White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Dylan turned to look at Vicky. ‘Is this the same lady you saw earlier today?’ Dylan said.

  ‘Yes, it is, sir,’ Vicky said, looking Dylan straight in the eye. ‘Basically, two lads, who told her their names were Danny and Billy, came into McDonald’s where she works. It was quiet, they got chatting, and she arranged to see them again. I’ve seized the CCTV tape from McDonald’s and it is being copied as we speak. The original will be retained as the master. Then we can view it. She says nothing untoward happened and she confirmed she wrote her phone number on his arm because she wanted to see them again.’

  ‘Is there anything else you need from her that I could get for you when I go back?’ Sergeant Palmer asked Vicky.

  Vicky looked at Dylan and then to Sergeant Palmer. ‘Oh, I think you’ve got your hands full with your own enquiries, thanks Sarge,’ she said politely. ‘But, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.’

  ‘Thank you, Vicky. At least that accounts for the phone number written on Denton’s arm – and thanks, Sarge, for getting stuck in … in respect of PC Whitworth’s movements, that is,’ Dylan said.

  Vicky held her mobile in the air, signalling that she had to take a call.

  Dylan continued. ‘Okay, I’ve arranged for a warrant to be obtained from the duty magistrates for the search of Stevenson’s house. Let’s see what’s in the property, including documents referring to any of his clients. I’ve also asked for a list from the coroner of elderly people who have died in Harrowfield lately, to see if there is any connection, plus we are still awaiting the financial investigation result. Does our Mr Stevenson prey on the elderly? We’ll do the searches tomorrow morning.’

  Vicky re-entered the room. ‘Boss, Billy Greenwood’s been taken back into theatre, he’s got internal bleeding,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Dylan. ‘Has he said anything?’ he asked, anxiously.

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not that I know of, sir.’

  ‘It sounds like it’s highly likely he’s not going to be able to help us now.’

  Dylan rang Jen as he left the building, ‘Setting off now, love. What’s for tea? Please don’t tell me it’s McDonald’s?’ he laughed.

  ‘As if. I’ll give you McDonald’s. Get yourself home.’

  ‘On my way, boss.’

  ‘Shall we discuss baby’s names?’ Dylan asked, as he yawned loudly.

  ‘Let’s wait to see if your eyes are still open when I’ve finished washing the pots first,’ Jen said, rolling her eyes as she handed him his coffee cup.

  ‘Yeah, good plan,’ he said. Stretching, he yawned yet again as he stood on his tiptoes and touched the kitchen ceiling.

  ‘If I’ve got my eyes closed when you come in, I might be just having two minutes,’ he smiled as he rubbed his tired eyes.

  Jen unpacked the bags of clothes that she had bought and folding them lovingly, she laid them out in the drawers of the nursery. She touched the border that they had bought as the basis for the rest of the decor and a warm feeling ran through her body. It was a good thing that they’d had a decorator in to paint the walls. If she’d waited for Dylan she knew she would have waited forever.

  Perhaps this could be her ‘happy place’ into which she could take herself mentally during the birth. It was hard to believe that before her next birthday, before Christmas, she would be ‘Mummy’.

  The clock struck ten. Jen woke Dylan.

  ‘Bedtime, sleepy head,’ she whispered as she shook his arm so they could go to bed. ‘I think we’ll just call the baby Buttons for now, shall we?’

  ‘Suits me,’ he grinned, sheepishly.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Dylan’s priority today was no different from yesterday’s: to trace, interview and eliminate the main suspects.

  ‘Boss, you know we’ve spoken before about the significance of white lilies?’

  ‘Yes, Vicky.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’ Dylan raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘There’s nothing unusual about sending lilies in bouquets or to funerals is there, but left beside the body at the scene of a murder, that’s pretty sick, isn’t it?’ Do you think the white lilies could be the murderer’s MO? There are lots of different types of lilies, aren’t there? And these might be bought in by a particular florist or supermarket.’

  Dylan looked thoughtful.

