White Lilies (19 page)

Danny Denton’s body was as pale as the mortuary slab he was laid on. The fatal wound now cleaned, Dylan could see how close he had really been to being beheaded. It wasn’t a sight for the faint-hearted. A body in a mortuary seemed more clinical to Dylan, whereas at the scene it looked like something out of a macabre horror film.

‘Guess where I am?’ he said to Jen as she answered his phone call.

‘Too easy,’ she said. ‘About now, I guess you’ll be in the mortuary. How’s it going?’ she asked.

‘Slowly, very slowly,’ he said, taking a seat as he waited for the pathologist. ‘Our two main suspects weren’t at home,’ he said groaning, as he stifled a yawn.

‘You sound a bit flat,’ she said.

‘I am. I was looking forward to a day off with you just as much as you were.’

‘Then I guess I’m lucky, because you miss me just as much as I miss you,’ she said.

Dylan grimaced. ‘I treasure our time together too, you know. When something happens like this there is no warning, is there? We lose weeks out of our lives. But more than that.’ ‘I know, but I’m fine, honestly.’

‘Just to hear your voice lifts me,’ he said with a disappearing smile.

‘And just knowing that you feel like that, believe it or not, makes it bearable,’ she said.

‘So will you be okay?’

‘Course I’ll be okay,’ she smiled, rubbing her aching back. ‘Keep in touch.’

‘Yeah, gotta go, it looks like we’re about to start the lovely process,’ said Dylan sarcastically.

‘Love you,’ she whispered as she replaced the phone. She loved the way he cared about her. It made her feel warm, safe and content. She listened to the other girls at work and their turbulent relationships. Dylan and her rarely had a cross word. If they did, it was through their disappointment because they had to cancel something they were looking forward to, because of work, always work.

The post mortem began and Dylan’s attention was immediately brought to the fading numbers written on Danny’s arm. Vicky was writing down the digits on her notepad. From their position, it looked as if they had been written by a third party. The sound of a click from the camera held at the arm told Dylan it was being photographed.

‘Vicky, do the necessary will you and see what enquiries you can make of them,’ Dylan whispered.

The rest of the examination was quick, clean and straightforward, with necessary samples taken and cause of death given as loss of blood due to the throat being cut which had severed the jugular vein. Two hours had passed and Dylan was pleased that the home office pathologist had been available for it to be done immediately. The formal ID would have to be done later by family, if any could be traced, or by his fingerprints held at the station.

Back in the tranquillity of his office Dylan sat quietly tucking into his fish, battered sausage, chips and curry sauce, followed by a can of diet coke. Not a healthy diet, he conceded as he burped loudly, but it tasted mighty good. He wiped his greasy hands on his handkerchief and gave a satisfied sigh as Vicky walked into the office with a cup of steaming coffee.

‘Have the search team come across a mobile phone at Denton and Greenwood’s flat, do you know?’ Dylan asked.

‘No, sir not as far as I’m aware, but they haven’t searched their car yet,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘How the hell can you eat all that after seeing that disgusting sight?’

‘It’s called hunger,’ he replied. ‘I suppose they haven’t found a weapon either?

‘Any luck with the phone number written on Danny Denton’s arm?’

Vicky shook her head. ‘No, it’s a mobile and it’s either switched off or the battery’s gone,’ she said, turning to leave the room.

‘Come on,’ he muttered tapping his fingers rhythmically on his desk as he booted up his computer to check for messages. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now, not tomorrow. Dylan snatched up his ringing phone.

‘Boss, John. It appears Graham Tate set off to Scotland for a couple of days fishing in the early hours according to his father-in-law. Mrs Carter confirms Mr Carter was at home all evening.’

‘Who’s he gone with?’

‘A couple of lads from the building site where he works, seemingly, Mr Carter doesn’t know their names but he thinks they’ll be doing more drinking than fishing. Graham has apparently turned to alcohol for comfort since the accident. I’ve got a mobile number for him but I’m not getting a response.’

‘Okay John, get your people back here and we’ll have an update, re-group and see where we’re going next. There are still others to eliminate.’

Taylor had had no joy with Donald Harvey either; she told Dylan as she slumped into his office and threw her exhausted body in his visitor’s chair. ‘He’s not at his mum’s address and no one has seen him in the village since the funeral,’ she said, despondently.

