Killer Smile

Home > Other > Killer Smile > Page 5
Killer Smile Page 5

by RC Bridgestock


  ***

  Back at Harrowfield Police Station the investigation team had assembled together for the first time. The drone of voices from the room could be heard by Dylan as he moved briskly along the corridor towards the incident room. The group immediately fell silent the moment he walked in.

  It took an hour and a half standing at the front of approximately thirty serious-faced police personnel to outline the discovery of Davina Walsh’s body and the attendant circumstances. His briefing was supported by a plethora of photographs of the body in situ and of the surrounding area that CSI Ebdon had taken. He shared with them the findings of the post-mortem of Davina’s body and told them what background he knew of the deceased and her boyfriend. There were more pictures taken by CSI Sarah Jarvis. So thorough were the initial stages of the investigation, but there was only one person on the enquiry who knew as much as the perpetrator or perpetrators at this stage and that was Dylan. Dylan concluded the briefing, ‘Our victim, was a young woman in the process of training for a bicycle challenge to raise funds for charity. This killer should not be underestimated; he has no doubt pre-planned this crime. This is not someone who has done this on the hoof or panicked at the scene of an accident. We need to find our murderer and we need to find them as soon as possible.’

  Afterwards he spoke with Inspector Stonestreet who had been on duty since the body was discovered. ‘The Anchor is a regular spot for people to drink and eat. Locals use it as well as visitors to the area. I’ve asked the manager to go through the till receipts, which I thought may help trace people who had been at the pub in the last forty-eight hours. I’ll revisit him tomorrow when I’m back on duty and see what he has come up with for us.’

  ‘You can take a police officer out of the CID but you can’t take the investigator out of ’em,’ said Dylan patting his colleague on the back. ‘Thanks mate. I really appreciate it.’

  Peter Stonestreet pretended to stagger away down the corridor in a comical fashion. ‘By the way boss the lads got you the assortment of condoms that the pub sells from the toilets,’ he said, with a salute to his brow.

  It brought a smile to Dylan’s tired looking face.

  ***

  As he typed up a press release for the press office he looked at his watch. No doubt Maisy and Jen would be sound asleep in bed.

  The press release was brief and to the point: The body of a female cyclist was discovered this morning on the cycle path just off Waterford Road, Harrowfield. A murder investigation is underway led by Detective Inspector Jack Dylan after her injuries are found to be non-accidental. This was followed by the usual appeal for anyone in the area, at the time, or with any information to get in contact with the incident room. The relevant direct dial and the crime stoppers numbers should anyone wish to offer information anonymously would be added by the press office.

  ***

  When Jen hadn’t heard from Dylan by nine o’clock she talked herself into having an early night. With Maisy tucked up in bed and fast asleep, Jen picked up the phone to ring her dad, Ralph, on the Isle of Wight before turning in. It was great to hear him in good spirits. Thelma’s son who was staying with them, in-between his travels, had set up a window cleaning round in the village to earn money for his next big adventure and subsequently had saved the life of a pensioner when he had discovered her post-stroke and lying on her bedroom floor. It was a feel-good story for the local press and Jen felt pleased her dad was moving on with his life after her mother’s untimely death.

  ‘And I’ve got a little job for myself down at Sandown Pet Stores,’ he said with more than a hint of a small boy’s excitement in his voice.

  ‘But you retired donkey’s years ago Dad,’ she said. ‘How’d that come about?’

  ‘Well,’ he chuckled. ‘I went in for my tropical fish food and found they’d only gone and knocked through into next door and were putting in fish tanks. As you can imagine I was overjoyed and told the owners, Paul and his wife as much. Paul asked me if I’d consider going in to help out, just a few hours a week to look after the tropical fish, and train up his staff.’ Jen could see in her mind’s eye, her dad smiling from ear to ear.

  ‘That sounds like a grand job for you.’

  ‘I know I’ve no certificates to say I know what I’m doing but experience is what Paul was after so he said I was his man.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I bit his bloody hand off. What do you think I said – and I’m getting paid too.’ He chuckled again. ‘I’d have done it for nothing truth be told. And it gets me out of the house.’

  ‘Why do you need to get out the house Dad?’ Jen said, a little worried. ‘It’s your house after all.’

  ‘Ozzy’s young and I’m not as patient as I was,’ he said.

  Jen hadn’t met Thelma or her son and was looking forward to doing so as soon as the Dylan household could get away for a long over-due break. She looked at the clock as she got into bed and sighed. She had learnt very early in her relationship with Jack Dylan that it was no use sitting up like an outraged wife when he was on a major incident, or she could be waiting forever.

  A few fireworks were popping in a neighbouring garden. ‘Someone must have been having a party,’ she thought. With a book in her hand Jen climbed in between the cool cotton sheets but she couldn’t concentrate on reading as her eyes and ears fought for supremacy, and in the end her ears won as she listened intently for a car on the driveway or Dylan’s key in the lock.

