Touch (DI Charlotte Savage)

by Mark Sennen

  The children burbled on, Savage managing a word here and there, and then it was over, Pete’s ‘I love you’ echoing in the silence for a moment before Jamie asked for a biscuit and Samantha ran upstairs to text a friend.

  For the kids Pete being away was nothing unusual. They missed him, sure, but they had grown up with his prolonged absences and a snatched call and a few emails each week was normality. Savage thought it stank and not for the first time she hoped he would settle for a desk job on his return. Improbable though and a little like her working fewer hours or not spending the coming night on Hardin’s undercover operation.

  She went to the phone and dialled through to Stefan in the annex to remind him he was babysitting and then went upstairs to find something suitable to wear.

  *

  Savage entered the briefing room at the station at Charles Cross in the centre of town to a very strange sight. DC Carl Denton whirled around in the centre, dancing and singing, his mobile held to his lips like a microphone as he sang the first few lines from ‘Saturday Night’ by Whigfield. He ended with a fancy pirouette and sat down on Enders’s lap.

  ‘Anytime babe, anytime,’ Enders said, stroking Denton’s hair. ‘Only do you think you could lose the aftershave? I prefer my girls not to smell of old jockstraps.’

  The station had never seen anything to match it. The room heaved with an assortment of colourful looking characters, some smart and suited and booted like Riley and some casual like Enders. Being as Sunday would be Halloween a few had even come in costume and Savage spotted two devils and a witch. As for Calter, she leant against a desk chewing gum, a right sight in a miniskirt Savage thought more suited for use as a belt.

  ‘Nano, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘It’s the new micro.’

  ‘Well I hope you’ve had your flu jab or you’ll catch your death in that.’

  ‘A rabies jab would be more appropriate,’ Enders said, ‘with the type of animal that’s going to be coming after her dressed like that.’

  Calter proceeded to give Enders the once over, starting at his shoes and moving upward, nodding with approval at each item.

  ‘I’ve seen better looking jackets on a potato, but I am glad you’ve found a use for those Oxfam vouchers at last.’

  Savage gazed around at the rest of the people in the room. They numbered around thirty-five in total, the younger members dressed for a night out clubbing, the older detectives wearing clothing more appropriate for dinner in a restaurant.

  Hardin bounced about at the far side of the room greeting people, face red from the heat, the handkerchief in his hand in constant use wiping the sweat from his brow. She reckoned it had been a long time since he had walked the streets of Plymouth late at night because he wore a blazer and tie and looked like something from a yacht club do. At least nobody would mistake him for a policeman, just a right prick.

  Hardin rapped on a table top and brought the meeting to order.

  ‘OK boys and girls operation Big Night Out is ready to go.’

  A big cheer and a couple of whoops rang out and Hardin continued. He outlined how the operation would work. The bright young things would be inside the pubs and clubs, working in pairs, trying to spot anything suspicious. Some of the older detectives would be walking the streets as if they were going to or coming from the theatre or restaurants, and to back them up there would be four unmarked cars patrolling. Finally Davies and a couple of others would monitor events from the city-centre CCTV control room.

  Savage heard Enders mutter something about it being ‘nice and warm in there’ but Hardin didn’t hear.

  ‘I would really like to end this night with these bastards banged up so let’s be especially vigilant.’

  With that Hardin let them go and they trickled from the station in pairs heading out into the damp night air.

  Savage found DCI Garrett and confirmed they would be walking a route that would take them down to the Barbican, across to the Theatre Royal and up to the university. From the uni they would return to the station and head out on a new beat.

  ‘This will be a long night,’ Garrett said.

  ‘Tell me about it. My feet are killing me already.’

  *

  Calter came off the dance floor to find a grumpy looking Enders leaning against a mirrored pillar waiting for her. Behind her a medley of songs was reaching a climax and hands rose into the air, fingertips disrupting a plateau of pale blue laser light that painted a horizontal curtain just above head height. Around the bar a crush of bodies jostled for the attention of the over-worked bar staff and the air smelt of perfume, sweat and beer. Calter grabbed her pint of bitter from Enders, took a gulp and held the glass against her forehead.

