Consequences (22 page)

‘What’s going on?’ Chubby shouted, as he noisily hopped from one foot to the other on the roof.

‘Calm down......calm down. The ambulance is here because if you fall or jump you might not die; you’ll be in tremendous pain and believe me you’re gonna be glad of the paramedics. Someone in the control room will have called them as a matter of course, so they can help you,’ Dylan yelled over the engine noise below.

‘I don’t need help. Tell them to go away,’ Chubby screamed.

‘But you do need help. That’s what this is all about isn’t it? You need help now,’ insisted Dylan.

The fire crews were tilting their turntable preparing it for use.

‘What’s happening? What’s the ladder about?’ Chubby asked.

‘Fire brigade...they’re used to rescuing people from rooftops of burning buildings; they won’t mess about once they get set up.’

Chubby was silent, and Dylan caught him transfixed by the commotion below. The pain in Dylan’s neck was intolerable as he watched Chubby, the man he had reluctantly taken into his care.

‘They’ll bring you down. My boss; can’t do with the road closed at morning rush hour. He’ll have given them orders to bring you down as soon as possible. I don’t think you’re a match for them do you?’

‘They can’t do it...tell them...tell them...I’ll batter the bastards with slates,’ Chubby cried, holding a slate in the air.

‘They want to help you. All them people down there are all there just for you.’

Chubby retreated out of Dylan’s view and Dylan sat looking out on to the circus below. All those men and women wasting their time on a flaming murderer; it turned his stomach. He looked to the sky and felt the cold breeze on his face. Clouds skimmed what was left of the pale moon and he felt a light spray of rain brush his cheek. He waited. There was one thing for sure; if it was going to rain he was going to get wet. He stood up. His bum was numb from sitting on the cold platform, and a shiver ran through his body. This would teach him once and for all to bring gloves and a scarf with him, like Jen said.

‘Chubby?’Dylan shouted, standing up.

‘What?’

‘Come on, otherwise you know what’s going to happen. The fire brigade are coming up.’ Dylan waited. The rain came in heavier drops and the operator swung the fire engines turntable in the yard towards the factory, awaiting his orders to move it upwards.

‘Okay, Okay, tell them to fucking back off,’ came the most unexpected of replies. Dylan held on tightly to the railings, feeling the encrusted, flaking paintwork crumble beneath his cold hands. Chubby started his descent down the ladder and within seconds stood facing Dylan on the small platform. He looked ill. His clothes were tattered, torn and stained and he stank of smoke and sweat. Dylan stared into the young man’s haunted eyes. They were hollow and dark.

‘Walk behind me when we get to the bottom. There’s a police dog just outside the yard, so don’t try and do a runner.’ Dylan looked down. Seeing Chubby’s movements, the people who’d been standing in the yard had retreated, and only vehicles remained.

Chubby Connor walked down the steps in front of Dylan and suddenly Dylan saw little Charlie Sharpe’s body lying in front of him, all his injuries crystal clear. What the hell was he doing saving this piece of shit? He grabbed the collar of Chubby’s t-shirt. Chubby turned, his eyes wide and pleading. Should Dylan push him? Who’d know he hadn’t fallen or jumped?

‘I shouldn’t have saved you last time you scum bag,’ Dylan growled, gripping the back of his t-shirt tighter with a clenched fist.

‘I got a donor card; it’s in my back pocket,’ Chubby said, calmly. The shock revelation halted Dylan’s actions. He raised his eyebrows. Chubby Conner would never know how close he was to it being pushed.

‘You’re under arrest for the murder of Charlie Sharpe as well as burglary.’ Dylan cautioned him as he handed Chubby to the uniformed officers. The latter charge, he knew, would pale into insignificance. His reply, for the sake of the arrest form, had been, ‘Not me...not me...I didn’t do it …I swear.’

‘Is the DI off today?’ Tracy asked Vicky.

‘No, not that I’m aware of...perhaps he was out on the town last night,’ she said giggling.

‘Oh, you’re scandalous.’ Tracy screeched.

Sitting opposite the pair, John Benjamin was studying the chief constable’s log to see what had happened of note, around the force overnight.

‘What’s new Sarge?’ said Vicky. ‘Is the kettle on?’

‘It says that Dylan was called to negotiate at a suicide attempt in the middle of the night.’

‘Oh, no, hasn’t he enough on his plate without that?’ said Dawn, groaning.

