Dylan thanked him for his time.
‘Just glad to be of some help sir, best of luck with the investigation and if I can be of further assistance please let me know.’
‘If only,’ Dylan said with a long, deep sigh as he watched Rupert Charles leave his office. Those two little words he had heard used by so many victims and their families. ‘Hindsight – a wonderful thing.’
***
The office seemed exceptionally quiet when larger than life character DC Charles left Dylan alone with his thoughts. Dylan picked up the copy of his report from the desk and carefully considered each photograph within. Dylan’s perception of how the house looked before the devastation was never greater. DC Charles was right, these photographs showed him a luxury home. The gardens were neatly manicured, even the staddlestones stood proudly like soldiers on sentry duty. The more he looked at the pictures the more he was drawn to the staddlestones. Dylan was almost sure that one of those was missing when he’d attended the scene after the fire. He rummaged around in his in-tray for the pictures he knew had been taken by the crime scene investigators and, locating them, he pinned them together. Now placed side by side, he attempted to spot the difference on the two near identical images. Feeling excited by the realisation that there was indeed a staddlestone missing on the day of the fire he wanted to know when and why? He was aware it wasn’t uncommon for criminals, or indeed police officers to take trophies away from crime scenes. He recalled a crime scene investigation officer who happened to be a keen gardener. He’d created his own crime scene rockery at his home address after taking stones from crime scenes he’d examined. He even knew exactly which stone came from which enquiry. There was ‘nowt stranger than folk’, as Dylan’s old mum would have said. Now what he needed to know was were there any identifiable marks on those particular staddlestones. Anything that would mean that if they found the missing object it could be positively identified and connected to Merton Manor. He typed an action for a member of the team with the relevant expertise to visit the remaining stones and offer advice. It may be a little piece in the jigsaw to solve this puzzle, but it could be an important one. As he pressed ‘send’ Dylan’s mind moved on. He wondered who the Isaac’s solicitors were and if the couple had made a last will and testament. ‘Who would benefit from their deaths?’ he typed. The incident room staff would input these ‘actions’ into the database and then raise the necessary paper enquiries for the team to carry out the investigations.
Dylan gave Jen a quick call. She was in the admin office on the floor above him. ‘I’ve just bumped into Dawn Farren in the corridor,’ said Jen sounding bright and breezy. ‘It’s ages since we’ve met up. Would you believe that her little girl Violet is four years old next birthday?’
Dylan chuckled. ‘Time flies doesn’t it? I was sad to lose her from the team when she went to ‘act up’ as Detective Inspector on the Child Protection Unit as it was then, but she’s so well suited to her role I can’t imagine her ever coming back to division can you?’
‘No,’ said Jen. ‘She sends her best and we’ve a lunch date for a catch up.’
Dylan groaned. ‘Baby talk if I know you two.’
Jen went silent. ‘You still there?’ Dylan looked at the telephone receiver in a puzzled way after a moment or two.
‘Yes, yes, I’m still here,’ she said but her voice was quieter and she now sounded sad.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, tired, nauseous, sore boobs, constipated, but ... I’m just not looking forward to the thirteen-week scan, that’s all.’
Dylan’s smile softened his face. ‘You’re a worrier.’
‘Come with me, please?’ she said softly.
‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.’
‘I know that, but criminals might.’
***
Vicky’s arrival in Dylan’s office was a noisy one. A large smile was pasted across her face.
‘Well, you’ve either detected the murder or your love life is on the up,’ he said without looking away from the document he was typing. ‘Where’s my coffee?’
‘It’s not the former, although I’m working on it,’ she said with a wink. ‘I’ve just ordered two coffees and asked for biscuits.’
‘So, go on then, who is he?’ Dylan raised his eyes over his computer screen at her.
Cheekily she tapped the side of her nose. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ she said cocking an eyebrow. ‘I’m using my right to remain silent.’
‘Seems like the only words in the defence team’s dictionary at the moment,’ he grumbled as he carried on typing.