  ‘Hot work,’ she shouted across at Enders.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be enjoying yourself, Jane, we are on duty,’ replied Enders.

  ‘Just trying to blend in,’ Calter said, catching Enders take yet another glance down at her legs.

  ‘Fat chance of that, you’ve got half the guys in here gawping after your every move.’

  ‘Only half?’

  ‘Well the rest must be blind or gay.’

  ‘Or both,’ Calter giggled.

  She scanned around the club. It was on several levels with the dance floor up one end, a long bar down one wall and a couple of raised galleries with little cubby holes where all manner of things could go on unseen. If their target chose to do his business up there they would have no chance of spotting him. They had already been here for over an hour and a half and the time was now after one in the morning. So far nothing of interest.

  ‘Come on, let’s go for another mooch about.’

  She took Enders’s hand. His palm felt hot and sticky and she wondered why on earth he hadn’t left his jumper in the cloakroom. In the current situation he looked ridiculous.

  A big, muscled guy with the kind of body Calter would have liked to explore in more detail moved across in front of her.

  ‘Can I buy you a drink, luv?’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

  ‘He with you?’ The guy turned and with an expression of puzzlement he pointed at Enders.

  ‘Yes, he’s my brother,’ she nodded. ‘Got learning difficulties.’

  ‘Maybe later then.’

  Calter nodded again and the guy backed off. She led Enders along to the steps that went up to the galleries.

  ‘Learning difficulties?’ Enders said. ‘Thanks a bunch!’

  ‘I needed a rational explanation as to why your appearance resembles a Ryder Cup entrant. That was the first one I thought of.’

  Up top they stood against the railings and Calter made Enders remove his jumper. The shirt underneath didn’t shout style, but at least he might cool down a bit.

  The galleries gave a good view of the dance floor and she would also be able to sneak a glance into the cubby holes without appearing too inquisitive.

  ‘Here,’ Calter pulled Enders towards her and placed his hands on her bottom. ‘Hold me like this and I can take a peek into the booths and you can look down onto the bar and dance floor.’

  Enders didn’t seem to be complaining much although he was holding himself away from her body in an odd way. She suspected he had a hard-on. Calter hugged Enders, pulling him close and half-burying her face in his neck, and now she felt his erection pressing against her.

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘Sorry, only natural, like my mother used to say.’

  ‘Not that, although I have known bigger. No, there’s a guy in the booth who has just dropped something into a vodka and orange.’

  ‘You are joking!’

  ‘No. He’s on his own, but there is a phone on the table next to the drink.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It’s a pink phone with glittery bits stuck all over.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Calter risked a glance, but she couldn’t spot any obvious partner for the man. Perhaps the woman had gone to the loo. Last time Calter had been the queue snak
ed out into the corridor so she might be some time returning. The man appeared to be quite old for the venue, mid-thirties and dressed not unlike Enders. He gazed around, for a moment meeting Calter’s eyes.

  ‘Hold me tighter, grope me.’

  Enders didn’t need much encouragement and one hand went down between her thighs, the other to her left breast. The performance may have convinced the man, but in real life Enders would be going home alone. His hands moved over her body more like a potter fashioning a vase from clay than a lover trying to turn her on, but then having three young kids Enders probably didn’t get much practise at home. After five minutes of the sculpting treatment Calter got bored of the petting and was about to suggest they stopped when she noticed a girl coming toward them.

  Girl? The thick makeup couldn’t disguise the lines on a face a bit too old for their usual victim profile. Calter guessed early thirties at the very youngest, but she was dressed to impress with a skirt as short as Calter’s and a top that left nothing whatsoever to the imagination.

