Reprobates

by Bridgestock, RC

  Dylan tapped his fingers on the desk awaiting an update on Derek Harper from the hospital. The telephone rang and he picked it up. ‘Dylan,’ he said.

  ‘Claire Rose, press office. We’ve got a lot of media attention about an incident at 5, Hawthorne Terrace, today. Is there anything I can tell them?’

  ‘You’ve drawn the short straw again, Claire?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m working a split shift.’

  ‘Unfortunately not. We need to keep this one under wraps until at least tomorrow. In fact until we know exactly what it is we’re dealing with. Sorry, I know it’s a pain for you and the press but I’m not doing it to be awkward. You know me, I’d give them a story if I could. I promise I’ll update you as soon as I can.’

  No sooner had he replaced the receiver than it rang again. ‘Patrol’s gonna love you, sir,’ said the Custody Officer.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Not only have you got their officers guarding the scene at Harper’s home address but they’re also going to be needed to sit with him at the hospital overnight. Doctor has checked him over, announced he’s okay but they want to keep him in for obs as a precaution.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  Dylan got up from behind his desk and walked into the Incident Room. ‘Okay, let’s go home. Derek Harper will be in hospital till tomorrow with his alleged chest pains, so that gives us a little breathing space. Go get your heads down and I’ll see you bright and early.’

  As Dylan walked back to his office he could hear the intermittent mumblings of the team. Oh, for his bed and Jens soft, warm body. He yawned.

  ***

  All lights were lit in the house when Dylan parked his car in the driveway. The only explanation he could think of was Maisy wouldn’t settle. As he put his key in the lock he heard voices.

  Penny was slumped on the sofa with an empty wine glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. Jen held a sleeping Maisy over her shoulder.

  ‘Hello, Dylan,’ Penny said with a drawl and a glint in her eye. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Jen put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh... Penny. You’ll wake Maisy.’ Jen’s eyes went to the ceiling. ‘I’ll go and put her in her cot.

  Penny winked at Dylan. A slow and very deliberate closing of one eye. She dropped the bottle on the floor. Dylan went to retrieve it and Penny patted the cushion next to her and in doing so Dylan saw the plasters.

  ‘Oops,’ she said putting her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s empty,’ he said. ‘What’ve you done there, Penny?’ he asked pointing to the marks on her arm. Jen walked into the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

  ‘Just a spot of horse play. Come sit next to me and I’ll share the details...’ she said. Her voice slurring. She purposefully patted the cushion next to her with more vigour.

  He looked at Jen who shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ll put the kettle on shall I and make us a nice strong drink of coffee?’

  ‘And I’ll let Max out,’ Dylan said following her into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t be long, Dylan. I need to get an update before I go...’ Penny called after him.

  Jen was standing filling the kettle at the kitchen sink.

  ‘When did she get here?’

  ‘She was still here when I got home.’

  Dylan looked puzzled.

  ‘She’d been to clean,’ she whispered. ‘She’s not been home. Insisted on seeing you.’

  ‘But it’s past midnight,’ he said, watching an excited Max who was dancing on his toes at the back door. ‘I hope she isn’t going to make a habit of it.’

  ‘You and me alike. The bottle of red she brought with her has been empty for an hour and she’d already downed a bottle of ours, but she insisted on waiting till you came home for an update.’

  ‘An update on what?’ he asked.

  Jen shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘What’s she saying she’s done to her wrists?’ He opened the door and Max barked loudly bounding backwards and forwards at the fence perimeter.

  ‘An Indian burn ... something to do with a game her and her new boyfriend play, and no I’m not sharing the details it sounds gross!’

  ‘Max!’ Dylan shouted. ‘You’ll wake the bloody neighbours,’ he said, his voice quietening to a whisper. ‘That’s no burn, it looks more she’s been self-harming.’

  ‘What, Penny? No... Max!’ Jen called crossly. ‘But I think she will do just about anything for him.’

  No amount of calling would bring Max in. The security light illuminated the whole garden. Dylan could see Max at the fence and he went and grabbed him by the collar.

  ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow. A post-mortem at half seven. It’s going to be a long day. I’m not up to idle chat,’ he said to Jen through clenched teeth as he led Max into the kitchen.

  ‘No need to worry,’ said Jen handing him a cup of coffee. ‘Just been in with Penny’s coffee and she’s spark out.’

  ‘What?’

  She put her finger over his lips. ‘Let’s leave her where she is shall we, she can’t drive home in that state? You go up for a shower.’

  ‘Her car wasn’t outside,’ said Dylan.

  ‘She must have got a lift and expected me to take her home. I’ll throw a cover over her.’

  ‘I guess it sounds like a plan,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jen eyes scrunched into a squint as she looked at the clock on her bedside table. She heard the front door close and footsteps on the flagstones under the window, a car door slammed and a car drove off. The clock read half-past five and Dylan was in the bathroom shaving. She struggled to open her eyes, rolled over and rose onto her elbow. He switched off the en-suite light and stumbled into the corner of the dressing table. ‘Bloody hell,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Put the light on. I’m awake.’ Jen groaned as she threw the duvet back.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ Dylan whispered as he reached into his wardrobe for his shirt.

  She didn’t need telling twice. Jen flopped back down at Dylan’s side of the bed. With a little moan she turned and pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and nuzzled her face into his pillow. Dylan picked up his shoes and as quiet as he could he bent over to kiss her. ‘Fucking hell,’ he said through clenched teeth as he stubbed his toe on the hard piece of wood under the bed. Jen couldn’t help but smile. He hobbled away cursing.

  ‘How many times will you do that?’ she groaned sleepily. ‘Why on earth do you keep that…’

  ‘Just in case,’ he said.

  ‘Just in case of what?’ she said as he closed the bedroom door quietly behind him. ‘Just in case of what?’

  ‘The next thing she knew Maisy was rattling her cot sides. ‘Mommy, Daddy,’ she shouted.

  On entering the lounge with Maisy in her arms she saw it was empty. I’ll see you at work, said the note from Penny that was left on top of the folded duvet. ‘Where’s Penny gone?’ Jen asked her daughter.

  ‘I kno know,’ Maisy said raising her hands palms upwards.

  ***

  Dylan arrived at the mortuary. It was seven fifteen. It was dark, cold, damp and felt slightly eerie to be entering at this time of day. Would he get confirmation that the body they had found was that of missing Kirsty Gallagher? If so it was paramount that they ascertained a cause of death.

  The pathologist was Daniel Jones. The young, athletic man before him set about preparing for the task in hand swiftly and with little fuss. There was no flamboyant gestures or tall stories, funny or otherwise at Dr Jones’s post-mortems, Dylan knew from experience.

  ‘Busy?’ Dylan asked, as he hung up his jacket and put on his coveralls.

  ‘Yes. They’ve got them lined up here for me till six o’clock tonight,’ he said as he pulled latex gloves from a box and offered the same to DC Andy Wormald, the exhibits officer who blew into them like a balloon to make it easier to ease over his large hands. Talcum powder puffed out
and he coughed.

  What a thought, one post-mortem a day was bad enough for him. Dylan grimaced as he popped a couple of extra strong mints in his mouth.

  ‘I couldn’t afford to keep myself in these if I did your job,’ he said, offering Daniel the packet.

  ‘Your crutch?’ he asked.

  Dylan nodded.

  ‘We all have a prop,’ he said.

  ***

  The team consisting of CSI Supervisor Karen Ebdon, Exhibits Officer DC Andy Wormald and DI Jack Dylan stood above the small skeletal frame. The mortuary assistant was in attendance.

  ‘We have to be particularly careful when performing a post-mortem on badly decomposed bodies because tissues become more delicate as time passes. Don’t be surprised if the brain is intact when we remove the calvarium, and then disintegrates completely as a result of the disruption of the arachnoid membrane which supports the liquefying parenchyma, when we attempt to remove it.’

