitchell was swaying now and Savage feared she might fall over.
‘Could you please go out the front door. Put the glass and bottle down first and leave with your hands in the air. It’s not safe here.’
‘Really? Can’t say I had noticed.’
She turned and retreated into the kitchen and Savage was about to go after her when she heard a shout from upstairs. She recognised Donal’s voice, the distinctive brusque tone echoing through the house.
Savage left the woman in the kitchen and went up the stairs. Voices were coming from off to the right of the landing, and as Savage edged upward she could make out Donal’s words and those of another man, the latter almost a whisper.
‘I didn’t do it, Mr Donal. You’ve got the wrong man. A rather unfortunate case of mistaken identity, I am afraid.’
‘Oh but you did and now you are going to pay.’
Savage crossed the landing and now she could see through the door where the voices were coming from. A large bedroom, probably the master. Donal stood in the middle holding a loaded crossbow, the weapon incongruous against his jacket and tie. His bulky frame filled the clothing, red neck and face poking through the tight collar, and patches of damp showed at the armpits. He noticed Savage, met her eyes and then peered down the crossbow’s sights again.
‘He did it, Inspector Savage. He killed my Kelly.’ The crossbow moved a little as Donal’s hands shook.
Savage stepped forward to see more of the room. A man was standing over against a set of built-in mirrored wardrobes. He was wearing a blue towelling dressing gown and had wet hair, either from a recent shower or maybe sweat. The man was slumped over, his knees buckled, as if about to fall. He hadn’t done so because he had been impaled through his right shoulder by a crossbow bolt, the mirrored glass behind him cracked in a crazy cobweb pattern. There didn’t seem to be much blood until Savage looked down at the floor. A pool of red liquid was gathering on the snow white carpet at the man’s feet, oozing over and through the deep pile. Vivid colour, somehow both chilling and beautiful at the same time. The man raised his head at Savage.
‘Everett Mitchell. Your men were here this morning. I didn’t like their attitude but it was preferable to this. Perhaps you might…’ He made an almost imperceptible movement of his head in the general direction of Donal and let out an awful rasping sound.
‘Mr Donal,’ Savage began, ‘we need to question Mr Mitchell about some offences, but at the moment I have no evidence he is Kelly’s killer.’
‘Well I do. I got a package.’
‘What sort of package? Who from?’
‘Didn’t say. Came by courier this morning. Contained a DVD and a letter. Told me about Mitchell here who I now find out you had been questioning earlier. Told me to check out the DVD. I did. The material was shot by Forester. In this room. Everything makes sense now. The rapes, Kelly, the whole story. Just like the newspapers said.’
‘Don’t believe everything you read,’ Mitchell said. He laughed, but the noise turned into a sort of snort and he coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. Savage moved forward, sliding one foot across the carpet.
‘Mr Donal, think of your children and your wife, don’t throw your life away.’
‘I am thinking of my children. Not only my children. Yours as well. Everybody’s children. These people can’t be allowed to get away with their crimes. The judge says a dozen years and they are out in six. The rest of us get life with no parole.’
‘If Mr Mitchell is guilty you have my word he won’t be getting out in six years, but we need proof. Do you want him to die if he is the wrong man?’
‘OK. Tell me about it then.’ Donal turned to Mitchell. ‘FUCKING TELL ME!’
Donal clasped the crossbow and stared down the sights again. Savage risked another small step forward. She was now getting near to being in the line of fire and perhaps she had a chance to make Donal think twice about
