Dylan stood staring at the burnt remains, wondering what Tracy was thinking. He remembered one of the first bodies he’d been called out to, which just happened to be on the fourth floor of a hotel. A suicide note had been left at the scene. He’d offered to help the elderly undertaker place the body into the body bag and together they’d precariously carried it from the bedroom to the lift. Dylan had only then realised just how heavy dead bodies were. The dead man was around 6ft 10 in tall and they had struggled repeatedly to squeeze the man’s stiff frame inside, so that the lift doors would close. The undertaker of some years experience came to Dylan’s aid, as he showed him how the body would fit in diagonally. Doors closed at the last ping of the lift, and signalled that they had arrived at their elected floor. Last in, and without further ado, when the doors opened Dylan proceeded to walk backwards out of the lift, straight into a wedding reception. Red-faced, he’d realised they were on the wrong floor. Fortunately, the body went quickly into the lift that time. Looking back, to observers it must have looked like a farce out of a silent movie. He chuckled to himself; it had caused a few laughs back at the nick but at the time he’d been horrified.
Jacob stood up from his hunched position to face Dylan. ‘It’s the remains of a female and she was outside the car when she was set alight...no question. I’ve moved the body slightly and look,’ he pointed, ‘there’s a white patch unsoiled beneath. I should be able to identify the accelerant no problem. It’s most likely petrol, but I’m certain of one thing; the car, suitcase and body were all heavily doused in it. I might get you the type of petrol, too.’
‘That would be great,’ Dylan said, as he walked with Jacob to where John was talking to Vicky and Tracy.’ Then we might be able to locate where it was bought.’
‘Sir, best I can do I think is a partial finger-print from flesh on the finger of the right hand,’ said Phil.
‘Bugger.’ said Dylan, scowling.
‘Low loader confirmed boss and en-route. Tracy will help with the packaging of all the other exhibits, boss.’ John said, as he approached the men. ’I’ve elected Vicky as the Exhibits Officer.’
Dylan was pleased that John felt confident enough to act on his own initiative. He’d listened to what Dylan had said and got on with the job in hand. Dylan felt sure he was going to like working with his new team.
All the photographs and samples had been taken, and the removal of the body to the mortuary was next on Dylan’s agenda.
‘Sorry Dylan, I’m not able to find an engine or chassis number for you here but I’ll be able to examine it more thoroughly back at the lab,’ said Jacob.
Everyone held their breath at the lifting of the fragile skeletal remains. There was flesh under the body and a clump of hair at the base of the skull. Because it was stuck to the tarmac, it needed John, Dylan and the undertakers to release it.
‘You wouldn’t have thought a skeleton would be so heavy, would you?’ John groaned, as he struggled to help lift the charred remains. Dylan smiled knowingly.
The Operational Support Unit transit van driver waved to Dylan as the Operational Support Search Team arrived in the car park, just as he was about to leave.
‘Can you believe we’ve been at the scene for three hours?’ said John.
‘It’s not something that can be rushed is it? And let’s face it, the body’s not going anywhere is it, so the investigation might as well be as thorough as possible,’ Dylan said as he made his way to speak to the sergeant in charge of the team.
‘Search the route first taken by the dog handler before you start the fingertip search of the car park, will you, and make sure the area remains sealed to the public.’
‘Will do, sir,’ replied the OSU Commander who, in Dylan’s absence, was now in charge of the scene.
‘Tracy, you go with Vicky to the mortuary in the CID car and follow the hearse for continuity. Phil Turnbull is already en route and one of his colleagues from SOCO will join us there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Vicky and Tracy replied together. Dylan smiled as the ladies walked away, chatting amiably.
‘I don’t know about you John but I’m bloody starving. It’ll be an hour or so before the pathologist arrives at the mortuary, so if you want to go back with Vicky and Tracy for some food and bring me a sandwich back to the mortuary, I don’t mind. I’ll see you there, eh?’ Dylan said, as he opened his car door.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m certain. Jen is bound to have slipped some snap in my briefcase to put me on until my dinner tonight, if I know her. It’ll give me chance to write up the Policy Book.’
‘Okay, boss. See you at the PM,’ John said as he raised his hand to catch the girls’ attention.
Dylan watched from his car, at what looked like a vacant hearse being driven away by the undertaker. The CID car containing John, Vicky and Tracy was close behind. He had never known before joining the police, that in the rear of the hearse, underneath the platform where the coffin rested, there was a void where bodies in body bags were transported, out of the view of the public. Although some funeral directors had started to use black transit vans, which these days were more economical.
PC Dale had very kindly taped up the remaining arm of Jen’s car wing mirror but had kept the rest of the debris for evidence. Alone now at home, she cried. Why? Goodness knew. She was safe. The police were doing what they could to find the person responsible, and with the statement, identification and number plate she had given them, they had a good chance. So what the hell was up with her? Max sat beside her, resting his head on her lap, and she looked into his deep brown eyes as she stroked his head and he leaned his body heavily against her leg. Jen had watched Max grow up and grow wise, and she felt that he knew at that moment what was in her heart: she needed Jack, just a brief cuddle would do.
