***
In the computer suite, Dylan and Paul sat down either side of Wallace J. Hooper. The first thing you couldn’t help but notice was a large brass plaque with his name thereon.
‘Let me tell you, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Harper hadn’t tried to hide or encrypt these images. They were easily accessible amongst other meaningless stuff. However, we have found illegal obscene publication sites which he has tried to get rid of and these show the extent of his obsession. These sites are set up and closed down quite frequently,’ he said tapping data into his computer and clicking his mouse to enable him to open their links and the Bare Poster site. ‘It’s not for me to comment on the content of the images, but they’re not for the faint-hearted and I’ve seen some pretty horrific pictures in my time,’ he said, as they waited for the images to upload.
‘I can guess. I’ve already seen some on his mobile,’ said Dylan. ‘Okay, before I start have you any questions?’ he asked, looking from side to side at both men.
‘How many images are there?’ asked Paul.
‘So far we have recorded, let’s see, some six hundred and thirty-five.’
Dylan cringed. ‘I might need you to categorise some for me for easy retrieval,’ said Dylan.
‘No problem. You tell me which ones you are specifically interested in and I’ll create a file for you.’
Dylan and Paul saw very quickly how bad the images were. Most of them depicted naked women. Some bodies he had taken a lot more pictures of than others. One after another the images began to tell the extent of Harper’s obsession. The poses he would have the bodies in appeared to be chosen to show a lack of injury or bruising. The cadavers had all been photographed on the trolley. ‘And all prior to post-mortem,’ said Paul, thoughtfully.
Few were of children. ‘God, don’t they just tug at the heartstrings?’ asked Paul visibly moved.
‘Never more so than when you have children of the same age. They’re sickening. Place those in a separate file,’ said Dylan.
A picture of Kirsty Gallagher appeared before them on the screen. ‘We need a separate category for the ones of her,’ Dylan said pointing at the image. ‘Name the file Operation Pullman, will you?’ asked Dylan.
The first ten images of her had been taken at the mortuary, naked and in a variety of carefully constructed poses showing her tattoos. The camera operator had taken close up shots between her legs and of her breasts.
‘Stop a minute. Go back,’ Dylan said in haste.
Wallace Hooper did as he was told. He glanced at Dylan. Dylan nodded. He clicked the mouse to reveal more.
‘Stop! There,’ said Dylan pointing to the screen. ‘Look to the bottom left hand corner of that picture. I can see someone’s trouser leg. I know it’s quite dark but do you see it?’ The three men leaned in closer. ‘Look at his footwear. Whoever it is, is wearing quite distinctive brown, front-laced, heavy duty boots.’ He said.
‘Obviously they didn’t realise they were in view of that shot,’ said Wallace.
‘Can you enlarge the image? It’s the only one that tells us someone else was present so far, isn’t it?’ Dylan said.
Wallace Hooper nodded his head. ‘Separate category for that sir?’
‘Definitely. I want work doing on that image to see if it reveals anything else.’
***
The next collection of Kirsty Gallagher was taken at Derek Harper’s home address. There were numerous images of Kirsty Gallagher’s body laid out on the bed. One image was of her dressed in white lace underwear, the other in a red baby-doll silk pyjama set.
‘Look at that image,’ Paul said. ‘Derek Harper is in the reflection of a mirror taking that... and look there is someone standing behind him.’
‘I want that one enhancing, too,’ said Dylan.
‘The face, it’s obscured by Harper’s head,’ said Wallace.
‘Never mind… It might support some other evidence we gain at a later date.’
***
Dylan and Paul walked from the room both quiet, each with their own thoughts.
‘In all my years on the force I’ve never come across anything like it,’ said Dylan.
‘Me neither,’ said Paul.
‘No amount of money would make any decent person do that, would it? We need the exhibits officer to go through each one of those images again. I want you to put not one but two officers on it for moral support, if nothing else,’ he said.
‘Did you notice that at bottom of the screen we have a time and date?’ asked Paul.
