Snow Kills

by RC Bridgestock

  ‘Well is it? Is that what you would have us call you?’ Vicky said.

  There was a pregnant pause. Andy coughed.

  ‘You can call me Nelly. Nelly Regan.’

  Ned gasped.

  ‘Really?’ Vicky said. The old woman stood very still, cocking her head, as she stroked her Adam’s apple.

  ‘Alright, my name’s Norris, Norris Regan but everyone calls me Nelly,’ the man said in a husky voice, as he flopped into a chair and pulled off his wig.

  Andy and Ned remained silent, but looked bemused as they stifled a chuckle.

  ‘Do you dress as a woman often?’ Vicky said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Right, Norris Regan then?’ Vicky said.

  He nodded.

  ‘We have a team of officers here and we need to search your property to be sure the missing girl Kayleigh Harwood isn’t here. Can we have your consent to do that?’

  ‘You can but it’d be a waste of time, she in’t here.’

  Vicky nodded to Andy and he left the room. Vicky and Ned sat down. Almost immediately, footsteps could be heard running up the stairs and the team’s fluorescent jackets brushed noisily on the walls as they moved down the narrow hallway.

  ‘Do you go out dressed like that, or is it just something you do in your own home?’ said Vicky.

  ‘This is how everyone knows me round here,’ he said, pointing to the callipers with shiny steel, supports. His thighs and calves were encased in leather, with buckles and straps galore. ‘I aren’t disabled. The irons were mother’s. I wear them because it makes me feel... Well, I like wearing them,’ Norris swallowed. ‘You see, I’m what you’d call a calliper devotee,’ he said quietly, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

  ‘A what?’ said Vicky, her voice rising to a high pitch.

  ‘There aren’t a lot a people around these days that have to don them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that most of the world is rid of polio and the likes, but it poses a problem for folk like me. Today, it’s a memorable day for me to see someone in irons. When I was a child, it was a common sight.’

  ‘Can you tell me when all this started, so we can perhaps begin to understand?’ said Vicky.

  Above them, the creaking of floorboards and movement of the search team shifting furniture rumbled like thunder.

  ‘Me and Mother were close, you see. She was mithered keeping the secret all them years but she did it, because it was her fault I’m like this,’ he said, in a relieved manner.

  ‘Oh, yeah, how come?’ said Ned looking to the ceiling.

  ‘My cousin had polio and wore the irons. He were dead chuffed o’course when Mother mollycoddled him and I saw and felt his pleasure in her favouritism. She knew it made me mardy but she still pandered to his every whim. I used to watch her don the callipers and doff ’em when she had to wear them and I know it sounds bizarre but it excited me. As I got older it became pleasurable. After all this time I’m less convinced that disability, as such, is so important. I take pleasure in seeing people wearing the apparatus and my mum fulfilled that need for me. When she died... well I wear them now.’

  ‘When did she die?’ said Vicky.

  ‘A few years ago.’

  ‘Why do you wear her clothes?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Because I like to, is that good enough for you?’ he said looking straight into her eyes.

  Vicky stomach turned. Ned looked on, but Vicky’s face showed no sign of emotion.

  ‘So everybody round here calls you Nelly Regan,’ he said. ‘But they know?’

  Norris shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘So, is it a sexual thing, a fetish, is that right?’ said Ned.

  ‘Suppose you could call it that.’

  ‘Have you kept all your Mum’s things?’ Vicky said, daring to glance at Ned for the first time since the interview had begun. He seemed totally disbelieving of what he was seeing and hearing.

  ‘That way she’s still here, with us, isn’t she girl?’ he said, patting the dog.

  ‘Have you ever had any medical treatment for the problem?’ Ned asked, with a look of disgust.

  ‘What problem? I loved my mother, don’t you?’

  ‘Obviously not like you do,’ Ned said with a stifled little cough.

  ‘We had a special bond, me and Mother, but I don’t expect you to understand.’

  Vicky felt a shudder go down her spine. She had to keep him talking.

