Snow Kills

by RC Bridgestock

  Norris appeared to be gaining more confidence, Vicky noted.

  ‘The bell on the bedpost – where’d that come from?’

  Norris shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It looks old,’ said Ned.

  Vicky sat quietly and observed.

  ‘That’s why I asked if you had a bike, see.’

  Norris looked thoughtful but remained silent.

  ‘Where did you get the bell from?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  It was Ned’s turn to nod his head.

  ‘Mother might have picked it up from a jumble sale, she was always going to them.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not the sort of thing you’d pick up if you don’t have a bike, is it?’

  Norris cocked his head to one side and grimaced.

  ‘Okay let’s move on. You have a telephone don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed heavily.

  ‘You like to help people don’t you?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you use your phone to report the teenagers you saw banging on a car on White Wednesday? Didn’t you think that there might have been someone inside that might’ve been scared?’

  Norris Regan looked shaken. ‘Oh, I... I didn’t want to be involved. They might have come here. Anyway the phone wasn’t working.’

  ‘Ah. Not working you say?’

  ‘How do you know? Did you try to ring someone?’

  ‘No, they said on the radio that the lines were down,’ he said. ‘I picked it up to see. Look, I’m tired now. I don’t want to talk to you any more.’

  Chapter 17

  Dylan telephoned Jen. ‘I’m just off to see Hugo-Watkins.’

  ‘Why bother? Look what happened last time? If you go for him again, he’s bound to report you this time.’

  ‘I’m not going in for an argument Jen, unless he goes off on one,’ he said, with a lopsided grin. ‘But I have to tell him what a balls he made out there.’

  ‘He’ll know that already.’

  ‘But he shouldn’t meddle in what he knows bugger all about, should he?’

  ‘We all know that Jack. Be nice to him for once eh? You wouldn’t want his flaming job – and you know what they say, hold your friends close but your enemies even closer.’

  ‘Like you do with Beaky?’

  Jen sighed. ‘Touché.’

  ‘But he’s not the enemy Jen, that’s just it, we’re supposed to be on the same flaming side. He just keeps on putting his size eleven graduate entry feet in it and involves himself in stuff that he doesn’t need to, for the glory, not for the good of the job. What with his Grecian 2000 dyed black hair and matching coloured moustache that’s groomed to perfection. He’s got fuck all else to do... or rather won’t take ownership of fuck all else. It’s the victims that matter, not his bloody ego and what the Chief Constable thinks of him.’

  ‘Jack. You, me, we all know a lot of the top brass that are like that... Why do you still allow them to eat away at you? Think about us... Try get home for Maisy’s bath time, will you? That’s more important, isn’t it? What do you fancy for tea, corned beef hash, pasta, gammon?’

  ‘Gammon with two eggs, sunny side up?’ he said. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Jen said, with a frown, ‘and let’s hope Daddy still has a job when he comes home, eh Maisy?’ she said rattling a soft bunny rattle in front of their daughter who was happily sat in her baby seat, oblivious to the outburst.

  Dylan walked along the corridor to the Chief Superintendent’s office. The station was warm – or at least the top corridor where the hierarchy had their offices was. He stood tall. ‘Rise above it,’ he said, smiling at Janet, Hugo-Watkins’ secretary and she smiled back quizzically. This wasn’t Dylan’s normal approach when heading into the boss’s office and she knew it. What was he up to?

  Dylan knocked at the door, listened for a minute and knocked again. He glanced back at Janet and she was still looking at him, her lovely long fingers, with perfectly French manicured nails, poised hesitantly over the computer keyboard.

  ‘Come in Dylan,’ Hugo-Watkins shouted. Dylan raised his eyebrows at Janet and smiled. He opened the office door and as he stepped inside he heard her typing.

  Hugo-Watkins’ coffee percolator was nosily bubbling away and Dylan’s favourite pure chocolate cookies with a crispy edge and a chewy centre were waiting on a plate on the coffee table. Hugo-Watkins had predicted his imminent arrival – or Janet had, Dylan thought.

