The incident room was buzzing. It was late. ‘We off for a drink?’ Taylor asked.
Lisa picked up the ringing phone. Her already tired face paled. ‘Stevenson slashed his wrists in his cell. There’s an ambulance en-route,’ she said.
‘What?’ John said. ‘I thought he was being watched? The boss is gonna go ape,’ he said, as he turned towards Dylan’s office, where he could see his boss in animated discussions with someone on the phone.
‘The wanker. That’ll cause an internal investigation, overseen by the independent body, which will be more of a priority than the bloody murder,’ John groaned into his hands.
‘He may have just realised that he was looking at life inside,’ Taylor said. ‘How serious is it? Do we know?’ she asked Lisa.
‘No,’ Lisa said, biting her lip.
‘It’s ironic isn’t it; the amount of people that will be scrambling to save a murderer’s life now,’ said Vicky.
‘And they’ll probably save him. Only the good die young, don’t they say?’ Taylor added.
‘We’ll be alright then,’ Vicky said, looking at Taylor in a different light. ‘I’m going to the cells. I want to know what’s happening. You coming?’
‘They won’t tell you anything,’ said Taylor.
‘No, but I want to know if the bastard’s going to live or die.’
‘I’d better go break the news to the boss,’ John grimaced.
Chapter Fifty-Three
‘Coffee, boss?’
Dylan lifted his head from within his arms on the desk as John walked into his office, his hand wrapped round a mug.
‘You’re gonna need this,’ he said, pulling a face as he placed the drink in front of him.
‘Now what’s happened?’ Dylan groaned. He could hear Vicky’s raucous voice outside. He smiled weakly. ‘You should be like the cats that got the cream.’
‘We were.’
‘Were? What’s the bloody problem? It can’t be that bad, surely?’ he said, the smile on his face fading.
Taylor knocked at the door, opened it and rushed in. Her face was flushed. ‘He slashed his wrists,’ she said, flopping down in the only vacant chair.
‘What? How?’ Dylan demanded. ‘With what? I thought he was on suicide watch?’ Dylan’s face paled at the look on her face. ‘How bad is he?’ he continued.
Dylan and John looked at Taylor for the answers.
‘With a paper clip, believe it or not, the cells think he might have taken it from his solicitor’s paperwork.’
‘So, has he been treated and is he back in the cells?’
‘Yes. The wounds are superficial. Although there was a lot of blood. It was a half-hearted attempt according to the staff downstairs.’
‘What’s up then?’
‘We thought,’ John said, meekly, ‘you’d be fuming that a potential serial killer might have taken his secrets to the grave with him.’
‘Fate and luck always play a part in this game, you should know that by now. Come on, you two,’ he smiled at their serious faces and his normal colour returned. ‘I think we all deserve a drink, don’t you?’ The pair smiled, tiredly. ‘Let’s just find out what’s happening to Wainstall first.’
The sight of relief on their faces told Dylan how much the case meant to them. At one time he would have gone mad; they were right to be concerned about telling him. Was he going soft in his old age?
Dylan picked up the phone and spoke to the custody sergeant regarding Frederick Wainstall.
‘Boss, he’s loopy, if you want my opinion,’ he said. ‘He’s like a bloody animal. So much so that I’ve had to call in the doctor to confirm that he’s fit to detain and check his fitness to interview. For the time being I’m keeping him handcuffed.’
‘Safest way,’ Dylan grinned. ‘That’ll keep you on your toes for a few hours. He’s been deemed fit on both counts previously, but he’s no stranger to being locked up so he might just be playing the game. Let’s hope this time he’s locked up once and for all.’
‘We’ll see what the doc says.’
‘I’m going to arrange for him to be interviewed tomorrow morning. Give me a call, will you, when the doctor’s been?’
‘Will do, boss. By the way, before you go, he had a mobile phone on him and some bits of paper, and flowers, of all things, stuffed in his pockets. DC Hardacre has just been down for them and taken them away.’
