White Lilies (22 page)

Donald Harvey had been on the south coast, visiting friends to update them on the death of his mother, he told Taylor and John. He seemed genuinely shocked when they informed him about the attack on Denton and Greenwood.

‘I’m sorry, if you want me to feel sympathy though mate, I can’t. What goes around comes around, as my mother used to say. Have you locked Stevenson up yet?’ he asked.

‘We’re actually trying to locate his whereabouts at the moment. Any ideas?’ asked John.

Donald Harvey shook his head. ‘He’s absconded? He’s done a runner, hasn’t he?’ he said, straightening up and looking into Taylor’s eyes with an expression – as much as to say
I told you so
.

Taylor nodded. ‘We’ll find him.’

‘Well doesn’t that just say it all?’ he said. ‘And when you do, let’s hope it’s not too late to save another poor biddy – and you recover some of my mother’s money too.’

Dylan’s arrival at the door of the ward where Greenwood was put a smile on the face of the uniform officer guarding him.

‘You okay?’ Dylan said, putting a hand on the officer's shoulder as he stood to greet him.

‘Yeah, it’s alright here, sir. I’m being well looked after by the nurses,’ he grinned.

‘I bet you are.’ Dylan smiled. Any change?’ he said, tilting his head in Greenwood’s direction.

No sooner had he spoken than he heard a man’s deep voice calling down the corridor from the nurse’s station.

‘Would your friend like a cuppa tea?’

‘Hey Gus,’ the uniformed officer called. ‘Come and meet my Inspector, who’s in charge of the investigation.’ Dylan’s face must have said it all. A male nurse was the last thing he expected after the officers comment.

‘Thrilled to meet you,’ said the nurse, smoothing the blue plastic apron that protected his uniform as he walked down the corridor towards them. Dylan offered his hand.

‘White coffee, one sugar would be nice. Is the staff nurse about?’ Dylan asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll get her for you. You want a top-up?’ he asked the officer as he took his empty cup.

‘No thanks mate,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll be peeing all day. But thanks for the offer.’

Never assume
, Dylan thought to himself as he smiled at the male nurse. What did he always tell others? His golden rule, assume nothing.’

‘See what I mean, sir.’

‘Mmm … I’d prefer women myself,’ he grinned.

The staff nurse appeared and Gus left to make the drink. She was a buxom woman with kindly eyes. ‘Staff Nurse O’Grady, Inspector. Now how can I be helping you?’ she said in a strong Irish accent as he held her soft, chubby hand in his.

‘Jack Dylan, I wonder if we can have a chat about Greenwood and his injuries?’

‘Dr Thomas is on his rounds but if you’d like to come along to my office?’ she said throwing an infectious smile in Dylan’s direction. ‘We can have a little chat over that cuppa and I’ll see if I can find a biscuit.’

‘I’ll follow you then,’ he said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Staff Nurse O’Grady flopped onto a chunky, low, cushioned seat in the staff room.

‘Blessed chairs, once I get into these buggers I’ve one hell of a job getting out,’ she said. The telephone rang and, apologising to him, she leaned over the back of the chair to lift the receiver. The male nurse brought in Dylan’s coffee and at the same time a young-looking female nurse came to the doorway with something in her hand. Seeing Staff Nurse O’Grady on the phone she waited, patiently. Dylan looked at her and smiled.

‘They used to say in my younger days that if you wanted to look busy you should walk around with a piece of paper in your hand,’ Dylan said in a hushed tone. She giggled.

‘Everything needs a signature,’ she said, as a rosy glow crossed her elfin face.

‘Protocol eh? How much more time would we have if we didn’t have to fill in all the damn forms?’

She nodded in agreement. From where Dylan was seated he could see the hustle and bustle of the nurse’s station beyond and it reminded him of the police enquiry office. The staff members were obviously busy going about their own personal duties and yet there was no panic. The overall atmosphere of the place exuded an ambience of peace and relaxation.

He had had occasion to investigate rogue nurses, and likewise rogue policemen. There was always one bad apple; the proverbial black sheep, but they were few and far between, he conceded. Staff Nurse O’Grady interrupted his thoughts as she beckoned the nurse over and signed the paperwork. She took a package from her hand. The nurse left with a backward glance and a smile.

