Only The Dead: an explosive new detective series

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “Fifteen minutes. To be honest, Sir, considering the weather conditions, we’ve made excellent progress. Once I’ve spoken with Chief Inspector MacArthur I’ll call. Any power influence here might help too, so a word from our Chief Super might help.”

  “Leave that with me and consider it done. Owen will monitor this end when he arrives.”

  ***

  As Lawrence allowed himself to relax when the train pulled out of the station at Leeds, a Police car moved through the cordoned area around a small round-about until it was close to the Plaza and the Lowry Centre. Blue lights danced on the steel sided building, reflecting in the many windows that watched over the pedestrian plaza and shimmering in the surface water that puddled the paving. Liz opened the door and stretched whilst looking up at the building to her right. The tall, filigree, cylindrical tower caught her eye and then what looked like a feeding trough on a stand towered above the Plaza; it was the Lowry Theatre. She shook her head and said one word, “Architects!”

  She pulled on a waterproof jacket clearly marked ‘POLICE’ that contrasted with the dark blue. It reflected the light. She approached the blue and white tape and ducked underneath whilst holding up her ID to a swiftly approaching constable.

  “Evening, DS Graydon, Chief Inspector MacArthur is expecting me.”

  The constable gave a small salute. “Ma’am, please follow me.”

  The Police were now operating from the Lowry Shopping Mall and a number of people were giving statements. The Lowry Theatre itself was sealed off and Liz saw the SOCO team and the fire brigade moving in and out. MacArthur was talking on the phone when he saw her approaching. He raised a finger. She paused. She turned and thanked the constable and his hand went to his hat. “Pleasure Ma’am.”

  “DS Graydon?” MacArthur had a soft, northern accent that immediately put her at ease. She put out her hand. “Your boss was on the phone. Third attack I believe. I had read something in the press but the incidents didn’t seem to make the front page. This one will however, believe me. Closing a theatre for the afternoon and a shopping mall so close to the northern HQ of the BBC on a wet afternoon tends to grab the media’s full attention. For the next day or so this will be front page, internet, You Tube and main TV news. One consolation, the media has a limited concentration span so it will be no news by next Tuesday. Witness statements are being taken and will be with you by tomorrow. CCTV is being checked and there are a couple of leads that I want to show you. We have three possible suspects from the images but, the weather today hasn’t helped, low light and heavy driving rain are never CCTV’s best friends.”

  He walked Liz to a large incident vehicle that was neither a van nor a bus. Once inside, they sat in front of one of the screens.

  “Rob, show the series of images we have gained so far, please.”

  The first showed a youth loitering in the multi-story car park, looking in a number of vehicles, then in the shopping mall, wearing sunglasses and a peaked cap. He was later spotted entering the Lowry, fifteen minutes before the incident, carrying a polythene shopping bag that couldn’t be seen on the other earlier footage. Second showed a tall man in what appeared to be a waxed coat and hood approaching the Plaza then dropping down by the water’s edge and disappearing from view. He reappeared with an umbrella and took shelter by the Lowry. He was seen there joined by two females and then a third. They then entered. Whether they were together or not was unclear, but the last female to join the group was the victim.

  Rob took up the commentary, “The images from inside the theatre, as you can see, are unclear as our man had his hood up and head down. Here you see him leave minutes before the alarm was raised. We’re talking in and out in ten to fifteen minutes. Interestingly, he’s caught again on camera carrying a bag down by Media City and then as he walks along the Metrolink station he has no bag. We have a search team tracking that now and divers will search the quay along that section of road. The last sighting we have of him is leaving the undercroft at Manchester Piccadilly Station. The times are right. Finally, at present, we have a woman. There are only three images, the car park, the shopping mall and the Lowry. She did leave just in front of the second suspect and returned to the car park. We have her vehicle registration details and officers will be with her as we speak. There is still more footage to go through but the first two seem to me to be strong candidates.”