  ‘Take a seat and help yourself to the refreshments,’ Hugo-Watkins said, as he got up from behind his desk. He straightened the black clip on, uniform tie that lay neatly upon his crisp white shirt and settled himself opposite Dylan on the big cushioned two-seater leather settee that smelt like a saddle. The walnut coffee table was the only barrier between them now.

  Dylan poured a drink and ignored his boss’s staring eyes. The office was cosy, with richly decorated wood-panelled walls, thick carpet and ornately trimmed furnishings, with expensive paintings more suited to a plush hotel room than to the office of the officer in charge of Harrowfield police station. The en-suite bathroom door to the office was slightly open. The room was tasteful and reflected the image of authority that Hugo-Watkins sought to portray. Dylan sat back and took the cup to his lips before making eye contact. Hugo-Watkins held up his hand.

  ‘Before you say anything, I have something to say. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye in the past, and right now I imagine I’m your least favourite person in this force.’

  ‘Try the service,’ Dylan said, his lips still touching the cup.

  ‘Alright, I deserve that, but I have a job to do, just like you. Headquarters monitor me, not just on the Divisional performance but also on my personal development and that was the purpose of my involvement today – management of major incidents and taking an interest in crime, my latest instruction.’

  ‘Okay, I understand that and can imagine how hard it is for people at your level, since you don’t actually go out into the real world to get the ticks in the boxes that allow you to climb the ranks. But I have the overall responsibility for the investigation of serious crime in the area, which includes this division, so it would have been nice to hear about the discovery of skull when it happened, not over an hour later. If you wanted to speak to the media I could have advised you regarding the crime scene, and as for picking up the skull for a photo...’ Dylan shook his head. ‘Well, it’s not a good idea, even if you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘It was in a bag,’ Hugo-Watkins said, looking at Dylan imploringly.

  ‘It was a flaming see-through bag,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Point taken. I know, I haven’t got experience in these matters and I never will have if I don’t try, now will I?’

  ‘You could use your common sense, go on a course, or just ask!’

  Hugo-Watkins sighed heavily. The room was silent. Dylan could hear Janet stop typing and the wall clock ticking. He sat forward and put his cup on the table. ‘Look, tell you what,’ said Dylan. ‘The next major incident room I run, why don’t you take the ride with the incident team? Come to the briefings. I’ll take you through the process and then you might gain some background to the extent of the work that goes on, in a major investigation?’

  ‘I don’t want to get in the way.’

  ‘You won’t.... You can make coffee, can’t you?’ he said. Hugo-Watkins smiled, saw Dylan’s serious face, looked horrified and nodded. Dylan smiled. ‘There then. The team will actually be pleased, believe it or not, to see some senior management showing their support instead of what they normally do, harass them over budgets, overtime and expenses,’ he said.

  ‘You know that resources and funding are a nightmare for us all Dylan. But I know you do very well getting funding from the centre for most of your jobs.’

  ‘Well if we didn’t, the first murder at division would take you straight into the red.’

  ‘That’s true,’
he said, with a nod of acceptance. ‘You’ve been a Detective Inspector for some years now, doesn’t promotion interest you?’ Hugo-Watkins asked, with what seemed like genuine interest.

  ‘There’s no fear of you getting rid of me that way,’ Dylan said with a snort.

  ‘No, no I didn’t mean...’

  ‘Quit while you’re ahead.’

  ‘I just wondered if it was something you’d be looking at in the future. Difficult objectives, Jack.’

  ‘Not on your life. You know what they say, the higher up the tree you go, the more of your arse you show – and with the size of mine, I think I’m high enough,’ Dylan said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t want to get stuck behind a desk all day. I’d go stir crazy, like the rest of you.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Hugo-Watkins, lifting his cup to his mouth. His pinky finger stuck up and Dylan had an urge to laugh at the mannerism but thought better of it. He coughed into his hand instead. ‘You chaps have a meeting for everything and never get anything bloody done. That’s not for me,’ he said. ‘The bottom line is that I still enjoy the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction when I feel a collar.’ Dylan screwed his hand into a fist and held it high, looking at it intently as if imagining a criminal hanging from his grasp.

