‘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, no doubt.’
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 now?’
‘I’m moving out of the back garden, but I could see him clearly through the 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 uniformed 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 – 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 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,’ John said, exasperation clear in his voice, as they walked side by side. ‘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 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 a 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 their 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 this embarrassing outburst in front of the others.
‘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 life-changing injuries 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 the moment. I honestly wish there was.’
Striding purposefully towards his car, he dialled Jen’s number.
‘Today’s briefing may go on longer than usual, love,’ he said, which she knew meant yet another long and lonely night.
Chapter Forty-Six
Dylan updated the team in debrief regarding Billy Greenwood’s injuries, the prognosis for his recovery and the securing of the piece of metal from one of his wounds. Although the piece of evidence was minute, he told them it was highly significant as it was more than likely part of the tip of the blade, which he knew would be an invaluable piece of evidence if the murder weapon was found.
He also updated everyone on the suicide attempt after tracing Graham Tate, and John told the assembled group that the hospital staff had confirmed that he had taken a cocktail of drinks and drugs. He was still in ICU and as yet had not regained consciousness, which meant that he remained under constant watch due to his present state of mind.
‘Is he in the same ICU as Billy Greenwood, John?’ asked Dylan.
‘Yeah, but I’ve made uniform staff aware of who they both are and their history and they are making arrangements for him to be relocated to Leeds.’
‘Well, they’re hardly likely to cause any trouble, judging by the state of their health,’ Taylor said, sarcastically. ‘It would appear Bill Forrester can be eliminated from our enquiry too, sir, although I don’t care for the man.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ John snapped. ‘The man only said he didn’t feel any sympathy for the two who had just subjected his daughter to a violent rape attack.’
Taylor glanced at John with a look that said it all. ‘We also saw Donald Harvey, whose whereabouts will also be verified, I’m sure,’ she continued.
‘Just for your info, boss, a lady phoned in to the incident room this morning after your press release to say that someone had stolen the lilies she had fastened to the railings on the road about half a mile from Denton and Greenwood’s flat. Her son died at the spot some years ago and she always leaves white lilies there to mark the anniversary of his death, which happened to be the day before our two were attacked. She didn’t know if it was relevant,’ said Lisa.
‘I want her seen as soon as possible and a statement obtained. Find out where she bought them from. It could give us a source for the lilies if nothing else.’
Vicky read out a list of items seized from Stevenson’s house.
Dylan concluded the debrief by thanking everyone for their efforts. It was time for home.
Jen was nervous. The fact her bump had measured 34.5 cm when it had measured 34 cm the week before, had concerned her midwife enough to schedule a scan. Jen was pleased that Dylan was able to go with her. He’d told the office staff he wouldn’t be in until after lunch. As they waited at the hospital, Jen squeezed his arm.
‘Thanks for being here with me. I’m so scared,’ she said, as she slipped her hand into his. He noticed that her palm was a little sweaty, so he squeezed her hand tight.
‘Nervous? I’m excited,’ Dylan said with gusto. ‘Just think, we wouldn’t be having another scan if the Button wasn’t measuring small. We’re lucky to get to see him again before he’s born.’
‘He?’
‘Whatever,’ Dylan laughed. ‘I don’t care if Button is a he or a she as long as he or she are okay,’ he grinned like a Cheshire cat.
‘l know, and at thirty-seven weeks I’ve been really lucky, haven’t I, not to have had any problems?’ she said. She licked her lips and stretched her back. ‘It’ll be okay. It’s probably because his head is engaged or I was lying on the bed last week when she measured me and this week I was on the sofa.’
‘Exactly,’ said Dylan. ‘So, enjoy the experience,’ he smiled.
‘My mouth is so dry. Can you believe that when I’ve had so much water to drink?’ Jen fidgeted in the uncomfortable hard hospital chair as she tried to get comfy with a full bladder. ‘If they don’t hurry up I’m going to pee my pants,’ she whispered.
Dylan put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. ‘We were fortunate not to have had to go through the dilemma of “should we or shouldn’t we” at our age, weren’t we?’ he mused.
‘And if we had, we’d have doubted whether we could afford to raise one?’
‘Best decision I didn’t make,’ Dylan chuckled as he patted Jen’s bump. ‘He’ll be fine. Just lazy like his old dad,’ he chuckled.
Jen looked up at the clock as the door opened and a radiographer stepped out, calling her name.
The lighting was subdued in the room where the scan was to take place. Jen was told to lie on the bed. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the side of the bed before raising her legs. She lifted her top up above her bump and her trousers below before eagerly looking towards the screen.
Jen lay perfectly still and Dylan sat beside her holding her hand tightly. He too scrutinised the blank monitor in anticipation before looking back at Jen and grinning.
The radiographer chatted amiably as she squeezed clear gel out of a tube and into the palm of her gloved hand, then she put more on the end of the probe before rubbing it onto Jen’s tummy. They always warned her: ‘This might be cold.’
Jen flinched as the ice-cold jelly hit her stomach.
‘There’s your baby,’ the radiographer said, as she rolled the ball-like probe around Jen’s stomach, indicating with her spare hand its movements on the monitor.
Jen and Dylan looked at each other in amazement as every time they saw Buttons he seemed to have grown. Dylan’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears and he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. The scan wasn’t as clear as it had been previously but this time the baby did turn his face towards the camera. They saw him gulp while taking a drink. Jen and Dylan could have stayed there all day listening and watching their baby.
‘The images aren’t as clear as there is a lot of tissue on the baby now,’ explained the radiographer. ‘Do you want to hear the heartbeat?’
Dylan and Jen nodded together.
‘Would you like to know whether the baby is a girl or a boy?’ the radiographer asked.
Jen looked at Jack. ‘Yes, please,’ she grinned. ‘We’ve resisted till now, but if it’s okay with you, Jack, I’d like to know.’
Dylan nodded with a smile.
‘You have yourselves a wee girl,’ the woman said. ‘According to my notes and from what I can see.’
‘But it can’t be. She’s a he,’ said Jen, in amazement. Dylan rose from his seat and hugged Jen to him. Jen let out a huge sigh of relief. Dylan laughed at her with tears in his eyes.
‘Oh, that often happens.’
‘They said the baby was small.’
White Lilies Page 23