  “Gov.” MacArthur turned to an officer manning a communications’ desk. “Third suspect cleared. She had returned to collect a lost purse from the previous night’s show. She has no recollection of seeing the second suspect follow her out. Too busy avoiding the rain! Also SOCO has a wonderful image of a size ten shoe from the seat of one of the toilets. The image is coming up now.”

  “And then there were two...for now that is. Stay here and we’ll put the statements we have to date on screen. They’ve been sent to your boss too. Coffee?”

  “I could kill a white with one sugar, thank you. Has a statement been taken from the security guard who found her?”

  “Patience, Detective Sergeant, it’s happening as we speak.” He smiled at her. “Coffee will be two minutes and I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks, sorry!” She lifted her eyebrows and flashed back a smile.

  The shoe print image appeared on the screen and then the scripts followed and she started to read as a cup of coffee was placed next to her.

  She turned to the technical officer. “Have these been uplifted to HOLMES?”

  The officer’s face said it all. He really didn’t need to reply but he answered rather curtly, his rank being equal, “Procedures here are the same as where you come from.”

  “Right, thanks, only asking.” She sipped her coffee and felt as though she was back at school.

  ***

  There was a slight delay on the Leeds to Harrogate train but Lawrence was soon feeling that he was back from the front line trench and that he had survived another day. The platform was quiet and he left the station through the side door. A white van was just pulling up on the car park; its rear doors were positioned to allow the camera to face both exits of the station. Unfortunately, it had arrived just too late. Lawrence paid little attention, oblivious as to its purpose. Once it had stopped manoeuvring and was no longer a hazard to pedestrians, he crossed Station Parade and walked down James Street. There was no rain but the sky sagged and a number of the shop lights reflected in the many puddles. At the bottom of the street he faced the obelisk, the site of the first chastisement and he began to relax, he was nearly home.

  Within ten minutes his keys were in the locks and the friendly, familiar buzz of the rogue strip-light helped him to relax. He breathed deeply and looked at the Hammertons. Within minutes he had decontaminated himself in the makeshift shower and bagged every item of clothing. Dressed in a track suit, he then sat and fed the canary after placing the whistle back next to Old Bill. He cleaned his spectacles and for the first time since leaving he felt pleased and secure. The canary started to sing, it too had suddenly emerged from out of a dark place.

  Reflecting on the day’s nerve-tingling schedule, he decided he needed a break; it had been much more difficult than he imagined. When he had initially set out on this path, his anger had been at its peak, but now he questioned whether it was making any difference to him. He made tea and took the mug to the notice-board. He crossed off the name of Carla Price and then checked the list of victims. He felt uneasy. Who knows how many errors I’ve made? Each one, and there must be more than one, he thought, might lead Forensics right to his door. Despite all his planning and organisation, things could happen or not happen that are not planned or could not be predicted and that was what could make the difference.

  The main culprit, the nurse he most wanted to harm and the one he had been saving until last, was, on this sudden surge of self doubt, instantly promoted. She would be next in line but even she would now have to wait a few days at least. If he were near to being caught, she must move forward in the line. H
e seriously needed to re-evaluate everything but he felt too exhausted and emotionally drained and yet, at the same time he was exhilarated; adrenalin was an amazing drug. He switched off the lights, closed the door checking all the locks and went home. For him the day had just been too long, for the canary it had passed in the blink of an eye.

  As he walked away, a thought crossed his mind; he suddenly couldn’t remember whether he had decontaminated the locks. He looked at his hands, turning them over. An error like this was certainly not usual for Lawrence Young. He realised he needed to take control again, he was growing careless. He returned to the workshop in order to put his mind at rest. He cleaned the locks before splitting and double-bagging the contaminated clothes and attaching the hospital plastic seal. One bag would be too big to take into work on day one. The following day, they would be in the hospital’s clinical waste and would be incinerated, he would take one in the morning and one in the afternoon. He needed to be back at work, he needed his routine but most importantly he needed the mental demands that his profession brought.

