White Lilies (12 page)

Holding the keys for the Forrester’s home was far too tempting for Danny and Billy. The house, like the dentists and the florists, didn’t appear to have an alarm, or at least not one that could be seen from the roadside. The boys drove up the drive and parked outside the house, letting themselves in without a backwards glance.

‘I’m starving,’ said Billy, heading straight for the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and shut it again almost instantly. ‘Catch,’ he shouted to Danny as a can of lager came whizzing through the air. He caught it – just.

‘Bloody idiot,’ scolded Danny. ‘Let’s not be too damned obvious. We don’t want to upset Pam, not till we get our way, anyway,’ he said grinning. Billy yanked the ring pull. Drinking the alcohol from the can didn’t keep him still as he browsed around the room in between swigs, opening cupboard doors and shutting them again, without a care in the world. ‘Kit Kat?’ he said, offering Danny an unopened packet that he found.

‘Just one and then put the rest back,’ he said, opening the door into the lounge.

‘Nice house, Billy,’ Danny said, whistling as he walked slowly up the stairs. I wonder what they might not miss for a week or two?’

Careful not to disturb things, he opened and closed drawers and cupboards.

‘God Danny, have you seen how neat everything is?’ His face was a picture of wonderment. His friend laughed. ‘You moron,’ he said. ‘Everyone ain’t a scruffy bastard like you yer know.’

‘We’ll have this Billy,’ Danny said holding up a gold chain he’d come across on the windowsill. ‘It should be worth a few quid like the other stuff we sold.’

‘Let’s have a look in Pam’s room,’ Billy said. He was laid on her bed when Danny walked in.

‘Oh, Danny,’ Billy whined as he draped her nightie around his head. He cuddled and kissed her bear. ‘I love you so much,’ he said, in a high-pitched soft girly voice. Danny stood looking at his friend with amusement.

‘This bed sure smells nice Danny. Come lay with me,’ Billy said. ‘Come on you prick. Stop pissing about and leave things straight,’ Danny said, walking out of the room.

‘Okay,’ Billy shouted as he jumped off the bed. He knelt on the floor beside her dressing table drawers and opened the top one. ‘Found them.’ he shouted.

‘What?’ shouted Danny who was inspecting an old oil painting displayed on the wall on the landing.

‘Knickers, knickers and more knickers,’ he yelled throwing the garments into the air to Danny’s amusement as he popped his head around the door.

‘Control yourself man,’ Danny warned him in a whispered tone.

‘I’m gonna keep these,’ he beamed, holding up a bright pink thong to his nose and inhaling the smell of it deeply. ‘One day she might model them for me,’ he grinned, stuffing them in his pocket. Danny shook his head. ‘You’re seriously sad,’ he said.

‘We’ve spent long enough here,’ Danny said with a frown as he looked out of the window. ‘Tell you what let’s go up the road and do the rich bloke with the Porsche’s house over again.'

Danny peered out of the front door and looked both ways before confidently walking out of the house. Billy slammed the door behind him and followed. They climbed in the car and drove up the road to number 42. The Porsche wasn’t in the driveway and all was quiet.

‘Idle Danny, bloody idle. Look, he hasn’t even had the patio doors repaired yet. All that fucking money and he can’t be bothered: serves him right if we go in again.’

‘He might not have any money left now we’ve nicked his cash.’ Danny chuckled. ‘I wonder why they haven’t pulled us about his telly. They knew it was his, the officer with the big tits told me.’

Billy put a crowbar in the boarded-up patio door and prised it open. Within a minute they were in the kitchen. Quickly and thoroughly they checked the rooms out. Within a matter of minutes they had grabbed a portable radio, DVD, camera, bags of sweets and small change. There was a pre-cooked chicken in the fridge.

‘That‘ll do, Let’s get out of here,’ Danny called out.

They threw their spoils in the car, jumped in and threw their hoods up. As they pulled out of the driveway Brian Stevenson arrived home. Billy leaned forward and gave him a v sign.

‘We can’t outrun that car, Billy, you nob.’ Danny scolded. Billy turned round to watch what the Porsche driver was doing.

Brian Stevenson had more to worry about than two-bit burglars.

‘Bastards, absolute bastards,’ he grunted through clenched teeth. ‘They’ll pay for this,’ he whispered. He had already been told who they might be and seeing their car registration number had proved the money he'd paid to find out had been worth it. Now he’d seen their car for himself he didn’t need to chase them, he knew exactly who they were and where they lived. Revenge would be sweet, but in his own time.