‘Yes, I did. But who’s to say that wasn’t changed? That won’t stand up as evidence in court. Unless we can support it with other evidence. Who’s his accomplice in the pictures do you think, Barrington, the man in the canal?’
Paul shook his head. ‘No idea,’ he said as they turned the corner and headed down the corridor towards the CID office.
***
Penny Sanderson was ahead of them wiping the Incident Room door as the two men approached.
‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’ Dylan said. Hoping it wasn’t his house.
‘Oh, you can’t do enough for a good firm,’ she said. ‘I asked to work a late shift today as I had a job to do this morning. So, I just thought I’d make sure your Incident Room was spic and span before I left tonight,’ she said with a smiling face as she pushed the door open and held it whilst they entered. She walked in behind them. ‘Any exciting updates?’ she said eagerly.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ said Vicky. She leaned forward and touched the end of her nose. ‘Are you sure you’re not stalking us?’ she asked. ‘You’ve cleaned this office every day this week. You want a drink,’ she said turning to Dylan and Paul without waiting for an answer. Penny screwed up her nose.
‘Sorry for taking an interest,’ she said, flicking her duster around the papers on Vicky’s desk. Vicky snatched them out of her view. Penny moved to stand idly looking over Ned’s shoulder, at the screen he was working on. He turned and smiled at her. ‘Malcolm in the front office has been showing me how to work that system,’ she said.
‘Well, he shouldn’t. You aren’t entitled to be privy to that information,’ said Vicky.
‘Keep your hair on,’ said Penny. ‘I’m going to apply for a job in admin. The more I know, the more I score for the role profile competence thingy I’ll have to fill in.’
‘Yeah well, when you’re hired you’ll get your own numbers to log onto the system with won’t you, and someone will train you up properly.’
Penny Sanderson stuck her tongue out behind Vicky’s back and Ned Granger turned to her and chuckled. ‘You’re like a breath of fresh air,’ he said. ‘You’ve got balls, hasn’t she, Vicky? I like that in a woman.’
‘Oh please,’ she said to Ned. ‘And it’s acting Detective Sergeant Hardacre.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ he said. It was Penny Sanderson’s turn to chuckle at Ned.
***
Vicky walked towards Dylan’s office with the drinks in her hands.
‘Let me do that for you,’ said Penny as she stood in her path and opened his door. She followed her in.
‘Is Max okay now?’ Penny said to Dylan.
‘Yes, thank you but no thanks to the person who put rat poison down,’ Dylan said as Vicky handed him his hot beverage.
‘Do they really think that’s what it was, rat poison?’ asked Penny.
‘That’s what the vet thinks... but I can hell as like think where he got rat poison from.’
‘Well, I guess he could have picked it up anywhere... you know what he’s like,’ she said as she busily polished around Dylan’s office furniture. ‘Just give it a lick over while I’m here,’ she said.
‘Let’s face it, he’s only either out with us and I haven’t seen him chase a rodent – or he’s in the garden,’ Dylan said with a frown.
‘Well, no harm done, thank goodness. I’m sorry about the other night. Too much sauce. I must have passed out,’ she said with a grimace befo
re leaving.
***
Dylan and Paul sat quietly, mulling over the enquiry.
‘Harper’s phone will give us clues as to who his contacts are,’ said Dylan. He studied the documentation in front of him.
‘And his accomplice with any luck,’ Paul said absentmindedly as he read through his notes.
‘Wallace will give us a list of his contacts on his computer. That information is going to be invaluable to us. Reprobates, the lot of them. That’s the only word for them,’ Dylan said looking across at his colleague. He brought up his arm, pulled his shirt cuff back and looked at his watch.
‘I don’t know about you but I think I’ve had enough for one day. There is nothing truer than the Yorkshire saying, “There’s nowt so queer as folk”, is there? Our Maisy will have had her bath by now and be fast asleep no doubt.’ Dylan sighed.
The door opened. ‘Harper’s been taken back to hospital in handcuffs,’ said Vicky.
‘Well, at least his custody clock will stop again. What’s up with him now?’
‘Ah, same old problem, chest pain but that’s probably because he’s panicking, if you ask me. He knows he’s behind the eight ball.’