  ‘But as you get older and after all those horrific sights you’ve witnessed, maybe at some stage you’ll want a change, a quieter existence,’ said Hugo-Watkins, leaning forward and pouring another drink from the pot. He offered a refill to Dylan, who covered the cup with his hand. ‘Just think Dylan, one day you could be in charge of a Division and get hassle from your own DI,’ he said, pouring the remaining dark brown liquid into Dylan’s empty cup nonetheless.

  ‘Now that would be a challenge,’ Dylan smiled. The shrill tone of his mobile phone interrupted them. He took it from his pocket, looked at the screen and then back at Hugo-Watkins. ‘I’ve gotta take this,’ he said. Hugo-Watkins nodded.

  ‘Dylan,’ he said.

  ‘Boss I need to speak to you regarding Nelly Regan. Search team are still here, but I think Ned and I could do with a chat with you about her... him.’

  His head tilted, his eyes narrowed and his nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled something funny. ‘What?’

  ‘I think it would be easier to explain face to face. Can we meet you back at the nick in about fifteen minutes?’

  ‘I’ll see you both in my office,’ he said.

  ‘Problem?’ asked Hugo-Watkins

  ‘The team have been searching a house near where Kayleigh Harwood went missing.’

  ‘Do you smell a rat?’ asked Hugo-Watkins with interest.

  ‘You could say that, we’re sure she didn’t want to disappear and I’m sure the stats would suggest foul play, murder even... Like I said, you, might want to drop in at one of the incident room briefings sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Yes, I might just do that, if I get the time,’ Hugo-Watkins stood up and extended his right arm to shake Dylan’s hand. Dylan took it with a firm grip.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve managed to have this little chat. We should do it more often,’ he said.

  Dylan nodded his head and smiled at Hugo-Watkins, who pressed his thumb over the knuckle joint of his middle finger where it met his hand. ‘And, thank you for your assistance today, I’d dug myself into a bloody big hole that seemed to be getting deeper until you arrived,’ he added, releasing his grip. ‘Keep me informed Jack. Believe it or not, I am interested.’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ said Dylan. He left the office, walked along the corridor and down the stairs to his own. Was he getting soft in his old age, thinking that Hugo Watkins wasn’t such a bad bloke after all? His handshake was weak – and then it clicked, Hugo was testing Dylan to see if he was a Freemason by shaking his hand in that particular way. He sensed another invitation to one of the local Lodge’s social functions. He couldn’t be doing with all that rolling up of the trouser leg and baring of the chest. He didn’t have the time to see his own daughter have a bath, for God’s sake!

  ‘I’ll phone you when I’m setting off, Jen,’ Dylan said into the phone, just as his office door opened. Vicky almost fell inside. He put his hand in the air to stop her and she put her finger to her lips, giggled, and backed out, closing his door quietly. She did her best impression of making a drink of coffee through the window and Dylan nodded the affirmative.

  ‘Okay, don’t keep me in suspense. How did it go with the Chief Super? Tell me you kept calm ... you didn’t thump him?’ Jen said.

  ‘No,’ he said, laughing. ‘Me and Hugo, we’re like that,’ he said, crossing his fingers, ‘bestie mates.’

  ‘You see? I told you everyone has a good side, if only you take the time to look for it.’

  ‘Not everybody Jen, you can be so bloody naïve. What do you think about me joining the Freemasons?’

  ‘Oh no, not the handshake? Not in a thousand years. There’s only one set of breasts you like and if you’re late it’s your own fault if you don’t see them,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Naughty,’ Dylan smiled. ‘But nice... Gotta go. Ned and Vicky are waiting to speak to me.’

  ‘Remember, I’ll be waiting to see you practise the initiation,’ she said, laughing as she hung up.

  Vicky put an overflowing mug of coffee on his desk. ‘Good job you’re good at your job,’ Dylan said as he looked into the deep dark liquid. ‘I had better upstairs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Someone, who will remain nameless, got that cheap own brand crap from the pound shop.’ Vicky scowled. ‘Anyhow, it’ll keep you awake, urgh,’ she said, frowning as she took her first sip. She shuddered. ‘You won’t believe what’s just happened to us,’ she added, her eyes wide.