  ***

  Owen had returned to the incident room and was working his way through the statements. Cyril paced the room, occasionally stopping to look at the new information that had been added to the white-boards.

  “Sir!” Owen called but didn’t move his face from the screen. “Shoe print here, printing now.”

  Cyril moved to the printer, drew out the copy and popped it on the board. It was the same brand of shoe as Cyril’s. Clearly marked in the heel print was the word ‘Church’. Our man certainly knew the better quality foot-wear.

  “There’s a statement from an elderly female. She mentions seeing a man enter one of the cubicles. At the time she wasn’t sure of the gender and thought nothing of it until the alarm was raised and the speculative gossip started. Gives a fair height description and the coat is a match for the CCTV candidate. She also mentions that he might have been wearing gloves but she can’t be fully certain. Two other women have said that they saw a person leave a cubicle and that they felt he might be wearing a surgical-type mask, but they thought that it might be some religious covering and didn’t pay too much attention as they were so desperate for the toilet. They were then confronted by a screaming security guard. Their description of the hooded coat is a match too.”

  “Get the images enhanced or whatever they do. See if we can find a face or any feature that might help us and clear with Manchester if we can get both images to the media, preferably North West and local news here at best. We need to jog memories as quickly as possible; he might still be travelling and therefore exposed. What about the camera van. Anything there?”

  “I’ll check.”

  Cyril’s phone rang. “Graydon, Sir. All information has been uplifted to HOLMES now. I checked the statement from the security guard. Apparently he describes being approached by a fairly tall individual wearing a coat and a glove; he believes there was a hood on the coat but cannot be sure. The man informed him that he had heard a scream in the ladies’ loo and that was when he dashed down and found Carla. They’ve sent the CCTV images to the officers with him to look at, the wonders of modern technology, Sir. He’s pretty sure that he was the man. It will be a while before we speak with Carla, however, her two friends have given their statements but there’s nothing there.”

  “Thanks, we need the CCTV images out with the media ASAP to jog memories. Owen is contacting local television news but the incident is being played down, classed as a Police Incident. Check with MacArthur and get his go ahead; I know we officially don’t need it but we need friends so handle it sensitively. I’ve sent over a press release to accompany the news item, clear that with him too. If he wants, his name can be attached to keep it local. What’s happening there now? Are you returning tonight?”

  “SOCO have finished and declared the crime scene safe; they hope to open the theatre and shopping mall within the hour. It’s been reported as a Police Incident, great minds, Sir, and that’s being added to the theatre’s web-site as such. There’s little I can do now after inspecting the scene. All info will be sent centralised and I have MacArthur’s mobile number. He has been very efficient and totally co-operative. I’ve a feeling that our suspect may be back home by now and that I’m assuming he is closer to you than me at this moment. I’ll return and see you in the morning. Is briefing at 07:30?”

  “Thank you, yes. I believe a couple of your team have new and exciting information for you. See you tomorrow. Owen,” he said turning towards the desk. “This might seem a wild shot but get someone to burn some midnight oil and compare our man with CCTV street scenes of Harrogate today just in case he’s a neighbour of ours. It may be nothing but you never know. Tomorrow, I want shop door cameras checking from an area around the station, they might show him passing. We know approximately the time he was in Salford so it shouldn’t take long. Now home everyone, early start tomorrow.”

  Cyril decided to walk home, his eye was hurting and he needed fresh air. He actually needed a pint but that would have to wait. On arriving back he had just poured a Scotch as the soothing tones of Willie Nelson massaged his tired brain. The phone rang.

  “Bennett.”

  “Hi Cyril, Janet. Just thought I’d call. I’m at Leeds-Bradford waiting to fly to warmer climes. Hope it’s not too late or I’m not intruding. Just wanted to say that if you fancy a weekend of sunshine, Nice is lovely this time of year.”

  “Very nice or Nice too. Corny I know. Sorry, no time for fun and frivolity at the moment even though your invitation is exceptionally tempting. When are you back to buy me lunch? A Yorkshireman never forgets a free meal!”