‘Thanks, Sarge,’ he said, hearing Vicky’s dulcet tones in the CID office outside.
‘Whose mobile is it then? Let me guess: Denton’s?’ Dylan called out.
‘Well it’s a Nokia, sir, like Denton’s,’ she said. ‘How good would that be if it was? Battery’s flat,’ she said, screwing up her face.
‘Handle it with kid gloves and get it checked for fingerprints on the inside, battery, SIM card. The database should confirm it for us one way or another,’ said Dylan.
Vicky was standing by Dylan’s open door.
‘Take it to the technical unit. By early tomorrow morning we should get a result.’
Vicky turned to obey his instructions.
‘On second thoughts, get a motorcyclist from traffic to do it. You look all in.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said.
‘Right enough,’ he said as he stretched. ‘Give me half an hour to get the policy logs and reports done and I’ll meet you in the bar for a swift one, eh?’
The office emptied as, one by one, the team headed for the pub. He noticed the jaded look on their faces when he caught up with them. They’d had two good lock-ups – but the journey was far from over and they knew it. Dylan ordered a drink from the bar and when he turned, Taylor was behind him.
‘How many have you had?’ he asked her. She stumbled towards him and into a table. He pulled her to her feet and steadied her. She leaned against him.
‘I’ve still got that bottle of wine in my fridge with your name on it, sir,’ she said. ‘If you want to take me home?’ she slurred.
Dylan sat her down on a chair, brushed the front of his suit jacket and looked around him.
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude,’ she said, her arms flying high above her head. ‘You’ll weaken. They all do eventually,’ she whispered, in her drunken state.
Dylan leaned down to her. ‘Taylor, let me assure you, I won’t,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes you will,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘You really will,’ she giggled, putting a finger to her lips. ‘I won’t tell.’
Dylan leaned towards her and she leaned forward to hear him, her eyes glazed. ‘Taylor, once and for all, fuck off and pester someone else, will you? It’s never going to happen. Do you hear me?’ he said.
She jumped away. ‘Assault,’ she shouted, at the top of her voice. ‘Just because you’re a boss,’ she slurred, ‘doesn’t give you the right to grope me,’ she said, slamming her glass on the table and leaning heavily on the wall, she made her way out of the bar.
‘Take her home, Vicky, will you?’ he said.
All was quiet. Dylan looked around him. He could feel a hot flush rising in his body and his hands felt clammy and warm around his cool glass. He would expect an apology from her tomorrow and he would deal with her outburst then. He put his drink down on the table and walked from the room. Things were going well for him. The last thing he wanted now was an immature female alleging he had assaulted her. Neither he, nor his team, needed the diversion.
He headed home. He was too tired to celebrate and needed the comfort of Jen’s arms around him. Lying in bed next to her, he told her about the day’s events. As expected she told him off for going near a madman and advised him to make sure he dealt with Taylor properly. There was no room for trust with the woman, in her eyes.
‘Why would she do that?’ Dylan asked.
Jen shook her head. Dylan was really naive where women were concerned.
‘Allegedly, the women, according to Rita, call her a slut, the men, a “drink on a stick” until she doesn’t get her own way with them and the
n, I hear, she makes unfounded allegations about them. Women’s intuition,’ she smiled. ‘But, you’ll ignore my advice to deal with her properly at your peril,’ she warned.
Dylan was asleep but Jen lay awake next to him for long into the night wondering how someone like Taylor Spiers would do such a thing. She knew that Jack Dylan was far from the type of man to grope a woman.
She was angry and her anger made her restless. Her legs involuntarily jumped and she pushed them out from under the covers. She couldn’t lie on her back anymore because of the size of her stomach and it was becoming uncomfortable to lie on her side even with a pillow beneath the bump and another between her knees. No matter how much she was enjoying pregnancy, she now wanted it over. Eventually she dropped into a deep sleep.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Dylan shared an early breakfast with Jen. It was warm and the air humid. The sun hadn’t burnt through the morning mist but it was certain to be a hot day. He kissed Jen goodbye, patted her stomach lovingly, picked up his briefcase and walked towards the front door. Max followed.
