White Lilies

by Bridgestock, RC

  She placed his warm drink on the coffee table beside him and sat at his side. He didn’t stir. She leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. He lifted his arm so she could snuggle beneath it and he smiled with a satisfying groan as she did so but he didn’t open his eyes. The harsh reality of what life had thrown at Dawn and Ralph when they had waited so long to have a baby had made Dylan even surer that he wanted to spend as much time as he could with Jen and theirs.

  ‘Perhaps I could go out walking with Dawn?’ Jen said, thoughtfully. 'They say that physical activity lifts your mood better than anything else.’

  ‘Mmm … that’s kind love,’ he said raising his heavy eyelids for a second to look down at her. ‘I’m sure she’d appreciate it and it might do you some good too,’ he said pulling himself up from his slouched position. He patted her stomach and his hand lingered on hers, resting there. All of a sudden Jen felt the baby through her stomach for the first time – it was amazing to feel the hard lump that was an elbow or a heel perhaps, but a little freaky too.

  ‘Did you feel that?’ said Dylan, startled.

  ‘Mmm … it makes it all seem rather real, doesn’t it?’ she laughed. ‘I wonder if Dawn has thought of trying herbal teas?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s worth suggesting,’ he said leaning forward to pick up his drink. He took a gulp. ‘I’m going to enquire about getting her counselling. It might just unravel some of her issues and help her deal with what’s going on in her mind,’ he said lying back on the sofa and pulling Jen towards him.

  ‘Can I do that for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled as he drifted back off to sleep, his head on her bump. Jen knew these were the moments that needed to be cherished and would be few and far between once the baby blessed them with his presence.

  Chapter 8

  Pam laid in her bed, wondering when she would hear from Danny. She stretched out lazily and yawned loudly. The sound of doors slamming had woken her. Slipping out from under her duvet, she tiptoed across to the bedroom window and pulled back the curtains. Her bedroom overlooked the driveway and, seeing both her mum and dad’s cars gone, Pam ran on tiptoes into her mum’s room and sat at her dressing table. She opened her make-up case and took out her lipstick and mascara. slipping them carefully into her dressing gown pocket.

  A final check of her school apparel in the full-length mirror of her mum’s wardrobe, half an hour later made her smile. She wondered if she needed a coat and walked to the bedroom window that overlooked the main road to check. ‘Is that Danny’s car?’ she said, aghast. Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be, could it?

  She ran onto the landing, grabbed hold of the banister and flew down the stairs. Picking up her satchel from the floor, she hurried out of the door, hearing it slam loudly behind her as she raced down the path. Standing at the bus stop, she stood on tiptoes as she scanned the road in both directions, desperate in her search to spot Danny’s car heading her way.

  Pam stood back quietly and let one bus go. She waited for the next. Oh, how she could just imagine the other girl’s faces, green with envy if Danny Denton gave her a lift into school. She waited, giggling at her thoughts. The next bus drew up alongside her and although she was at the front of the queue she let the other passengers go ahead of her as she took one last glance. Pam looked at her watch. Disappointingly it told her in no uncertain terms that she’d better jump on board if she didn’t want to be late for registration. She slouched next to the window and took her mobile phone out of her pocket. The bus was noisy. She willed the phone to ring. Thoughtfully, she requested the alert setting, selected vibrate, and slipped it back into her pocket. The last thing she wanted was to miss a call or text.

  DS Taylor Spiers was on her way into the office. Her first job today was to look into the focus of Donald Harvey’s complaint against Brian Stevenson to see if there was any weight behind Grace’s son’s allegations. Tomorrow was Grace’s funeral, and although the event would be sad she would rather go there and avoid Mildred Sykes’ post-mortem if she had the choice. Perhaps she could persuade Dylan that her presence at the funeral was more important than at the mortuary.

  ‘Morning boss, can I get you a coffee?’ said Taylor as she hung up her coat on the stand just outside Dylan’s office door. ‘You’re in early today,’ she called.