Dylan had experienced days like this before.

‘For some strange reason we always seem to expect people to be home when we call and surprised to find they aren’t. It’s bloody frustrating I know, but once everyone’s back we’ll have a debrief to see exactly where each enquiry has got to.

'We need to let everyone know what’s happening, who’s been traced, and who hasn’t, and what lines of enquiry are available. We need to keep the ball rolling.’

The team pulled up chairs and leaned on desks and filing cabinets for the de- brief. The CID room was full and noisy.

‘We got a relatively recent picture of Mildred Sykes now which I’ll circulate. I know you’ll have seen the scene photographs and those of the post-mortem, but it is nice to put a face to the lady’s name isn’t it?’

Lisa stood and passed the pictures round.

‘Now we know that we’ve positively identified debris recovered from Denton and Greenwood’s garage as being from the offending vehicle at Grace Harvey’s incident so it’s highly likely it was them that mowed her down. White lilies were sent to her by Brian Stevenson for her birthday and were also laid upon her coffin at her funeral by her son.

'Mildred Sykes’s decomposed body was found at her home. She was murdered by way of a violent head injury. Brian Stevenson was both Grace and Mildred’s financial advisor and a visitor to both their homes. We know by his own admission that he sent flowers to Mildred Sykes by way of a thank you for her business. The lady at the florist from where they were purchased has confirmed now that they were white lilies.

‘The clock that was seized in Denton and Greenwood’s flat; have we had a close look yet? If not, make it a priority.’ Dylan said going back to his notes.

‘Then we have Bridey and her young son Toby, killed outside Mothercare, Denton and Greenwood’s car is involved we know but they alleged that it was stolen beforehand but only after it was found burnt out. Flowers at their funeral were white lilies.

'Denton and Greenwood also feature again in a rape allegation of the thirteen-year-old girl named Pam Forrester whose mother owns the florists where Brian Stevenson purchases flowers; also possibility of access to white lilies for Bill Forrester too. Have we located Tim Whitworth?’ asked Dylan.

‘Yes sir,’ said Sergeant Palmer.

‘Thank God we’ve been able to find someone,’ Dylan said sarcastically.

‘Let’s just say he’s nursing a very painful hangover, sir.’ he said. ‘He turned up at home this morning and we hope to verify his whereabouts last night, later today,’ Sergeant Palmer continued. Vicky nodded knowingly.

A wave of laughter went around the room.

‘Okay everyone, quiet,’ Dylan said taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s keep at it. John, Taylor, a quick word, please before you disappear,’ he said. The officers and civilian staff filed out of the room as Dylan took Taylor and John to one side. ‘It may be that Pam Forrester can tell us a lot more than she has about Denton and Greenwood and their movements and acquaintances etcetera. I’d like a timeline created so we can show when they were seen and who they spoke to.’

‘I’ll talk to Pam,’ said Taylor.

‘Good, Taylor; Denton and Greenwood’s phone number would be helpful from her phone and we need her mobile if we haven’t already seized it. The technical boys could get on with tracking their movements and calls for us if we get them.’

‘We’re on with it boss,’ they said in unison.

‘I really appreciate your efforts even if I don’t show it sometimes,’ he said, smiling wanly.

Dylan knew he had to get his head down and catch up with the policy logs and ensure all the actions on the enquiries were recorded for the incident room. There was no doubt about it; the recurring theme with all these deaths was Denton, Greenwood and white lilies.

Jen was fast asleep, her head neatly tucked under the duvet. It made Dylan smile as he looked upon her lovingly; goodness knew how she slept comfortably in that position. Due to her ever-increasing waistline, she had taken to putting a pillow under her knee and her stomach as she rested on her side.

She was right, he frowned. He did smell when he’d been to the mortuary, he thought, as he caught the pungent aroma that emanated from his jacket as he hung it on the plinth above the wardrobe. Although he felt weary, he headed for the shower. The lukewarm water’s deeply penetrating force roused him and, stepping out of the shower, he felt refreshed.

He towelled himself dry then, quietly turning out the light, he walked the few steps to the bed in the darkness and lifted the duvet before climbing into bed. He slid across the mattress and cuddled up close to Jen, she felt lovely and warm and he moaned with pleasure as he nuzzled in close to her. Kissing her shoulder he closed his eyes. His hand rested on her stomach and for a moment he was sure he felt the stirrings of the baby.

