When The Killing Starts

by RC Bridgestock

  Minutes later Dylan was in the interview room sitting opposite their prisoner, Dean McIntyre. ‘You wanted to see me?’ said Dylan.

  ‘You the man in charge?’

  Dylan nodded.

  McIntyre sat forward, his body language aggressive. ‘I’m not saying anything until charges are dropped and I’m out of here understand.’ He pointed at Dylan when he spoke.

  ‘You’ve got some information about the murder of Freddy Knapton I believe?’ Dylan’s face held a blank expression.

  ‘Yeah, I have,’ he said cockily, slouching back in his chair. There was a pause as Dylan waited for him to continue. ‘And what I know would help you solve the case.’ McIntyre’s eyes were bright, teasing.

  Dylan stayed silent, looking at him questioningly, but still not showing an ounce of emotion on his face. It prompted McIntyre to continue, ‘I’m being straight. I know what happened,’ he said, his tone more reasonable.

  Dylan nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll be straight with you. I’m afraid things don’t work quite how you think they might. You see, I can’t simply open the door and let you go, even if I wanted to. It’s my job, as a police officer, to put you before the courts and what happens next - well, that’s down to the judge.’

  McIntyre looked uneasy, his expression darkened.

  ‘Of course I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say, but you’re not going anywhere and the charges won’t be dropped, it just doesn’t work like that. Nobody has that power. You’ll have to answer to the robbery charge.’

  ‘So you want me to turn into a grass, and I get nothing for it?’

  ‘No, I didn’t say that. If you’re willing to share what you know with me, and it checks out, then I’ll agree to write a letter to the judge who is sitting in on your case. The letter will say, that since your arrest, you have gone out of your way to assist the Police in an extremely violent murder investigation.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And, as a result I would hope he would reduce any sentence he was thinking of giving you.’

  ‘So, let me get this straight. I tell you what I know, and then I have to trust that you will keep to your end of the bargain?’ McIntyre scoffed. ‘You could be feeding me a right load of bullshit?’

  ‘I told you, if you want to talk to me then I’ll listen. Then, if what you tell me subsequently turns out to be true, you have my word that I will send the letter to the judge.’

  McIntyre screwed up his face, shook his head and looked at Dylan out of the corner of his eye. ‘You’re trying to trick me aren’t you?’

  ‘If I’d wanted to trick you I could have taken you into one of the outside interview rooms and let you think you were going to be released, although you wouldn’t be. But I’m not that kind of person. Look, you can see my predicament, I won’t know whether or not what you tell me is the truth unless I have it checked out. You can trust me, if I say I’m going to do something, then I do it.’

  ‘And if the judge gets this letter from you and he does nothing?’

  ‘Well, to be honest I’d be as shocked as you. Let’s face it people get reduced sentences for pleading guilty these days, and giving important information is worth more than that. Think about it. The judge might decide to reduce your length of custodial sentence drastically, who knows. You could be out of prison in no time. I’ve no doubt you can do the time. But it depends what’s important to you?’

  McIntyre sat, head down, studiously biting his bottom lip. Suddenly he lifted his head to face Dylan. ‘I need to think about it. I’m no nark.’

  ‘Hey,’ Dylan said holding up his hands in mock self-defence. ‘Nobody said you were. But I can assure you that what you tell me, if you decide to tell me anything will remain confidential.’

  Dylan stood up. ‘A lot of people that get locked up have information that will help them. But it’s not until they realise they’re going down do they consider sharing it with us. You know my name, it’s Jack Dylan.’

  McIntyre muttered under his breath as he was taken back to his cell. At the door he turned and looked at Dylan for a long moment before going inside and sitting at the centre of the thin, blue, plastic mattress.