  ‘White, half a sugar,’ Dylan shouted back. She tilted her head trying to decipher by his tone if he was in a good mood as he chatted on the phone. No, she conceded she didn’t know him well enough yet but she was confident she could wrap him round her little finger as she did with all men. It was only a matter of time until he succumbed to her charms.

  ‘I thought I’d go see the financial advisor today to see what he has to say about Grace’s finances,’ she said, as she walked into his office.

  Dylan nodded but didn’t look up from his work.

  ‘Her son was raging about him and his antics,’ she added, standing in front of his desk, steaming mug of coffee cupped in her beautifully manicured hands. Dylan’s head turned to his computer screen.

  She walked round his desk and leaned over his shoulder to set the cup carefully in front of him, purposely brushing up against him as she did so and he turned as if in slow motion to watch her walk away from him and settle herself on the corner of his desk. He saw her cross her beautiful, long legs in front of him so that he could see her long brown pins in her new high-heeled black patent shoes.

  To all intent and purpose she looked as if she was about to go on a night out in the town, he thought. The bright orange, low cut top clung to her voluptuous bosom as she leaned across him to pick up the printout of the Chief’s Log, a resume of the major events in the Force area in the past twenty-four hours.

  Dylan’s eyes never faltered as they caught the twinkle of her long, dangly earrings.

  ‘Yeah, who knows Taylor? People might take advantage of an old lady living on her own,’ he said taking the mug by the handle and putting it to his lips. He studied a sheet on his desk.

  ‘Don’t forget, Mildred Sykes’ post-mortem tomorrow,’ he said.

  Putting the Chief’s Log back down, Taylor slid off his desk and headed for the door without speaking. She stopped and turned, leaning heavily on the frame. He could sense her waiting for him to look at her.

  ‘Yes,’ he drawled.

  ‘Oh, tomorrow. Grace Harvey’s funeral? I think I should go, don’t you, to see who turns up? But, of course if you need me at the Mildred Sykes’ PM?’

  ‘Blast. I definitely need you at the funeral,’ he said, thoughtfully.

  Taylor quietly closed his office door behind her. ‘Mission accomplished,’ she whispered, smiling to herself as she sunk back into the chair at her desk and started to type Brian Stevenson’s details into the intelligence systems.

  ‘I wouldn’t speak too soon,’ said Dennis, who sat quietly at his desk.

  ‘What would you know?’ she said, casting a sly smile at the police officer who was on light duties with a hand injury.

  She hadn’t been at her workstation long when the phone rang.

  ‘Taylor, Dylan.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she cooed, a broad smile crossing her lovely face as she tinkered with her earrings and lifted her head above her computer screen to see him through his office doorway as he talked to her.

  ‘I’ve got them to put back Mildred’s PM back to three o’clock, so it won’t be a problem for you to attend both,’ he said matter-of-factly and promptly hung up.

  Dennis sniggered. Dylan was nobody’s fool. Everybody tried to avoid post-mortems but thinking about what she’d said he deemed it was necessary that she attended.

  ‘Er … great,’ she said, her voice sounding flat even to her own ears as she flopped back down into her seat. She put the phone back on its cradle and laid her head in her hands on the desk, groaning.

  The CID office door slammed signalling someone’s arrival and she sat up quickly. Tomorrow was another day, she sighed, smiling sweetly at Karen th
e young, quiet, HOLMES indexer who had just clocked in to start her day. Taylor knew she had plenty of time to come up with something to avoid going to the mortuary. She didn’t want her hair or her clothes smelling like rotting cabbage. What on earth would people think? After all she was a Sergeant now; she had the power to instruct other people to do the dirty work for her.

  Try as she might, Taylor could find nothing on any of the intelligence systems for a Brian Stevenson but, having found a telephone number for him under financial services in the telephone directory, she made a call to see if he was available to speak to her – and within the hour was sat in a plush office having fresh coffee and oatmeal biscuits served to her by him.