  The skin on the palms of the hands and feet of the woman’s body had begun to de-glove and was darker in colour. The pathologist offered an explanation.

  ‘This can be due to thermal exposure too – such as fires and immersions.’

  ‘Can we still get fingerprints?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Yes, the epidermis commonly retains enough ridge detail to allow fingerprints to be obtained.’

  ‘Might assist identification boss, shall I take them?’ asked Andy.

  Dylan nodded.

  There was a constant clicking of the camera. Karen Ebdon was in full flow.

  ‘The eyes have gone,’ said Daniel. ‘We can see decomposition is advanced by the green discolouration of the skin and generalised bloating which begins in the abdomen. Although here parts of her skin have a healthier colouring, not the pale blue or grey we would expect. There is a subsequent skin slippage.’

  Dylan tried desperately to concentrate his mind on the investigation as the body cavity was opened and the putrid smell became intense. He thrust his hand into his pocket and sought his mints. This was one of the times during a post-mortem he was glad he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked Andy and Karen.

  The exhibits officer didn’t take his eyes off the decomposing organs in the chest cavity but nodded his head. The lungs were deep purple. Karen’s eyes found his and she closed them briefly in acknowledgement of his question also nodding her head.

  ‘Congestion,’ said Daniel, holding the organ in his hand before weighing it. The mortuary attendant noted the weight.

  There was gaseous distension of the intestines. ‘The smell is hydrogen sulphide, methane...’

  ‘I think we can assume that wherever this body has been kept there were carnivores such as rodents. Can you see the yellow based defect and scalloped edges? Third metacarpal and proximal phalanx. Fifth metacarpal and proximal phalanx,’ he continued.

  Eventually it was over.

  ‘There are no obvious signs of injury and further tests will confirm what I think, that carbon monoxide poisoning is the cause of her death.’

  ‘A distinct possibility, considering the evidence that had been ascertained from her house where she was found dead,’ said Dylan. ‘Have you been to the house, Andy? Did you notice the carbon monoxide detector?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘We are going to need dental impressions to confirm it is Kirsty, aren’t we? Even though we have fingerprints. I’m pretty confident it is. And we are going to have to wait for the test results to confirm the cause of death. If only we had that confirmation at our fingertips because later we’ll be going into interview with Derek Harper and we need to be precise.’

  Outside, the morning air never felt so good to Dylan. He could only liken it to a cold shower on a sweltering hot day. He filled his lungs repeatedly with the cool fresh air as he walked the short distance to his car. ‘Thanks,’ he called out to the team. ‘See you back at the nick.’

  ***

  It was quarter to eleven and he was on his way back to the police station. The roads were heavily congested. His stomach rumbled.

  ***

  Jen walked into the office to find the personal files of officers strewn all over her desk. She saw one of the cabinets drawers had been emptied. She lifted her arms in the air. Rita who was sat opposite her shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t look at me, I’ve only just come up from the stores,’ she said. Donna was day off and Margaret was on the telephone. She covered the receiver. ‘Avril wants them all updating on the computer system asap,’ she said.

  ‘Hence her wanting me in today! Guess that’s me tied to the desk for the duration then,’ she said to Rita, pulling a face.

  ‘Guess so, kid,’ she replied winking at her and making a clicking sound with her tongue.

  Jack Dylan’s file was in her hands, ‘Hey, I might actually enjoy this though,’ she said thumbing through the paperwork therein. ‘Don’t tell, Beaky,’ she said.

  Rita’s phone rang and an animated conversation ensued. ‘From Pontefract you say? How about sending me some Pontefract cakes then?’

  Jen smiled broadly at her friend, who grinned back. Rita would make a friend in an empty house as her mum would have said.

  Settled in the corner of the room with a cup of tea Jen started to read. Inputting the data even for her husband was laborious and she looked on the rest of the pile heaped on her desk ruefully. Page by page she felt as if she was passing through the years with officer Jack Dylan. She was thrilled to read his application that he’d submitted to join up nearly twenty years before and smiled at the picture of him then. Twenty-three years old. She laughed out loud. Rita glanced across the room. ‘Sorry,’ she said putting a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, bless him, how cute was he with that side parting and slicked back hair... and that moustache!’ Jen said holding up the picture for Margaret to see. ‘That’s when he joined CID.’