‘Get used to this little one,’ he whispered. ‘Your daddy comes home from work at very strange hours of night and day.’ Jen didn’t wake, but stirred momentarily.

He sighed with contentment as he lay quietly in the darkness. His mind raced through all the information it had stored throughout the day. Vicky had retrieved Danny Denton’s mobile phone number eventually so Taylor could get started with that enquiry tomorrow.

John Benjamin had been unable to speak to Bill Forrester as he had left the family home for a golf tournament the night before. Genuine excuse and a pre-planned holiday, he contemplated? Only time and enquiries would tell. As for Billy Greenwood, he was out of theatre they had been told and in an induced coma; a state the doctor said they would leave him in for seventy-two hours. He needed a police guard, which meant more expense, he turned over onto his back to try to get comfortable and stared up at the ceiling. Sleep would not come. Forensics, fingerprints, and process, he chanted in his head, as he felt himself falling into oblivion.

The bright morning sun shone through the yellow bedroom curtains and lit up the whole room. Jen nibbled Dylan’s ear, playfully. He screwed up his sleepy face. ’Stop it Max,’ he moaned, keeping his eyes tightly closed. Jen squeezed him round his midriff, giggling.

‘What time did you get in? I sort of half-heard you, but couldn’t for the life of me wake up.’

Dylan turned on his back and he lifted his arm so she could lay her head on his chest. ‘I wasn’t too late but you were snoring your head off,’ he smiled. She lifted her head and looked at him with a furrowed brow.

‘I do not snore,’ she said indignantly.

He kissed her forehead. ‘You so do.’ he exclaimed. She tapped him lovingly on his chest.

‘I left my clothes in the washing basket, so if it reeks of formaldehyde you know why.’

‘You smell nice now,’ she said, snuggling her face into his upper body.

‘And you feel nice,’ he replied with a groan as he squeezed her buttocks.

‘You rushing off this morning?’ Jen murmured.

‘Not now I’m not,’ he said, smiling down at her upturned face as he pulled the bedcovers over their heads.

Dylan felt more relaxed as he entered the police station than he had done when he’d left. The incident room was buzzing and as he walked towards his open office door he saw Sergeant Palmer sat waiting for him inside.

‘Sir,’ he said, with a cough as he stood when Dylan entered. Dylan nodded and motioned for him to sit. ‘I’ve spoken to a woman who was drinking with Tim Whitworth last night.’

‘And?’ Dylan said with a puzzled look on his face. He threw his briefcase on the floor beside his desk and took off his jacket that he placed around the back of his chair.

‘It appears Tim spent the night with her after he accompanied her home from work. She wasn’t very complimentary about him, in fact she said she thought he was a pathetic loser, who moaned about his wife until he collapsed, drunk, on her kitchen floor and that’s where she found him when she woke this morning. So I think it’s safe to say we can probably eliminate him.’ Sergeant Palmer nodded.

‘You’d better contact the welfare department as a matter of urgency.’ Dylan said pulling out his chair to sit behind his desk.

‘Ah, she’ll have looked after him,’ he said. Vicky knocked on the door and walked in.

‘He’s had a lucky escape then,’ Dylan said, taking his morning mail from Vicky’s outstretched hand.

‘Oh, yeah he was lucky alright, there’s a lot worse than her about,’ said Sergeant Palmer.

‘Worse than who?’ asked Vicky.

‘Some woman that Whitworth spent the night with, that’s all. Sergeant Palmer’s dealing,’ Dylan said absentmindedly as he pressed the button to boot up his computer.

‘Get a statement did you?’ Dylan asked Sergeant Palmer.

‘She was working sir, so I’ve arranged to see her later at her home address,’ Sergeant Palmer mumbled.

‘Okay, Sergeant Palmer let me have it for the file ASAP, please.’

Sergeant Palmer coughed, again. ‘I will, sir,’ he said getting to his feet and walking to the door. Holding the door handle, he turned. ‘Oh, by the way she did say his shirt was covered in blood when he turned up at the restaurant where she works, sir.’