‘That and, no comment.’
Dylan finished what he was doing and refreshments were put on the corner of the desk. He turned his chair to face Vicky, picked up a mug of coffee in one hand and scooped a ginger biscuit from the plate with the other. ‘Whoever you’re seeing appears to be making you happy, so that’s good enough for me. Let’s talk about the Knapton murder,’ he said leaning back in his chair and putting his coffee cup to his lips.
‘Arthur Carson. I’ve been to see him.’ Vicky nibbled on her biscuit. ‘Lovely elderly gent, bless him. He got himself so wound up when he was speaking to us that he kept losing his top set of dentures.’ Vicky chuckled. ‘He might have liked to give Knapton a good hiding but he’s far from capable. He lives in a nice little sheltered housing bungalow in a quiet residential cul-de-sac near Groggs Park.’
Dylan nodded. ‘He couldn’t help us any further?’
Vicky shook her head.
‘What else have you done since our last meeting?’
‘We’ve set up a database for all things dogs, owners, etcetera and we’re building a time line for Freddy Knapton’s last few days on this earth.’
‘Once we find out what he was up to and with whom that’ll generate more leads. Any joy with CCTV?’
‘Nah, not yet, we’ve seized it from the local garage and several shops to see who was about at the time but it’s not proving useful at the moment.’ Her eyes caught sight of the photograph on Dylan’s desk. ‘Wow, that’s Merton Manor before it was destroyed by fire I presume?’
‘You presume right,’ said Dylan, turning them around to face her.
‘What a beautiful place.’
Dylan pushed two photographs joined together in front of her. ‘Notice something missing?’
‘One of them giant mushrooms?’ she said looking up at him with raised eyebrows.
‘Staddlestones, and I would make a guess that they’re the real deal.’
‘If they’re antiques, are they worth a bob or two then?’
He nodded. ‘You can buy cheap ones at garden centres and the like.’
‘Who took the pictures?’
‘Crime Prevention Officer DC Charles went to see the couple to give advice, and the other from CSI after the event.’
‘When was the stone removed I wonder? It’s positioning in the grounds, the size and that, you’re hardly going to miss the fact it’s gone are you?’
‘I’m hoping the gardener will be able to help when we get to speak to him.’
‘Staddlestones, they’re like buses and police officers,’ she said putting the pictures back down.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The old guy we went to see Mr Carson, his neighbour had one in his garden. The only reason I noticed it was because it was next to the bird bath and a Blackbird was having a right old splash about.’
‘Replicas are ten-a-penny.’
‘They were originally used as supporting bases for granaries, hayricks, game larders, things like that, protecting the stored grain from vermin and water seepage.’
‘Do you know, Vicky, you never cease to amaze me with the things you know.’
‘It’s surprising how much crap you can store in your head isn’t it. For some reason I have always had this knack of remembering the most bizarre facts. Was you good at school?’
‘I hated it. Left school the night before the mock exams.’
Dylan shrugged his shoulders. ‘End up as a DI? I guess I just picked up the life skills I needed along the way. Tell me more about these staddlestones?’
A bemused look crossed Vicky’s face. ‘Well, the buildings at the time had wooden feet but stone was so much stronger and lasted longer and before you ask the name comes from the old English word stathol, which meant a foundation support or trunk of a tree. As time went on the name became staddle, or stathel.’
‘Remind me to be on your team at the pub quiz,’ Dylan said laughing. ‘Anyway, interesting as the history lesson is we’re detracting from the murder.’
‘Photographs,’ she said with reverence. ‘They’re always distracting aren’t they? You managed to catch up with Lord Charles then?’
‘Lord Charles?’ Dylan looked baffled.
‘He thinks he’s royalty. Have you been to his house though?’
Dylan shook his head.
‘Put it this way, you wouldn't stay for a cuppa.’
‘Why? They use expensive bone china cup and saucers?’
‘No. It’s a shit hole the rumour squad say,’ she said in a hushed tone. ‘He’s got a problem. He’s a gambler, lottery tickets, the horses, the dogs, you name it, he's backing on it.’
