Cut Dead by Mark Sennen Read Free Book Online Page A

into sun and blue sky, leaving behind a bank of cloud hugging Plymouth and the lowlands. The rolling hills and granite tors appeared flat, washed of any contrast by the harsh light. Riley leant back in the warmth and wondered if Maynard and his foil-wrapped sandwiches had been just a bad dream.
    Enders interrupted his thoughts by filling him in on the misper. He told him the bare facts as he knew them from the brief he’d been given: the man, Devlyn Corran, was a prison officer at HMP Dartmoor and he’d disappeared yesterday morning after he’d finished his night shift and left to cycle home. He never arrived and there’d been no word from him since. No sign of his bike either.
    ‘Horrid place to work,’ Riley said. ‘On a good day it looks like Colditz Castle. Dread to think what the inmates are like.’
    ‘You’ve been watching too many movies,’ Enders said. ‘Dartmoor is only one step above an open prison. If you were hoping for a load of baying psychos you’re going to be disappointed.’
    ‘Actually I’m tired and wet so what I really fancy is to get my head down for a few hours in a segregation cell. Do you think the Governor can fix that for me?’
    Before Enders could answer they spotted a white Land Rover up ahead. The vehicle was crawling along on the wrong side of the road with its offside wheels bouncing on the rough verge. The words ‘Mountain Rescue Ambulance’ ran along the body of the Land Rover above a chequerboard of orange and white reflective squares.
    ‘Dartmoor Rescue Group,’ Enders said. ‘They must be searching for Corran.’
    To the front of the vehicle, about twenty metres away, a man and a woman were striding through the moorland heather parallel to the road. A Border Collie ran back and forth, sniffing the air as it covered the ground in great scampering bounds.
    ‘Callum Campbell,’ Enders said. ‘He’s one of the group’s leaders. Met him last year when I went on that moorland hunt with DI Savage.’
    Enders accelerated past the Land Rover, beeped the horn once, pulled over and they got out. Campbell raised an arm and walked across. He towered over them, a giant of a man with blond hair stuffed under a fleece hat, eyes the colour of the clear sky, a Scottish accent when he spoke.
    ‘Nicer weather than last time,’ Campbell said to Enders, before turning to Riley and shaking his hand.
    Riley introduced himself and recalled Enders’ trip across the moor had taken place during the night in appalling conditions. In sleet and snow the team had fought their way to a remote tor, only to discover a body which had lain there for weeks. Enders had told Riley the story at least half a dozen times.
    ‘Any sign of Corran?’ Riley asked.
    ‘No. We were out all yesterday afternoon and evening, but I wanted to conduct a more detailed search this morning. We started at Dousland, where he lives.’ Campbell looked back down the road the way they had come. ‘The village is about three miles yonder and we’ve done the right-hand side only. Figured if he got knocked off his bike he’d be on this side, since he was heading home. I am pretty sure we didn’t miss anything on the first pass, but I wanted to make sure.’
    ‘He was definitely on his bike though?’ Riley said.
    ‘Yes. Apparently he cycled to and from work most days. It’s about five miles from the prison to his house and mostly downhill, so he could have done the trip in fifteen minutes or so.’
    ‘Not much time for something bad to happen,’ Riley said. ‘Assuming, that is, something bad did happen.’
    ‘Well, if it didn’t then where the hell is he?’ Campbell spread his arms in an expansive fashion, sweeping them round to encompass the wide open panorama. Then he shrugged and plodded back onto the rough ground to continue the search.

Chapter Five
    Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Monday 16th June. 10.21 a.m.
    Collier’s earlier allusion to issues with profiling took substance later in the morning as