  He was tall and painfully thin with a hunched back, which made him look older than his years. His neck was long; reminding her of a swan’s. However he had the smartest of haircuts, was clean-shaven and dressed in an expensive suit and silk tie. Most of all, he appeared polite and attentive.

  ‘I've called to see you about Grace Harvey, Mr Stevenson,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Call me Brian dear, please.’

  Taylor nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, poor Grace. What an absolute shock it was to hear the news. She was a lovely lady and a dear friend of mine. Do you know the person responsible?’

  ‘No not yet,’ she said, catching a mischievous glint in his eye.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be checking cars for damage?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said taken aback by his question.

  ‘The old Porsche is in the garage at the moment – had a collision with a bollard. The bollard won unfortunately,’ he laughed, half-heartedly. ‘Ah, well such is life,’ he shrugged. ‘Donald Harvey is concerned about his mother’s finances I understand?’ he continued. ‘But believe me dear that’s nothing unusual,’ he said. ‘Grace always needed to release capital to support his lifestyle.’

  ‘And what lifestyle would that be Mr Stevenson?’

  ‘He’s taken to the fratty, vagrant way of life, as I understand it from Grace, after spending time in an American University. I believe he also has a yuppie lifestyle to match as well as doing a little gambling of late, Ms Spiers,’ he replied, in a hushed tone.

  ‘Is that why she had to release the equity in her home?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, I advised her against it,’ he said shaking his head.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I wasn’t family Ms Spiers, just her friend and her financial advisor. Blood’s thicker than water, so they say, and when it came to money she made that quite clear. Even though I protested quite emphatically, Grace instructed me to release monies as soon as possible.'

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What sort of amounts are we talking about?’

  ‘One hundred thousand pounds,’ he said.

  Taylor pouted her lips and drew in a breath.

  ‘Indeed. So now you can see why I was concerned.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a lot of money. When did this take place and what happened to the money?’

  ‘Her finances have been slowly dwindling away for some time, but the equity release money was only finalised a few weeks ago. Then Donald has the audacity to ring me to threaten me about it.’

  ‘Did you report the threat to the police?’

  ‘No, I appreciate that he was upset about his mother’s death and I expect he thought he would inherit more than he will now.’

  DS Taylor Spiers had a conundrum. Who was telling her the truth? Within thirty minutes of talking with Brian Stevenson she found herself travelling through Harrowfield town centre.

  She wondered about what Brian Stevenson had told her. No wonder Donald’s appearance didn’t appear to be ‘normal’ to her. He dressed intentionally like a vagrant, but a clean one. How bizarre. Was Donald Harvey disguising a gambling habit too? That did make sense. Grace sent him money and basically funded her grow-up son’s chosen lifestyle. But, what didn’t make sense was why Donald would then threaten Brian if Donald had had the money already.

  Dylan was right about one thing; you never knew what you’d find out once you start asking questions. The hit and run incident was looking and sounding more appealing by the hour. Who the hell was telling the truth, she thought, as she stopped in a line of traffic in the high street and looked at herself in her rear view mirror. Rubbing her lips together she considered her main priority, which at the moment was getting out of the impending post-mortem. She liked the media side of her new posting. Her name and picture would be in the papers soon. Journalists would want to quote her.

  She would work on Dylan to let her get involved with that side of things more. Who knows, she might get on TV? She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, licked her lips and considered seriously what she might wear for TV interviews. Perhaps she should go shopping for a new outfit while she was in town to that new little Italian designer shop, just in case.

  Chapter 9

  The school day was drawing to a close. Pam was downhearted. She hadn’t heard from Danny all day, she must have blown it. Looking at her phone, she silently begged it to bleep a message arriving, as she walked along the long driveway leading from the school to the main road. Head down, she dragged her feet lethargically.