  ‘You mentioned people round here... When it snowed heavy on the 7th January, White Wednesday the media are calling it. Do you remember that night?’

  Norris stared past Vicky to the wall, as if constructing images upon it. He nodded.

  ‘Did you have anyone call on you?’

  He screwed up his eyes and put a finger to his lips.

  Vicky coughed but he dreamed on. ‘It must get very lonely up here sometimes?’ she said, in attempt to break the silence. ‘Especially in bad weather.’

  Ned stood and started to pace the room like a caged animal.

  ‘You see, some kind souls took hot drinks out to stranded motorists and I wondered if maybe they came to check on you too?’ There was no reply.

  ‘Well?’ Ned said, as he bent down and leaned heavily on the arm of Norris’s chair. ‘The lady is asking you a question.’ Norris flinched and reached out to grab the wig to stop it from falling off the chair arm. Ignoring Ned, he took hold of it and spun it around in his hands as if considering putting it back on his head.

  ‘Did you, or did you not, see people taking hot drinks out to stranded motorists?’ demanded Ned, impatiently. ‘And stop playing with that flaming rug rat,’ he said, taking it.

  Vicky caught his eye and scowled. ‘It was a lovely thing for people to do. You seem like a kind sort of person to me,’ said Vicky. Ned walked around the back of Norris’s chair and raised his eyebrows at Vicky. ‘Eh?’ he mouthed.

  ‘Do you remember what you did that night? Did you go out?’ Vicky asked in a softer tone.

  ‘It snowed really heavy, I got wet.’

  ‘So you did go out?’ Ned said eagerly as he sat back down next to Vicky and threw the wig back at Regan.

  Norris didn’t reply, but he stuck the wig back on his head haphazardly.

  ‘What DC Granger means is did you go out in the awful weather on White Wednesday or did some kind person come and see if you were okay that night and maybe bring you a hot drink?’ Vicky said, stamping her heel firmly on the toe of Ned’s shoe.

  ‘Ouch.’ Ned muffled a cry. Norris looked at Ned insolently, his lips thin.

  ‘I’d like to help you if I can. Mother and I always helped out in the community.’ Norris smiled to himself, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘So did you take drinks out that night? Did anyone accept a drink from you?’ Ned said.

  Norris Regan remained silent.

  ‘Did you go out in the leg braces?’ Vicky continued to dig into his ribs.

  ‘Don’t be daft. You can’t walk in that kind of snow in these,’ Norris said, his glance fell away from Vicky’s face, like a hand being furtively withdrawn.

  ‘Did you see or speak to anyone that night, Norris?’ Vicky wasn’t going to let his manner hinder her questioning and she raised her eyebrows at him in expectation of an answer.

  ‘Yes, I shovelled the snow off the path.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear the lady? Did you speak to anyone?’

  Norris looked in Ned’s direction but avoided eye contact.

  ‘If your mother was so God fearing, what did she do to you when you told a lie?’ Ned leaned forward and put his face close to Norris’s.

  ‘I haven’t lied,’ he said, putting his hand to his head. He caressed the hair of his wig, softly.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Holly, West Control Room, sir.’

  ‘Go ahead Holly,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins is requesting your attendance at the scene of a major incident, sir.’ Jack Dylan’s shoulders dropped and he idly twiddled
his pen between his thumb and forefinger. He stifled a yawn.

  ‘Is this an exercise Holly? I haven’t got time to be laiking about with him today. If he’s not asking us to fill in his blasted forms for the Home Office, he wants us to do some flaming role play instead of real police work, just to tick his box for promotion.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure this isn’t, sir. The Chief Super has called out the helicopter, Force Support Team, Dogs, Scenes of Crime Supervisor and the press office.’

  ‘Holy shit Holly, what’s the cause of him calling the circus out?’

  ‘There’s a skull been found on moorland near a lay-by on the Manchester Road. A wagon driver rang the information in about an hour ago. Seemingly the poor guy had got out of his cab to relieve himself, when he saw it at the bottom of the grass banking.’