  The woman staggered to her seat and fumbled with the pink phone, knocking it to the floor. The man retrieved it from under the table and moved over next to her and helped her with her glass, encouraging her to drink up, which she did. Then the man said something and the woman squinted at her phone, maybe reading the time. The two of them got up and walked past Calter and Enders, heading for the exit.

  Calter untangled herself.

  ‘Put your stiffy away, lover boy, and call for the cavalry. It’s him.’

  *

  Savage and Garrett did the Barbican circuit once and went straight out again on a run that took in the railway station. Afterwards they had a short break and grabbed a coffee in the canteen before doing the first route all over.

  A dust rain began to fall, the tiny drops swirling in the glare around the street lamps and by the time they reached the Barbican the long cobbled street gleamed in the light. A throng of people walked and stumbled along the road and the air reeked of fish and chips and fast-food. An underlying tension threaded amongst the crowd and hinted at sex and violence.

  A pink stretch limo cruised by, filled with a gaggle of girls on a hen night, bare arms waving out of the windows, one sticking her bottom out and flashing her knickers at a group of appreciative lads.

  ‘Gerrum orf you fat slag!’

  ‘Show us your tits!’

  ‘Fancy a good knobbing, do you?’

  The car pulled away and Savage wondered at the height of Plymouth’s Saturday night sophistication.

  ‘Is that the best the youth of this town can manage?’ she asked Garrett.

  ‘You will find the same everywhere, take away the street names and this might be any town in the country. Broken Britain they call it, don’t they? Although I suspect the country has always been broken. Rose-tinted spectacles and all that.’

  ‘I certainly don’t remember shoving my bum out of a car window, but maybe I got too drunk to notice.’

  ‘That’s the point. Those girls get too drunk to notice. They lose their friends, someone gives them a spiked drink and the next minute they are tied to a bed being gang raped.’

  They wandered through the Barbican area and up Madeira Road, across the Hoe and down towards the theatre. They were turning off Amada Way on to Notte Street when Savage got the call on her mobile.

  ‘Are you near the theatre yet?’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘We’ve got an IC1 male and female walking along Princess Street, possibly heading for the Theatre Royal car park. Male dark hair, brown jacket, brown trousers. Female blonde, white coat, bare legs. Observe, do not apprehend as of yet.’

  Savage told Garrett and they ran along Notte Street and down Lockyer to join Princess Street, slowing to a walk when they saw the couple coming towards them. The woman wandered all over the pavement and the man struggled to keep her upright. Savage took Garrett’s hand and faced him.

  ‘Call you next week sometime?’

  ‘Er, yes, that would be great.’

  ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening, honestly. I can’t remember a time when I have had as much fun.’ Savage couldn’t help smiling which she thought must have added some realism to the act.

  The dialogue was wasted on the couple who seemed oblivious to anything as they weaved back and forth. They reached the car park and went down the side to the stairwell. Savage spotted Calter and Enders coming along Princess Street and she made a sign to suggest that they should go to the front of the car park while she and Garrett followed the couple. The car park was one of the pay on foot types where you had to put a ticket into the machine and pay the amount due before you went to your car. It seemed as if the man had lost his ticket because the couple were hanging around the machine for ages. Eventually he produced a piece of scrumpled cardboard and with some difficulty got the machine to accept it.

  Savage and Garrett trailed the couple as they went up two flights of stairs, stumbled out onto the third level and made their way over to a green Audi, where the man opened the rear door for the woman. She clambered in and sat back in the seat, leaving the door open. The man didn’t go to the driver’s side, rather he opened the front passenger door, took something from the glove compartment, and returned to the woman. He blocked Savage’s view for a moment and the door slammed shut. The woman leant forward now, hands on the front headrest. The man got in and the car started, reversed out of the space and moved forward.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Garrett had spotted something. ‘Handcuffs!’

  The car moved out of the shadows and a glint of silver shone out from within. Savage saw Garrett was right. The woman had been handcuffed to the front headrest.

  ‘Shit!’ Savage raced forward to block the ramp to the next level. The driver floored the accelerator, the tyres screeching as the rear end spun out.

