‘Sure,’ she said, with a renewed energy. ‘But you’ll have to give me directions.’
‘Row of houses on your left just up past the entrance of Harrowfield Hospital, do you know it?’
‘I’ll find you.’
Dylan hung up.
A body. Now that was more like it, she thought, grinding her teeth together as she felt adrenalin starting to pump furiously around her body. She turned the radio on, clicked her seat belt, tossed her hair over her shoulder, looked in her rear-view mirror and put her foot down hard on the accelerator.
Ten minutes later she arrived outside the house, which was easily identifiable by the two uniformed officers guarding the scene. As she left her vehicle she could see Dylan in his scene suit, blowing air into his plastic gloves. She briefly wondered why that action made them go on the hand easier. As she walked towards him, she could see he was deep in conversation with a smaller figure dressed like him, whom she presumed was the scenes of crime officer. Neither of them looked in her direction.
She noted that Dylan hadn’t finished suiting up which she knew meant that they hadn’t yet been inside the house. Good, she thought, as she approached them. She didn’t want to miss a single moment at the scene of her first suspicious death as a detective sergeant. Murder? She hoped so.
‘DS Taylor Spiers.’ Dylan introduced her to Jasmine, who eyed the high-heeled, short-skirted beauty up and down with interest.
‘Uniform got a call from a worried neighbour to say that they hadn’t seen the elderly lady that lives here for a few weeks and they’d become increasingly concerned,’ Dylan told her.
‘They thought at first she might’ve gone away or been admitted to hospital but when a vast number of flies caught their attention at the upstairs window they knew something wasn’t right,’ he continued, pointing to the window in question. Taylor looked up. The glass was completely blacked out with the blowflies.
‘Not only that, but as you probably noticed even from where we’re standing, there’s a foul smell in the air.’
Dylan took the lead and walked towards the front door. DS Spiers followed him cautiously. Her nose tingled at the pungent aroma and she gagged involuntarily. She nipped her nose and covered her mouth to try and mask the stench.
‘The house was secure. The uniformed officers had to force entry,’ Dylan said, turning to her. ‘We were lucky it was only on a Yale latch. You okay?’ he asked as he noticed her pallor. She nodded. ‘Horrendous, isn’t it, which is why I told them to leave the door open,’ he grimaced. ‘A quick look around by uniform brought to light a badly decomposed body on the main bedroom floor, which they believe is the body of the lady of the house, but since it’s almost skeletal we’ll have to wait for the post-mortem,’ Dylan said as he stood at the front door.
DS Spiers eagerness had subsided faster than a thermometer put into ice. She looked up the stairs and remained standing close to her boss. This wasn’t like it was supposed to be. Her stomach clenched.
‘Get suited up quickly and get your mask on before we go in to see what delights await us,’ Dylan instructed as Jasmine handed Taylor a scenes of crime suit to put over her clothing. DS Taylor Spiers, ever conscious of her appearance, looked at the suit with disdain. Dylan smiled at Jasmine whose eyes danced with delight.
‘You want me to wear that? I’ll look like one of them Teletubbies off children’s TV,’ she said, holding the suit at arm’s length as Jasmine handed her the paper boots.
Suited and booted, Dylan led the women into the house. ‘We’ll go upstairs first, since we know that’s where the body is, get a few photographs in situ,’ Dylan spoke his thoughts aloud and he could hear Jasmine behind him snap the cover from her camera lens.
He heard Taylor retch as they reached the landing of the upstairs and he turned. She nodded to him. Senses heightened, the noise of the flies was surreal, the buzzing was irritatingly loud. They turned the corner of the bedroom door and Taylor trailed behind Dylan and Jasmine, tentatively looking in at the scene. She could only describe it as something out of a horror movie. The blowflies blanketed everything in the room. The tiny decomposed body lay before them, feet towards the doorway.
‘She’s been here some weeks,’ Dylan observed, as he bent down and looked at the skull of the body. The noise from the insects seemed to increase with his intrusion. ‘Here look, there’re maggots in her eye sockets, Jasmine,’ he pointed out.