‘Dr Thomas won’t be long now... in fact.’ Staff Nurse O’Grady cupped her ear and they both stopped and listened. Dylan could hear the heavy sound of a man’s step walking towards the room, ‘… that’s him now. Metal segs in his shoes, always gives him away.’

Dylan had expected a stooped, grey haired older man with half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose. How wrong could he be? Dr Thomas was a tall robust young man with a curly mop of blonde hair and ruddy cheeks. In fact Dr Thomas looked like a surfer. His handshake was such that Dylan thought he was about to dislocate his shoulder.

‘Mr Greenwood’s nurse tells me you want to know about his injuries,’ he said, perching on Staff Nurse O’Grady chair arm.

‘Yes please, if you’ve got the time,’ said Dylan, taking his notebook out of his jacket pocket.

‘Well,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘some injuries were superficial due to the fact that they hadn’t penetrated deeply into the young man’s body and those luckily missed vital organs and major arteries. However, others slipped through the rib cage and deflated his left lung. One caught the edge of his liver and spleen, which caused a vast amount of blood loss and pretty much a blood bath internally as well as externally.’ He sighed.

Dylan looked up from his notes.

‘One injury went through his calf muscle right to the bone where we recovered a fragment of metal.’

Dylan’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘From the weapon used?’

‘I would have thought so. Do you have the weapon he was attacked with?’

‘Not yet, but when we do that’ll prove to be an excellent piece of evidence for us,’ Dylan said with gusto. ’What state is he in at the moment?’

‘His vital signs are good. We’ve placed him on a life support machine to allow his body to deal with the injuries and the shock. He should survive however, he’s likely to be left with some disabilities and what they’ll be, we don’t know as yet. He’s still on our critical list and at this moment in time his life is in the lap of his God – if he has one.’

Staff Nurse O’Grady crossed herself, got her rosary beads out of her pocket and kissed them. Dr Thomas smiled at her.

‘We all pray,’ he said with a smile.

‘I know you’ll think I’m being impatient and downright insensitive,’ Dylan said. ‘But what sort of timescales are we looking at before you take him off the machine, to see if he can hold his own?’

Dr Thomas screwed his face up in thought. ‘Mmm …’

‘He may have seen his attacker or have an idea who it was, you see,’ said Dylan.

‘I understand your frustration, but I’m afraid it’s likely to be another fourteen days at least.’

Dylan’s face grew glum. ‘We also want to speak to him about a serious sexual assault and a couple of road deaths too, so when and if he pulls through he’ll be arrested and taken from the hospital to the police cells. Until then, we’ll have to guard him.’

Dr Thomas and Staff Nurse O’Grady looked at each other.

‘His future’s not good whichever way you look at it, is it?’ said Dr Thomas. 'But let us do our bit and if, or as soon as he’s able, we’ll gladly release him into your hands. Believe me, we need the beds, don’t we Staff Nurse?’ he said, standing up and offering his hand to Dylan. ‘If that’s all, I must be going. I’ve a clinic in a few minutes.’

‘Of course, thank you for your time Dr Thomas and Staff Nurse O’Grady,’ Dylan said, handing Nurse O’Grady his cup that she placed on the table beside her.

‘Come on old girl,’ grinned the doctor as he offered Staff Nurse O’Grady the use of his hand to help pull her out of the chair.

‘It’ll come to you both one-day,’ she groaned, as she took the hand gratefully.

‘Inspector,’ she called out to Dylan as he headed out of the staff room. He took the few paces back down the corridor and put his head round the doorframe.

‘You’ll be wanting this?’ she said, handing him the package the nurse had brought her. Dylan frowned.

‘The piece of metal we found in Billy Greenwood’s leg.’

‘Marvellous.’ said Dylan with a smile. 'We’ll need a statement. I’ll get an officer here to take it.’

Staff Nurse O’Grady smiled. ‘It’s already done, here,’ she said. ‘See how efficient we are.’

Dylan walked out into the fresh air
. As he did so he saw the directional sign for the maternity department.

Guess where I am
? He texted Jen.

The mortuary
?


Nope,
he smiled.
Give up?

Yes.

The maternity unit.

You’re a bit early for that love
.