  ‘Stop police!’ Savage shouted.

  The car was coming right at her, the man’s black eyes wide, white knuckles grasping the steering wheel.

  ‘Charlotte!’ Garrett shouted.

  She didn’t need the warning and she jumped clear as the car careened across the ramp and glanced the side barrier. It slid sideways, straightened up and then lurched into a pillar, stopping dead. A loud bang echoed through the whole level as the front airbags exploded and a huge piece of concrete broke away from the pillar, bounced on the bonnet and smashed into the windscreen.

  An empty car parked nearby started up with the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of an alarm and Savage heard the sound of running footsteps from the floor below. A moment later and Calter and Enders came up the ramp, breathless.

  ‘We got him, ma’am. Bloody hell!’

  The four of them gathered round the car. The man slumped against the side window, face half-buried in the airbag and a trickle of blood running from his nose. The woman had just been sick on the back seat.

  Savage opened the rear door. She clicked the catch on the headrest and pulled it upward and away, freeing the woman. The woman rubbed her hands and Savage could see red marks where the cuffs had cut into the skin when the car crashed. She scowled as Savage fumbled with the seatbelt.

  ‘Don’t worry, we will have you out of there in a moment, you’re OK now.’

  ‘Of course I am fucking OK!’

  ‘Did he touch you?’

  The woman laughed.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’ve made a big mistake.’ The woman paused and smiled. ‘You know who Sleeping Beauty up front is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s my husband.’

  Chapter 19

  Harry risked a journey to the big Sainsbury’s supermarket at Marsh Mills in Plymouth because he needed a load of fruit and a set of bra and panties for Emma. Plain white, like all the girls from his childhood had worn. He suspected his mother had insisted on it. She wouldn’t have wanted all the frilly stuff because it would have made his father get a little bit too excited.

&nb
sp; Harry found a space to park and sat in the car remembering the first time he had seen the white cotton offset against smooth, young skin. He had found a hole in the back of a built-in cupboard in an adjoining room. Through it he spied Carmel sitting on the bed in her bra and panties. Removing the bra and exposing her breasts and then standing up and peeling her knickers down to reveal a dark triangle of mystery, black alongside the pure white, Harry’s heart thumping even though he was still so young.

  After that Harry sneaked into the spare room whenever he could and secreted himself in the cupboard with the little pinhole. He would watch Carmel for hours and sometimes she did little, just reading or watching the tiny black and white TV his parents had provided. At other times she would be getting ready to go out and Harry loved to watch her choosing her outfit and applying her makeup. Late at night, when she returned, he would creep from his bed and sneak a look at her undressing, watching as she cast her knickers into the linen bin for him to retrieve the next day and hold to his face, the material suffused with a strange, musty smell which was both frightening and intoxicating. Back then he felt nothing sexual; instead a wonderful warmth blossomed right in the centre of his chest, causing butterflies in his stomach and a lightness so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.

  When Carmel had gone he thought nothing could replace her, but soon a new girl arrived for him to spy on. The same white underwear, the same purity on one side of the wall and Harry on the other.

  He was brought back to the present by a woman getting into the car parked next to his. She hurried to get in and as he met her eyes she pulled the door shut and flipped the lock down. He must appear like a nutter, he thought, sitting there and staring into space. He turned the radio on and pretended to fiddle with the controls. The station blared out the news. They were talking about him again. That made him feel special. Of course they didn’t mention him by name because they didn’t have a clue who he was. Idiots.

  On the journey back the sun played hide and seek behind heavy clouds, but by the time Harry arrived at the cottage the weather had turned damp and miserable. Like his mood. In the past couple of days thoughts had spun through his mind the way clothes tumbled in a hot, soapy wash, the colours running into one another, bleeding from each garment, mixing with the dirt and the grime. Now at last the stream of consciousness had reduced to a trickle, a grey discharge, and a flatness descended which deadened everything from before. At least inside he knew a hint of magic waited for him, someone to raise his spirits again.