  Maisy had woken three times since Jen had put her to bed. She had been irritable and clingy after tea. Jen tried to relax. Maisy had no temperature and hadn’t been sick so Jen assumed she might be coming down with a viral infection, something she had been prone to since she started mixing with other children at the childminder’s. Jen put her book on her bedside table, switched off the lamp and heard the dining room clock strike eleven as she lay down. She looked at the roundness of Dylan’s pillow and felt its coolness with her hand. All was silent for a moment or two and Jen’s heavy eyes closed only to shoot open again at the melancholy howling that quickly escalated to a clawing and spitting cat fight outside. The felines shuffled about noisily on the gravelled path for some time before someone shouted at them. Silence returned and she drifted off to sleep until a muffled cry woke her, she listened intently, Maisy was no doubt dreaming. Her thoughts turned to Dylan once more and beside her the bed was still empty.

  Chapter Four

  Dylan was buttoning up his shirt when Jen woke the next morning. She watched him pull his suit trousers from the clothes hanger and put a foot in a leg before he noticed she was watching him. He smiled, a tired smile. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Maisy was a bit off after her fall. She complained of her leg aching last night but otherwise... yeah. I made up some sandwiches. They’re in the fridge next to the bottles of water ready for you. Grab a couple of bananas from the fruit bowl,’ she said sleepily. ‘What time did you get in?’

  ‘Late.’

  ‘You mean early?’

  ‘I mean early, yes.’ Dylan forced a smile.

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘It was tough. All the evidence points to it being a “runner”. There are no obvious leads so we’re concentrating on covering the ground beneath our feet and getting the incident room up and running.’

  Dylan looked in on Maisy. Jen softly padded down the steps before him and put the kettle on.

  ‘She’s still sleeping,’ he said as he took a bowl of cereal from her outstretched hand.

  ‘Not surprising, she took ages to settle and was talking in her sleep.’

  ‘Takes after her mummy...’

  ‘I never... I did as a kid though and I used to sleep walk.’

  Dylan smiled at his wife, pulled her close and kissed her forehead. ‘I do love you,’ he said.

  ***

  Dylan saw few cars on the road as he travelled into work, until he got to the front of the police station. TV satellite vans lined the route, waiting for the next
update.

  Arriving in the backyard he looked at his watch; it was barely seven o’clock.

  No sooner had he entered his office he heard the office door bang behind him and it continued banging as incident room personnel arrived for work. One of his first tasks was to prioritise samples to go to Forensic. They needed to be at the laboratory for lunchtime. Glancing at the duty sheet, staffing levels seemed reasonable and he had every intention of using the Operational Support specialist search team for the scene examination, sending a message to Sergeant Simon Clegg. He was thankful that the day was dry and bright, in complete contrast to the previous twenty-four hours.

  Next Dylan listed the lines of enquiry that he wanted to cover:

  1. Victims’s background

  2. Use of her telephone

  3. Timeline for her movements over the last few days

  4. Customers at the Anchor Inn to be identified and traced

  5. Intelligence unit to scrutinise the national database to look for evidence of possible similarities in other murder enquiries, i.e. use of a garrotte and/or the offender removing teeth

  6. Names of recent releases from prison

  7. Offenders who were known to leave a condom at the scene of a crime

  8. What could the experts do to identify the bite/foot mark on the body

  9. Was there any traces of saliva on the clothing where the offender had bitten the victim – possible DNA?

  Dylan’s fingers were struggling to type quick enough to keep up with the speed of his thoughts and he knew it would be a working list of a document. He would make sure the officers on this enquiry were kept busy with meaningful enquiries – the pressure to achieve results and move on to the next action would be constant. His next job was to write up his policy log, his own bible of events and actions that he had already instructed the team to carry out. It was a laborious task now to date, time and sign every entry but he knew it would be a godsend to him at a trial.

  His telephone rang with the internal tone and instinctively he thought it would be the press office but it wasn’t, it was Jen. His smile on hearing her voice soon turned to a frown.

  ‘It’s Maisy,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve just dropped her off at the childminder’s and she cried, screamed, begged me not leave her. What do you think I should do?’

  ‘That’s not like her, she usually bounds in and doesn’t give us a second glance. Were her friends not there?’

  ‘Yes, Annabelle, Hermione, Cameron were all there. What worried me was Chantall noticed a small cluster of red spots on her neck. I know, I’m a drama queen. I panicked, I automatically thought it was something serious.’ Jen gave a little laugh.

  ‘And, it’s not meningitis then?’

  ‘No, Chantall was brilliant, as always. She did the usual checks, looked to see if it disappeared under pressure, and it did, so we came to the conclusion that it must be some sort of viral infection she’s picked up.’

  ‘No other symptoms?’

  ‘No, her temperature is fine, she hasn’t been sick... Oddly though she is still complaining of her leg aching. We looked but there is nothing to suggest anything’s wrong.’

  ‘So you left her?’

  ‘If it was anyone else other than Chantall I’d have had to ring in sick and bear Beaky’s wrath, but Maisy’s known Chantall long enough and I know she’s in safe hands. She’ll sleep it off no doubt. She can have Calpol again at twelve o’clock and Chantall said she’d keep me updated but...’ Jen’s voice turned into a whisper. ‘Why I’m ringing, Beaky, Ms Avril Summerfield-Preston, the Divisional Administrator, that God forbid MUST be obeyed is on the warpath. She’s just given Rita a right rifting about taking a private call on her mobile and demanded we all turn them off.’