‘Not this time, fella,’ Jen heard him say and she knew Max understood he was going without him. Jen stood at the sink watching the bamboo fountain. It had such a calming effect on her and she couldn’t wait to sit out on the patio with Buttons in her pram.
All of a sudden, she felt a stabbing pain in the region of her bladder. Not an unfamiliar pain when Buttons was feet down but now she knew the baby’s head was engaged it alarmed her. She turned and headed to the bathroom. One thing she wouldn’t miss when Buttons was born was nipping to the loo so often, she sighed, using the handrail as she dragged herself up the stairs.
‘These steps get steeper every day, I swear,’ she groaned to Max. As she reached the top a cramp hit her and she clenched her stomach. Water started trickling down her legs. She turned to grab a towel from the airing cupboard – and as she leaned backwards to open the door she fell backwards with a crash.
The hot, humid air hit Dylan as he opened the car door and he stood still for a moment. He took off his jacket and threw it over to the back seat and glanced at the lounge window before he got inside. He opened the car windows and mopped his brow with his hankie before he turned the engine on.
Avril Summerfield-Preston’s car stopped to allow Dylan to enter the police yard. ‘Where’s that interfering old bat going so early in the morning?’ he muttered to himself. He didn’t bother to wave.
The CID office was quiet and he switched on the lights and unlocked his office door, leaving it open to allow air to circulate.
Picking up his phone immediately he sat down behind his desk, he called the cells to find that Frederick Wainstall had been deemed fit to be detained by the Force medical officer and had settled down and slept through the night in his air-conditioned cell. Lucky bugger, Dylan thought, as he tugged at his tie and opened the top button of his shirt.
‘After his initial outburst, he’s been a model prisoner,’ the detention officer said. It never ceased to amaze Dylan that when some aggressive offenders were finally imprisoned they became calm and rational, but Dylan imagined that being institutionalised meant normality to some people.
‘The prisoner has also been deemed fit to be interviewed, as long as an independent responsible adult is present along with his solicitor, sir,’ the detention officer continued.
Dylan looked up from the paperwork on his desk and saw Taylor standing before him. He pointed to the chair opposite, inviting her to sit while he finished his phone call. From the quick glance he’d given her, he couldn’t read the expression on her face.
He could hear the team beginning to arrive in the CID office outside his own and he was pleased that Taylor had left the door ajar. Dylan put down the phone purposely slowly and brought his hands together on the desk before looking across at her.
‘Your outburst in the bar last night was uncalled for and totally unacceptable,’ Dylan said calmly. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
Taylor sat with her head bowed. She reminded Dylan of a naughty schoolgirl.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,’ Taylor mumbled into her chest.
‘You can be sure it won’t. And if it does, I’ll take it further. Do you hear?’
‘Yes,’ she said in her strangled girly voice.
‘Right, get round to the court this morning with John and make sure the remand for Stevenson goes smoothly,’ he said, shuffling his paperwork. ‘Any problems, ring me.’ Dylan didn’t look up but dismissed her as he picked up his pen and continued with the work set out before him.
‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered and walked out of the room. It was important to Dylan that the team moved forward without distraction. Banter he could accept; lies he wouldn’t.
‘Coffee for our hero?’ Lisa hollered from his doorway. She still had her cardigan and handbag thrown over her arm. Dylan fleetingly looked into her open smiling face.
‘Love one, thanks,’ he said gratefully.
‘We could do with you in every subway,’ she laughed as she turned, pulled out her chair from under her desk and unlocked her drawer. ‘The council thinks they’re great, those subways, but nobody dare use the bloody things, they daren’t,’ she said, talking to him over her shoulder. ‘Toast anyone?’ she asked.