  ‘So Mr Watkins has taken charge has he? Just decided that it might be a crime, and is only now contacting me?’ Dylan raised his voice, his face getting redder by the minute. He threw his pen across the desk and clenched his fist. Lisa looked up from her typing to see what the commotion was.

  ‘There’s a rumour, he’s saying that he thinks it might be your missing hairdresser that’s been found.’

  ‘What? How the hell does he come to that conclusion? Since when did he qualify to be a flaming pathologist?’

  ‘Don’t know sir, I’m only repeating what’s been said to me. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when you get there. I’ll let him know you have been informed, and en route, shall I?’

  ‘There’s no rush, is there? The skull’s not going anywhere, is it?’ Dylan said.

  He hung up in a rage, then sat back and breathed in deeply. Hugo-Watkins knew the rules. Dylan was the man in charge of crime for the Division, so why had he decided to take control? Dylan had a real urge to leave him to cope with the entourage he’d called upon. It was obvious he was trying to raise his profile by taking charge of the incident, another tick in a box maybe? Were interviews for promotion boards due? Dylan wasn’t sure. Had Hugo-Watkins just had his personal performance review? Either way, he would let him stew in his own juices for a while.

  Dylan picked up the phone.

  ‘How’s my favourite girls?’ he said.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Jen. ‘You’re going to be late home aren’t you?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I can just tell by the tone of your voice.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just been summoned to a crime scene by our leader.’

  ‘Hugo-Watkins at a crime scene? No...’

  ‘Exactly. You okay? You sound tired.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Maisy’s temperature isn’t going down, so I’m taking her to the doctor. Just a minute, there’s something ... on the radio,’ she said, turning up the volume. ‘Grim discovery, Chief Supt Hugo-Watkins takes charge of a major investigation into the gruesome finding of a skull near to the border with Greater Manchester. Full report on the lunchtime news.’

  Dylan gasped, ‘You’re joking. This is the man that sealed off the area after witnesses saw a man jump to his death and had left a note apologising for what he was about to do, because he thought it might be suspicious! God give me strength, Jen. What time you at the doctor’s with Maisy and I’ll try to be there.’

  ‘No need Jack, I’ll sort it – and think on, don’t be too hard on the egotistical soul, he makes you look good,’ she said with a half-hearted laugh. ‘The tooth’s through by the way.’

  ‘Tooth?’

  ‘Your daughter’s teething? Remember, another sleepless night? Or it was for me anyway,’ Jen said as she wiped Maisy’s running nose.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘You know me love, I could sleep on a park bench.’

  ‘And have done before now, I dare say.’

  ‘There are a lot worse places to get your head down when you’re doing observations, I’ll tell you. When I was a baby I slept in a drawer at the bottom of my mum and dad’s bed with a coat over me to keep me warm.’

  ‘Oh, they were the good old days Maisy. Did you hear your Dada?’

  Dylan laughed. ‘I’ll try resist being too smug when I get to the scene, but it won’t be easy.’

  ‘Oh, get on with you. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be home.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m going,’ he said, smiling. ‘Love you.’

  No sooner had he hung up, the phone rang again. He sighed.

  ‘Sir. Holly. Two requests, one from Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins who wants to know your E.T.A. and believe it or not you have been requested to attend – and wait for this ... the discovery of two more skulls, near to the footbridge crossing the beck at Ovenden. Just for your information, there was a manslaughter there some years back.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember it well. I lived nearby at the time. I know the location so I’ll head there first. Could you inform Mr Hugo-Watkins that I’ve been diverted, the finding of two skulls out-trumps his one for now.’

  ‘Will do sir,’ she said. ‘He’s not going to be pleased.’ Dylan could hear the caution in her voice. ‘Uniform are at the scene with the elderly couple who came across the skulls and rang it in. You do realise this brings a totally different meaning to the graveyard shift, don’t you boss?’

  He smiled to himself as he went to his car. Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins would have to cope with his self-induced spectacle a little longer. ‘Builders,’ Dylan thought as he drove towards Ovenden. It was probably someone building an extension and didn’t want delays after accidentally unearthing some old skulls. ‘Never assume, Dylan,’ he scolded himself. Only time would tell if his prophecy was correct.

