White Lilies (9 page)

'But before we close the briefing I just want to let you know about a hit and run today that because of the injuries sustained is likely to prove to be a double fatal. It maybe whilst you’re out and about talking to people you hear something that’s relevant. Bridey Tate and her baby son Toby were run over outside Mothercare. The car was a red Ford Fiesta and it has been found on the moors burnt out. The owner has reported it stolen.

'Bridey and her son are on life support. The hospital, we are told, can do nothing for them due to the severity of the head injuries. Sadly, it looks like we will have a double fatal on our hands when the machines are turned off. It is believed there were two people in the offending car according to a witness. Feelings are understandingly running high and as you heard DC Hardacre say, Bridey’s husband is on his way to the hospital,’ he said morosely.

He left the room while Taylor briefed the team regarding the Grace Harvey fatal.

Graham Tate’s heart pounded like a drum. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins and he felt sick to his stomach. In his heavy heart, he knew that after this his life would never be the same.

He tried to comprehend the sight before him. There wasn’t a mark on his beautiful wife’s pale grey, lifeless looking face as she lay upon the hospital bed. There were tubes everywhere and beeping monitors. A starched white sheet covered her. Graham tentatively stroked the soft, smooth fingers of her uncovered hand.

His eyes prickled and then tears sprung forth. His vision blurred and the floodgates opened letting them bubble over and flow silently down his cheeks. A river of his tears now dripped unashamedly upon the front of his coat. He tried to brush them away with the back of his hand. ‘Why? Why? Why?’ he whispered, looking heavenward as he caught his breath and sobbed.

Hearing someone enter the room, he let go of Bridey’s hand, took a deep breath, put his chin to his chest and bit his lip to try control his display of emotion. Although he couldn’t see who it was, he heard the distinct patter of footsteps on the hospital floor. He sat on the chair next to the trolley and gripped his head in his hands tightly, trying to make the pain go away.

A hand was laid on his arm. ‘Can I get you anything? A drink perhaps?’ the nurse asked soothingly. He shook his head, he didn’t look at her; he couldn’t speak for the knot in his throat which felt like it was about to choke him. If he tried to utter a word, he knew it would release the beast within him, which he was afraid he would not be able to control. Instead, he concentrated on his rough, shovel-like hands and he gently picked up Bridey’s long dainty fingers in his once more.

‘If you need anything, anything at all, I’m just outside at the desk,’ the nurse said before she turned and walked quietly away. He wanted nothing, nothing but for this to be a bad dream.

‘Wait,’ he said. She stopped. He didn’t turn to face her. ‘Where’s Toby?’ he said. Closing his eyes and holding his breath, he waited for an answer.

‘I’m sure the doctors will come and see you in a moment,’ she said softly. ‘Is there anyone else…?’

‘No, no thank you,’ he said, quietly. Graham stood over his wife for a brief moment and held both her hands in his before putting his face to hers. ‘Please don’t leave me, I love you so much,’ he whispered kissing her lips.

Detective Sergeant John Benjamin was at the hospital with the Family Liaison Officer getting a brief resume from the paramedics and arranging with uniformed officers for statements to be taken. He was discreetly seizing Bridey’s clothing and personal belongings from the hospital staff when his telephone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to his companions as he stood aside to take Dylan’s call.

‘John, I’m going to have Danny Denton and Billy Greenwood’s flat turned over,’ he said. ‘I’ve been speaking to PC Whitworth and he has confirmed to me that he wasn’t happy with Denton but he had no evidence to keep him in.’

‘Okay, boss,’ John said.

‘Keep me updated from the hospital will you, I’ll have my mobile on.’

‘Maybe sooner than you think boss, it looks like the doctor is heading towards the room where Graham Tate is.’

‘Poor bugger, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes,’ said Dylan.

‘No, me neither,’ said John.

While some of Dylan’s team were making enquiries into Mildred Sykes’s murder, he took a handful of officers to lock up Danny Denton and Billy Greenwood and search their flat. The two youths needed to be placed in or out of the investigation once and for all and at the moment they were his prime suspects in the Bridey Tate hit and run enquiry.