Taylor’s shoulders rose and fell as she breathed deeply. ‘I need some air,’ she gasped as she ran from the room, down the stairs and out into the garden where, leaning against the wall of the house, she threw up into a bush. ‘Oh my God,’ she gulped, before throwing up again. This was not the impression she wanted to give Dylan.
She swallowed hard to stop the bile rising in her throat again and collapsed to her knees. She just needed a minute, she thought, as she wiped the vomit from her mouth with her hand and took a few deep breaths.
Dylan turned to Jasmine, ‘Nothing obvious. Just take a quick photo of her in situ will you, then we’ll get her removed to the mortuary and see if we can find out what happened to her.’
Jasmine nodded and in silence did as she had been instructed without any fuss. Dylan reached up to open the bedroom window. Taylor looked up at the noise from above and she watched the swarm of insects being released from their breeding ground.
Dylan pushed the window wide open to try to clear the room. With the expertise of a man who had been to this sort of scene a hundred times before, he walked quickly around the rest of the house. His hands were firmly in his pockets, like he’d been shown as a young detective, so that he wasn’t tempted to touch anything. Nothing else appeared untoward.
Stepping over the threshold of the front door, he pulled his mask off and inhaled a lung full of clean air. Seeing Taylor sat on the grass leaning against the house wall, her head tilted towards the sky, he walked over.
‘You okay?’ he said.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry – that smell.’
‘Certainly not a pretty sight either, is it? It won’t be much better at the mortuary. Which we’ll have to endure either tomorrow or the day after,’ he said almost apologetically.
She took a huge intake of breath through her nose, counted to six and breathed out slowly between pouted lips to the count of six.
‘One thing I detest is blow flies,’ Dylan said, flailing his arms at one that dared to come near his perspiration-covered forehead. He looked at his DS’s pale face. ‘It could have been worse,’ he smiled, kindly.
‘How come?’
‘If you’d tried to stick it out you might have fainted on the body,’ he chuckled.
‘And is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she said, leaning forward and burping loudly. ‘Sorry,’ she said, putting her head between her knees.
‘Well, you wouldn’t have been the first and no doubt you wouldn’t have been the last either,’ said Dylan philosophically as he knelt down next to her and rubbed her back.
She turned to look up at him. ‘Thanks,’ she said, with tears in her eyes.
Jasmine completed the task that Dylan had requested of her. He arranged for the body to be removed to the mortuary and he also told the uniformed officers present to have the house secured, before holding his hand out for DS Spiers to help her to her feet.
‘Time to go, ma’am,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Not you an’all,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied.
Dylan shrugged his shoulders. ‘What do you think – natural causes?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Probably.’
‘Well, maybe not,’ Dylan said. ‘Can you get some detectives over here to start making house-to-house enquiries into her background, when she was last seen, who was the last person to see her alive, her doctor’s name, next of kin, etcetera?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ll get straight on it,’ she said weakly.
‘I’m su
re you will,’ he smiled, knowing that giving her a task would give her a focus. Something to think about other than the smell and the sight she had just witnessed.
‘We’ll also need a recent picture of her, if they can find one,’ he said. ‘A bit of advice, Taylor. I always carry extra strong mints in my pocket,’ he said, offering her one as they walked back to their cars. ‘My way of coping with things is I try to concentrate on the job in hand,’ he said. ‘So, the name we’ve been given for the lady is Mildred Sykes, who we think is more than likely to be in her late seventies/eighty? Look, I’ve got to be elsewhere but you’ve got a good start and there are a lot of things to arrange, so I’ll speak to you back at the nick later, eh?’
‘Okay,’ she replied. She wondered if he would tell them back at the office about what had happened to her.
Dylan had other things on his mind. Dawn Farren, his work colleague and long-standing detective sergeant, had been off work to have her baby and was suffering badly from postnatal depression. Dawn had become like a sister to Dylan over the years and he missed her jovial nature, their comfortable repartee, her larger-than-life figure and her loyalty. She was his safe pair of hands and he knew it.