Passing the main entrance, Dylan caught sight of two women who looked as though they were about to give birth any moment, in their dressing gowns, sharing a cigarette. Not a good advert for rearing children, but who was he to condemn them. If that’s the drug they needed to cope with their life, he wouldn’t be the man to point the finger. How could he, a reformed smoker himself?

He reflected for a moment as he started the engine of his car. In his youth, when smoking was in fashion, it was advertised as much as chocolate. Every household had an ashtray or two and the ones in the CID offices were always overflowing with cigarette butts. The ring marks from coffee cups marked each and every wood-grained desktop that had scorch marks along the edge where cigarettes had been left to burn out. Ashtrays in the police cars were always full and everyone and everything smelt of smoke now he thought about it, but he hadn’t noticed that they had until he’d stopped smoking himself, how strange.

Cigarettes were more available than biscuits in the office in the past and everyone always had a light, be it a lighter for the well-off or a match. Personally, he always used to smoke a cigarette last thing at night and one first thing in a morning. When the pressure was on at work the total of his nicotine fix could rise to sixty a day. He smiled as he remembered one of the greatest teachers he had ever had at Detective training school would smoke throughout his lesson. None of the students were allowed, mind, and by the end of the day the overhead projector resembled a birthday cake with a hundred candles of tab ends stood upon it.

Dylan was always reminiscing these days; it must mean he was getting old, he pondered. But what he didn’t regret was kicking the habit, especially now they had a little one on the way.

He looked at the package on the seat next to him, put the gear stick into reverse and manoeuvred the car out of the parking space. His next job was to see this fragment of metal that could link the murder weapon to its owner, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the nick.

His telephone rang. He cursed it as he pulled into a side road and stopped to answer it. ‘Jack Dylan,’ he growled.

‘Boss, John; Graham Tate’s arrived back at his home. Our information tells us that he’s drunk.’

Dylan grunted. ‘Well, that was expected I suppose. Least we know where he is.’

‘I’m getting a team together to go and see him.'

‘I’m on my way to the nick. Keep me updated,’ Dylan said, as he hung up.

In the privacy of his office, Dylan sat at his desk holding the small plastic tube and stared at the coveted minute piece of metal recovered from Billy Greenwood's body. He could see very little. The fragment couldn’t have been much bigger than a pinhead. Forensics would put this under the microscope to examine and photograph it. A blown up version of that picture would hopefully give him the start to a puzzle.

He could hear voices from the adjoining office and it didn’t take long before the banter between Vicky and Lisa became a loud exchange.

‘How’s it going, you two? Anything startling come from Stevenson’s house?’

The room before long resembled a makeshift store of Stevenson’s property in clear and brown bags of all shapes and sizes. Some looked full to bursting, others contained a single document.

‘There’s been a lot of shredding going on,’ Vicky said. ‘And,’ she said, coming into his office, leaning over his desk and looking into Dylan’s eyes. ‘He hasn’t got a hamster that he needed bedding for.’

‘There’s a lot of post that we brought with us and we’re just gonna start to sift through it all,’ said Lisa with a big sigh, as Dylan saw her empty a black bin liner full of unopened mail onto her desk.

‘What do you think he’s shredded? Give me an example, Vicky?’

‘Well, in a pile next to the shredder were forms for investments, equity release papers, cheques. No cash though.’

‘He’ll have taken that with him.’

Dylan’s phone rang and he stopped her with the raising of his hand, to pick it up.

‘Boss, Graham Tate has barricaded the front door. We’re now at the back of the house. The door is slightly open and it leads into the kitchen. We can see him through the gap and we’re at a stand-off. He says he’s turned the gas ring on and is threatening to strike a match.’

‘Put them down or I’ll force entry and use the CS Spray,’ Dylan heard a female shout.

‘Who the hell’s that threatening him?’

‘Taylor,’ said John.

‘Tell her to back off at once and get everybody away from the door as a matter of urgency.’

‘Taylor.’ John shouted, so loud that Dylan thought the noise would burst his eardrum. ‘The boss says out. That means now,’ he screamed at the top of his voice. Taylor glared at her colleague but moved reluctantly.

‘What’s the situation now?’ Dylan asked, calmly.

‘Taylor’s in the back garden and I’ve got uniform at the front stopping anyone coming near.’

‘Okay, let’s get everyone away from the house – and that includes you. Get the road blocked at both ends.’