The post-mortem was about to commence, and Dylan could see Tracy’s jaw clench and her hands shake as she twisted them in her lap.
‘You can go in the police room behind the glass screen if you want, you know,’ Dylan whispered.
‘No, sir, I’m fine thanks,’ she smiled. Her determination to get through it was written all over her face. She looked around. If the others could cope with a post-mortem, so could she. Who was the victim here? Didn’t she want to help catch a killer?
‘have a mint then, I always find it helps,’ Dylan said, as he searched for the extra strong mints in his suit pocket.’ And if you need to go out to get a breath of air go; it’s okay. Most of us have disappeared in our time.’ He smiled, offering her the packet of mints. ‘John, don’t you forget to call home, you’re gonna be late tonight.’
John nodded as he saw Dylan retrieve his own phone to text Jen.
‘I’m at the mortuary. How’d it go with traffic? X’
‘I’m fine – don’t worry x’ Jen texted straight before throwing her phone back in her handbag.
‘Come on Max, I need some fresh air, fella’ she said, as she held his head in her hand and gently removed the sleep from the corner of his eyes with her finger. Max didn’t flinch, nor did he need asking twice. She was sure he smiled at her, and focusing on Max’s needs made her feel less sorry for herself. She didn’t know how Jack coped; it was just one body after another. The last thing he needed was to worry about her.
Sitting quietly and writing quickly, Dylan had only managed to eat a little of his sandwich before Donald Jefferson, the pathologist, arrived. Putting the sandwich back in the paper bag, Dylan started to give him the background regarding the discovery of the body.
Mr Jefferson examined the corpse, ‘Female, 5ft, 4in.’ There was no hesitation.
‘That’s surreal; - it’s just a skeleton, how’d he know that?’ Dylan heard Tracy whisper to Vicky. Dylan shook his head; even he never ceased to be amazed by the professionals with whom he came into contact in his work.
‘There are no signs of broken bones,’ Jefferson dictated into his Dictaphone.
Mr Jefferson took samples, along with the clump of hai
r. Hopefully the root would give them her DNA. The victim had died by asphyxiation from inhaling smoke and carbon monoxide.
‘I’ll arrange for the orthodontist to get her teeth impressions.’
‘That’ll be great. Then we can start making enquiries with dentists in the area.’ On completion of Mr Jefferson’s examination, there were no other signs of injury. Dylan was more than pleased that they had a line of enquiry to pursue, and he shook the pathologist’s hand.
The incident room was buzzing. Dylan walked in with a purpose; he had the press office to update and an enquiry team to arrange.
‘Earlier today,’ the statement commenced, ‘emergency services responded to the report of a fire in the lower car park of St Peter’s Park. On arrival they found a vehicle and a female at the side of it. Both were totally engulfed in flames. The fire brigade managed to extinguish the fire but unfortunately the body of the female was burnt beyond recognition. The vehicle is also unidentifiable at this time.’
The announcement incorporated an appeal for any possible witnesses in the area at the time of the incident, or anyone whose sister, girlfriend, daughter, partner or wife had gone missing.
Dylan searched for the ringing phone underneath the mountain of paper on his desk that he and John were wading through.
‘Sergeant Delvers, sir, PSU. We’ve found a black balaclava along the route. It’s been photographed in situ, bagged and tagged.’ Dylan raised his eyebrows at John.
‘Sounds interesting; how far from the scene is it?’
‘Er...‘bout quarter of a mile, just off the snicket up to the main road.’
‘Can you tape the route from the car park, and we’ll include it in a more detailed search tomorrow? Thank your team for me and pass on my compliments to Trevor, the dog handler, will you?’
Dylan felt excited; it could be nothing but it was something to work with.
The HOLMES team was established; enquiries at garages for purchases of petrol in canisters were ongoing, arrangements had been made for the balaclava to go to forensics, and the CCTV was being examined. The basics had been done: it was time to go home. A briefing was arranged for eight a.m. the following day.
‘It’s not an easy one,’ Dylan said later that night as he nuzzled into Jen’s neck, hugging her tight. ‘Are you okay? Tell me all about your day; the accident?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she yawned. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m so tired,’ she said. ’There’s glass all over the seat and footwell of my car. The wing mirror flew straight past me, luckily.’
‘What was the twat doing?’
‘God knows. He was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere; he went around a line of traffic at one hell of a speed.’
‘Where were you?’
The phone rang, ‘Dad, how lovely to hear from you, lovely.’ Jen smiled at Dylan as she took the phone into the lounge and settled on the settee. ‘Later,’ she mouthed to Dylan, who followed her. Dylan lay down and rested his head on her lap. Closing his eyes, he listened to her soothing tone and fell asleep.
Jen could smell a hint of mortuary on his hair as she stroked his brow and listened to what her dad had been doing throughout the day.
Chapter Thirteen
The day started dry and cold, but by mid-morning the blue skies had become grey and the rain fell like stair rods. It was as if day had suddenly become night. Dylan briefed the team and made sure items prioritised for examination were taken to forensics. Sitting at his desk, he was engrossed in establishing the priority lines of the enquiry. Once the female or the car was identified, he knew things would move at a pace; but for now he had to be focussed and patient taking one small step at a time. He undid his tie and released the top button of his shirt. God, the weather was so depressing, he thought as he looked out of the window at the tall, dark puffy cumulonimbus clouds.