Danny and Billy laughed as they drove up onto the moors. Billy tore off a chicken leg and handed it to Danny.

‘Text Pam.’

‘Do it your bloody self, you lazy git,’ Billy said.

‘Doh, I’m driving…’

‘What you want to say?’ he asked, wiping his greasy fingers down the front of his jeans before picking up the mobile phone.

‘When will you be home?’ he said.

Billy took Pam’s thong out of his pocket and wiped his greasy mouth on it.

The reply was instant,
‘Tuesday,’
she replied,
‘I miss you.
’ Pam thought studiously. She was sure she had told Danny when she was home.
Wasn’t he counting the days like she was?

‘Ah, she misses you,’ Billy said, portraying his sad face to Danny. Danny screwed up his nose.

‘Sad bitch,’ he said.

Dylan made his way to the incident room which was cram-packed with officers. The heat hit him. The smell of body odour was as intense and the lack of air was apparent. All heads turned at his entrance. Dylan fanned his face with his paperwork as he walked to the front of the room. He sat, leaned back in his chair and scanned the faces in the room. All was quiet and still. Anticipation hung heavy.

He introduced himself, DS John Benjamin and DS Taylor Spiers before he went on to outline the purpose of the meeting, which was to exchange and update the information on each of the three incidents he was currently dealing with. Whilst they were all being investigated independently, snippets of information suggested there might be a connection.

‘In respect of the fatal, fail to stop accident that killed Grace and her dog, we recovered debris left at the scene,’ said Dylan. ‘We now know that she’d withdrawn a large amount of money from her investments recently and sold her home to an equity release company. Brian Stevenson was Grace Harvey’s financial advisor and he was attacked by Donald Harvey, Grace Harvey’s son, at her funeral. Donald Harvey accuses Brian Stevenson of swindling his mother out of her money. Brian Stevenson says Donald Harvey has had the money to help him maintain a certain lifestyle abroad. Donald Harvey denies the allegation.’

‘Brian Stevenson was also the late Mildred Sykes’s financial advisor,’ added DS Taylor Spiers before shooting Dylan a toothy smile.

‘PC Whitworth, boss,’ said a uniform officer at the back of the room. ‘Do you think the two whose car was involved in the double fatal outside Mothercare, might have ran over the old lady too?’

‘Maybe, but we will need the evidence to prove it beyond doubt, as usual,’ Dylan said.

‘Boss, it maybe something or nothing but Stevenson was the name on the TV with a postcode that we seized from Denton and Greenwood’s flat. I personally telephoned Mr Stevenson and although he said the TV was his he told me he’d sold it on,’ said Vicky.

‘But he was broken into,’ said DS Taylor Spiers, defiance blazing in her eyes at Vicky. ‘I’ve seen the damage to the patio doors.’

‘Let’s stay with him then. You will see I’m having passed around a picture of Mildred Sykes for the people who are not fully up to speed with that investigation. Was Stevenson the last person to see Mildred Sykes alive? We know he fits the description of a visitor to her home, and we have a re-occurring finger mark in her house that’s yet to be identified. We do know that the fingerprint is definitely not Mildred Sykes’s. We don’t have Brian Stevenson’s prints do we?’

DS Taylor Spiers shook her head.

‘So, that’s something we need to do as a priority,’ Dylan snapped.

‘Big mistake,’ Dylan heard Vicky say to Taylor in a low murmur, but he let it go with a glare at the pair.

‘We also seized a glitzy clock from Denton and Greenwood’s flat that was obviously out of place and we’re checking to see if we can find any marks on it to identify whose it is,’ said Vicky, sitting up straight in her chair.

‘Do we know if Stevenson, Denton and Greenwood know each other?’ asked Dylan

‘Sir, this picture of Mildred Sykes.’

‘Yes Vicky.’

‘The clock in the background is just like the one I’ve been trying to place.’

‘Really?’ Dylan said, feeling slightly excited at the revelation.

Vicky looked at the photo again. Her mouth opened and shut without her saying a word. She looked at Dylan. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.

‘There’s no intelligence to suggest that they know each other but I don’t know if that question has been put to any of them,’ said Taylor.

‘Okay, so, we’ve got on-going tests to prove Denton and Greenwood’s car is involved in Grace Harvey’s murder. Now, let’s talk about the one involving Bridey Tate and her son Toby. You, PC Whitworth, dropped behind their car in stationary traffic at a red light on the high street didn’t you?’

PC Whitworth nodded.

