‘It would be about causation. If he hadn’t been stabbed, he wouldn’t be in the hospital. If he hadn’t been taken to hospital, then would he have died because of blood loss as a direct result of the stabbing?’
‘Probably,’ she said with a frown.
‘So, you’ve got your answer then.’
‘We’d charge murder,’ she said.
Dylan nodded. ‘And the defence would have all the relevant case law out about causation to defend their client, but the bottom line in my book is, did the attacker, when he stabbed him, intend to kill him, and did he die as a result?’
Vicky nodded. ‘Guilty, but hopefully the young lad won’t die, eh?’
Dylan cocked his head and smiled wanly at his DC. The phone rang in the CID office.
‘Call for you, boss. It’s Sergeant Wilson from the hospital,’ Dennis shouted. ‘I’ll put him through.’
‘I’ll come in there,’ Dylan said, rising from his desk and walking the few yards to the desk where Dennis was sitting. Dylan took the phone from him. His face looked serious. He sat down.
‘Sir, a few updates for you. First and foremost, the young lad’s stable.’
Dylan heard himself sighing with relief and his heart lifted.
‘The wound, they tell me, is about three inches deep but fortunately it’s missed his vital organs and they’ve managed to stem the bleeding. His parents are here and are obviously distraught, but I’ve explained best I can what’s happened. They tell me that their son had gone into town to the florist to collect flowers for his sister’s birthday.’
‘And his name?’
‘Oh, yes, James Drinkwater, and he’s fourteen.’
‘And his parents?’ Dylan asked, pen poised as he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and sat down at a desk. ‘His parents are a Julia and George Drinkwater.’
‘His clothing?’
‘It’s here,’ Vicky whispered, pointing to evidence bags at her feet.
‘Vicky Hardacre has them, sir, I understand.’
‘Yes, she’s just informed me,’ said Dylan.
‘I’ve some statements for you so I’ll drop them into your office within the hour.’
‘Brilliant, thanks for your efforts and see you soon,’ Dylan said.
‘Sounds like I’d better get my lippy on if that gorgeous sarge’s coming,’ said Vicky raising her eyebrow in an impish fashion. She winked at him and tottered towards the ladies. He shook his head and Dennis smiled at him knowingly. What was he to do with her?
‘Hey, never mind lippy, where’s the copy of the CCTV?’ Dylan shouted after her.
‘It’ll be with you anytime now,’ Vicky called over her shoulder.
Jasmine glided through the door. As she saw Dylan her brown eyes lit up and her thin face broke into a smile. The petite SOCO supervisor’s long brown hair was tied in a high ponytail, which made her look younger than she normally did.
‘Boss, did you want to see the knife from the precinct incident?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Dylan said, walking into his office. She followed close behind.
Dylan sat at his desk expectantly and she passed the sealed protective tube with the knife inside to him. Dylan laid it on his desk and looked at the prized object with interest.
‘I’ve swabbed it but surprisingly it doesn’t appear to have any blood on it. The lab will confirm that for you though.’
Dylan picked up the tube and held it in the air, studying it intently.
‘Oh my God, are your eyes that bad?’ said Vicky, who had returned and was standing at his door. Her hair was brushed, her glossy lips puckered like she had just eaten something sour.
‘Cheeky mare,’ Dylan said, glancing towards her.
‘Well, you know what they say, you should’ve listened to them when they told you it would make you blind,’ she chuckled.
Jasmine blushed.
Dylan laughed. ‘My sight might not be brilliant, lady, but if I’m not mistaken the very tiny tip of this blade just happens to be missing. Jasmine?’
‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ she said, ‘and I’m convinced it’s the knife that was used on Greenwood and killed Denton.’
‘No way!’ Vicky said, hurriedly walking towards Dylan to look for herself. Hearing the commotion, Dennis walked into the office doorway.
‘Ooh, wait on, I might have something that may help,’ Vicky said, turning quickly and running into Dennis in her rush to get the magnifying glass out of her drawer.