Dylan stood up and got a five-pound note out of his pocket. ‘Here, get toast for the office out of this and keep the rest for the tea fund,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, walking into his office briefly to collect the money from his desk. ‘You sure?’
‘Certain. Coffee and toast might just about get me through the day,’ he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘That bad, eh?’ Vicky said, as she passed Lisa on the way out. ‘I hope Taylor apologised.’
‘Yeah, she did,’ he sighed, as he picked a piece of paper out of the fax machine on his desk and scanned the text.
‘It is Denton’s mobile,’ she said, taking a seat. Dylan’s face lit up and his eyes found hers.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, and it still has pictures of Pam Forrester on it.’
‘Tremendous,’ Dylan said, bowing his head into his hands as if in prayer. ‘We now want some forensics on Wainstall’s clothing. His shoes must be a favourite. We just need enough to nail him. Get the interview arranged for as soon as possible. Probation are sending someone over to act as the responsible adult,’ Dylan said, lifting the fax that told him so.
‘Top man,’ she grinned.
‘Sergeant Wilson?’
‘Yeah,’ she grinned.
‘I’ll ask Wainstall about the most recent events first. It’ll make it easier for him to follow, hopefully.’
‘Okey-doke,’ she said as she walked from the room. She stopped and turned. ‘Guess what?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I’ve got a date.’
‘The sarge?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled.
Avril Summerfield-Preston knocked at the brightly painted red door. There was no reply. Jen’s car was in the driveway and the dog was barking so she must be home, she thought. She stood for a while and listened. There was no movement from within other than a constant yelp from the dog. Perhaps he was trapped?
She walked to the gate at the side of the house and tried the handle. It was locked from the other side. She reached over the top of the panels and her fingers felt along the wood. She stopped. There was a bolt. She hesitated. No, the last thing she wanted was an angry Dylan at her door – she’d been at the sharp end of his tongue before.
She walked away from the house and opened her car door. She saw the dog jumping up at the lounge window, furiously leaping on the furniture. He wasn’t trapped then. But where was Jen?
Wainstall sat smiling in his white cotton, prisoner-issue coverall in between his probation officer and solicitor. The interview room was, for once, a pleasant place to be as the air-conditioning blew down on Dylan’s face. He felt more comfortable than he had done
all morning.
Due to Wainstall’s delicate state of mind, he and Vicky had spoken to Wainstall’s solicitor and probation officer prior to coming into the room and they, in turn, had spoken to Wainstall, so the charge wouldn’t come as a surprise in the interview. After formal introductions and ensuring Wainstall’s understood the charge, Dylan began.
‘Apart from being arrested for kidnap, threats to kill, possessing an offensive weapon and wounding, you are also under arrest for the murders of two young men, namely a Danny Denton and a Billy Greenwood. Yesterday, you held a woman at knifepoint in the subway, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I’d collected flowers,’ he smiled around at them all.
‘Were you going to hurt the lady?’ asked Dylan slowly and clearly.
‘Yes, and you hit me, didn’t you?’
‘I did, but not with a knife.’
‘I like knives,’ he replied. Yvonne Best, his solicitor, looked at him wide-eyed. His probation officer didn’t flinch.
‘Were you going to hurt the lady with the knife? Were you going to stab her?’ Dylan asked.
‘Yes, and when she died I could give her the flowers.’
Vicky remained quiet.
‘There was a boy in town. You stabbed him in the back, too, do you remember?’
Wainstall looked thoughtful but didn’t answer.
‘Why? What had he done to you?’
‘Boys are bad, they laugh at me,’ Wainstall scowled.
‘When you were arrested and brought here, you had a mobile phone in your pocket that wasn’t yours. It belonged to a man who was killed in his flat, and his friend was stabbed there too when he was in bed. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’ asked Dylan.
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