something to do with this?’ Savage turned to Calter. ‘Why don’t we know this already?’
‘I am not sure, ma’am.’ Calter looked contrite and pulled out her notebook as if to double-check.
‘Someone hasn’t delved deep enough,’ Farrell said. ‘They did meet at the Metropolis but not at a club night. It was in the daytime. A camera club had hired the place for a meet and set it up as a mock pole dancing venue. Kelly was one of the models.’
‘What club was this?’
‘Plymouth Snappers.’ Farrell pointed at the rear of a Ford Galaxy parked in the road outside the house. A sticker in the rear window depicted a grinning cartoon shark holding a camera. ‘Legit club, but they had a glamour section into some pretty risqué stuff.’
‘And her parents approved of this?’
‘Approved? Mr Donal suggested the shoot. He was at the club taking pictures.’
‘Fuck!’ It was Calter and she immediately put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, but he was her father. I wouldn’t want my dad taking pictures of me half-naked with my boobs hanging out. And anyway I thought you said they didn’t think much of what she was up to?’
‘I said Mrs Donal didn’t.’ Farrell smiled as if he couldn’t help but imagine Calter doing a bit of pole dancing. ‘She didn’t realise half of what was going on. She thought Kelly was only doing the usual kind of modelling. By which I mean with clothes on.’
‘Thanks for the heads up, Luke.’ Savage said. ‘Good work and valuable information, it fits with what DS Riley found out at Forester’s workplace. Shall we?’ Savage indicated the door, and Farrell led the way over the threshold and into the neat hall with an imposing grandfather clock, polite little notices, a boot rack and a shelf of guidebooks.
Several photographs hung on the walls: an atmospheric shot of Dartmoor in the mist and rain, a stunning snowscape with a single set of footprints leading to the horizon, a beautiful beck with bluebells in the foreground. Each had neat little paper stickers in the bottom right corner with a price written on. The images weren’t of Savage’s favourite subject, but she imagined they would sell well to the guests.
Farrell led them down the hallway and stopped at a door which had a ‘Private’ sign on it. He knocked and entered. They went into a living room where Mr and Mrs Donal sat waiting. More photographs hung on the walls in here. Not landscapes though. Above the fireplace a huge print of a girl with big doe eyes stared into the room. She had sleek brown hair and the sort of figure many women would die for. And men might kill for. Savage averted her gaze and moved forward to greet the parents. Mrs Donal, a slight woman with brown hair like her daughter’s but gone part grey, was slumped on a Laura Ashley patterned sofa and registered their presence with a mere glance. In happier times Savage guessed she would have been the perfect B&B hostess, busying herself with rustling up some tea and homemade biscuits. Mr Donal, on the other hand, did not behave like the perfect host as he sneered and leapt to his feet. He was late middle-aged, perhaps older, big and heavy-set and with a face like a round tomato, all red and glowing and ready to burst. He reminded Savage a little of Hardin.
‘More police?’ Donal said, not hiding his disgust and not offering his hand either.
‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage. We just have a few more questions, Mr Donal.’
‘A lifetime of questions. That’s what I’ve got.’
‘It’s about Kelly.’
‘Oh? I didn’t think you’d come about neighbourhood watch, did I?’
‘I am sorry this is painful for you, Mr Donal, it is for all of us.’
‘Painful? Painful! I have never really been hurt before. Not really hurt. Have you experienced the type of hurt I am talking about, Inspector? The sort of pain that is nothing? Empty pain, agony at night when you put out the light and then worse when the sun streams in the windows the
‘I am not sure, ma’am.’ Calter looked contrite and pulled out her notebook as if to double-check.
‘Someone hasn’t delved deep enough,’ Farrell said. ‘They did meet at the Metropolis but not at a club night. It was in the daytime. A camera club had hired the place for a meet and set it up as a mock pole dancing venue. Kelly was one of the models.’
‘What club was this?’
‘Plymouth Snappers.’ Farrell pointed at the rear of a Ford Galaxy parked in the road outside the house. A sticker in the rear window depicted a grinning cartoon shark holding a camera. ‘Legit club, but they had a glamour section into some pretty risqué stuff.’
‘And her parents approved of this?’
‘Approved? Mr Donal suggested the shoot. He was at the club taking pictures.’
‘Fuck!’ It was Calter and she immediately put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, but he was her father. I wouldn’t want my dad taking pictures of me half-naked with my boobs hanging out. And anyway I thought you said they didn’t think much of what she was up to?’
‘I said Mrs Donal didn’t.’ Farrell smiled as if he couldn’t help but imagine Calter doing a bit of pole dancing. ‘She didn’t realise half of what was going on. She thought Kelly was only doing the usual kind of modelling. By which I mean with clothes on.’
‘Thanks for the heads up, Luke.’ Savage said. ‘Good work and valuable information, it fits with what DS Riley found out at Forester’s workplace. Shall we?’ Savage indicated the door, and Farrell led the way over the threshold and into the neat hall with an imposing grandfather clock, polite little notices, a boot rack and a shelf of guidebooks.
Several photographs hung on the walls: an atmospheric shot of Dartmoor in the mist and rain, a stunning snowscape with a single set of footprints leading to the horizon, a beautiful beck with bluebells in the foreground. Each had neat little paper stickers in the bottom right corner with a price written on. The images weren’t of Savage’s favourite subject, but she imagined they would sell well to the guests.
Farrell led them down the hallway and stopped at a door which had a ‘Private’ sign on it. He knocked and entered. They went into a living room where Mr and Mrs Donal sat waiting. More photographs hung on the walls in here. Not landscapes though. Above the fireplace a huge print of a girl with big doe eyes stared into the room. She had sleek brown hair and the sort of figure many women would die for. And men might kill for. Savage averted her gaze and moved forward to greet the parents. Mrs Donal, a slight woman with brown hair like her daughter’s but gone part grey, was slumped on a Laura Ashley patterned sofa and registered their presence with a mere glance. In happier times Savage guessed she would have been the perfect B&B hostess, busying herself with rustling up some tea and homemade biscuits. Mr Donal, on the other hand, did not behave like the perfect host as he sneered and leapt to his feet. He was late middle-aged, perhaps older, big and heavy-set and with a face like a round tomato, all red and glowing and ready to burst. He reminded Savage a little of Hardin.
‘More police?’ Donal said, not hiding his disgust and not offering his hand either.
‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage. We just have a few more questions, Mr Donal.’
‘A lifetime of questions. That’s what I’ve got.’
‘It’s about Kelly.’
‘Oh? I didn’t think you’d come about neighbourhood watch, did I?’
‘I am sorry this is painful for you, Mr Donal, it is for all of us.’
‘Painful? Painful! I have never really been hurt before. Not really hurt. Have you experienced the type of hurt I am talking about, Inspector? The sort of pain that is nothing? Empty pain, agony at night when you put out the light and then worse when the sun streams in the windows the
Similar Books