  ‘Oh, for god’s sake, why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some bee in her bonnet about the noise, we actually think she’s over indulged on the G and T’s last night by the looks of her. I’ve texted Chantall to tell her to ring you. Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ***

  The media briefing was planned for eleven o’clock. ‘Will that give the Family Liaison Officer enough time to get a recent picture of Davina from Gary for us to give it to the media present?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘Yes, a police motorcyclist is on route to HQ now with it and they will do the necessary,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Good, it should make the lunchtime news with any luck,’ said Dylan. ‘By the way, will you tell the team I’ve decided not to divulge to the media that the victim’s teeth were extracted just yet.’

  ***

  The microphones were lined up before Dylan on the far side of a long trestle table in-between him and the national media that filled the room where the press conference was to take place. Dylan took a seat offered to him by the press officer.

  It was warm, humid and the feeling of anticipation hung in the air. A presenter from the community radio station caught his eye. Maggie Currie was on the front row with her Vectis Radio roving microphone. A one-to-one interview with her was on Dylan’s agenda. He knew there was no way of getting news out faster to the local community than via the local station.

  Behind this staged scene of police banners and reporters a structured and well-versed incident room was up and running below in the bowels of Harrowfield Police Station. The operation had been given the name Operation Walnut by headquarters. Every action or inaction was being documented and stored on the computer databases including HOLMES for easy comparison, recollection and ultimately disclosure, and the massive criminal file that would ultimately make War and Peace look like a pamphlet in comparison, had begun.

  Not only the arena where the press conference was being held, or the incident room but the whole station was also a hive of activity. When a murder investigation broke it appeared to breathe new life into the old building as well as into the personnel within, and the whole community at large. It was that supportive drive, joint co-operation, and determination that found the killers.

  To outsiders the initial stages of an investigation must seem to move forward at nothing more than a snail’s pace, but the solid foundation was essential so that nothing was overlooked or discarded.

  Forensic as requested had treated the examination of the condom found at the scene as a priority and on leaving the press conference Dylan was told that they had obtained a DNA profile from the contents.

  ‘They’ve told me that it will be run through the National database today,’ said Vicky. At this point Dylan knew that the forensic department would contact him immediately if they had a ‘hit’. He could feel the adrenalin run through his veins as he walked into the next room for the one-to-one interviews with the media. If the user of that condom was recorded on the system they could potentially have a major suspect in the case in for questioning. However, Dylan also was more than aware that unless the user was known to the police the DNA profile could lie on the system waiting to be identified, ultimately forever.

  ‘I want the samples of condoms from the Anchor Inn sending over to them. We need to check if any of those could match the exhibit,’ Dylan said.

  ***

  Dylan sat at his desk, pen in hand, coffee in front of him, willing the phone to ring and it did but not with the news he had expected.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you answer your mobile? You promised me! It’s Maisy ...’ Jen screamed.

  ‘What? I didn’t turn it off. It was on silent... I was in the press conf...’ Dylan pulled his mobile from his pocket. It showed him over a dozen missed calls.

  ‘Get out of my way!’ shouted Jen. Dylan heard someone in the background swear.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘I bumped into... Shit! Sorry.’ Dylan could hear mumbled angry voices, the clatter of crockery and then the pitter-patter of Jen’s hurried footsteps continue on a hard floor surface.

  ‘Where are you?’ he said trying to stay calm. His heart beat fast, his mouth dry.

  ‘I’ve just a
rrived at A and E...’ Jen’s voice was shaky. She was breathless. ‘Where will they be?’ she muttered under her breath?

  ‘Where will who?’

  ‘Maisy and Chantall!’

  ‘Head for the reception. I’ll be with you soon as soon as I can,’ he said scooping his car keys from his desk drawer.

  ‘Boss?’ Vicky stood up with a quizzical frown upon her face as Dylan rushed through the office, towards the exit.

  ‘Maisy’s in hospital. You’re going to have to hold the fort until I know what’s happening.’

  ‘But, but... What do you want me to do?’ she shouted at the retreating Dylan. The door banged behind him.

  The office came to a standstill, some people mumbled a few words to the person closest to them. ‘I know as much as you,’ she snapped with eyes wide. ‘Get back to work.’

  ***

  It was lunchtime. Chantall heard hurried, heavy footsteps come to a standstill behind her in the corridor; she turned, her red-rimmed eyes flashed upwards and found Dylan’s cold and blue. He could see that unchecked tears had fallen on her silk blouse and dried upon her face. He put an arm around her shoulder and heard a faint crackling sound. She handed him a piece of paper. ‘Poor baby...’ she sobbed.

  ‘What happened?’ he said. His eyes scanned the detailed account of the mornings’ events.

  ‘The doctor is examining her. We have to wait here. Jen is with her. I tried to get hold of you, honestly I did. When I couldn’t, I thought it best to bring her straight here.’ Dylan looked through the half glass door of the small examination room. Periodically the curtain flashed open for a moment and he caught glimpses of the back of a tall man in dark green attire.

 

‹ Prev