‘You look as if you’ve been up all night?’ said Dylan.
‘Most of it.’ Her eyes held a twinkle.
‘I don’t want to know.’
‘No, you probably don’t.’ Vicky touched the plastic bag with tentative fingers. ‘Aren’t you going to see what I’ve brought you?’
Dylan put his hand on the bag but his fingers fell short of opening it.
‘Come on. Jen sent it for you. She said you wouldn’t have eaten, so there’s bound to be some goodies inside. Shares?’
‘She knows me.’
‘She loves you.’ Vicky put her hand to her mouth; this time the yawn was wider and noisier.
‘She sees me through rose-tinted glasses. I don’t deserve her.’
‘I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone who deserves me?’ Vicky put her elbow on the table and her chin in the palm of her upturned hand, she dragged the bag towards her and unwrapped sandwiches and cake. Her eyes grew big and round. She took a gulp of her coffee and sunk her teeth into a piece of Yorkshire Parkin. ‘By, your lass doesn’t half make nice cakes,’ she said, smacking her lips together.
Dylan was solemn. ‘She does.’
‘Hey, you,’ she said. ‘What’s with the long face?’
‘The woman’s body.’
‘What about it?’
‘She was pregnant.’
‘Good God! Is it a feticide?’
‘That depends on the age of the unborn child doesn’t it? We have to specifically show that the baby could have had an independent existence of its mother to charge.’
‘So if the baby were less than twenty-four weeks, what would the charge be?’
‘It would likely be wounding with intent or child destruction. But the two counts of murder of the child’s parents would take precedence. The barristers can fight over that.’
‘Life imprisonment for the scum when they’re caught anyway.’
‘Poor little mite. We take it for granted, don’t we? We get pregnant. We have a baby. It brought it home to me in there just how fragile an unborn baby is.’ Dylan shook his head, cleared his throat and took a bite of his sandwich in silence. He chewed the mouthful as if it were cardboard. He considering another and looked at the sandwich intently before dropping it back into the bag.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Vicky, her head tilting to one side? Are you ill?’
Dylan was so deep in thought that he had not realised how long they had been sitting there until he heard Vicky slide her chair away from the table and his eyes went to the clock. ‘I have this overwhelming feeling that something bad is going to happen,’ he said quietly.
‘Well, it is.’ She pulled a face at him. ‘We’re about to go into a bloody post-mortem.’
With Vicky’s injection of humour the sombre mood was broken and Dylan gave her a little smile. ‘You’re right,’ he said getting to his feet. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You’re a big softie if truth be known Jack Dylan,’ she said putting an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. ‘You’re lucky to have each other, you and Jen.’
‘Hey, don’t you go spreading that rumour young lady. I’ve a reputation to keep,’ he said giving her a fleeting wink. ‘My nickname didn’t used to be Basher for nothing.’
***
‘Professor Stow is ready to start the post-mortem of Mr Knapton if you’d like to get your aprons on,’ said Bert the mortuary assistant when he popped his head around the door.
‘A bit of a local celeb this one isn’t he Dylan?’ said Stow.
‘Let’s say he was well known, but for all the wrong reasons,’ said Dylan.
‘It’s quite exciting isn’t it, you never know what a body has to offer in terms of evidence to capture their killer?’
‘I wouldn’t quite put it like that but whoever murdered Freddy probably dismembered his dog too, that’s more upsetting,’ said Vicky who dragged her feet into the examination room behind the two men.
Dylan and Vicky stood on the periphery. They shared knowing looks as the body was uncovered. Vicky took a packet of mints out of her pocked and offered them round. Finding himself without mints Dylan was pleased his mortuary survival regime was rubbing off on his protégé.