‘We’ll give him another interview tomorrow morning, Paul. If they release him.’
Vicky walked out and Dylan could see her sit back at her desk. ‘Fancy a swift pint, across the road before we head home. Wash away some of today’s shite?’
‘Yeah. I could do with something,’ he said.
‘I’ll just give Jen a quick call to tell her not to wait up.’
‘Yeah, I’ll ring Olivia too,’ Paul said as he reached in his trouser pocket for his phone.
***
Jen, was standing behind the ironing board in the kitchen. She felt warm, tired and her feet ached. The ironing basket contents didn’t look to have lessened but the pile that was neatly pressed on the worktop beside her was proof that it had. A bottle of Pinot Grigio looked very inviting stood in the cooler. She reached out and filled a glass, took a gulp and sighed heavily. ‘Enough,’ she said to Max who lay watching her from the door to the hallway. She turned at a noise and peered out of the window. It was pitch black. She reached up to pull down the blind. Max rose. He growled a disgruntled sound. ‘In a minute,’ she said. But he had bounded to the door barking uncontrollably. Jen followed him and unlocked the door quickly to allow him to go out. ‘You’ll wake Maisy,’ she hissed after him. She shut the door on the cold night air. In the distance she could hear him still barking. She put the ironing board back in the utility room and emptied the iron of the distilled water then went back to the door. She turned the outside light on but Max was still nowhere to be seen.
Jen had questions to ask Dylan to help her solve the mystery of the missing paperwork in his personal file. She took another gulp of wine and picked up the neat pile of pressed clothes. Maybe a drink would loosen his tongue, she thought as she started to climb the stairs. No, she smiled to herself, she knew him better than that.
Dylan was different from any man she had ever known she considered, as she hung his shirts in his wardrobe. He was honest, loving and kind. He had told her about his early life. His brothers, his sisters and they had laughed together when he had told her how as a boy he’d been the receiver of hand-me-downs from his two elder brothers. He always said he was thankful his sisters had been born after him. He often reminisced about his love of telling stories to his siblings over a packet of ice cream wafers they saved up to buy from the ice-cream van. He had, had a happy childhood surrounded by a mother’s love and steam engines. What boy wouldn’t want to live in a railway house? Joe, Jack’s dad had worked on the railway. He was an investigative inspector in his own right into the causation of rail accidents. Although Jack had looked up to his dad he had always remained somewhat a little mysterious to him, he said. Joe was guarded about sharing his war stories from Burma, Jack told her and he never did know the truth of how he’d earned his oak leaf that was pinned to the ribbon of one of his war medals. He had been mentioned in dispatches at Dunkirk. She looked up at the picture of his mum and dad who had died long before she met Jack and felt a moment’s sadness. Maybe Dylan’s dad, Joe, had tried to protect the ones he loved by remaining tight-lipped about what he had witnessed at war and perhaps Dylan shared some of his dad’s reticence in talking about his work, she pondered. There was a thud and Max barked at the back door. She ran down the stairs and opened the door. ‘Oh, no,’ she said as her heart sank to see he had been sick again. Max appeared to be unperturbed and instead of appearing unwell he wagged his tail as he carried in a bone. ‘Where on earth have you got that from?’ she said taking it from him and throwing it in the bin. Max was not amused.
***
Dylan and Paul were standing at the bar of the King’s Head, it was relatively empty but for a group of women that stood nearby singing and swaying to the music from the juke box. Seeing all the empty lager bottles on the bar, and that their eyes were significantly wide, it suggested they had been there for some time. Dylan ordered a pint of lager for himself and one for Paul and headed for a seat in the alcove by the stained glass window.
‘Cheers, mate,’ Dylan said, lifting the cold, wet glass to his lips.
‘Cheers, boss,’ Paul said with a wan smile. He looked as tired as Dylan felt.
Dylan had barely put his glass on the table when his mobile phone rang.
‘Vicky,’ he said and looked at Paul, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘Hello,’ he said, walking away with one ear pressed to his mobile phone and a finger in the other ear in an attempt to hear what she said. He stepped out of the bar and into the cold but quieter porch. A woman walked out with a string of balloons in her wake and two ladies followed letting the swing door bang nosily behind them.