  ‘We got pictures of the flowers, I know, but did we get samples? Could they be one and the same type?’

  ‘Yes, I put them in an evidence bag myself at the scene, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Yeah. You hate the smell, right? Anything’s possible. It might just be the missing link we’re looking for. I’ll have that line of enquiry allocated to you. We’ll make an SIO out of you yet,’ he smiled.

  Vicky smiled sweetly at Taylor. Taylor scowled. Why hadn’t Vicky told her about her stupid thought – or better still kept it to herself, she wondered.

  ‘I’ll have to speak to one of those horticut, horticult … oh, you know what I mean, them there flower experts,’ Vicky said, with renewed vigour in her voice.

  ‘Yeah, you do that,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Why don’t you see what Stephanie Forrester can tell you about white lilies? Unless you’ve already done that, of course, Taylor?’

  ‘No,’ Taylor’s mutterings were barely audible.

  ‘No worries, sir, I’ll do it,’ Vicky said with a gleaming smile.

  Dylan checked his watch. ‘Okay, you lot. Let’s see what today brings. Keep in touch and we’ll debrief at five.’

  Dylan checked for himself that scenes of crime had photographed the white lilies found in Denton and Greenwood’s flat and swabbed them for a pollen sample. He also made sure enquiries were initiated to ascertain where the lilies for Grace and Winston’s funeral were purchased from and what type they were.

  Stevenson had bought the flowers for Mildred and Grace – they already knew that, so on his admission they would have come from Stephanie Forrester’s stock. Just how many types of white lily were there? They’d have to locate the source of the white lilies at Bridey and Toby’s funeral too, if possible. It was obvious the Forresters had a connection with white lilies through their floristry business. He’d leave nothing to chance. Vicky’s suggestions had stimulated his mind.

  Dylan strolled down the corridor of the first floor of the police station to attend the uniform briefing. Catching the officers at the start of their shift meant he could update them about the investigations himself.

  He knew uniform appreciated the time the SIO took on an enquiry to brief them firsthand to keep them in the loop, and as far as he was concerned they were the eyes and ears of the police force at street level, for the next eight hours at least.

  ‘Although there are lots of lines of enquiry, I want you to bring me hard and fast evidence,’ he told his attentive audience. ‘Then it’s our job in CID to meticulously sift through that evidence to make sure we haven’t missed or overlooked anything.’

  The shift personnel hung on his every word.

  ‘Billy Greenwood’s out of surgery and back on ICU so I’ll need one of you on guard at his bedside today,’ he said, as he watched their eyes turn from his gaze and fall on their pocket books. No one wanted to guard a prisoner in hospital. ‘You never know,’ he added, ‘Greenwood might just wake up and give you the information to nail the killer.’ With that, a few hopeful faces lifted their heads to look at him and he saw a spark of interest in their eyes for the job in hand. ‘If, he talks, you will simply need to record what he’s saying. Remember, no questions though. He’s not under caution.’

  Dylan picked up his ringing phone the moment he got back to his room.

  ‘Hello. Ralph, is that you?’ he asked, leaning heavily on his desk. Lisa walked in with a drink and he took hold of the mug.

  ‘Yeah, Jack, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, and Dawn and baby Violet?’ he said, switching on his computer absentmindedly.

  ‘Baby’s g
reat. Dawn’s still tired. The pills make her feel weary.’

  ‘And how’re you bearing up?’

  ‘Oh, coping, you know,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But what I’m ringing for is the doctor has given her another month’s sick note so I wondered if I should send it to HQ?’

  ‘Has Welfare been in touch?’

  ‘Yeah, but to be honest her day out with Jen shopping for baby clothes did her more good. They mean well but…’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘The doctors say the anti-depressants will kick in and the Diazepam does help her feel less anxious but it makes her feel numb too. As for the court case, Jack, she says she wouldn’t miss it for the world, so that’s optimistic.’

  Dylan heard the lump in his throat and imagined him holding back the tears.