Knapton’s clothing was bagged and tagged on removal by Ned. Being exhibits officer at a post-mortem, Dylan was aware there was little time to think about one’s surroundings. Professor Stow pointed out cuts in the material of Knapton’s clothing, holding his sweatshirt up to the artificial light on the ceiling to see clearly where the knife had penetrated the cloth. Once the dead man’s body was naked, Stow counted eight stab wounds to his trunk and legs. Some of them were superficial but Knapton had also suffered a deep cut to his throat.
The professor measured precisely the width and depth of each wound before moving on. Next he opened the body cavity to examine what damage the penetration of the knife had caused to his internal organs. He continued this post-mortem quietly, methodically and at pace. He too, Dylan thought, feeling the ache in his legs, must be getting tired. Two hours later and it was over.
‘The cause of Mister Freddy Knapton’s death is due to the wound to his neck. Which in turn caused extensive damage to his jugular vein and carotid artery. He would have been unconscious in a couple of minutes after this wound was inflicted, and dead within ten due to the loss of blood and oxygen to the brain. He has six stab wounds to his legs, some are deep but none of these, or the more superficial one to his trunk, would have been immediately life threatening.’
‘And the weapon?’ said Dylan.
‘The weapon? A knife with a double edge blade. From the deepest wound I would suggest you’re looking for a knife with, at the very least, a four-inch blade. The wounds to the legs are of interest to me. These show me that it is most probable the attacker was sitting down when they were inflicted. The blade has gone into the thigh horizontally. The deceased, I suggest was stabbed in the back, before his throat was cut.’
‘What you’re suggesting is that our murderer has been calculated in their action, and knew exactly what they were doing?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘Do you believe it was one person who inflicted the wounds or maybe more?’
‘The wounds suggest to me that the same type of weapon was used, that’s all.’
‘But, we never assume do we?’ Vicky took a sideward glance at her boss.
‘Exactly,’ said Professor Stow. ‘It is always a possibility that an identical knife was used in the attack. It’s not too difficult these days to buy two, three, four of a kind. Moving on, Knapton has scuff marks to the skin, which indicate to me he was dragged. He pointed to bruises to his body. ‘These suggest he was kicked.’
When the examination was over Stow recapped his findings.
‘In brief, he was stabbed, had his throat cut. He was kicked and dragged before being dumped off the car park roof. Of course there are other bruises and injuries to his body which were clearly sustained after falling from such a height and these are consistent with them occurring after he had died.’
‘After he died? So what you’re telling us is that he was dead before he was thrown off the car park roof?’
‘That is exactly what I’m telling you, Dylan.’
It was dark and the overflow car park to the hospital where Dylan had parked earlier in the day was now almost empty. His car stood alone by the exit to the stairs. Vicky’s car looked abandoned on the top of a concrete island.
‘How the hell, did you manage to get out of the driver’s side?’ said Dylan eyeing the driver’s door inches away from a stone pillar.
‘I didn’t,’ she said, opening the passenger door and climbing across it to slid in behind the steering wheel.
‘If only I were that agile,’ he said shaking his head. Vicky laughed aloud as she turned on her engine and opened her window.
‘Fancy a drink?’ Vicky’s eyes were wide and bright. She released her hair from her hair grip and she instantly l
ooked younger than her years.
Dylan shook his head. ‘Not tonight. I’m off to my bed. ‘We’ll discuss the findings tomorrow. Enough is enough for today.’
‘Lightweight,’ she said with the flick of a hand tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.
‘My office at eight o’clock lady,’ he called out as he walked to his car. ‘Don’t be late.’ He pulled his tie loose and opened the top button of his shirt.
‘Don’t worry. You know me. I’ll be there all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,’ she said. Dylan heard the car reverse and land with a bump as it dropped down the kerb. Vicky revved the engine as she pulled alongside him. He opened his door and flopped down into seat. ‘Give my love to Jen,’ she called. He nodded and watched as the tail lights of her car vanished towards the exit at speed.