Dawn was studying the Crime Information System, trying to locate possible associates of Jason Todd. According to Susan, no one else could be the father. The coroner would want to know who Charlie’s father was and tests would have to be done to confirm it.

‘The plot thickens,’ John told Dawn, as he came off the phone to forensics. The DNA on the balaclava is that of...guess who?’

Dawn shook her head.

‘One Frank Miller.’

‘What was Miller doing in St Peter’s Park?’

‘I think I’d arrange another visit to the prison for Dylan, if I were you,’ Dawn said to John. ’A-S-A-P.’

John lifted the phone; a voice was already on the line.

‘Hello? Hello? DI Dylan?’

‘No, DS John Benjamin, he’s not here at the moment can I help?’

‘Can you just tell him that DC Gary Warner rang from the Regional Crime Squad, and ask him to ring me back as soon as possible, please?’

John took his number and put the phone down. For a moment he stopped, and for the first time in his career he wondered if he really wanted to be an SIO. Thinking about Dylan’s present workload, he didn’t know if he could keep up with the constant demand the job presented or if it would be fair to his family. Even now he spent precious little time with his them, and he knew he’d have to think very hard if it was the career path he wanted to pursue. Yes, the job was undeniably interesting, exciting at times, but at what cost?

John kept a record of what information had come in to tell Dylan, and he updated the policy book. He decided to liaise with Greater Manchester police. He needed to find out more about Frankie Miller; had he a mobile phone on him? Where was his clothing? All the items would help their investigation, he had no doubt. In Dylan’s absence there was plenty to do.

Dawn was on the phone, listening intently.

‘Brilliant, that’s really brilliant you can carry on giving us news like that,’

DS Patrick Finch stopped what he was doing and sat with his mouth open, eagerly waiting to find out what news was so good. She looked jaded, he thought, studying her face.

‘The bloodstained fingerprint has been identified. Yeah, and it’s that of Alan Connor alias Chubby, and the blood is Charlie Sharpe’s.’

‘That’s a great result,’ he said grinning. ‘Dylan will have a good start to his day, when he surfaces.’

‘Yes he will, and that forensically connects Connor for us too. I’ve done my bit now; all you have to do is find and arrest Connor and quickly Pat,’ she teased.

‘I wish you’d call me Patrick.’

‘Mmm, now what would Dylan say to you?’ her finger touched her cheek in a thoughtful pose. ‘You won’t find him, sat on your arse in here.’ she chortled. ‘But before you set off, put the kettle on Pat, there’s a love. Toast would be good too; remember I’m feeding two,’ she said, patting her stomach.

Patrick gritted his teeth together and clenched his fists.

Dawn stuck her tongue out.

‘Urgh, put that away. Goodness knows where it’s been,’ John laughed.

‘I don’t think that’s appropriate, John,’ Patrick scolded. John raised his eyebrows at Dawn and she smiled.

‘I’ll put the kettle on then shall I?’ Patrick said.

‘Maybe now, Dylan will give Connor’s picture to the press and get his face plastered over the TV. That should make it hard for him to carrying on lying low,’ Dawn said.

Dylan sat quietly for a moment, alone in his car. He felt numb, sick, tired and hardly daring to think just how close he’d been to pushing Chubby down the steps. Before his culpable feelings took over, he dialled the CID office and Patrick answered.

‘Thought you’d be out looking for Chubby Connor and Jason Todd, Pat?’ Dylan growled.

‘Yes sir, I was just about to get on with it,’ he said.

‘Well, you won’t bloody find him in the office drinking tea and eating toast now will you?’ Dylan boomed.

Patrick looked around the room; how the hell did he know what they were doing, and how did Dawn know what he’d say?

‘Second thoughts - don’t bother going out looking for Connor, it’d be a waste of time because he’s locked up.’

‘Arrested? Chubby Connor? Where? When? How?’ Patrick asked, and flicked the phone onto speaker, so the rest of the office could hear.

‘He was the idiot on the roof of the bakery this morning, believe it or not.’

‘Brilliant,’ Dawn shouted, punching the air.

‘Bet you were tempted to let him jump this time when you saw who it was, weren’t you boss?’ Vicky said.

Patrick scowled at her.

‘He was never going to jump; he’s pathetic,’ Dylan said.

‘You should’ve pushed the bastard,’ Vicky shouted. If looks could kill, Patrick’s would have deemed Vicky dead on the spot.