‘I knew this useless Christmas present from my nan would come in handy one day,’ she said, fumbling around in her drawer.
Gathering around Dylan’s desk, they all stared in amazement at the picture of the tip Jasmine produced.
‘Coincidence or what?’ Vicky said, peering through the magnifying glass.
‘Well, fingers crossed that it can be proven later today?’ Dylan asked Jasmine, who nodded in the affirmative. ‘Let’s stay on the positive and assume it is “the” knife’, but right now we need to find out who it belongs to before our man attacks anyone else. Let’s prioritise anyone returned to the care of the community and early releases – and let’s get that bloody CCTV, Vicky, pronto and see what this man looks like.’
‘Knife to the lab, ASAP?’
‘Yeah, on its way now, sir,’ Jasmine smiled, as she disappeared through the doorway.
Dylan looked out of his window. Avril Summerfield-Preston, the divisional administrator, was getting into her car, parcel in hand.
‘She’s just going to visit Jen. She told me when I saw her just now in the loo,’ said Vicky.
Dylan grunted. ‘For goodness sake, can’t the woman leave her alone? She’s supposed to be resting.’
‘Welfare check.’
‘Welfare, my arse. She’ll only go and upset her. Does Jen know she’s going?’
Vicky shrugged her shoulders.
‘I better ring her to warn her,’ Dylan said, picking up his mobile. The battery was dead. He took his charger out of his briefcase and was just about to plug it in when Dennis came charging into his office.
‘Boss, you might wanna have a look at this guy who has come back into the community recently,’ Dennis said, going back to his chair in the office and turning his computer screen around towards his audience. ‘Released on life licence at the beginning of last month,’ he read.
‘Frederick Gladwin Wainstall, twenty-nine years old, who was sentenced to life imprisonment at the age of eighteen for murdering his parents, who died from multiple stab wounds,’ read Vicky.
‘He only served nine years. Nine bloody years and released on life licence which was revoked after wounding a stranger within weeks,’ Dennis read out, his voice getting louder and louder with every spoken word. ‘The weapon used: a knife.’ Dennis looked up into the faces of those who had gathered round him. ‘He’s back out.’
Dylan continued read to about Wainstall over Dennis’s shoulder. ‘No wonder the incident doesn’t ring any bells; it happened in Brighton,’ he said.
‘I don’t believe this. His parents were found with white lilies next to their bodies,’ Vicky said quietly.
‘Okay, we need to pull out all the stops. Let’s get everyone looking for him. I want you to get hold of probation, prison, social services. We need an up-to-date photograph of him. What address have we got for him? It looks like we have a madman on the loose who may just be looking for his next victim – and I, for one, don’t want him to find one,’ said Dylan.
It was like lighting a blue touch paper. There needed to be a sense of urgency throughout the building, in the town and villages surrounding Harrowfield. Dylan looked at a recent image of Wainstall sent by email from the prison. He printed it and carefully soaked in the man’s features. He had a shaven head and a clean-shaven face, except for what looked like a small goatee beard on his chin. His deep-set dark eyes looked vacantly back at him.
‘Brian Stevenson’s custody clock is running away with us, sir,’ said the officer from the c
ells who burst into the CID office, only to be met by a group of silent people crowded around the photograph.
‘Yes, yes. DS Benjamin and DS Spiers will be with you shortly,’ Dylan snapped.
The officer retreated towards the door. ‘Only trying to help,’ he mumbled. ‘If we don’t tell them they shout at us. If we tell them they shout … Can’t do right for doing wrong,’ he grumbled as the door swung closed behind him.
‘Did we get a statement off the woman who rang in about the flowers being taken off the railings?’ asked Dylan. Vicky and Dennis looked blank. ‘Check. If not, let’s get that done.’
Vicky nodded.
‘The McDonald’s CCTV: have you viewed that yet for around the time when Denton and Greenwood were in there?’ Dylan asked Dennis.
‘No, not yet. You told me to concentrate on prison releases,’ Dennis said.