‘Taylor,’ shouted John. ‘Tell the people up-front to block the road.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m moving out of back garden now, but I could see him clearly through the partially open glass door from where I was stood. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop, drinking from a bottle. He’s definitely pissed.’

‘Okay, I’m on my way. In the meantime, make sure everybody keeps at a safe distance from the house. If he strikes a match or puts a light on you’ll have an almighty explosion that might take more than his house. Get Control to get the uniform Inspector down there to evacuate nearby houses and get the fire brigade, ambulance and the gas board there too. Let’s see if we can turn the bloody gas off in the street and hope he goes unconscious with enough of whatever he’s drinking before he kills himself or anyone else. Be with you shortly,’ Dylan said.

A major incident was well and truly lying at Dylan’s feet, thrown at him from afar like a hand-grenade minus its pin. He knew the press would love it and the TV would be there before him if they got wind of it. Driving at speed, Dylan was soon at the scene. All the emergency services were at the designated ‘safe place’ of a rendezvous point. He was relieved to see the gas board van.

Inspector Mark Baggs greeted Dylan. ‘Jack, I’ve briefed ambulance and fire teams. They are happy to stand by should they be required. The gas board have been to the front of the house and turned the gas supply off, so hopefully, with his kitchen door open – which it still is I am told from an observation point – the gas should disperse quickly. The people we’ve evacuated are making their way to the community centre. They’re not pleased, but are they ever?’ he grimaced. ‘At least they’re safe.’

‘Good, thanks Mark. It’s nice to know the scene is under control. It feels like a promotion board scenario doesn’t it?’ he smiled at the uniformed officer.

‘Your female DS is over there with the press and TV,’ Mark Baggs said pointing towards Taylor.

Dylan glanced in her direction and shook his head. ‘That woman should be in the PR department, not CID,’ he said. ‘No matter, I haven’t got time to deal with her now, I’ll have to see if my negotiating skills can get through to Tate first.’

‘The gas board personnel tell me they’re not getting any strong readings of gas outside. He’s all yours Jack. Good luck,’ said Mark.

Dylan walked under the blue and white police taped cordon and he set off down the street. The smell of gas lingered.

‘I suggested she wait for you, boss,’ John said, as he nodded in Taylor’s direction. ‘Can I come with you?’

Dylan nodded. ‘There was no way Taylor is listening to me today,’ he said, exasperation clear in his voice. ‘She’s been off on one all day. Like a dog on heat.’

‘Do you know what she’s told them?’ Dylan asked as the men reached the path together.

‘No, I heard her mention the recent murder and that’s when I created some distance between us. I thought if she was digging her way into a hole then there was only room for one.’

‘Sensible chap. Okay, let’s go and survey the situation.’

The two walked down the side of the house in silence.

Taylor stood with her back to Dylan, preening, as she busily fed the hungry press. Dylan left her to it. He couldn’t do anything to save her now. If she’d said anything untoward she would have to learn the hard way. He had a more pressing engagement with a suicidal, drunken man who might have already killed one person and seriously injured another.

John followed Dylan. The kitchen door was still open, but the blind on the windows to the right of the door was down. They stood for a moment and listened. No sound came from within. With bated breath, Dylan peered carefully inside. He could see Graham Tate slumped on the kitchen floor with his back against the kitchen units. He looked unconscious. Near him, an empty bottle lay on its side.

Dylan pushed the door slightly with his fingertips; it opened easily, giving him a clearer view. Dylan thought he could make out what looked like a cigarette lighter hanging limply from Tate's right hand. The smell of gas seemed stronger in the room. Graham Tate wasn’t moving, but a sudden jerk of alertness and he could strike the lighter.

‘Have you got some handcuffs with you John?’ Dylan whispered.

‘Yeah, what’re you thinking?’

‘Well, I can’t negotiate with someone who’s out cold. I’ll go in quietly and try to grab that lighter from his hand. You follow me and try to cuff him at the same time.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Only if it works,’ Dylan grimaced as he inhaled deeply. ‘Here goes.’ On tiptoes and with bated breath, the two walked towards the drunken man. One flick of the lighter and they could all go up.

Everything was deathly quiet. The floor was lino and the soles of Dylan’s shoes could be heard squeakily peeling themselves off and on it as he walked toe to heel. He stopped and scowled. He looked down at his shoelaces; there wasn’t time to take his shoes off.