The ringing phone broke his concentration. The message from personnel didn’t do much for his heavy mood; Larry was to lose his job, there was now no doubt. After all the good work he had done in the past, the drink had been his ruin. Dylan felt sad. It was true what they said, you were only as good as your last job, and in Larry’s case it couldn’t be worse. There had been no response from Larry to Dylan’s repeated phone calls, so he decided to visit his apartment as soon as he could, to discuss the future with him. Dylan rose from the desk, and stretching his back, he stood staring out of the window at the copious amount of rain that was being swept by the strong westerly wind, across the back yard. The next minute hail hammered at the window snowflakes stuck to the sill and ribbon lightning lit the sky. The weather was more like winter than spring, even for West Yorkshire. Could Dylan have done something to help Larry? Could he have done anything at all? He’d not even managed to see or speak to Larry since it had happened. Had he let him down as his boss and friend? He sighed heavily. Perhaps saying he was going away for a few days to personnel had just been Larry’s way of saying he didn’t want visitors. He should have at least gone and knocked on his door. Whatever, Larry must surely be back now and the least Dylan could do was make the effort to go and see him. Find out what had caused him to start drinking heavily again, and what he planned to do now.
Acting Detective Sergeant John Benjamin shifted from cheek to cheek on his chair. He played with his tie and pulled his jacket around his ample body, unfastening and fastening the buttons on his jacket as he sat beside Dylan, preparing himself for his first press conference. The pressure he felt at the hands of the media, being the deputy on a major investigation, was apparent. He listened and looked at Dylan for guidance, watching how he controlled them. Dylan’s sole objective for the conference was an appeal. It was a chance available to him to glean any information at all about the car, the woman or the motive for the murder. He spoke directly to anyone whose daughter, girlfriend, wife or mother hadn’t arrived home last night, or anyone who was in the area at the time.
The one-to-one television appeals were eventually over and a live radio appeal was planned from the phone in his office, after which he could return to the normality of the incident room. Vicky and Tracy had left for forensics when he arrived. Tracy had been so excited at the opportunity to see the laboratory and the work that they did. Dylan was like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for information from them. Would forensics be able to identify the car, engine or chassis number, which would then lead them to a registration number? God, he hoped so. It hadn’t been possible at the scene and his patience was waning. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face with vigour. He remembered the poor woman’s body; burnt, distorted, blackened, her mouth wide open. He stood up, shook his head and took his jacket from behind his chair, as he walked towards the door. He needed some fresh air. It was time to visit Larry.
Fifteen minutes later Dylan parked his car in the car park next to the electric substation, by the riverside development where Larry lived. He rang the doorbell and pounded on the door of Larry’s flat but there was no reply. He went back to his car. He couldn’t believe the weather; the sun was now shining and the water remaining on the pavement glistened, mesmerizing him. He wondered momentarily if there was a rainbow. He called Jen to cheer himself up, but she wasn’t answering either.
‘Good news and bad news Jen,’ PC Dale said, as he stood at her desk.
‘Go on. Give me the good news first.’
‘We’ve identified the car that hit you.’
‘Fantastic.’
‘The bad news is that it was reported stolen and yet to be recovered.’
‘Mmm. So now it’s a CID job, then?’
‘No, we’re on with it. You can tell Dylan we’ll get there; it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Thanks, anyway.’ Jen was savvy enough with the criminal fraternity’s way of thinking that if it was a stolen car and had not yet been recovered, it would probably be burnt out somewhere by now.
It was the end of the day before the first call from forensics came through to Dylan.
‘The balaclava, although slightly singed by the fire, actually did contain remnants of saliva and hair. It’s very hopeful that a DNA profile can be obtained over the next few days,’ said the official voice at the other end of the phone.
Dylan grinned. ‘But that’s great, and the vehicle?’
‘It’s a Renault. The chassis plate is being treated at the moment but it’ll be this evening at the earliest, most likely tomorrow, before we will have a full number for you.’
‘That’s excellent. I’ll await your call, thank you,’ Dylan said. It was a great start and something positive he could give to the team in the debrief.
His phone rang and as he picked it up the smile must have been apparent in his voice. ’Dylan.’ he said, chirpily.
‘Sir,’ the PC at the help desk said morosely.’ I’ve a lady in the front office wanting to report her daughter missing.’
‘Start taking the details, will you. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Dylan marched along the corridor to the front office. Tracy was heading towards him. ‘Now then, how’s it going?’
‘Oh, gosh, it’s so busy. I’m sorry, sir I haven’t even had the chance to check up on Chubby for you yet. But there’s no intelligence come in about him to LIO, since he attempted to jump off the bridge, so that must be positive,’ she said grinning.
‘No, I haven’t heard his name mentioned either. Listen, don’t worry; remember you can only do one job at once. He’ll wait, he’s alive and he can thank you for that.’ He smiled as he continued on his way.
‘No, she called after him. You saved him, sir. I just stood and watched.’
Consequences Page 10