  ‘The CID moustache,’ said Rita. ‘They all had one back in the day.’

  Jen touched the image of his face. ‘Black and white photographs always make people look very serious, don’t they?’

  ‘Sad thing is I remember it well,’ said Margaret.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Oh, fixtures and fittings me, love... Dylan looked but a boy, I think that moustache was intended to make him look older.’

  Dylan’s promotion board assessment results were all excellent. She beamed with pride. He’d never shared that information. So many commendations and recommendations for the next rank by his supervisors. He’d not even hinted. He’d only spent two years in uniform. She could recall him telling her about the starched collars and the helmets of the uniform, giving him a red ring around his neck and forehead. No wonder he couldn’t wait to get out of it. Burglary squad, Vice Squad, this Operation, that Operation, this Commendation, that Commendation, then a minute sheet that made her jaw drop. He was accepted to the firearms specialist unit. She inputted the date. 10th June 1998.

  ‘That’s funny,’ Jen said out loud.

  ‘What’s funny?’ asked Margaret.

  ‘There is a chunk of his personal file missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘There shouldn’t be...’ she said with a scowl.

  ‘Dylan went to work in a specialised unit in firearms HQ and then there is nothing... till he comes back here. Not an application to come to division... nothing. Don’t you think that’s unusual?’

  ‘Ah... that explains how he knew how to handle a gun,’ said Rita.

  ‘I think he came back here about four years ago. Not long before you arrived. Ask Beaky she’ll tell you,’ said Rita. ‘His file has probably just never been returned, and most likely if he was on an undercover operation that was a need to know basis he would have only been known by a code name or number.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s probably it,’ said Jen. ‘But he’s never mentioned his time in the unit, strange.’

  ***

  Vicky walked into the Incident Room behind Dylan, it was buzzing.r />
  ‘Shut that bloody door, Hardacre you weren’t born in a barn were you?’ shouted Ned.

  ‘Take a walk till your hat floats,’ said Vicky. Dylan watched her stick one finger up at him.

  ‘Okay you two, it’s not a playground,’ said Dylan. ‘Paul, my office please,’ he said. Both Vicky and Ned raised their eyebrows at Dylan.

  Dylan closed his office door behind Paul.

  ‘I wonder who knitted his face and dropped a stitch,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Ned. ‘Better keep our heads down.’

  ‘We’ve just come back from a post-mortem,’ said Andy, flopping down in his chair.

  ‘I’ll go make coffee and toast shall I?’ asked Lisa.

  ‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Ned.

  Andy shook his head. ‘You must have hollow legs,’ he said.

  ***

  Paul Robinson was taking notes, Dylan talked and at the same time watched the movements of Paul’s pen strokes. So engrossed was Paul in Dylan’s update of the post-mortem’s findings that when Lisa rapped on the glass, he didn’t flinch. Dylan got up and opened the door to allow her to bring the tray in. She placed it directly on the desk. Paul’s eyes never left Dylan’s face and the DI didn’t stop talking.

  ‘Thanks Lisa,’ said Dylan offering her a brief smile. Lisa left quickly, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I want you to look at Kirsty’s carbon monoxide detector.’

  ‘Why am I looking for?’

  ‘Just make sure it’s been fingerprinted. I want to know the batteries have been checked for dabs too. The same with the smoke alarm.’

  Dylan offered him the plate of toast, Paul refused.

  Vicky stood at the door, tapped twice and walked in.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Dylan indicating the chair next to Paul at the other side of his desk. On doing so she passed him a document from Forensic. Dylan proceeded to read it.

  ‘They’ve found semen stains on the bedding at Jane Simpson’s house,’ he said picking up another slice of toast. Doubling it in two he took a bite.