With one leap, Dylan launched himself forward and grabbed the lighter. Tate stirred and mumbled something incoherently. John swung the handcuffs from his pocket and used every ounce of bodily strength to put Graham Tate on the floor and cuff him.

The two men glanced at each other, relief evident in their faces. Sweat was visible on the brows. Graham Tate was truly out of it as he lay face-down on the lino, his mouth open wide.

‘Perhaps, it’s not just drink John. He might have taken something else. Get the ambulance crew here, will you?’ Dylan said as he reached out to turn the knobs back to their off position on the cooker. His head was pounding and the palms of his hands were slick with sweat.

The paramedics were quickly in the house, their blaze of green suits a welcome sight. An out of breath Taylor Spiers appeared at the kitchen door. Putting her hand around the doorjamb she reached for the light switch.

‘STOP,’ Dylan screamed reaching out to slap Taylor’s hand away. John and the paramedics, who were down on their haunches, froze.

‘I was only going to put the light on so you could see better,’ Taylor said. Her bottom lip trembled as she rubbed her pained hand vigorously.

‘Don’t you realise that a little spark from that switch could still blow us all to smithereens? You stupid woman. Can’t you still smell the gas? Open the blinds and the windows,’ Dylan shouted, his heart still in his mouth.

Taylor’s hands were shaking as she pulled open the blinds. She would never, ever forgive Dylan for his embarrassing outburst.

‘I’m pretty sure it’s probably just alcohol,’ said the Paramedic. ‘We’ll take him to the hospital to run some tests though, just to be sure.’

Dylan nodded. ‘Shall I go with him boss, for continuity?’ asked John.

‘Yeah, do that. There are some nice nurses up there,’ Dylan said with the ghost of a smile on his blanched face.

‘Really?’ John said, ‘very accommodating?’

‘Really,’ Dylan nodded.

Dylan put his hand on the worktop to steady himself. There beneath his fingers was a note that read:
I HAD TO DO IT. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR ME IN THIS WORLD
.

Dylan quickly pulled his hand back and pointed to the scrap of paper, ‘Just be aware and seize it will you Taylor.’

Following the ambulance staff John turned and looked at Dylan. ‘The press are still outside, sir.’

‘Taylor, what did you tell them?’ Dylan asked.

‘I just tried to keep them satisfied, sir, that’s all,’ she said.

‘I didn’t ask you that. I said, what did you tell them?’

‘Just that we were investigating the murder of Danny Denton and we needed to speak to Mr Tate to eliminate him.’

Dylan let out his held breath. ‘And that’s all?’

Taylor nodded her head.

‘For a moment there…’ he dropped his head to his chest. ‘Okay,’ he said looking up, ‘while we’re in the house, let’s get a team here and search to see if there’s anything to connect Graham Tate to Denton or Greenwood. I’ll see you back at the debrief.

'Taylor, I’ve had to deal with the aftermath of someone simply switching the lights on, which caused a massive explosion and serious injury to one of my colleagues. My outburst was instinctive.’

Walking back up the street he saw the local reporters with their cameras in tow.

‘What’s the update Dylan?’ called one.

‘Give us the story,’ called another.

‘There isn’t a story, yet,’ he smiled, stopping to speak to them.

‘Alright, look, you’re aware of the accident outside Mothercare a few weeks ago?’

The men and women of the press stood quietly.

‘That was Graham Tate’s wife and son.’ The observers nodded in unison. Their expectant faces reminded him of vultures waiting at a dying animal’s side.

‘The car that killed them was reported stolen and the registered owner was found murdered a few days ago.’

Their eager faces were frozen in anticipation. ‘Well, Mr Tate is understandably depressed and we just needed to eliminate him from our enquiries, which is why we came here today. On arrival, we found him unconscious.’ A wave of moans waved through the crowd.

‘Let’s face it,’ Dylan grimaced. ‘It’s only one line of enquiry that’s ongoing and there’s no more to tell you at this moment in time. I honestly wish there was,’ Dylan reiterated to their disappointed faces.

Striding purposefully towards his car, he dialled Jen’s number.

‘Today’s briefing may go on longer than usual, love,’ he said, which she instinctively knew meant yet another long and lonely night.