  Dylan leaned against the door. ‘Ask the gaoler to contact me if you want to speak to me again and I’ll gladly listen to anything you’ve got to say if it helps me lock a murderer up quicker. Think about it. Why don’t you do some good for once?’ As Dylan closed the door slowly, McIntyre silently looked up and in that instant Dylan saw fear creep across his face. The echo of the cell door firmly closing followed him down the corridor. Like he had said, he would listen to what Dean McIntyre had to tell him but he wasn’t in the market for playing cat and mouse. The investigation into the Knapton murder would continue at pace with or without the help of McIntyre. In Dylan’s experience, if a prisoner had information they usually shared something of relevance to suggest they were in the know which McIntyre hadn’t.

  Vicky was eagerly waiting in the incident room for Dylan’s return. She followed him into the kitchen, where Dylan switched on the kettle.

  ‘Any joy?’

  ‘No, not at the moment, I’ve left him to think about what I said. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Do you think he knows anything?’ enquired Vicky opening a cupboard and removing two cups. She put coffee into both and took the milk from the fridge.

  Dylan sat down at the small, wooden table. ‘Not sure, but our investigation doesn’t and wouldn’t just rely on what he might tell us anyway, so nothing lost, nothing gained either way.’

  Vicky handed him his drink. He took a sip and put it on the table in front of him with a deep sigh.

  ‘I agree, but it’d be good if he could point us in a certain direction, don’t you think? Let’s face it we’re getting nowhere fast.’

  ‘I’m well aware that the direction he may point us in could send us on a wild goose chase. Let’s leave him to sweat a bit and see if he asks to see to me again. I won’t be rushing back. Dean McIntyre needs to know we’re in control - not him.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dylan found Jen sitting on the floor in the darkened lounge, next to the fire that had long since died.

  ‘What on earth are you doing? Are you okay?’ Dylan leaned down to help her to her feet. She looked dazed and slightly disoriented.

  ‘What time is it?’ Jen said negotiating the edge of the sofa and sitting. Dylan sat beside her. She folded her arms across her chest and was visibly shaking. Dylan took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. He held her hand that was like ice. ‘Where’s Maisy?’

  ‘She’s in bed. I only sat down for a moment by the fire. I’ll get you your dinner, you’ll be hungry, its dark, it must be late.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. I’ll run you a bath and when you’re in bed I’ll bring you some soup.’ He had left her home alone for far too long.

  When the sobbing took hold of her Dylan held her, comforting her as best he could. Half supporting, half carrying he helped her up the stairs. ‘It’s going to be alright Jen,’ he said as he tucked her up in bed after her bath - a hot water bottle slid under the duvet at her feet. Bathed and warm Jen appeared calmer. She noticed Dylan’s face looked grey and his eyes all but sunk into his head as he lay down beside her. A tray sat on the bedside cabinet. ‘Come on love, try and eat something, you like Asparagus soup and I’ve warmed the roll,’ he said. ‘Just as you like it.’

  To his relief Jen, propped up on two pillows, managed a few spoonfuls, her colour had returned. Setting his coffee mug on the dressing table he offered her a mug of tea, which she took and held with two hands. All was silent as she had a few small sips, the only sound in the room being the tapping noise the radiators made. When Jen finally spoke her quiet voice was thick with emotion. ‘Today for the first time I think I understand why people take their own lives.’ Dylan’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘I don’t understand how you could even think of that.’ He said angrily. ‘What about Maisy?’

  ‘Don
’t worry, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m not brave enough. But, if it hadn’t been for you.’ Tears once again spilled over onto her cheeks. ‘When I’m on my own I feel so down.’ Her face crumpled. ‘I try to snap out of it. I really do. But I know I can’t do this on my own.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand. What is it you want me to do?’

  Jen turned to him. ‘Try spend more time at home.’ Dylan looked at her with a world of understanding in his eyes. ‘I’ll try my best,’ he said with a tired smile. As Jen’s eyes closed to him his smile instantly slid away and in its place came a bitter-sweet look of regret. ‘I promise with all my heart I’ll will try to be the husband and father you want me to be,’ he whispered softly.