  Suddenly she heard the distant, booming sound of loud music, but try as she might to see through the gaggle of pupils, staff and an array of backpacks in front of her, she couldn’t see the car. A broad grin of anticipation grew on her face. She could hear the dull, repetitive thud from car speakers.

  Pam turned to face the direction of the noise. Her pace quickened and her heart started to pump wildly. She stood on her tiptoes, eyes scouring the road above a sea of heads at the school gates. Friends shouted their goodbyes to her but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

  The beat of the music was increasing in volume and then suddenly it was there, the red Ford Fiesta drew up on the opposite side of the road in front of her. Almost immediately a group of girls swarmed the car. Some bent down to the opening window and started chatting and laughing with the car’s occupants. Pam stormed across the road, but as she neared, the girls started walking away, laughing raucously and her feelings of jealousy had subsided by the time she had reached it.

  ‘Hi gorgeous, thought we’d come to give you a lift home?’ Danny said leaning out of the car window. ‘Jump in.’

  ‘Did you come past our house this morning?’ she said with a brilliant smile that showed her pearly white teeth. Billy stepped out of the car to let her in the back seat, as she walked around to the passenger door.

  ‘We did. We were looking for you,’ Danny said, his eyes glued to hers in the mirror. He smiled. Pam blushed.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet,’ Danny laughed. ‘I won’t drop you off outside. I know parents can be such a bore,’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ she said, confidently. ‘My mum and dad work twenty-four seven, they won’t be home for ages yet.’

  The speed of the car pulling away from the kerb caused Pam to jolt backwards and roll over on the back seat.

  ‘I think your legs get longer,’ Billy said with a smirk as he put his head through the middle of the front seats and stared at them unashamedly.

  Danny turned to see what Billy was looking at. There was a screech of brakes.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ he screamed at the driver of the car that to swerve to avoid a collision. ‘Fucking wanker,’ he shouted at the top of his voice as he turned and made a one-fingered gesture. 'Just cos’ he’s got a fucking Porsche he thinks he owns the fucking road,’ he raged. Danny rammed the car into first gear and yanked off the handbrake; revving the engine he swung the car around to follow the Porsche. The car had vanished.

  ‘I think I know that guy. He lives there,’ Pam said, pointing in the direction of a huge white house that stood in its own grounds at the bottom of the road where she lived.

  ‘Number 42,’ Danny remarked, nodding to Billy.

  ‘He must
be fucking loaded,’ Billy said, giving a long low whistle.

  ‘Whoever he is, he doesn’t cut us up like that and get away with it,’ Danny muttered.

  Moments later they were outside Pam’s home and Danny revved the engine once again. Pam stared out of the window at the neighbouring houses to see if she could see anyone watching. ‘What’re ya doing at weekend?’ Danny asked.

  She thought hard for something interesting to say. ‘Nothing. I don’t think,’ she said instead.

  ‘Good, I’ll text you,’ he said.

  Pam got out of the car and stood on the pavement as Danny did a three-point turn. Without a glance from Danny she watched his car crawl down the street and stop outside number 42. She turned and ran up the path to her house. Pam unlocked the front door behind her and dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Yes!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. Punching the air, anyone watching would have thought she’d just scored the winning goal at Wembley. She’d got her first real date.

  She took the stairs two at a time and launched herself into her bedroom, flinging open her wardrobe door. What on earth was she going to wear, she thought as she picked out her clothes one by one and discarded them on the bed? Tops, skirts, jumpers flew out of her drawers. She could feel panic rising. There were only a few days to decide. She stood at the foot of the bed and flopped backwards, sighing. Dreaming of Danny, she thought she’d burst with joy as she pulled her teddy off her pillow and hugged him tight. ‘Teds,’ she said. ‘This is it. I’m all grown up now and I don’t need you any more.’ Teds flew up in the air and landed in the rubbish bin.