The Boneyard: A gripping serial killer crime thriller. Mark Sennen
see it every day at work, the scrotes with a cute girl in tow, ready to do the scum’s bidding. There are plenty of nice guys out there, but a lot of women seem to be programmed to go for the arseholes.’
‘Perhaps you’re wrong about the number of nice guys. Perhaps there aren’t enough to go round and the reality is that most blokes are arseholes.’
‘Thanks.’ Riley looked wounded. ‘But back to Kendwick. He believes his charm will win out and he doesn’t seem to care what we think.’
‘Because he’s home free.’ Savage turned her head to where a soft-top BMW Z3 had slipped into a parking bay. Two young women climbed out. ‘As long as he keeps his hands to himself, he’s in no danger. He’s already laughed in the face of the US justice system so they won’t extradite him now, not without new evidence.’
‘And can he keep his hands to himself?’ Riley pointed discreetly at the women as they walked away. ‘I mean, he’s been inside for the past twelve months and now he’s going to encounter temptation daily.’
‘Recidivism is pretty much hard coded into people like Kendwick. If he is guilty, if he is a serial killer, then he’s going to commit another murder. More than one if he gets the chance.’
‘So we’ve got to stop him, is that Hardin’s idea?’
‘Probably. I think he planned this trip around some nebulous idea that everything would come good in the journey from Heathrow to Devon. He thinks I’ve got a handle on how men like Kendwick work.’
‘You have, haven’t you, ma’am?’
‘Perhaps.’ Savage nodded but didn’t say anything more. Hardin’s trust in her was a last-ditch percentage play, the best card in a bad hand. The only option he had remaining. Picking Kendwick up and ferrying him back to Devon was more about Devon and Cornwall Police being seen to do something. Anything.
A few minutes later, Enders appeared with three cups of coffee stuck in a cardboard tray.
‘You didn’t get one for matey boy, then?’ Riley said.
‘No I fucking didn’t,’ Enders said. ‘Besides, he’s happy as Larry in there, playing the slot machines.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their coffees. As Savage drained the last dregs from her paper cup, Kendwick emerged from the services, a small bottle of Coke in one hand. He paused at the entrance, glancing at an attractive woman as she walked past him, before strolling over.
‘Made any money?’ Riley said.
‘Not a cent – or should I say penny.’ Kendwick shrugged his shoulders. ‘But that wasn’t the point. I was watching other people play. Trying to understand the motivation behind their actions. I must say I don’t get it.’
‘What don’t you get?’
‘The attraction of gambling.’ Kendwick took a sip from his bottle and turned his head back towards the service station. ‘Why do something which has failure built in?’
Savage turned away as Kendwick began to expound his theory on human nature to Riley. People, he said, turned to fantasies rather than pursue reality. The lottery was a case in point. A one in God-knows-how-many-million chance but you hang your dreams on that. Kendwick said he didn’t understand.
‘It’s the only hope some people have,’ Riley said. ‘Better that than nothing, surely?’
‘Nonsense. Opium for the masses, isn’t it? Fantasise about winning the lottery or becoming a YouTube sensation or appearing on some reality TV programme. They should try taking control of their lives instead of being pushed around by others. Make it real. Go out and get what you want. That’s what I did.’
‘Let’s go,’ Savage said, moving back to the car and opening the rear door. She’d had enough of Kendwick’s fatuous moralising. ‘We’ve still got at least an hour and a half left and I’d really like to get home in time for dinner.’
‘Me too!’ Kendwick beamed across at Savage. ‘What’s on offer?’
Savage didn’t respond. Instead she ducked into the car. Moments later they were driving off and she settled back into her seat. Not too long now, she thought. They’d leave the motorway at Exeter and head up onto the moor. Chagford was a little town on the eastern edge. They’d see Kendwick into his house and then be done with him.
Stop-start traffic around Weston-super-Mare and an RTC which blocked the motorway just past Taunton saw them delayed by some ninety minutes, so it wasn’t until after three o’clock that they took a winding road out onto the moor. As the countryside became wilder, Kendwick’s interest was piqued. He stared out at the stone walls surrounding the little fields, at the distant tors standing guard over the landscape.
‘Quaint, this,’ he said.
‘As DC Enders can tell you, the moor can be far from quaint in the wrong weather. There are areas of pure wilderness up there, right, Patrick?’
‘Yes.’ Enders gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead, apparently unwilling to elaborate further.
‘I know the moor from my childhood and it’s hardly a wilderness.’ Kendwick tapped the window. ‘What is it, a hundred square miles, two? The Sierra National Forest is ten times the size and you’ve got Yosemite and Kings Canyon National Parks right next door. Real wild country, not this cream-tea countryside.’
‘And that’s where the killer took them, is it?’ Savage said. ‘Out in the wilds?’
‘The girls?’ Kendwick turned back from the window and met her gaze. He didn’t blink. ‘That’s what they say. But to be honest, I’ve no idea, Charlotte. They found the bodies, but who can tell how they died or who killed them?’
Savage looked away. Kendwick’s eyes were beguiling, but not in a good way. Serial killers were supposed to be sociopaths, unable to discern or empathise with other people, but Kendwick seemed to see right inside her. She sensed he might be able to unearth her vulnerabilities and use them against her. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
They continued the journey in silence, eventually descending a twisty road and then climbing out of a valley and into the small town of Chagford. The place wasn’t much more than a handful of roads meeting at a square. A few tourists shuffled along the streets, heading for the pubs and restaurants, but otherwise the place was quiet. Kendwick said something about stopping and having a late lunch or early dinner; his treat, he insisted.
‘No,’ Savage said. ‘Not today.’
Kendwick nodded. ‘Next time then?’
No one said anything until Enders spoke.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling into a parking space in front of a short terrace on the edge of town. ‘And about bloody time too.’
Kendwick’s house was the one on the end. A little two-up and two-down cottage with a long strip of back garden which bordered open fields. Beyond the fields, the moor rolled into the distance beneath a bank of dark cloud.
‘Well,’ Kendwick said. ‘Despite what I said earlier, the view is certainly better than the one from the Fresno County Jail.’
They piled out of the car and Riley and Enders sprang the boot and retrieved Kendwick’s luggage. Savage went to the front door with Kendwick. She pulled out a set of keys Hardin had given her and unlocked the door. Kendwick pushed it open and stepped in, crouching to avoid banging his head on the low beams. There was no hallway, the door opened straight into the living room. A narrow open staircase led up one side of the room, while to the back, an arch divided the living room from the kitchen area. Two rather tired armchairs and a sofa clustered round a fireplace. A pile of magazines sat on a low table in the centre of the room. Atop the magazines lay a chunky key fob, a local car rental company’s name emblazoned over some paperwork beneath.
‘Looks like your sister’s thought