‘I wish the rumour squad worked for a living, they can get the word out quicker than any intelligence bulletin.’
Vicky shuffled the paperwork in her hand.
‘So what else have you got for me?’ Dylan said picking his pen up and threading it through his fingers.
‘Two days before his death we know that Freddy Knapton was in Tesco, Argyle Street. Just after nine o’clock he was creating havoc because staff wouldn’t sell him any booze. We have the incident recorded on CCTV. In his usual pleasant manner, he’s ‘effing and blinding, before he walks out giving it, ‘You fucking bastards I’ll take my custom elsewhere.’ I bet the poor young girl behind the counter that he stuck his fingers up to hoped he’d stick to that promise. Bless her, her face was ashen.’
‘Any sign of his dog, Satan?’
‘Yes, he’s caught on the camera outside the shop, tied up, jumping, snarling and snapping at everything that comes within striking distance.’
‘Good. So we know they were both alive and kicking and wreaking havoc as usual two days before they’re found dead. Anything on the spray paint or the tag?’
‘Not yet, but according to intelligence and the locals say it’s a new one for them.’
‘Okay let’s keep digging, tracing dog owners and hoping we get a bit of luck thrown in the mix.’
‘To kill so brutally, surely it’s something more serious than a skirmish and anything other than that we would have heard about, wouldn’t we?’ Vicky’s eyes were unblinking.
‘I don’t need to tell you about man’s inhumanity to fellow man. And, don’t forget like we said before people’s pets are family, and in some cases the only family some folk have. Animal antics may well feature on the motive list.’
‘I know our job is not to reason why,’ she said with a sigh. ‘We just need to find the bastards.’
‘Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, see if you can find out what the rumour is on the street, at the vets, and don’t forget to make enquiries at the pet shops.’
‘I have a meeting at the vets later today to see if they have any idea how best to proceed with enquiries that are dog related, and we have their authority to look through their files. I’ve asked for information regarding dogs that have been treated or had to be put to sleep because of an attack recently.’
‘Somebody knows something. What we need to do is make them feel confident enough to talk to us. I’ll get Connie to release a press appeal now I’m able to name Knapton. We’ll be appealing for anyone who had seen Knapton, spoken to him, or had a run in with him in the last couple of weeks to contact us. Have you got the phones covered?’
Vicky stood to leave. ‘Yes. How’s things on the Isaacs’ murder?’
‘Slow.’ Dylan shrugged his shoulders, his expression bleak. ‘We have two or more armed men who execute people, I’m trying to step it up a notch by increasing staffing levels.’
‘By the way, I hear congratulations are in order. I understand Jen is pregnant?’
‘What did I say about the rumour squad?’ Dylan’s face softened to a smile. ‘Jen wants to keep it quiet for the time being - it’s early days.’
‘Would you like a boy this time?’
The look on his face told her all she needed to know.
Chapter Twelve
Detective Inspector Dawn Farren approached the quaintly furnished table in the cafe where Jen sat waiting. Her eyes were downcast but as soon as she looked up to see her friend walking towards her she instantly smiled standing to embrace her. Jen quickly sat back down and Dawn’s wide grin turned to a frown when she patted Jen’s pregnancy bump and she saw the tears well up in Jen’s upturned eyes. She sat down opposite her, reaching across the pretty tablecloth, to squeeze Jen’s hand. ‘Hey, what’s up?’ she said scowling at Jen through her straight cut, thick fringe of her newly bobbed haircut.
Jen could hardly talk for the lump in her throat but she shook her head and the tears she’d held back for so long began to fall. Dawn felt in her jacket pocket and pulled out one of her beautiful hankies she was renowned for carrying. Rising swiftly from her chair she handed it to Jen and promptly travelled around the table to sit at her side. Dawn put her arm around Jen and squeezed her tight.