  When Jen had fallen asleep in his arms, he lay still, although sleep evaded him. Watching the patterns from the headlights of passing vehicles move periodically across the ceiling the minutes turned to hours. The world outside was silent and still - his earlier promise weighed heavily on his mind. How on earth could he spend more time at home with the two murder enquiries gathering pace? He knew he had to try.

  ***

  Immediately he walked through the door of the incident room the next morning a voice made him look over his shoulder.

  ‘DI Hawk is chasing you, sir.’ Shelagh MacPhee was sitting at her desk in the corner. ‘Would you like me to get you a drink?’

  ‘Two sugars for me,’ shouted Ned. Tipping his chair back on two legs, he rocked to and fro.

  ‘Thanks Shelagh,’ said Dylan. ‘Shouldn’t you be out on enquires Detective Constable Granger? Break that chair and you’ll pay for it.’

  ‘I wish, I’m trawling through this bloody lot,’ said Ned holding up a stack of computer printouts.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nowt to write home about yet.’

  Leaning forward over his desk Dylan pressed a key on his keyboard and his computer instantly fired into action with a melodic sound. He sat down in his big, old leather chair with a bump.

  Vicky’s eyes were fixed upon the Merton Manor appeal posters pinned to his dry wipe board. ‘Do you think we’ll catch the bastards who did it?’ she said, leaning against the wall by the door.

  Dylan lifted his head to her. ‘The fire?’ he said. She nodded. Dylan drew in a deep breath through flared nostrils. ‘Well, it won’t be for the want of trying if we don’t,’ he said as he peeled the post-it note from his computer screen with DI Hawks number upon it.

  It appeared that North Yorkshire police were having more success with their appeals than Dylan’s team. Terry Hawk had been contacted in confidence by a woman who ran an escort agency. One of her girls had reported that she and another girl had been hired by two men who took them to a race meeting, where they had been treated to a day in the VIP enclosure.

  ‘Why didn’t the girl contact us?’ said Dylan impatiently.

  ‘She was concerned about her job,’ Terry said.

  ‘Ah, client confidentiality. The credibility of the agency.’ Dylan muttered. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I assured the lady boss that the information would be treated in strict confidence. In fact, I’m going to see her this afternoon. I was just checking in with you to see if there was anything else that may be relevant from your enquiry?’

  ‘Credible, do you think?’

  ‘Don’t know why she’d call in if not, but that’s another reason why I’m going myself. If the information is as good as I think it might be, then she doesn’t know how invaluable she could be to us.’

  A smile spread across Dylan’s lips. ‘Perhaps you should take a chaperone?’

  There was humour in his voice. ‘You’re probably right, but people do say two’s company, three’s a crowd? And, you never know, if there’s just me, she may be more forthcoming?’

  ‘That’s what worries me.’ Dylan laughed out loud. ‘Just remember not to get distracted.’

  ‘Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for the rest of the day. These things can take time.’

  ‘If I remember rightly you don’t rush. Didn’t you get a commendation from a crown court judge when you were on the vice squad? How did the acknowledgement go?

  ‘For devotion to duty, during prolonged exposure to female strippers. Indecently assaulted whilst gathering sufficient intelligence to raid and close a brothel,’ Terry said, self-satisfied. ‘Well, something like that. It was a dangerous job, one of the strippers stuffed my head down her cleavage and by ‘eck she was a big girl. I nearly bloody suffocated. Straight up sexual assault!’

  Dylan raised an eyebrow. ‘I still don’t know how you managed to get the bosses to allow you to keep returning. How long did you manage to drag it out, must have been a year?’

  Shelagh tapped at Dylan’s door and he beckoned her in. She handed him a folded piece of paper. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed. Without speaking she turned on her heels and walked out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  ‘There you go exaggerating. It took me eleven months and fifteen days.’ There was a smile in the old timer’s voice. ‘Ahh... I remember it well. The torment I had to endure and the sights I was subjected to. I deserved that commendation, and as for the boss endorsing the continued visits. Well, you can sort a lot out at Lodge meetings.’ Terry chuckled. ‘Anyway, better go, I need to spruce myself up. I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.’