Dylan stood looking up at the grey, sullen concrete monolithic block of council owned residences. What had once been deemed as ideal living for the masses was now nothing more than an urban eyesore of suffocating maisonettes piled on top of each other.

A man about Dylan’s age came up behind him without him noticing, so deep was his concentration.

‘I’ve been mugged twice,’ said the man to Dylan as he looked down at his walking stick. ‘Had my pelvis broken two years ago and it gets worse. I pay £53 a week for the privilege of having a flat with a two foot by four foot patch of soil outside my front door with a garden gnome and asthmatic rose bush,’ he said sullenly. Dylan didn’t know what to say so nodded instead.

‘I see the comings and goings of all the shit round here you know, but I also look at the boarded up windows of the flat across the street that was petrol-bombed last week. You’re not going to get anything out of folks round here mate, if that’s what you’re here for,’ he said before shuffling on his way.

A call from Dylan’s radio brought officers to his side from the nearby police cars. The assembled group climbed the stairs to the targeted flat. To be fair the flats were not the worst Dylan had seen. Some he had raided sported the metal grilles of a prison cell at the windows and doors. However, the stairs and landing leading to Flat seven were dark, smelly and vermin infested. On seeing the half glass entrance door to the flat Dylan was tempted to instruct his officers to take it off its hinges, which he knew would bring about an element of surprise – but on reflection he decided he might get more co-operation from the inhabitants if he adopted the softly, softly approach; to start with anyway. He needed solid evidence to enhance what the investigation team knew already. He knocked at the door and got an instant response.

‘What the fuck do you lot want?’ said Danny with a swagger. ‘You found out who nicked my car?’ he said, putting his nose to Dylan’s.

‘You sure your car was stolen?’ Dylan spat in reply. ‘You’re under arrest on suspicion of attempted murder,’ Dylan said pushing him back against the wall with a hand that gripped his shoulder.

‘What?’ Danny screeched. Officers pushed past Dylan and Danny in a military fashion to seek out Billy. One stopped alongside Dylan to handcuff Danny and escort him out to the waiting marked police car. Dylan then walked through to the lounge and watched Billy Greenwood’s jaw drop open as he was read his rights by a detective.

‘Check their pockets for keys then take them away,’ said Dylan to the officer as he walked Billy past him, leading the way with the cuffs. ‘Let’s search this shit hole.’

The flat screen TV in the corner of the room stood out to Dylan like a sore thumb and he ordered it to be seized immediately, along with anything else that looked out of place in the flat that resembled a doss house rather than a home. A scan with the ultraviolet light across the TV revealed a house number and a postcode.

'You see,’ he said, smiling. ‘It may not work very often but when it does it gives you a bloody good feeling, doesn’t it?’ he laughed. He knew further checks would tell them just who it belonged to.

The search team was thorough. They recovered an unexpectedly large amount of cash, tools and a key for a garage with a tag attached that read, No. 7, which would be their next point of call. Dylan held it smugly in his clenched fist. They also found a set of car keys, but for what car? Dylan pondered. They were on a new Subaru key fob. The car surely wouldn’t be far away. The search of the garage didn’t reveal much other than a few car parts, which were seized, bagged and tagged.

Now it was time to return to the nick and rattle the cages of Denton and Greenwood and see what dropped out of their interviews. Charging a person was complex. Although they had been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder, Dylan knew from experience that the charge was likely to be reduced to death by dangerous driving, even if it was proved they were in the car at the time of the hit and run accident. However before that the charge would be escalated to Murder if the accident proved fatal.

Next hurdle for them would be to prove which one of them was driving the car. Then, they had to show the passenger's involvement. Hopefully they would get the passenger charged for encouraging the driver to commit the crime. The team now had twenty four hours' detention of the men which wasn’t a great deal of time to complete the necessary investigation, but Dylan would be moving the investigation forward all the time, and that was all he could hope for at this stage.