  Fifteen minutes later he was in Ovenden and liaising with the two uniformed officers on the footbridge. With the recent heavy snow and increase in water levels, the beck had been at its highest for a long while, although it had subsided considerably in the past two days or so, he was informed. A visual check up and down the now shallow stream showed there had been collapses on the banking, and there was a small housing development taking place about a mile up-stream at the bottom of Ovenden Way. The nearest he could get to view the skulls was about six yards from a very muddy bank. They were devoid of flesh and hair and to Dylan’s untrained eye they looked old. However, Forensic would examine them to ensure neither displayed any obvious signs of foul play, such as the bullet hole in the forehead, a broken jaw or a fractured skull. An archaeologist could also age them.

  ‘Right lads, get scenes of crime to photograph them in situ for me, will you? Then they need recovering into exhibit bags for the forensic pathologist and archaeologist to look at over in the Sheffield lab. Will you also do a visual check further up and down stream for any other skeletal remains? They could have been washed up here or dumped. That we may never know, but let’s do what we can to find out, shall we? Once we have an idea just how old these are, we should hopefully have a better idea of how they got here.’

  Twenty five minutes later, Dylan arrived at the moorland scene. It was a darn sight colder on the tops, Dylan thought, pulling up the collar on his leather coat as he got out of the car. He shivered. The ‘CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS’ blue and white tape flapped merrily in the wind. It seemed to be everywhere he turned, and so were the media.

  Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins stood in front of an audience. He continually wiped a moustache that was slightly greyer than his dyed hair. In his right gloved hand he was holding up a clear plastic bag containing what looked like the remains of a skull. Dylan couldn’t believe his eyes or ears.

  ‘Alas poor Yorick,’ Dylan heard a uniformed colleague say to Riley the reporter. Dylan dreaded what the headlines would be in the Harrowfield Express.

  ‘Hamlet, he was meditating on the fragility of life,’ said Riley, studiously. The policeman looked at him, confused.

  ‘I don’t think the Chief Superintendent is playing the right part here, Riley,’ said Dylan. Riley sniggered.

  ‘No, he’s more like the bloody court jester,’ he s
aid. It was Dylan’s turn to snigger.

  ‘Victoria Whittam, Calendar News: Is it true two other skulls have been found in your Division today? Are they connected and should people be worried?’

  Dylan was very tempted to stand by and let Hugo-Watkins reap what he had already started to sow, but he knew the press would have a field day with him and in the cold wind he could see him look decidedly hot under the collar. Dylan stepped forward and stood at his boss’s side, to his obvious relief.

  ‘Ladies and Gents, let me first of all clarify one or two things for you, as I am sure you all have deadlines to meet.’ There was a rumble of agreement and a shuffle of getting pen to paper.

  Dylan went on. ‘Firstly, while you have been shown the skull, I can’t confirm to you by looking at it that it is even human. Please don’t use any pictures you may have taken here today of the find.’ Dylan pointed to the skull in the bag. ‘It won’t help identify who the person was, but could cause distress. Remember whoever this person was, if in fact it is human, he or she had relatives that may still be alive. Secondly, the location where it was found and the circumstances it was found in suggest to me that it wasn’t buried there. It could have been that an animal has dropped it or someone might have discarded it, having found it elsewhere. They might have foreseen all the attention we have, here today. In due course, which may be weeks rather than days, we will probably have an approximate age of the skull. You will be informed of this, along with any other relevant information. As for the other two skulls. I have just been to the scene and let me assure there is no evidence to connect them. Finally, pre-empting the question, no they are not and I repeat not connected to the recent disappearance of local girl Kayleigh Harwood. The skulls are far too decomposed. Thank you ladies and gents. As you can imagine, we have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Yes quite,’ endorsed Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins. ‘And DI Dylan is a very busy man, move on,’ he said, ushering the reporters to the side as he walked through the crowd.