  Dylan sighed. ‘You certainly haven’t changed Terry Hawk. I bet you still have a bottle of Brut aftershave in your desk drawer.’

  ‘Always prepared me, Dylan. I learnt a lot from police training school but more from your detective training course.’

  Dylan put the phone back on its holder, his mood lightened. He hadn’t mentioned the Mercedes to Terry but he wouldn’t hesitate to do so once he had conformation of the details. Dylan unfolded the piece of paper that Shelagh had handed him. Our crime prevention officer DC Rupert Charles has been identified on one of the CCTV tapes at York races, he read.

  ‘Interesting,’ Dylan thought. But, it was a local race meeting so it didn’t surprise him if officers from West Yorkshire were having a day out at York. What would be of interest to him would be if he was seen in the VIP lounge, and in Cedric Oakley’s company.

  ‘Apart from Cedric Oakely and DC Charles who else have we identified present?’ Dylan asked Jon.

  ‘They’re working through the tapes. It’s proving tedious. There were hundreds of people there on that particular race day.’

  ‘Typical!’ Dylan couldn’t hide his frustration.

  ‘We’ve just received these stills from the CCTV footage sir. They might be of interest to you?’

  There was no doubt that on the slightly grainy images of the VIP lounge was Detective Constable Rupert Charles.

  ‘It’s difficult to say whether he’s with Oakley’s group or not,’ said Dylan pulling a face.

  ‘They’ve both got a raised champagne glass, sir.’

  ‘And a race card in the other,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Maybe they’d just backed the same winning horse?’ said Jon.

  ‘Rupert appears to be at home with a pair of binoculars round his neck, and he’s dressed for the part.’ Dylan looked up. ‘He needs to be interviewed, we need to know from him thread to needle about that event. This might just be the break we’ve been waiting for.’ Dylan felt a surge of adrenalin.

  ‘I’ll get him in as soon as possible,’ said Jon.

  Dylan’s eyes were staring. ‘No, better leave him to the North Yorkshire team.’

  Jon’s face was serious as he continued to scan one picture after another. One by one he passed them to Dylan. ‘Look there,’ he said pointing his figure at a photograph he held tightly in his hand. ‘He’s standing next to Cedric Oakley.’

  Dylan craned his neck to take a look. ‘That said, they are standing at the bar. It doesn’t prove that he knew him. We can’t speculate. We have to rely on the evidence.’

  From behind his desk in the outer office, Dylan could hear the team buzzing, and
that’s how he liked it. One thing he detested was an enquiry he was working on becoming stale, which made every action to be completed a chore, although a necessary one. It was at those times that the team’s moral was always at its lowest and he found one of the most important qualities of a good manager was keeping the troops upbeat and positive. Dylan’s way of doing that was to highlight a particular part of the enquiry where they had had some success, and seek to build on it.

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to the officers that interviewed the witness who saw the vehicle leave Merton Manor on the day of the fire, and in the lay-by. She’s adamant the vehicle was a royal blue Mercedes, with a high shine finish.’

  ‘Good, to ensure that information remains high priority I’ll share it with North Yorkshire now to see if there is a similar vehicle of interest on their data-base. Increase the number of officers that are viewing the CCTV we’ve taken possession of, and circulate a bulletin internally, so that every police officer, traffic warden, community service officer, and special in the force are aware of our interest in it. I want every speed camera checked, any automatic number plate recognition checks in the area located. Anything at all that may give us the registration number of that Mercedes.’

  Jon scribbled notes as Dylan spoke. ‘I’ve initiated enquires with local hotels with a view to finding out if any guests who stayed with them, on or around the date of the fire were in possession of a blue Mercedes.’

  ‘Excellent.’ said Dylan.

  ‘I know it’s a long shot but...’

  ‘I’ll suggest it to the North Yorkshire team to copy that initiative.’