Through his tears, Grahan saw the figures of two people in white coats walking down the corridor towards him, as if in slow motion. A nurse stood beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder as she settled him on a chair by the side of his wife. The surgeon bent down on his haunches in front of him. Graham held his wife’s hand in his tightly and screwed up his eyes. ‘Our son,’ he said quietly.

‘Mr Tate, I’m truly sor…’ he said. Graham heard himself shriek like an animal in pain. The doctor reached out to him and, staring at Graham now wide-eyed, he gulped before he continued. ‘Toby is being brought to you as we speak. I’m a procurement specialist; there is no easy way of saying this,’ he inhaled. ‘Your wife and child are clinically dead. They didn’t suffer. Neither regained consciousness.’

The nurse bent down and put her arms around Graham’s trembling body.

‘No,’ he wailed, flinging her to one side. ‘I need to see him,’ he begged. ‘I want him here with us,’ he sobbed, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he reached out into thin air.

‘Of course, Mr Tate, he’s on his way …’ the doctor said. ‘This seems so inadequate but I really am truly sorry for your loss.’

What seemed like seconds later, Graham saw Toby’s little lifeless body. He was swaddled in a white sheet. Graham’s tears had stopped. He felt numb. There was nothing outside the tiny, quiet, dimly lit hospital room that mattered to him. He looked into Toby’s face and gently kissed his tiny bow shaped pale lips that held a bluish tinge. He looked so peaceful, even though tubes and wires were attached to his little body.

‘Somebody will pay for this if it’s the last thing I do, I swear to you,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t worry, my precious.’ Graham stroked his wife's cold cheek. ‘I’ll find you both again. We’ve so much yet to do together,’ he sobbed. ‘You know; like we’d planned,’ he smiled. A sob caught in his throat. He inhaled deeply and brushed away his tears. The nurse knocked at the open door.

‘A cup of strong tea,’ she said, putting it down on the table. His wife and son were now side by side.

DS John Benjamin watched him from the corridor with tears in his own eyes. He couldn’t help but think, what would he do if that had just happened to him? He shuddered at the thought and looking up to the ceiling he prayed silently that he would never know.

Fixing his mind to the job in hand he noted that Graham Tate was built like anyone would imagine a bricklayer to be; stocky, thick necked, rugged and muscular, but his deflated form portrayed a crumbled man with his strength sapped and his spirit gone.

A phone ringing at the nurse’s station broke John’s train of thought. ‘Mr Tate, it’s for you. I believe it’s your wife’s father. Do you want to take it? Graham stood robot like. Reluctantly he moved from Bridey’s side to answer the call.

‘Hello, is that you lad?’ said the panic-stricken older male’s voice at the other end of the phone.

‘They’re dead you know,’ Graham managed to gasp.

‘I know son they’ve told us. We’ll get to you as soon as we can,’ Ronnie said with a trembling voice.

Graham handed the phone back to the nurse, his face expressionless. There was nothing else to say. As if in a trance he walked past John and back into the room where his wife and child lay.

John saw Graham jump when the doctor pulled a chair up beside him. The man coughed before speaking.

‘There is no easy way of asking but we’ve found a donor card in your wife’s purse which signifies to us that it was her wish for her organs to be used in the event of her death. This is reinforced on her driving licence. I don’t know how you feel about your son being a donor too.

'Time is a crucial factor in respect of some of the organs. They can save lives one person’s death can help up to eight others. Let me assure you your wife and son are dead, the machines only keeping the blood circulating, preserving their organs but that’s it.’

Graham stood; his face red and contorted as though he was about to burst. His fists clenched. ‘Don’t you dare. Do you hear me? Nobody touches them,’ he shouted. John readied himself to go into the room.

‘Mr Tate, please calm down,’ John heard the doctor say in a gentle, soothing voice. It was obvious he had seen this reaction many times before. ‘Let me assure you it was your wife’s wishes, should she die, that her organs be used. Think about it, please.’

‘Get out.’ shouted Graham. ‘Just leave us alone.’

‘That I can’t do Mr Tate. If we are to make use of your family's organs we need to act quickly to adhere to her wishes. I need an answer.’