  ‘Go on,’ Dylan said, taking a sip.

  ‘I’ve met some weirdos in my time, but it wouldn’t surprise me if this one knows something about Kayleigh’s disappearance.’

  ‘He’s nowhere near as stupid as he makes out either,’ said Ned,

  ‘And he dresses up in women’s clothes and wears his mother’s leg irons, which by the way, he says excites him,’ Vicky said, lips pursed.

  ‘He’s what I believe they call a calliper devotee,’ Ned said.

  Dylan bit on his lower lip, ‘Slow down, let’s start again. Vicky, set the scene, then you can add your two penn’orth Ned. Describe this character to me.’

  Chapter 18

  ‘I wouldn’t even wear my mum’s clothes,’ said Vicky. ‘never mind him! Get this, he even wears her bloody wig. He answered the door wearing the whole regalia and at first he told us he was her ... but the Adam’s apple gives it away for me every time.’ She leaned forward and half cupped her hand around her mouth. ‘Then the hairy arms and big feet; not sure he realised it though boss,’ she winked, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards Ned. ‘Good job ‘Nelly’ wasn’t in a night club when you’d had a few Ned, eh?’

  ‘Clever sod. The lighting was poor and some women have Adam’s apples.’

  ‘Get away! None, I know of and not as big as his is,’ Vicky said.

  ‘Maybe you should have yours removed? They house the vocal cords, in case you didn’t know,’ he said. ‘Go on, tell him about the leg irons,’ Ned said.

  ‘Okay, so, we establish that N Regan is actually Norris Regan, who is the only occupant and owner of the property. His mum Nelly is dead and he wears her clothes and wig because...’

  Ned couldn’t hold back, ‘Because they turn him on,’ he said.

  Dylan sat in stunned silence. ‘Well, it’s not often I’m stuck for words...’

  ‘The leg irons are the old fashioned heavy kind with metal leg braces that come up to just above the knee. He’s a masochist. They must be so bloody painful to wear. He’s talking, but didn’t like Ned’s aggressive tact,’ Vicky scowled over at her partner.

  ‘He annoyed me.’

  ‘He frightens you.’

  ‘I shouted at him to get a reaction and he threw himself down on th
e floor and told Vicky that I’d thumped him.’

  ‘Tell me you didn’t?’ said Dylan, with a grimace.

  ‘It was very tempting. But no, I didn’t. The wall in his bedroom is covered with pictures of him and his mum and calliper clad Anothers and there’s a great pile of calliper devotee type literature at the side of his bed.’

  ‘Well that’s a new one on me. Makes a change from the plastic sheet brigade, or the shoe fetish lot,’ said Dylan, raising an eyebrow. ‘So let’s get down to the nitty gritty. Did he see Kayleigh? Was she there?’

  ‘At first he denied going out on White Wednesday, but when we pushed him he admits to shovelling away the snow on his path and having the intention of offering hot drinks to stranded drivers, but he tells us he saw two guys who he thought may have been drunk banging on a car and shouting not far from his house, which put him off,’ Vicky said.

  ‘And he didn’t report the incident to us?’

  ‘No, I asked him why and he said his phone wasn’t working.’

  ‘Do we believe him?’ Ned added, smacking his lips. ‘Nope!’

  ‘One thing is for sure is he’s agitated one minute and gives us the silent treatment the next. There’s more to him than meets the eye, I’m sure of that, and it’s not just his weird sexual habits,’ Vicky said.

  ‘He lived in that house for years, just him and his mum... His mother must have been almost bedridden before she died. She even had the bell on the bed headboard to call him, and it’s still there.’

  ‘A bell?’ Dylan said.

  ‘Yes, an old bike bell,’ Ned said.

  ‘We weren’t gonna get any more from him today. He told us he was fed up of talking to us, which became more apparent when we asked about White Wednesday and him seeing Kayleigh, so we decided to come away and seek your views as to where to go from here,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I think we should have him in, boss. I’m certain he knows more than he’s telling us,’ Ned said, licking his lips.

  ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm, but on what grounds, that he’s weird? What evidence have you got? Give him a solicitor and he won’t speak a word to us. Get Andy to seize the bell.’