Dennis took the envelope from his tray with the CCTV video enclosed and slotted it into the machine. He looked at the monitor then back at Dylan with a startled expression upon his face.
‘Look, that’s him, sat in the corner: the man in the wool hat holding the flowers,’ he said.
‘Let’s get the video to Imaging and get it enhanced,’ said Dylan, with more than a hint of urgency in his voice. ‘Traffic’ll get it there at speed, Vicky.’
‘Traffic’ll do what?’ asked Sergeant Wilson, entering the office and hearing his name.
‘My hero,’ said Vicky.
‘What?’ he asked, with a puzzled look on his face.
‘Oh, nothing, ignore her,’ Dylan said. ‘Get this to HQ will you, mate? ASAP. And take Hardacre with you. She’s about as useless as a glass hammer to me at the moment,’ he said quietly, winking at Sergeant Wilson. ‘And she’ll be able to fill you in on the way,’ said Dylan.
‘Sure,’ Sergeant Wilson smiled at Vicky.
‘That okay with you?’ asked Dylan.
‘Is it ever,’ she said grabbing her bag and rushing after Sergeant Wilson as he headed for the door with the CCTV footage in his hand.
‘And see if you can persuade her to take her bloody sergeant’s exams while you’re at it,’ Dylan called after them.
Sergeant Wilson raised his hand as he looked over his shoulder at Dylan.
Within the hour Dylan had viewed the CCTV seized from the town-centre precinct. It showed a man running around the corner into the precinct. He stopped, looked around. James Drinkwater emerged from the florist with a bunch of flowers in his hand. Suddenly, for no apparent reason the man began to run after him, pulling two knives out of his coat pockets. He stabbed James in the back with one, turned, and ran away.
‘He’s wearing a wool hat,’ said Dennis.
‘The witnesses got that right. But look at his footwear,’ Dylan said, pointing to the brilliant-white training shoes the man was wearing.
They let the tape run, but it didn’t show the attacker’s face. With fumbling hands Dennis quickly swapped that tape for the CCTV recovered from Union Street where the knife had been found.
‘It doesn’t get much better than that,’ Dylan said with a smile, as they viewed a clear picture of a man dropping a knife in the bin from where the officer had recovered it. He looked up directly into the camera. The man didn’t have a goatee beard but what looked like a bad case of acne and unshaven hair on his chin.
‘It’s Wainstall,’ came the chorus of voices.
‘That’s for sure,’ said Dennis.
‘Let’s get his picture printed off and get him found. Remind people he’s dangerous and is likely to be in possession of a knife that he won’t hesitate to use. We don’t want any more stabbings.’
The incident room telephone rang. Lisa answered it and listened intently. She put the phone down as if in slow motion.
‘Yes?’ said Dylan.
‘The hospital, sir,’ she said. All eyes were on Lisa’s grave face. ‘Billy Greenwood lost his fight for life a few minutes ago.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dylan hadn’t heard from Jen. His phone charged enough to have a signal, he turned it back on. It beeped a message. He didn’t recognise the number. Taylor stumbled outside Dylan’s office door and dropped the evidence bags she’d been carrying.
‘Shit,’ Dylan heard her say.
‘More haste, less speed, don’t they say?’ said Dylan as he rose from his chair behind the desk. John opened the door and guided an unsteady Taylor inside.
‘You okay? Come in,’ he said.
‘Flaming heels, they’ll be the death of me,’ she said, standing on one leg as she removed the offending broken shoe. She was more embarrassed than anything else.
‘Am I glad to see you two,’ Dylan said with relief, as he looked at his dirty and exhausted DSs. Taylor dumped the bags of property seized from Brian Stevenson’s hotel room on Dylan’s desk, then fell unceremoniously into a chair.
‘You look just about all in.’
‘Nothing that a strong cup of coffee won’t put right,’ said John. ‘You should have seen the hotel room, boss. It was like a haul from a jeweller’s, plus sixty grand, we reckon, in cash.’