  Putting the phone down, Dylan felt useless. In this situation there wasn’t a thing he could do to help his old friend and colleague. Fancy, after trying so long for a child, the IVF and now this. Sometimes life just didn’t seem fair.

  Dylan needed a distraction. It was all too easy to get sucked into the sadness of others. He had been ignoring Liz in the Press Office and there seemed like no better time than the present to take the bull by the horns so he picked up his phone and called her.

  The full facts spewed from his mouth of the two young men being subjected to a ferocious and callous knife attack in their own home. He released their names and he told Liz that Danny Denton had died at the scene, while disclosing that his friend Billy Greenwood was critically ill in hospital after receiving multiple stab wounds in the frenzied attack. He appealed for witnesses and, to reduce the public’s fear, he told them this was an isolated, targeted attack. As usual he gave out the incident room telephone number and Crimestoppers’ contact number for any information that the public felt they could share.

  Another day had quickly passed without success. Still no suspects were traced or eliminated – and now it was time for the daily debrief.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Forrester and made an appointment to see Bill Forrester tomorrow when he arrives home,’ said Taylor Spiers.

  ‘Good, at least that’s two suspects traced,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Actually three, sir. Donald Harvey contacted me, and he’s travelling north tomorrow to see me,’ Taylor smiled.

  ‘Great. Was there anything that Stephanie Forrester could enlighten you with regarding the white lilies?’

  ‘No, she says they’re a common flower and used all the time at funerals. Hers are bought in from a local wholesaler that also supplies the supermarket, so there’s not much chance of that action coming to anything,’ Vicky said.

  Taylor raised her brows from the paper she was reading and cocked her head at Vicky as she threw her a smug grin. Dylan couldn’t help but notice.

  ‘But,’ Vicky continued. ‘I’ve also learned quite a lot today from the horticulturist. Even how to pronounce their name,’ she said.

  Taylor rolled her eyes, ‘Oh, please,’ she muttered.

  ‘I didn’t know this floral malarkey was so interesting,’ Vicky said. ‘The experts are telling me that there are quite a few common species of the Lilium candidum. Bulbs and flowers of the lily plant are used for therapeutic purposes. Stargazer lilies are an ideal way to convey your condolences, and the modern funeral tributes, peace lilies, or Spathiphyllum, are very popular for that. Mind you, Lily of the Valley, also known as Mayflower, is poisonous.’

  ‘You sound like Alan Titchmarsh,’ Taylor said, snidely.

  ‘But seriously,’ Vicky continued, ignoring the DS’s comment. ‘They were fairly sure, if the same lily had been used in all the incidents and because we have pictures and, even better, swabs of the pollen, we will be able to track down the source for them,’ she said with a nod at Taylor.

  ‘Hold your hands out,’ said Dylan.

  ‘What? Why?’ Vicky said, holding her palms upwards for him with a quizzical look, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Just checking in case you’ve got green fingers,’ he said, checking the tips of her fingers. ‘I think that perhaps you’re the best person to see if there is anything in respect of the lilies that might take us forward in that line of the enquiry,’ he said, slapping her palms. ‘Well done, Vicky.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, as her cheeks flushed high.

  ‘Okay, flower power or elbow grease, I’m not bothered – whatever it takes, as long as we find the people responsible. Another day tomorrow to chase our suspects,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Let’s make tomorrow the day, everyone.’

  There were still a lot of unanswered questions and tomorrow Dylan would go back and look at each incident in isolation. He was always conscious that something may have been inadvertently overlooked.

  I’m on my way, he texted Jen, as promised. He knew better than anyone that there were no quick fixes to any enquiry. And he knew that every hour that passed meant less chance of recovering evidence.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The day started on the positive note that two of the people sought would be seen.

  Dylan was scheduled to go to Brian Stevenson’s home and a nominated team was to execute the warrant that had been sworn out for them at the local magistrate’s home by the evening divisional detective, DS John Benjamin. DS Taylor Spiers would start the search with the rest of the team. However, Dylan couldn’t assign them specific tasks as he needed them to be available to go see Bill Forrester and Donald Harvey as soon as they were back in the area. The three also needed to be ready and able to respond in the event Brian Stevenson was detained and to speak to Graham Tate. Dylan was also mindful to ensure that none of the tasks were rushed due to the deployment of officers elsewhere.