He stopped en route to pick up some flowers and Jaffa cakes, her favourite biscuits and, before leaving the petrol station, he sat and texted Jen. Just been to see the smelliest body ever. I promised myself I’d get to see Dawn today so sorry if I’m late but coming straight home after for supper. Love you x
Dawn and Ralph’s home and restaurant, Mawingo, stood in three acres of parkland in the verdant valley of Sibden, with the River Heddle meandering through. It was a spectacular neo-gothic house, worlds apart from the hustle and bustle of modern life. Darkness was drawing in and Ralph was closing the curtains in their lounge when he saw Dylan’s car approach and, by the time Dylan reached the door, Ralph was there to meet him.
‘Come on in, Jack,’ Ralph said, holding out his hand.
Dylan took the hand he offered and shook it warmly, holding his gaze for a moment or two. He noticed Ralph’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘Dawn might be pleased to see you at least,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. Ralph’s voice sounded unusually flat and downcast to Dylan’s ears. His normally ruddy complexion was pale and his face pinched.
‘That bad?’
Ralph nodded his head and his eyes closed.
Dawn was sat by the window in semi-darkness. Violet lay contented in a crib beside her.
‘Hiya,’ he said in a whisper as he bent down to hand her flowers and biscuits and kissed the cheek she offered. ‘You look tired,’ he said.
Dylan stood over the sleeping baby and touched her soft, peachy cheek. She stirred.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ he cooed as he took a step back and sat in a chair opposite Dawn.
‘That’s very kind, isn’t it, love?’ Ralph said, taking the flowers from Dawn who stared blankly at Dylan. ‘I’ll pop them in some water and put the kettle on, shall I?’ he said, nodding at the biscuits.
Dawn sat in silence as if she hadn’t heard. She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap with a nervousness he had never seen her display before. He hoped desperately that his face didn’t show his shock at her appearance and he smiled the fixed smile of the professional police officer. Dawn had always been the life and soul of his enquiries. Her bright and bubbly character had been the comic to his scorn. The larger-than-life Dawn French lookalike that he had grown to love was wasting away before his very eyes.
‘How’re you coping?’ Dylan asked and swallowed hard. He could feel his heart weighing heavy in his stomach as he scanned his friend’s dishevelled hair and frumpy attire.
‘Oh, you know,’ she sighed, shrugging. Her eyes full of unshed tears as she looked directly into his eyes for the first time. He tried to speak but uncharacteristically found he didn’t know what to say. He reached out for her hand and held it in his.
‘Come on, girl. I want you back. No, I’ll re-phrase that – I NEED you. Harrowfield nick needs you,’ he said dramatically, and for the first time he saw a flicker of a faint smile flash across her face. ‘Look, I’ve even bought you some Jaffas. Oh God, it is bad,’ he said, when she didn’t take the bait of food.
‘I’m trying,’ she said with a little effort. ‘And everybody’s being so bloody nice, but I can’t seem to…’ She shook her head as if to clear the confusion within. ‘It’s like it crept over me after the birth, like black ink seeping over the scenery of my world. I’m in a black hole, Dylan, looking up, and I can’t get out,’ she added. Dylan listened. ‘And the pills they give me make me feel so “cloudy” and, well, like a flaming zombie most of the time,’ she said. She pointed to the packets and bottles of tablets on the table beside her that was also littered with half-empty glasses of water, cups of half-drunk tea and the baby’s bottle. ‘Never mind walking through mud, I feel like I’m being sucked into a bog. How can I expect anyone to understand? It’s so bloody self-indulgent when I’ve got so much,’ she sobbed.
Ralph stood at the door with the drinks. Dawn was talking at last. He stepped backwards, watched and listened.
Dylan squeezed Dawn’s hand gently. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. You’re just an emotionally sensitive person who strives for perfection, and I should know. Right now, you’re not in control but you’ll get there. Just give yourself time. You can’t keep a good detective down, eh?’ he smiled.
