Bad Blood by Mark Sennen

gone for half an hour that Savage remembered a news story from last summer.
    â€˜Missing, presumed dead,’ she said to herself. ‘Not on the misper list.’
    â€˜Huh?’ DC Enders looked up from his screen and ruffled his brown hair with one hand. ‘Not following you, ma’am.’
    â€˜Last summer. Pete was away but I’d persuaded Stefan to accompany me for a week-long cruise with the kids. We went down in convoy with another family boat and ended up getting stuck down in Newlyn. A big depression had cleared through, but the sea state kept us in harbour for a couple of days.’
    â€˜Sorry, ma’am. I don’t get it.’
    â€˜I remember the local newspaper headlines. A young girl had gone missing a few miles to the east at the Lizard. The lifeboat, coastguard and an army of volunteers searched the sea, cliffs and coast path, but she was never found. The conclusion was that she must have slipped over the cliff edge while her parents were having a picnic. There was something else too which I can’t quite—’
    â€˜It’s here, ma’am,’ Enders said, pointing to his screen where he had brought up the local police file on the incident. ‘Simza Ellis was her name. Her parents were travellers, down in Cornwall for seasonal work. Ditto everything you said, but apparently the parents claimed there was somebody taking photographs of children, a “weirdo” in their words. There was also the fact that her sun hat was found in a car park set back from the coast. It says here investigating officers concluded the hat had been dropped by a dog or a gull or maybe had been carried there by an updraught from the cliffs, the hat coming off as the girl fell. The facts were considered at the inquest, but the overwhelming evidence pointed to Simza falling into the sea … shit!’
    â€˜Patrick?’
    â€˜â€¦ including the discovery of a pink trainer-type shoe by the lifeboat crew.’ Enders shook his head, an expression of distaste spreading across his face. ‘Because they were travellers nobody fucking believed them, did they? If they had then maybe she would be alive today.’
    â€˜It’s easy to be wise after the fact,’ Savage said, moving over to Enders and patting him on the back.
    â€˜Sorry, ma’am, but look at her.’ Enders pointed to a picture of the girl on the screen and clicked to make it bigger. ‘Didn’t she deserve a bit more?’
    Brown curls cascaded to the edges of the image and a red tongue poked out from a pretty, playful face intent on mischief or fun, or both.
    â€˜She’ll get the attention now, of course,’ Enders said, clicking the image shut.
    Savage turned away, thinking that the young DC was right. Traveller or not, cute or not – and she was very cute – the girl had deserved more. But now was too late. Way too late.
    Later, Savage climbed the stairs to Detective Superintendent Conrad Hardin’s office to give him the news on the situation at Lester Close. Hardin resembled a beached whale as he tipped his office chair backwards, interlocking his hands around his stomach and groaning.
    â€˜Went to an afternoon buffet at the Guildhall. Bloody councillors, wasting public money on pointless functions.’ Hardin’s eyes roved to the jar of liquorice sticks he kept on his desk as part of his diet regime. He shook his head and huffed out a gallon of air. ‘Good food though.’
    Being in Hardin’s office alone with the DSupt always made Savage feel uncomfortable. The sheer physical bulk of the man led to the illusion of him filling the room entirely, and in any prolonged silence the stark walls offered few distractions. At least the out-of-date calendar of Greek islands Hardin had had on the wall for the past two years had been replaced. The new one was of Dartmoor landscapes and January’s picture showed a suitably wintery scene with two children and