‘Ma’am, someone got stabbed on the terraces below the Hoe last night.’
‘So I heard.’ A stabbing wasn’t unusual. Neither, for that matter, was a glassing, a bloody good kicking or anyone of the other possible ways to hurt someone when you’d had one too many and somebody had knocked your drink over, glanced at your missus or just stepped on your toes. Late night Plymouth did violence like West End London did shows.
‘The victim is one Ben Robbins. He happens to be Simone Ashton’s boyfriend.’ Riley stood with his hands on his hips, trying to get his breath back. ‘And we have a witness.’
*
When Riley explained the witness they’d found was Done That Danny, a well-known police time-waster, Savage sent Enders off to deal with taking a statement. Danny’s evening meal often consisted of a bag of soggy chips washed down with half a dozen cans of Tenants Super, so it wouldn’t be altogether surprising if the lead turned out to be nothing but a drink induced fantasy. Something to get Danny a bit of attention and maybe some free biscuits and a cup of tea, five sugars.
Enders had trooped off to the cliff-side terraces wearing the sort of hang-dog expression Savage was used to from her junior officers when put on house-to-house duties, but he called through breathless and excited an hour later and insisted Savage ought to see what he had found.
She had dutifully got in a car and driven to the Hoe to find out what Enders was on about. He stood at the gap in the wall where Simone’s boyfriend had been attacked and he led her down a twisting path toward the sea.
Danny waited on the beach, hands in the pockets of his threadbare raincoat, head bowed, his greasy black hair shaking off the drizzle. He had an expression of sublime resignation on his face, a look Savage had seen many times before on the faces of those used to having the world push down on them day after day. It was a weary acceptance of the way things were, a humility in the face of greater powers, a perceptive understanding of the fact that although things would happen and the years would pass, in the end nothing would ever change.
‘Tolds yur, dinna I?’ Danny raised his head and smiled, touching his cap with his hand in a deferential manner belonging to another century, another era.
‘Told us what, Danny?’ Savage said.
‘Tolds yur guys about the flash and seeing the knifing. I saw a man with one of those dickable cameras. Flash, and then I heards a scuffle and fawt that’s one of them poofters getting buggered, I did.’
‘Sometimes used as a cruising area, ma’am,’ Enders said.
‘Yes, I know. So what is this about a camera?’
‘Well, it wasn’t one of those poofters, was it? No, it was attempted murder by camera, Mrs Savage. That’s what I was trying to tell your boys, only they wouldn’t believe me.’
‘OK, let’s get this straight, what exactly did you see?’
‘I was sitting on my bench up there ‘aving a leetle drink, trying not to get me head blown off by the fireworks.’ Danny gestured up at the terracing. ‘Then I sees a white flash and I thinks who’s messing me evenin’ up? So I jumps up and has a good look. That’s when I sees it.’
‘What, Danny? You saw what?’
‘I sees blood, Mrs Savage. That’s when I thinks that’s a pretty amazing camera, something I ‘aven’t seen before.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I runs. I don’t forget me beer, mind you, but I gets out of there quick. I heads into town and I don’t stop until I gets to me spot at the back of the Sainsbury’s car park. Then I sleeps with scary dreams.’
Scary dreams and cardboard boxes, Savage thought.
‘Ma’am?’ It was Enders. ‘The long and the short of the story is that Danny told me about this camera flash he saw. Now there were a lot of people on the Hoe taking pictures of the fireworks and it could have been Danny saw one of them or an explosion from a rocket or something. However, Danny was insistent and he said he could prove his story was true.’
‘I did, Mrs Savage. I told Detective Constable Patrick that I knew where the killing-camera was because the man had dropped it.’
‘What?’
‘I came down to the beach with Danny and we hunted around until I found this wedged in a crevice just above the tide line.’
Enders reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a compact digital camera, Canon brand.
‘What is really amazing is the camera is still working after tumbling down here.’ Enders fiddled with the controls through the plastic and the screen on the back lit up. A hand was reaching out, partially obscuring a face. The face of Ben Robbins, Simone Ashton’s boyfriend.
‘Bloody hell, Patrick. Good work. You too, Danny.’
There’s more, ma’am.’ Enders flicked a control on the camera and navigated through a series of images.
‘Oh God, oh no!’
It was Simone Ashton herself. She was reclining in some kind of weird chair, all black plastic and shiny stainless steel, the sort of thing you might find in a hospital or maybe a prison. Her arms were tied above her head, her legs apart, her feet restrained on some kind of footrests with leather straps. She was naked and the look of absolute terror on the girl’s face was something Savage would never forget.
*
By the time Savage got home that night Jamie had gone to bed.
‘Shattered. Not him, me,’ Stefan said as Savage came into the kitchen.
On the table a purple and green robot lay face down on a half-eaten potato waffle and an assortment of little monsters fashioned from Play-Doh clambered over the rest of the dinner.
‘Godzilla, King Kong, the Hulk,’ Stefan explained. ‘Don’t ask me where he knows them from though.’
‘The other kids in the playground. I am shocked at what the little ones are allowed to watch these days.’
‘Our parents said the same.’
‘Probably.’ Savage paused. Stefan did look shattered, really shattered. For an eighty kilogram grinder who thought nothing of hauling ropes for hour after hour on a race that was something. Jamie must have been one handful today.
‘Go on, get yourself back to your place, I’ll sort this lot out.’
Stefan nodded and stumbled from the room.
After a quick trip upstairs to find out what Samantha was up to — homework: no; IMing with friends: yes — she got down to clearing up. The simple monotony of tidying calmed her and contrasted with the hectic atmosphere of the incident room. Dishes in the dishwasher, Play-Doh separated in to constituent colours, a wipe round and then she grabbed a cold Peroni from the fridge with the intention to put her feet up in front of the telly while the frozen pizza she had put in the oven cooked itself.
The fridge door closed and the green and purple magnetic dinosaur’s eyes bobbed up and down. The tide times had been replaced by a colourful printout from Jamie’s school. In the top right corner two little pictures caught her eye, one of Jamie and one of his class. The word ‘Proof’ ran diagonally across the thumbnails and on the left of the page a list of various ordering options gave print sizes and prices. She remembered he had talked to her about his school photograph a couple of weeks ago, worried about a little spot on his chin. Getting him to go in on the day had been a real struggle. Examining the proofs now Savage didn’t think she could even see the thing. Probably the photographer’s lights had been strong enough to wash the red mark out.
Flash.
Shit!
She strolled across to a knife rack where a bottle opener hung and opened her beer. A quick gulp and she exchanged the bottle for the phone. Four rings and Ender’s voice came on the line. He sounded weary.
‘You still working, Patrick? You ought to get home and read your kids a bedtime story.’
‘Ma’am? I need the overtime. You know what the finances are like with three… sorry ma’am, I didn’t-’
‘That’s OK. Can you bring up the accounts for a few of the nurseries for me? Kelly’s, Simone’s and Alice’s?’