‘I must admit I was tempted, very tempted,’ Dylan said. If only they knew. He shivered an irrepressible convulsive shudder which brought on the goose bumps; and his old mum would have said it was caused by a person walking over the place where his grave would eventually be. His arms outstretched on the steering wheel were covered in pimples that made the hairs stand on end. ’Uniform are bringing him in now for you lot to sort out. I arrested him for murder and burglary. Put the kettle back on will you, if you can manage that,’ Dylan said. ’I’ll be with you shortly.’

‘Yes, sir...’ said Vicky, under her breath.

Patrick replaced the phone.

‘If I know Jack Dylan, he won’t let you forget that he had to get your prisoner for you. Be prepared,’ Dawn said, chuckling at Patrick as she stood up and then sat down again quickly. The room spun.

‘You okay?’ asked John.

‘Yeah fine, must be all the excitement.’ she said, with a lopsided grin.

Dylan took a bottle of water out of his briefcase and sipped it slowly. He took a bite out of his apple, his mind devoid of any thought.

‘Jumper safe. Chubby Connor won’t be disturbing us again during the night.’
Dylan texted Jen.

‘Not him again. Pity he didn’t jump and do everyone a favour x’ Jen replied.

‘I’m heading back to Harrowfield – catch up later x’

Everybody knows that no one likes murderers. Child murderers are disliked the most. Alan ‘Chubby’ Connor would find that out for himself, soon enough. Perhaps he would suffer in prison like Charlie had. If there was any justice in the world he would, thought Dylan.

Dylan started to feel more alert after his second cup of strong coffee. Patrick, Dawn, Vicky and Tracy were in the CID office listening absorbedly to his news.

‘I blame you Pat. If you’d got Chubby locked up I wouldn’t have had to risk life and limb on that bloody old fire escape in the early hours of this morning.’ Dylan said, draining his cup. Dawn smirked smugly at Patrick in her ‘told you so’ way.

‘I am trying,’ he whined.

‘Very,’ laughed Dawn.

‘One – nil to the boss. What he’s really saying is you’re fucking useless, Finchy,’ chuckled Vicky.

‘I don’t think that is a correct way of addressing a senior officer,’ reprimanded Patrick.‘I take offence at that comment,’ he said, as he got up and walked out of the room.

‘Ooooo,’ Vicky cooed.

‘Vicky …’ Dylan growled. ‘You’d better watch it, you’re already on a Scarborough warning, young lady.’

‘Well he’d rather hear that than be chuffing deaf wouldn’t he?’ Vicky said sulkily.

‘You deserve a slap,’ Dylan chuckled.

‘Ooooo, yes please,’ she giggled. Dylan shook his head.

‘He’ll have the chance to prove himself when he picks up Jason Todd. It might put him in a better frame of mind,’ said Dylan, studiously.

‘Can’t we give Todd’s’ picture to the press now boss? That would make it difficult for him to hide anywhere,’ said Tracy.

‘I’ll think about it. Let’s deal with the one we have in the traps first. He’s going to go not guilty I would’ve thought, by his reply after arrest.’

‘I understand we’ve got him under constant supervision in the cells; open door because of his suicidal tendencies and all his clothing has been seized,’ reported Tracy.

‘Do you know, I’m pretty sure he’s wearing the same clothes he had on when I talked him down from Stan Bridge. They might well give us some evidence,’ Dylan said.

Dawn relayed the good news to Dylan about the fingerprint evidence.

‘There is a God after all,’ he said, clasping hands together. ‘Let’s get him a solicitor and see what he has to say in interview.’

‘He might even tell all, if he knows he’s going to be banged up. Now wouldn’t that be a turn up for the books?’

‘Sure would,’ Dawn said.

‘Right. Can I leave you lot to get on with it while I go and see John about the Reynolds’ murder?’

‘Sure thing, boss.’ they shouted out in harmony.

‘Morning Boss, I’ve loads to tell you.’ John Benjamin pounced eagerly on Dylan as he walked through the door of his office.

‘Let me get in first. Don’t forget I’ve done a shift already,’ Dylan said.

‘Sorry Boss, bacon & egg buttie?’

‘Now that sounds like a good plan.’

‘Leave it with me whilst you get yourself sorted out here,’ John said, offering Dylan his seat at the computer.

‘What a good lad John is, Dylan thought. He’d go along way. Got his priorities right, John had; look after the boss. Dylan smiled.