***
His drive home was a quiet one. The car’s headlights guiding him along the pitch black, long, winding roads of the Sibden Valley as he left the bright lights of Harrowfield town centre behind. With his car windows open he inhaled the fresh, cold, night air into the depths of his lungs. Would the Merton Manor enquiry now be deemed a triple murder? Was the unborn child capable of existence independent of its mother? Could the pregnancy be a motive? Several possibilities for murder bounced around his mind like a pinball, and the night air gushed in. He shivered with cold, his eyes watered but still he didn’t shut the window. He tried unsuccessfully to close his mind to the killings but, deep down, he knew his mind would be like a submarine, running under the sea, pushing onward, never stopping until it reached its journey’s end. Dylan needed a distraction, he needed Jen.
He let himself into the house and shut the door behind him. Standing quietly at the bottom of the stairs he listened intently for a sound that told him Maisy or Jen may be awake. All was silent. Max rose to greet him from where he lay at the bottom of the stairs. Dylan patted him. The dog followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dylan threw his keys on the table, took his mobile phone from his pocket, turned it off, and laid it face down next to them. He walked to the fridge and took out a can of lager. Max sat next to him as he drank.
The long hot soak in the bath did nothing to turn Dylan’s mind off the events of the day. He climbed into bed and hoped that sleep would take him quickly into oblivion. Jen stirred, and although he was hopeful that they would talk, she did not wake. He leaned over to kiss her warm cheek, but instead of turning off the light he lingered for a moment or too, leaned on his elbow and viewed her sleeping face. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said in the softest whisper.
‘You’re biased,’ she mumbled. Tenderly he kissed his finger and put it to her lips. She opened one eye slightly, smiled, moaned and turned away from him. He switched off his bedside light and snuggled up behind her feeling her warm body next to his. As he did so, he purposefully lay his hand on her rounding stomach. ‘You’ll always be beautiful to me.’
Jen grunted. ‘Have you been drinking?’ she said, sounding more awake.
Dylan chuckled softly. ‘Just a lager, why?’
Her answer was to put her hand over his. All was quiet for a moment or two.
‘I love you so much,’ he said. She could feel his breath on her shoulder before he kissed it.
‘I love you too,’ she said opening her eyes. She turned facing Dylan and the light from the nick in the curtain allowed her to see the depth of emotion in his eyes.
Jen eyebrows came together. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
Dylan shushed her as he stroked a stray lock of hair gently from her eyes. He took a deep breath. ‘I just had a reminder today of how fragile life is. I don’t know what I’d do without you and our...’
‘Well, we’re not planning to go anywhere,’ she said, gently closing her eyes. ‘So, you don’t have to worry.’
He surprised her by kissing her on the mouth, long and passionately. There was no need for words. She responded with an eager naked body against his, and after they had made love it was Jen’s turn to wrap her arms around her husband’s girth and he slept, a peaceful sleep of a contented man.
***
It was half past six when they woke. Maisy could be heard chatting away. Dylan didn’t attempt to get out of bed so Jen laid her head on his chest and wallowed in the few minutes they had alone, before their daughter decided she had occupied herself long enough. Jen felt a stirring in her stomach.
‘I can’t bear to think what that poor couple went through. She was pregnant you say?’
Dylan was silently looking wide eyed at the ceiling; images of the post-mortems flashing through his mind. He nodded.
‘Me neither.’
‘Did you put yesterday’s clothes in a black bag for the cleaners? I don’t think I could stomach the smell of the mortuary this morning?’
Dylan smiled. ‘I did.’
‘I’ll take them to the cleaners.’
Maisy’s chatter became a shout – then a cry. Jen rose. Another day had begun.
Chapter Nine
Dylan sat in his office gathering his thoughts. Who stood to inherit the Isaac’s fortune? Jon Summers tapped at his door. Had he read Dylan’s mind?
‘Take a seat. What can you tell me?’ Dylan looked at the paperwork in his hand.
Jon sat on the edge of his chair. Dylan sat back in his, his face serious.
