Two Evils: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel - Mark Sennen

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if I were you.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘He was unhappy. I told you, I could see it in his eyes. Deep down.’

      ‘Thanks for the advice.’ Savage turned to go. She didn’t need help from a crazy old fisherman turned psychologist. His pipe may well have been found out near the wreck, but the man knew nothing. ‘If you think of anything else give us a call. The number’s below the photo.’

      ‘No good to me, love,’ Larry said. ‘I ain’t got no phone. If I need to, I’ll come in and see you, right?’

      ‘Yes,’ Savage said, visualising a horde of spider crabs crawling over the desks in the crime suite. ‘You do that.’

      Pete was doing his impression of a pizza chef as Savage came into the kitchen at a little after six thirty, a sing-song of mock-Italian words in a heavy accent accompanying his antics. Jamie, Savage’s seven-year-old son, laughed uncontrollably as a circle of dough spun in the air, flying dangerously close to the ceiling.

      ‘Mamma mia, Mummy’s home!’ Pete said as the pizza base fell just beyond his reach and folded into a pile on the floor. ‘Shit.’

      ‘Daddy swore, Mummy!’ Jamie said. ‘He used the S word.’

      ‘He said “shovel it”, sweetheart.’ Savage walked over to Pete and cast him a stern look. ‘As in shovel the pizza off the floor.’

      ‘He didn’t! He said sh …’ Jamie paused. ‘You know. The same as the C word.’

      ‘The C word?’ Savage stared at Jamie, thinking that having a fourteen-year-old sister wasn’t altogether a good thing for the lad. ‘Spell it.’

      ‘C. R. A. P.’

      ‘Oh.’ Savage stood next to her husband and stared down at the mess on the floor. ‘Well I’m sure I don’t know that C word or the S word, but I do know I’m hungry.’

      ‘There’s more.’ Pete pointed to a large mixing bowl containing a huge hunk of dough. ‘Might even be enough for you too.’

      ‘Thanks. I do live here.’

      ‘Yeah, I know.’ Pete switched his focus to the radio. ‘But I heard on the news a kid had gone missing. Didn’t realise you’d be back.’

      ‘Yes.’ Savage looked across to Jamie. He was already bored of the conversation and his head was deep in a Beano annual. ‘An eleven-year-old.’

      ‘Suspicious?’

      Savage sighed. ‘The kid regularly plays truant and the mother’s got a violent partner. Plus she didn’t seem to think it worth telling us he’d gone missing last night until this morning. So yes, deeply worrying.’

      Pete put his arm out and held Savage around the waist. He glanced over to Jamie. ‘Well, you’re home now. Let’s have something to eat and a drink and you can forget all about it for a few hours, can’t you?’

      Savage half turned to the window. A reflection of their little family tableau shone back at her. She refocused and stared beyond the pane to where the lights of Plymouth flared in the growing darkness across the inky black water. Jason Hobb was out there somewhere. Face down in the cold sea. Battered to death by his mother’s boyfriend. Abducted by some pervert. Or perhaps, as she’d said to DC Calter, the boy had just run off and tomorrow he’d turn up, safe and sound and everyone would live happily ever after.

      ‘Forget about it?’ Savage said. ‘Yes, of course I can.’

       Chapter Six

       Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Wednesday 21st October. 9.22 a.m.

      Wednesday morning and there was still no sign of Jason Hobb. The door-to-door officers had come back empty-handed and the various search and rescue teams were winding down their operations. There was as yet no evidence a crime had been committed but everyone involved was becoming increasingly worried.

      The first piece of good news came at ten o’clock. Ned Stone, the mother’s boyfriend, had been located. Apparently he was back at his digs in Devonport. A ground-floor bedsit on Clarence Place. Savage grabbed DC Calter and they headed over there and rendezvoused with a local PC.

      ‘Spotted his car, ma’am,’ the woman said. She beamed at Savage, pleased with herself. ‘Wasn’t there when we went round late last night nor first thing this morning.’

      ‘Well done,’ Savage said as they strolled up the narrow pavement. ‘And you think he’s in?’

      ‘I stood to one side of the window. There’s a telly on full blast.’

      Savage nodded and slowed as they reached a dark blue door. ‘This it?’

      ‘Yes.’ The PC pointed across the street to a battered red Corsa. ‘And that’s his car. As I said, it wasn’t here earlier and there was no answer when we knocked.’

      ‘So he’s been away.’ It was a statement, not a question. Savage didn’t need to bring up the obvious implication.

      ‘Told you, ma’am,’ Calter said, moving forward. ‘Let’s get in there and find out what he knows.’

      ‘Yes.’ Savage put a hand out. ‘But we play it straight, OK?’

      They approached the door and Savage enquired about other exits. Not from the bedsit, the PC said. Savage looked at the three bell pushes to the right of the door. Flats one, two and three. She pushed the button for number three and then, after there was no reply, number two. Almost immediately there was a sound, somebody descending the stairs and then a figure behind the glass panel. The door opened a fraction, coming up against a security chain. A woman’s face appeared in the gap. Elderly, looking concerned.

      ‘Police.’ Savage kept her voice low and proffered her warrant card. ‘We’ve business with Mr Stone. If you could let us in that would be great.’

      The woman looked back over her shoulder and then nodded. She released the security chain and was already scuttling down the corridor and up the stairs as Savage and Calter entered the hallway. Halfway down on the right a bicycle leant against the wall. Beyond the bicycle a door with a Yale lock. Savage walked down and knocked on the door.

      ‘Police, Mr Stone,’ she said. ‘Open up, we’d like a chat.’

      There was movement from within the bedsit and the noise from the TV ceased. Somebody stumbled behind the door and then the lock clicked open. The man who answered the door had a chiselled face and a short haircut. A tattoo ran up one side of his neck and on the hand which pulled open the door was more ink: F. U. C. K. She wondered how that worked. Did the other hand have only three fingers?

      ‘Ned Stone?’ Savage held up her warrant card so there could be no confusion. ‘Police. We’d like a word please. You can invite us in or you can come down to the station.’

      ‘Hey?’ Stone blinked and then rubbed his eyes. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting grey tracksuit bottoms and a white T-shirt, the latter inside out. He shook his head. ‘I’ve just woken up and I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’

      Stone turned from the door and walked back into the room. On the far side a mattress lay on the floor against one wall. A duvet had been rucked up on the bed and now Stone went over and slumped down on top of it.

      ‘Late night, Ned?’ Calter said as she moved past Savage and entered the room. ‘Burning the candle at both ends? Well, we’ve got plenty of beds down at the custody suite and the rooms are a darn sight cleaner than this one.’

      ‘What’s your problem?’ Stone said.

      ‘Jason Hobb is our problem. Yours too.’

      ‘He’s

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