Wiping away her tears Jen spoke of her fears. ‘When you miscarried,’ Jen’s sob caught in her throat. ‘How did you know you were going to lose the baby?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Dawn looking concerned.
‘Stomach cramps, bleeding, nauseous?’
‘Don’t you remember me fainting at work and them having to cart me off to hospital in an ambulance when I was carrying Violet? And look at her now.’ Dawn’s eyes misted over and Jen couldn’t miss the haunted look that appeared within. ‘I bled when I lost the babies, before,’ she said softly. ‘Why?’
‘The baby,’ she said putting her hand instinctively to her stomach. ‘I’ve had the most awful stomach cramps.’ Jen’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘And I’ve been bleeding.’
‘Does Dylan know?’ she said looking shocked.
‘He knows I’ve not been well.’ Jen chose the words carefully. ‘I went to the hospital,’ she smiled weakly through her tears at Dawn who had automatically gone into professional mode.
‘And, what did they say?’
Jen swallowed hard. ‘They listened to the heartbeat and told me to try not to worry. They’re arranging a scan.’
‘Let’s hope that it’s sooner rather than later. How far gone are you?’
‘Twelve, nearly thirteen weeks.’ Jen raised her eyes to look into her friends, as keen as they were kind that twinkled restlessly above the wholesome russet-red of her chubby cheeks.
‘Listen to me lady,’ Dawn said softly. ‘There is no one knows how you’re feeling more than me, but that little one inside you is fighting for its right to life. You have to do all you can to help. Do as you’re told and put your trust in the doctors. Do you hear me?’
Jen nodded her head and gave her a wan smile.
‘Now, where’s that waitress? I’m going to treat you to the biggest cream cake they have.’ She patted Jen’s knee. ‘That’ll cheer you up,’ she said beckoning as she did so to a young girl in a white pinafore.
‘Trust you,’ said Jen wiping under her eyes.
***
Dylan had just written the latest news bulletin and sent it to Connie for immediate release. It was with reference to the murder of Freddy Knapton. He’d spent the last half an hour talking to the press officer outlining the purpose of the statement, Knapton’s background, and why he was well known in the community.
‘Police name man found murdered as Freddy Knapton. Mr Knapton was a local man seen regularly in the community,
usually accompanied by his black Pit Bull Terrier called Satan. Detective Inspector Jack Dylan, who is leading the investigation said, ‘Freddy and his dog were both well known. Although he was known to the police, neither him nor his dog deserved to be brutally murdered. I am appealing to people who have seen, spoken to, or have been spoken to by Freddy in the last two weeks, or indeed anyone with any information about the murder, to get in touch with me in confidence at Harrowfield CID, or ring Crimestoppers. These were particularly sadistic killings and, as always, we are appealing to the public for their help to trace those responsible. Please don't assume someone else has given us the information you may hold.’
As soon as she received the press release Connie was directly back on the phone to Dylan. ‘When is it likely you’re going to be ready to do an appeal in relation to the murder of the Isaac family at Merton Manor?’
‘Shortly,’ he said. ‘The last thing I want is for the murders to be competing with each other for the headline on the news.’
‘Understood,’ said Connie.
***
Dylan marched into the incident room like a man with a purpose. He saw Detective Constable Wormald and DS Summers at their desks. ‘I need to know if there is any more news on the Isaacs’ next of kin?’
Jon Summers put the telephone phone down. ‘Just on with that now sir, Mark Haywood the family solicitor has traced the brother to a hospital in Switzerland where, apparently, he is recovering from a broken leg from a skiing accident. This happened before the fire and he is still there. Wealthy in his own right and devastated by the news. The Will is quite straightforward. They’ve no other immediate family. Jake Isaac has very recently been in discussion with Mr Haywood, the intention being to make amendments to bring his will up to date after the birth of their child, to incorporate an heir.
‘Get the intelligence unit to ring the national crime faculty to see if there have been any similar robberies around the country.’
‘I’ve already contacted them sir,’ said Jon. ‘Nothing to note of any interest yet but they’re still digging.’
When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 13