‘What?’ Dylan shouted, looking up from his work wide eyed. ‘How’d that happen?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake. We’ll need his clothes to eliminate him and that means whether he’s washed them or not – and I want a statement from him regarding his movements on the night in question under caution, if he can remember, that is. Everything needs to be covered. Belt and braces, do you understand?’

‘Of course sir, leave it to me,’ Sergeant Palmer said as he quickly turned and walked out of the door. Dylan shook his head.

‘The phone number written on Denton’s arm is a girl’s named Sharon McDonald, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ve spoken to her on the phone.’

Vicky had Dylan’s full attention. ‘She’s just told me Danny Denton and Billy Greenwood were in McDonalds yesterday and she was due to be meeting them today. I’m just off to get the CCTV tape, I’ll get it copied then go see her again,’ she said with a smile.

‘Great, keep me posted,’ said Dylan with a sigh and a shake of his head.

‘Sure boss,’ she said sweeping out of the office.

‘Oh, Vicky.’ he called. But he had a feeling his voice fell on deaf ears, as there were more than one phone ringing in the incident room.

‘You want something?’ Taylor asked as she walked passed his open office door.

Dylan shook his head. ‘Nah, it doesn’t matter,’ he said.

‘Well, something’s brought a smile to your face this morning,’ she said flashing her eyelashes at him.

‘Contrary to what you think, Taylor, I do smile occasionally,’ he said. ‘Now have we sorted out Pam Forrester’s mobile so we can plot our pair’s movements and contacts?’

‘No, not yet but I’m on with it.’

‘Good, as soon as, then eh?’ he said returning to his paperwork.

‘I told the Liz in the press office last night I’d update her today.’

‘Oh, you did, did you? Does Denton or Greenwood have next of kin that we know of?’

‘No. Shall I make you a coffee?’ she asked.

‘Yes, thanks,’ he said.

Taylor wiggled hips that barely fitted into her tight blue skirt at Dylan as she left the office. Looking over her shoulder to see if he was watching, she gave him a smile.

Dylan texted Jen,
Thinking of you
, he wrote.

Taylor returned carrying both cups precariously in one hand as she finished a call on her mobile.

‘Ah,’ she winced as she put Dylan’s steaming coffee cup on his desk in front of him. She sat down opposite and crossed her legs. ‘Motorway have just stopped Stevenson’s Porsche on the M1, one male inside. I’m just waiting for an officer to call me back to confirm the driver’s details.’

‘Excellent. At last one of our suspects in the net.’

Taylor’s phone rang and on answering it she listened intently. Dylan stared into the blank expression on her face. She ended the call. ‘Bad news,’ she said. ‘It’s not him.’

Dylan ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘Who the hell is it?’

‘An Asian businessman who checks out. He bought the car yesterday.’

‘Stevenson is circulated. All ports mind. We need to speak to him and fast. Make sure he’s flagged up on PNC as wanted in connection to Mildred Sykes murder.’

‘On with it, boss,’ she said as she leapt up from her chair and glided out of the office.

His telephone rang, ‘Jack Dylan,’ he snapped.

‘CPS Inspector Dylan, Case Progression. I’m just confirming the date for R V Harold Wilkinson Little, your double child murderer at Sheffield Crown Court, a four-week space has been allocated.’

Dylan scrawled the date on his blotter.

‘The necessary notifications will be sent out to you shortly but I thought you’d appreciate the early call.’

‘Thank you, forewarned is forearmed as they say. I’ll let them know to diary it for relevant witnesses.’

The evidence was overwhelming and the sentence wouldn’t be much different either way, so there was only one conclusion to come to – that Little was making the families of the victims suffer still. He wanted to see for himself the pain on their faces in court and the distress he had caused them. Was his need for revenge so deep-rooted? Or was he just pure evil?

Now that Dylan had a date he would contact Dawn. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been in touch with her lately, but every time he reached for the phone he wondered what he was going to say to her. ‘How are you?’ He knew how she was. She was having treatment for postnatal depression. He felt sad, inadequate – there was nothing he could do or say to change her situation so he’d done what he always did when he didn’t know what to do and worked his socks off to blot it out.

John made him jump; he was deep in thought as he rushed into Dylan’s office. ‘Had a call from Graham Tate’s neighbour; he’s back. She’s keeping an eye out for us till we get there.’

‘Get round there at once,’ he ordered. ‘And invite him in for questioning. If he refuses, arrest him.'