‘How do you two feel about going into interview?’ Dylan asked tentatively.
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I can’t wait to see what Stevenson’s got to say for himself,’ said Taylor. Her face was flushed and her eyes lit up with anticipation.
‘Me too, there’s a lot for him to explain away,’ added John.
Dylan saw the bags that had formed under his eyes in the past few weeks and he knew he was feeling the strain of the enquiry.
‘I’m told it’s Lin Perfect from Perfect & Best who’s awaiting your call to attend to represent her client – so let’s get cracking, shall we? Remember, keep an open mind and don’t accept the first thing that he tells you.’
Dylan intently watched the live stream footage of the interview on the monitor in his office. He could hear his heart beating with anticipation. As a higher-tier trained interviewer he missed the regular face-to-face confrontations and psychological battles.
The two detective sergeants appeared before him on the screen and Dylan shuffled in his seat. He leaned closer. He saw Brian Stevenson sitting alongside his solicitor.
‘For the purpose of the tape,’ John said, ‘please can you give me your name?’
In unfaltering, clear voices, the financial advisor and solicitor spoke their names. The interview commenced. Dylan shook his head; he would never understand the reason for the caution. Why would anyone but the British put a suspect in an interview room, wanting them to admit to an offence and then spend time telling them that they don’t have to say anything?
Firstly, John went over Brian Stevenson’s background, before asking him to explain where he was going when they had found him in his hotel room and how he could account for the large amount of money he had with him, along with the numerous rings.
Stevenson didn’t answer any of the questions put to him. He stared at them, never blinking, never taking his eyes off them, never showing an ounce of emotion.
Taylor was to play the friendly cop to encourage Stevenson to build his trust in her and show cooperation, while John would act as the aggressor. John pushed the issue of the murder of Mildred Sykes and the jewelled carriage clock.
It was obvious to Dylan that Stevenson didn’t like the way John put things to him so that he was made to face the facts. The response was still the same. The two detectives now knew that Lin Perfect had advised Stevenson not to answer questions put to him as he ‘no commented’ repeatedly. They were prepared, however, to ask everything that Dylan had planned for them to ask, giving him the opportunity to answer. If not, at a later stage, the solicitor could argue that her client would have replied if the questions had been put to him.
They meticulously asked every question. Dylan was pleased. Some questions that were put to Stevenson provoked a flicker of something in his eyes. Every now and then Stevenson ran his hand distractedly through his hair.
For the forty-five minutes of the tape, Stevenson managed to remain silent under extreme pressure, which Dylan knew wasn’t an easy thing to do. He didn’t appear unduly fazed. They would take a thirty-minute break.
From the confines of his office, Dylan saw Sergeant Wilson arrive in the incident room. He walked towards his office and knocked at the door. Dylan bid him enter and he took a seat, after placing the paperwork and exhibits from the hospital on Dylan’s desk. Within seconds, Vicky entered with coffee.
‘He deserves this, boss. He’s been working ever so hard,’ she said.
Dylan smiled. Sergeant Wilson blushed.
‘Oh, have you got it bad, girl?’ Dylan laughed when Sergeant Wilson excused himself to go to the rest room.
In typical Vicky fashion, she brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulders with a flick of her hand and looked at Dylan through her fringe, smiling. On Wilson’s return, Dylan gave them the update on Wainstall and a copy of his mugshot.
‘I’ll get his description circulated on a bulletin on the intranet to all relevant areas for PCs and PCSOs to look out for him, boss. He shouldn’t be that difficult to find if he’s still out and about,’ said Sergeant Wilson, looking at Vicky and smiling as he spoke.
‘We haven’t found him yet, though,’ Dylan said.
‘Do you know, I think that CCTV footage is one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen,’ said Vicky, emotionally charged. ‘How could anyone stab a kid like that for nothing?’ she said.
‘Looking at the tape, it’s apparent he had two knives. One we’ve recovered, but the other? The likelihood is that he still has one with him, so be sure to remind everyone how bloody dangerous he is,’ Dylan said.
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