‘Where the hell are you? I need to speak to you. We’ve got a breakthrough on the Billy Simpson murder.’ Vicky sounded excited.
‘You still at the nick?’ Dylan said.
‘Yeah, looking everywhere for you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I thought you might be with Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins but the top corridor is in darkness.’ Dylan could now hear the pitter patter her shoes made on the steps.
‘Well, it is after five. Me and Paul, we’ve just popped into the King’s Head.’
‘Mine’s a pint. I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,’ she said hanging up on him abruptly.
‘Another pint,’ he said to the barman. Paul looked at him quizzically. ‘Vicky, she’s got news,’ Dylan said. He could hear car horns blaring over the music.
‘Vicky, crossing the road,’ he said to Paul and sure enough the King’s Head door swung open and Vicky breezed in panting as if she had run a marathon. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said.
‘Slow down and get your breath back,’ Dylan said nodding in the direction of her drink. ‘And then you can tell us your news on Mallard.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The clock struck half past nine. It was late. Too late to start asking questions of Dylan when he came home. Jen laid newspaper at the back door, ‘just in case Max, right?’ she said stroking the soft fur at the top of his head, as he lay quietly in his bed. His big brown eyes looked up at her pensively. ‘Hope you feel better in the morning, if not I’m calling the vet,’ she said softly.
Treading the staircase to bed in her stockinged feet Jen could hear noises from the nursery. Maisy was awake, melodiously chattering. Jen stifled a giggle as she stood in the shadows and observed her daughter for a moment or two. Maisy lay on her back in her cot quite oblivious of her mother’s nearness. For a split second Jen was tempted to sing along with her but the thought was a fleeting one. Instead, she went in to the nursery, gently put her hand to her daughter’s brow and slowly bent down to kissed her. Maisy turned her head with an angular rigidity at the touch, half-smiled, closed her eyes and bottom up nuzzled back into her slumber.
The phone rang. Closing the door behind her, Jen hot-footed it into the bedroom and sliding to a ha
lt at Jack’s side of the bed she reached out, stubbing her toe. ‘Fucking hell!’ she said under her breath.
‘Jen,’ said a slightly inebriated woman’s voice, questioningly.
‘Yes,’ she snapped. Sitting down on the bed she rubbed her toe vigorously.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes,’ she said biting her bottom lip.
‘Just wondered if...could I come round tomorrow?’
‘Penny?’ Jen said.
‘Yes,’ she giggled, ‘who else did you expect at this time of night?’
‘I thought it might be Jack actually. He isn’t home yet.’
‘Oh, has something happened? He seemed preoccupied when I was in the office.’
‘You were working today?’
‘Overtime. Can’t do enough for a good firm.’
‘I can see they’ve got you brainwashed already. I don’t know Penny, I really don’t know. I’ll see you Monday at work, yeah?’ she said.
She took a length of wood from under the bed and stuffed it in the bathroom bin.
***
The pub was filling up. Vicky spoke excitedly.
‘Two different hair samples found in the face mask worn by our deceased Billy Simpson. One is his,’ said Vicky, ‘And one is from a guy whose DNA is on the National Database.’
‘You lucky old thing,’ Paul said. ‘I think some people think everyone in the country is on the database, but in my experience when I’m looking for someone, they’re almost never there.’
Dylan raised his eyebrows. ‘And?’ he asked, looking intently at Vicky.
‘He’s got previous for assault which got him prison for nine months, but the judge suspended the sentence for two years. Before you ask. It’s spent,’ Vicky said.
‘What else do we know about him?’
‘He’s called Richard Bryant. Have you heard of him?’
The two men shook their heads.
‘He’s thirty-two years old and we have contact details for him – although I don’t know how up-to-date they are.’
‘So, the next question is, what are you going to do with this intelligence, acting Detective Sergeant Hardacre?’ Dylan said leaning forward and picking up his drink from the table. He sat with it in his hand and waited for her response.
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