Ralph brought in the drinks but she didn’t acknowledge him, so he left them alone. Her shoulders rose and then fell with a big sigh. ‘I hear you’ve got a good-looking replacement,’ she said, wiping away a tear that had escaped and run down her cheek. She looked at him, searching his face for a sign of his acknowledgement at her accusation.
‘Not a replacement, Dawn, cover – and believe me, she’s not a patch.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. Violet stirred and Dawn reached out for the little bundle of clothing. The effort seemed too much for her and Dylan stepped forward to take the grizzling baby from her bed. He looked into Violet’s little elfin face and smiled adoringly at her.
‘She looks like you,’ he said softly.
‘Poor little sod. Look at the state of me,’ Dawn quipped as she shuffled to a more comfortable position in her chair.
‘You’ll come through it, love. How can you not when you look at this little one?’ he said, stroking Violet’s soft mop of dark, poker straight hair.
‘Why did my other babies die? What did I do wrong then? I feel so guilty,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t see them. They haven’t got a gravestone. No one understands how I feel.’
‘Anyone who hasn’t suffered like you have can’t. But you’ve got to believe you did nothing wrong. The others weren’t strong enough to live. You know that deep down. But Violet is, and she needs her mum now,’ he said, handing the now screaming Violet over. ‘I think someone needs changing,’ he said, screwing up his nose.
Dawn smiled. ‘Why are you always right. You’re so bloody annoying, sometimes,’ she snapped.
‘No, I’m not. You know me, I’m just a good bullshitter,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Look, if it helps, buy a statue for the garden in remembrance. Somewhere close you can go and talk to them or think about them if you need to.’ He saw Dawn’s tears falling on Violet’s head as she kissed her and held her tight. ‘You look all in but I’ll tell Jen to call in sometime soon, eh? And what about if I get you some help from Welfare?’
‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘That would be a start, wouldn’t it? I hope I don’t scare Jen to death, though, when she sees me like this with your little one on the way,’ she laughed through her tears.
‘Never,’ he said, taking a last look over his shoulder at the nursing mother and baby as he left the lounge.
Ralph stood in the hallway. ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just thought it best to leave you … She listens to you …’
‘She’ll be okay, Ralph. She’s very lucky to have you. Let me know if I can do anything to help, won�
�t you?’
‘Thank you,’ Ralph said, nodding his head.
Driving home, Dylan couldn’t stop thinking about how Dawn had been changed by her pregnancy and the birth of Violet. Would Jen change too?
Most people who worked with Dylan thought him tough but fair. Little did they know how he covered his true emotions with the professional mask of the hard-faced detective.
Jen watched him closely as he left the supper table, silently, that night. She knew that he had things on his mind. He stopped briefly at her chair to lay his hands on her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. Max, their golden retriever, followed his master into the lounge.
She boiled the kettle and took him a drink. He was fast asleep. Max lay over his slippered feet. Dylan had been visibly upset as he told her over dinner about Dawn’s battle with her post-natal depression, and not for the first time she wondered how he coped with other people’s sadness and the horrors he saw on a daily basis. She loved him for his tenacity but also for his sensitivity. Perhaps seeing the worst of man’s inhumanity to man made him appreciate the good things in life more than most.
She placed his warm drink on the coffee table beside him and sat at his side. He didn’t stir. She leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. He lifted his arm so she could snuggle beneath it and he smiled with a satisfying groan as she did so but he didn’t open his eyes. The harsh reality of what life had thrown at Dawn and Ralph when they had waited so long to have a baby had made Dylan even surer that he wanted to spend as much time as he could with Jen and theirs.
‘Perhaps I could go out walking with Dawn?’ Jen said, thoughtfully. ‘They say that physical activity lifts your mood better than anything else.’
‘Mm … that’s kind, love,’ he said, raising his heavy eyelids for a second to look down at her. ‘I’m sure she’d appreciate it and it might do you some good, too.’ He pulled himself up and patted her stomach and his hand lingered on hers, resting there. All of a sudden Jen felt the baby through her stomach for the first time – it was amazing to feel the hard lump that was an elbow or a heel, perhaps, but a little freaky too.
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