‘The Isaacs; nice couple by all accounts. No apparent enemies. Feedback from the Isaac’s Art Emporium staff tells us that Jake Isaac was good to work for, valued his staff, and rarely had to advertise. There are no incidents of note that anyone is aware of, and we have nothing on our police systems about them or their properties that is of relevance.’
‘The Emporium doing well?’ asked Dylan leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. He put his fingers together in the shape of a steeple and rested his chin on his thumbs.
‘Yeah, sales figures are up on last year, but as a matter of course I’ve asked the financial investigation unit to put him and his business under the microscope.’
‘So basically the only irrefutable info we have on the case so far is that the Isaacs are nice couple, violently killed in their own home, for no apparent reason?’
‘Ah but they were a very wealthy couple too sir.’
‘But there was jewellery still in the safe and I imagine other expensive items in the house. So if it was a robbery why leave so much behind?’
‘Unless they were looking for something in particular?’
‘Right enough, Jake Isaac would be in the arena to pick up valuable collectables. Do you think he’d be so naive as to keep a large amount of money in the house?’ Dylan scowled.
‘Who knows, the interest rate for savers is rock bottom. Did the intruders kill the couple because they knew they’d recognise them?’ said Jon.
‘Otherwise why was it necessary?’
‘If only we knew the motive? You don’t think that we are being led to believe it’s a robbery when it was a contract killing and murder was intended by the perpetrators from the outset?’
‘Dunno. What about family? Any news?’ said Dylan.
‘Both parents are dead but he has a brother – he’s single. We are still trying to locate him through their solicitors. It’s only since Jake’s father’s death that they have been reunited so we are told. Their father left the brother a flat in London and Jake the house. The brother, he’s a bit of a playboy by all accounts and he’s well-travelled. So, sadly, it appears Jake and Leah pretty much just had each other, and a child on the way, which of course would have been the one to inherit the Isaac’s fortune eventually.’
Dylan’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, at this moment in time we’ll stick to the basics, systematically go through the information that comes our way and wait to see what the experts can tell us. Who knows where forensic results etcetera, will lead us?’ he nodded at Jon. ‘Thanks for that. Let’s keep digging and we’ll have a debrief at five.’
***
The Devlin brothers were still in possession of the
hire car. They’d spent the evening at Redchester’s Casino with a couple of escort girls, then they’d taken them back to the executive suites of a five-star hotel in Harrowfield.
Declan and Damian were sitting scanning the morning newspapers in the breakfast room. Damien lifted his chin to his brother. ‘It’s York races. We could’ve taken the girls.’
‘The girls have done what they were paid to do and gone,’ said Declan not looking up from the newspaper.
Damien sought the betting odds on his mobile phone. ‘I liked Shani. She was cute.’
‘Get real, will you. Shani isn’t her real name.’
Damien scowled at his older brother. ‘Why would she lie?’
Declan shook his head and his tight lips turned up at the corners. Still he didn’t look up but his hand found his coffee cup and he put it to his mouth, took a sip, and put it back down on its saucer
‘You saying I’m stupid?’ Damien lowered his voice and leaned into the table.
‘If the cap fits.’
Without saying a word Damien pushed his chair backwards on the wooden floor and threw his napkin on the table before marching out of the dining room.
Declan folded his paper slowly, looked around the room to ensure that his brother’s quick departure hadn’t drawn attention to them and, gently wiping his mouth with his napkin, placed it on his plate and followed Damien out of the room.
Damien was standing beside the entrance, a sullen look upon his face.
‘Okay, okay, give them a call to see if Shani and Nancy are free.’ Declan was growing impatient.
‘Really?’ said Damien his eyes brimming with child-like excitement.
‘Why not if it makes you happy?’
The brothers walked across the foyer amiably towards the elevator. ‘Did you win last night?’ said Declan.
‘I’m a couple of hundred up.’ Damien had a spring in his step as he lunged forward to press the elevator button.
When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 10