car park on the green next to the cluster of local shops. If village life was supposed to be dying Yelverton must be the exception that proved the rule, thought Savage, since the place was buzzing. The CoOp and the delicatessen had a constant stream of people going in and out and there was a hairdressing salon, a pharmacy, a couple of estate agents and a garage as well.
‘Too much money and time, ma’am.’ Calter indicated the woman getting out of the royal blue Mercedes that had just pulled up next to them. The brand new car with white leather seats contrasted with the woman’s grubby Barbour jacket and Hunter wellies. ‘I bet she has a Doctor husband who works at the hospital.’
‘Lucky girl. Perhaps if you socialised somewhere other than Union Street you might get to meet one too.’
‘Thanks, boss. I wondered where I was going wrong. You know it’s my ambition to end up in Aga Saga country.’
‘Really?’
‘No!’ Calter said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘I couldn’t stand living out here. All those people with bits of straw sticking out of their ears. Like Mr Isaacs, for instance.’
‘I very much doubt if ninety-five per cent of the people in Yelverton know one end of a cow from another unless it is packaged up on the counter at Waitrose with a big label on top.’
‘Wot, no Lidl? On my salary anything above a Scummerfields is a complete non-starter.’
Savage looked at the dashboard clock. Time to go.
‘Come on,’ she said, and they got out of the car and walked across to the row of houses where the Donals lived.
Greenbank Terrace stood well back from the main road, the tall three storey Edwardian houses running down one side of an unmade up track. The front gardens overlooked the trim village green and several properties bore bed and breakfast signs, having taken advantage of the prime location. Dartmoor View, the Donals’ house, had a B&B sign outside too, only a board had been attached to the underneath which said ‘No Vacancies.’
‘A386 View would be a better name,’ quipped Calter as they approached.
Savage started to remark that you might be able to see something from the top floor when the front door opened and Luke Farrell, the FLO, came out. Farrell had a tangle of straw-blond hair sitting above the type of face people called open and his welcoming smile never failed to lift the spirits. Hardin had labelled him a genius at family liaison because he somehow became the elder brother you never had or the caring grandson always ready to help out. His skill was providing the right amount of support without laying the sympathy on treacle-thick.
‘Saw you coming, ma’am. I wanted a quick word before you went in.’
‘What sort of state are they in, Luke?’ As soon as Savage had asked the question she realised it was a stupid remark. Their eldest daughter had been missing for three months and had now turned up dead. They weren’t going to be overjoyed at meeting Savage and Calter, for sure.
‘Mrs Donal – Cathy – has been hysterical, blames everything on Kelly’s modelling. He is just brooding. Reactions typical of their gender. I have to warn you, though, Mr Donal is pretty disgusted with the police. He reckons if we had shown more interest when she first went missing then she might still be alive now.’
‘He could be right.’
‘With respect, ma’am, I wouldn’t tell him that.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t!’
‘I think the disgust with the police is a psychological projection. He is more disgusted with himself. Any anger he shows towards you is a coping strategy.’
‘To cope with what, Kelly’s death?’ Savage asked.
‘No, the guilt.’
‘Guilt?’
‘Yes. Beyond that which any parent might understandably feel. If Mr Donal hadn’t encouraged Kelly in her modelling she might never had met Forester.’
‘What? According to the DC who re-interviewed her flatmate, Kelly first met Forester at the Metropolis club in town. Are you saying Donal had
‘Too much money and time, ma’am.’ Calter indicated the woman getting out of the royal blue Mercedes that had just pulled up next to them. The brand new car with white leather seats contrasted with the woman’s grubby Barbour jacket and Hunter wellies. ‘I bet she has a Doctor husband who works at the hospital.’
‘Lucky girl. Perhaps if you socialised somewhere other than Union Street you might get to meet one too.’
‘Thanks, boss. I wondered where I was going wrong. You know it’s my ambition to end up in Aga Saga country.’
‘Really?’
‘No!’ Calter said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘I couldn’t stand living out here. All those people with bits of straw sticking out of their ears. Like Mr Isaacs, for instance.’
‘I very much doubt if ninety-five per cent of the people in Yelverton know one end of a cow from another unless it is packaged up on the counter at Waitrose with a big label on top.’
‘Wot, no Lidl? On my salary anything above a Scummerfields is a complete non-starter.’
Savage looked at the dashboard clock. Time to go.
‘Come on,’ she said, and they got out of the car and walked across to the row of houses where the Donals lived.
Greenbank Terrace stood well back from the main road, the tall three storey Edwardian houses running down one side of an unmade up track. The front gardens overlooked the trim village green and several properties bore bed and breakfast signs, having taken advantage of the prime location. Dartmoor View, the Donals’ house, had a B&B sign outside too, only a board had been attached to the underneath which said ‘No Vacancies.’
‘A386 View would be a better name,’ quipped Calter as they approached.
Savage started to remark that you might be able to see something from the top floor when the front door opened and Luke Farrell, the FLO, came out. Farrell had a tangle of straw-blond hair sitting above the type of face people called open and his welcoming smile never failed to lift the spirits. Hardin had labelled him a genius at family liaison because he somehow became the elder brother you never had or the caring grandson always ready to help out. His skill was providing the right amount of support without laying the sympathy on treacle-thick.
‘Saw you coming, ma’am. I wanted a quick word before you went in.’
‘What sort of state are they in, Luke?’ As soon as Savage had asked the question she realised it was a stupid remark. Their eldest daughter had been missing for three months and had now turned up dead. They weren’t going to be overjoyed at meeting Savage and Calter, for sure.
‘Mrs Donal – Cathy – has been hysterical, blames everything on Kelly’s modelling. He is just brooding. Reactions typical of their gender. I have to warn you, though, Mr Donal is pretty disgusted with the police. He reckons if we had shown more interest when she first went missing then she might still be alive now.’
‘He could be right.’
‘With respect, ma’am, I wouldn’t tell him that.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t!’
‘I think the disgust with the police is a psychological projection. He is more disgusted with himself. Any anger he shows towards you is a coping strategy.’
‘To cope with what, Kelly’s death?’ Savage asked.
‘No, the guilt.’
‘Guilt?’
‘Yes. Beyond that which any parent might understandably feel. If Mr Donal hadn’t encouraged Kelly in her modelling she might never had met Forester.’
‘What? According to the DC who re-interviewed her flatmate, Kelly first met Forester at the Metropolis club in town. Are you saying Donal had
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