  ‘I want a thorough search,’ Dylan told the team. He stood on a box in the void of the police station so he could be seen and heard at the short briefing, before they set off in convoy. ‘Carpets rolled back, furniture and drawers pulled out. If anything is hidden, we need to make sure we find it.’

  The exhibits officer made the dining-room table his temporary desk at Stevenson’s home. It was a central point for people to bring him the items they had seized. They were recorded with details of where they were found, by whom, the time, date and each exhibit was numbered for easy retrieval. Should a court case develop against anyone, then all the collated items would have to be disclosed to the relevant parties.

  ‘Make sure his rubbish bins inside and out are emptied and checked,’ he told Taylor. ‘Find me all his bank details if you can, John,’ Dylan shouted as Benjamin turned to climb the stairs.

  ‘There’s a secured filing cabinet in his office, boss,’ John called down within minutes.

  Dylan took the stairs two at a time. ‘Break the lock if you have to,’ he called ahead.

  Once items had been seized and recorded, there would be a careful sifting of the relevant items. This didn’t stop the officers from noting details to make immediate enquiries if they felt it necessary. The search was now in full flow and Dylan watched his officers working quietly and diligently. Taylor’s mobile rang.

  ‘Bill Forrester’s arrived home,’ Taylor yelled to Dylan.

  Bill, Stephanie and Pam Forrester sat waiting for the officers on the sofa in the middle of their large antique-cluttered lounge. A suitcase on wheels stood in the corner with a set of golf clubs on a trolley next to it, Taylor noted.

  Pam clutched one hand to her chest, the other to her belly and her mouth gaped when DS Taylor Spiers broke the news of Danny’s murder.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, turning to her mother. Stephanie followed her daughter as she ran out of the room. Pam’s footsteps could be heard running up the stairs and Stephanie’s close behind. A door slammed shut.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Forrester, but there is no easy way of imparting news of a murder,’ said Taylor.

  ‘I’d have thought she’d be jumping up and down after what they put her through,’ said Bill, his face pinched but his complexion ruddy. ‘Pity whoever did it didn’t
do it earlier, they could have saved us a lot of heartache.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this,’ Taylor said, tentatively. ‘But we need to verify your movements for the past forty-eight hours.’

  He glanced down at his hands, clasped in his lap, and shook his head. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ There was a moment when no one breathed. The moment passed.

  ‘We can’t find Denton’s mobile. It may be the murderer took it,’ John said.

  ‘Christ!’ Bill Forrester groaned. His face in his hands. ‘The pictures they took of Pam; they might still be on there? If they are put in the public domain who knows who might see them? This could push her over the edge.’

  ‘We presume it’s the same phone, we don’t know of him having another,’ said Taylor.

  ‘As if the attack on Pam wasn’t bad enough, the thought that someone out there has those pictures of her naked is too painful to think about,’ Forrester said, with tears in his eyes. ‘Hasn’t she, haven’t we all been through enough?’ he said, searching the officers’ dour faces.

  ‘We are doing our best to trace whoever is responsible. There doesn’t seem any logical explanation why anyone would take the phone – unless …’ Taylor said.

  ‘Unless what?’ Bill Forrester stared at Taylor and tried to read her face. It looked stressed. He stared into her eyes and froze for a good few seconds. ‘Hold on a minute, you think I might have killed him, don’t you? Let me tell you, I’d do anything for my daughter – and I mean anything,’ he said, his eyes bulging in their sockets. ‘And I can’t honestly tell you … how I’d react if I’d come across them face-to-face. In fact,’ he added, rising from his chair. ‘I’d even go as far as to say I’d shake the person’s bloody hand that did it.’ He ran his hand through his hair and paced the room. John Benjamin held his hand up. ‘But, I didn’t.’