‘You get out and proceed to approach the men inside when the car sets off at speed. Is that right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But you don’t identify them?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then you see the occupants of that car mow down our young mother and baby who are stepping off the pavement at the time, shoot the red light and the car as we all know is then found burning a short time later on the moors. Our two suspects come into the station to report the very same car stolen with an alibi. So do we have anything new on this?’

‘We’re sifting through CCTV and speed cameras boss, to see if we can get a good enough picture to identify the driver and passenger of that vehicle. There are a few hours yet to be looked at to see if we can ID the vehicle and the occupants on their journey to the moors if it was them. At this moment in time we know there were two occupants in the car that was involved, but we can’t get a picture that’s good enough for the ID of Denton and Greenwood. It’s apparent that the driver and his passenger have either their hoods up or hats on,’ said John.

‘Well, probably isn’t going to be good enough for CPS. We need to ensure that we have the evidence to show there’s no doubt,’ Dylan snapped.

‘And where did they get the Subaru from? Was it stolen?’

‘No bought, cash, sir. I checked it out, it’s legit,’ said PC Whitworth.

Dylan shook his head. ‘Well the cash must have been stolen or they’ve sold some stolen gear; any reports of a large amount of money going missing?’ There was a sea of shaking heads before him. ‘Come on, we’re not talking peanuts here are we? I mean how much does a brand spanking new Subaru cost?’ The room’s occupants remained silent. Dylan sighed. ‘I’m also hearing that there’s someone asking about Denton and Greenwood on the Greenaway Estate. I thought it was Graham Tate, he makes no bones about the fact that he wants revenge, which is understandable but the description that John’s snout has given us is definitely not him.’

‘What about Stevenson?’ asked Taylor, ‘or Donald Harvey? He didn’t hesitate in attacking Stevenson in broad daylight at his mother’s funeral.’

‘The answer my friends lies within a small group of people that are possibly connected, so we need to dig deep to find the evidence to connect them and prove who did what. If you’re telling me we need more people looking at CCTV tapes then let’s get on with it,’ Dylan stressed.

The meeting ended with Dylan feeling frustrated. He walked down the corridor to his office like a man on a mission. He could hear Taylor’s heels clicking on the lino as she followed him. The likelihood that Denton and Greenwood were responsible for the car incidents was looking good and Stevenson was looking more like a fraudster than a murderer; but what connected Stevenson to Denton and Greenwood?

‘Taylor,’ Dylan said without stopping or glancing back. ‘Chase the financial investigation team up on Stevenson. Tell them I want a result in the next seventy-two hours and I don’t want any excuses.’

‘Sure, but you know what they’re like,’ she panted, as she tried to match his pace.

‘Look, just do it, please, will you. Or do I have to do everything myself?’ Dylan said stopping at Taylor’s desk in the incident room. Taylor dropped into her chair. ‘I’m on with it aren’t I?’ she said, raising her eyebrows at Vicky who sat sedately opposite her.

Dylan walked the few paces to his office.

‘Want a coffee, sir?’ shouted Vicky.

Dylan slammed his door shut.

‘Guess that will be a no-thank-you then, Vicky,’ she mumbled.

Dylan opened his door. ‘Yes, please,’ he said, in a softer voice, ‘and about time too,’ he smiled. It made him so angry when he knew who was responsible for a crime but he had to wait for the results of enquiries to come in. No singular person or department ever seemed to have any urgency unless they were being paid overtime. He wanted these incidents wrapped up – and he wanted them wrapped up now.

‘Dylan,’ he snapped, snatching up the ringing phone.

‘Somebody sounds grumpy,’ said Jen.

‘I’m just busy, that’s all,’ he sighed.

‘Shall I ring back?’

‘No, no, I’m sorry Jen,’ he sighed with his head in his hand. ‘It just pisses me off. I just need that bit of concrete evidence to get these three jobs sorted. I can feel it in my bones that we’re on the right track.’

‘Jack you’re letting things get to you and you know yourself it’s making you grumpy. You’re tired, it’s not helping that you’re not getting your sleep and people won’t like you for it, you know.’

‘Sorry, but I’m not here to be liked,’ he said sulkily as he put down the phone.

Paperwork: Dylan looked at his in-tray in dismay. The pile must be at least eighteen inches high and he needed to clear it. With the mood he was in it seemed like a good time. Shredder at the ready, he took the first piece of paper off the top and stared at the subject matter.

‘What? What the fuck is this?’ he said out loud as Vicky walked in with his cup of coffee in her hand and two biscuits.