  “I’ll not forget. Got to dash, take care. I’ll call!”

  She hung up. Cyril closed his eye and covered his other with his hand. Janet’s features swam into his mind’s eye and he smiled wickedly as the song suggested the ribbon being removed and her hair falling loosely; the lyrics certainly mirrored the moment’s thought precisely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Big Ben’s deep chimes brought Cyril to his senses. He opened his eye and stared down his nose. The patch that covered the other was still where he wanted to be, in blissful darkness. He leaned across and turned off the alarm. “Come on Bennett, busy day ahead!”

  The incident room was full and to his surprise DS Graydon had been there since six.

  “Morning everyone.” Cyril walked to the front of the room, immaculate as ever, even so early in the day. “Thanks for the early kick off, we have a fair amount of work this morning so keep alert and listen.”

  He held up a daily paper showing two images, “Sadly not front page news but squashed next to an editorial about wine being good for you and a pregnant, Scottish panda but it’s out there! Hit the television too both last night and this morning, I’ve been informed. Right, you all know the drill. Make sure all statements and enquires are uplifted to HOLMES no matter how insignificant you feel they might be. I know, I shouldn’t have to say that, but when surrounded by a team who can’t be bothered to shave, you just have to keep prodding. Sorry, no offence ladies, you all look wonderful!” He blushed slightly and smiled. “Liz?”

  Liz detailed the evidence that had arrived during the evening. There had been two phone calls to the Manchester Police after the still images had gone out on the later local news programmes.

  “From the new evidence we have someone, we’ll say male, who causes physical harm to individuals but appears to be concerned that only the specific targets are injured where possible. To cap it all, he’s benevolent too! Yesterday, we have reason to believe that he calmly bought a Big Issue charity magazine right in the middle of one of his attacks! So what do we have? Firstly a Mr. Amir Khan.” A number of heads lifted from making notes and stared at her on hearing the name. “Don’t get excited, not the boxer, a local taxi driver who rang to say he’d dropped a chap matching the description some time in the afternoon near Media City after collecting him from the taxi rank at Manchester Piccadi
lly, he believes between 12:30 and 13:30 but he cannot be sure. He’s with Manchester Police now and Forensics will be going over the cab. Unfortunately his cab has no internal CCTV! Secondly, we had a call from the Big Issue seller at Piccadilly Station who says he sold our man a copy. He’s also talking with the team in Manchester. Debbie,” she smiled at one of Owen’s team, “has already put calls out to search for and collect any of the Big Issue magazines that might have been dropped in bins in Manchester and Leeds. All carriages that ran between the two last night are also being searched. That call went out just after midnight so if he did read it and dump it, we might get something from that.”

  “We’ve had no reports regarding the other suspect, the youth, and CCTV has thrown up nothing else. I have a hunch that our guy is local, he’s in this area. There is little evidence to support my theory but I’m sure that he didn’t come into Harrogate for the first two victims. He trod familiar ground, it was safer. Two thoughts for you to chew over: firstly, if he’s handling chemicals he has to dispose of the clothing or containers somewhere, unless of course he just stores them away in some shed, lock-up or place of work. We received a report from Manchester; they have failed to locate the missing bag that was seen carried by the suspect for a short part of his walk to the Metrolink Station. Divers found some interesting items but not the bag, they suggest it could, of course, have floated away after being dropped in the quay, but that is doubtful. The likelihood is, that he pocketed it. I would be surprised if he’d leave evidence carelessly at the scene. We need to watch council tips, local waste bins and fly-tipping sites. If our chap is using any of these to get rid of his chemical waste, we have a public health hazard waiting in the wings.”

  “Ma’am,” Nixon put his hand up. “I spoke with Dienst voor Opruiming en Vernietiging van Ontploffingstuigen.”

  Everyone cheered and clapped.

  “Very good Nixon, got it at last!” Liz joked sarcastically but smiled encouragingly.