Consequences

by Bridgestock, RC

  ‘That’s great.’ Dylan’s eyes lit up as he relished the taste of the bacon.

  ‘Mmm...’ the smile that crossed his face was as big as a Cheshire cat’s.

  ‘Yeah but wait for it, it’s a hire car that’s been stolen from the company it was loaned out to.’

  ‘Oh, no. Nothing’s ever straightforward is it? Thanks for this love,’ Dylan said, waving the remainder of the bap in front of him before savouring the last morsel. ‘Heaven,’ he sighed as he smiled with contentment. ‘I might not say it often enough but I do love you. Miss Jones.’

  ‘Yes, well just pace yourself then, for me, eh?’ Jen smiled.

  ‘One day, lovely lady, we’ll leave it all behind us. I promise.’

  ‘And pigs might fly. I won’t miss it, that’s for sure, and remember you, there is always another day.’ Jen walked to the door. Dylan got up and followed her. Turning her round to face him he cuddled her tight.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ Dylan sighed into her hair.

  Jen giggled. ‘Behave yourself, or you won’t have enough energy to last the day,’ she said, prodding him playfully in the chest.

  ‘Keep in touch eh? Let me know that you’re okay.’

  ‘I ’aven’t much option, ’ave I?’ Dylan groaned.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ He smiled.

  Dylan arrived at ‘The Grange’ and from where he stood in the front garden he could do nothing but admire the splendour of the property before him. Uniformed officers guarded the doors. Standing quietly, soaking up the ambiance of his surroundings, he listened to the people moving about him. There was little talk. Like worker bees, his colleagues went about their duties, utilising their equipment and preparing their attire for the next stage of the enquiry. Before anything was disturbed, the house had to be videoed.

  ‘John.’ Dylan shouted, as he saw the figure of his deputy hurrying from behind the SOCO van in his protective clothing. John walked quickly, towards Dylan now instead of his intended destination, the gravel crunched beneath his feet.

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘You and I need to stroll round the house together to get a feel of the place. I want you to write up the policy book on this one.’ Dylan slapped John on the back in a fatherly fashion, as they walked towards the front door.

  ‘I’ve never done that before.’

  ‘Policy books are something that you will need to become proficient in, so the more you do the quicker the format will become second nature.’

  John’s face fell.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, I’ll monitor it. You’ll ’ave to cover everything that goes on. Why we make a decision, why we don’t; so I’ll read it daily, with interest.’ Dylan smiled as he spun around.’ This whole circus is to help us build a fact file on Mrs Elizabeth Reynolds, and also,’ he lowered his voice, ‘to identify her visitors whilst hubby’s been away.’

  As they entered the hallway, Dylan stopped to look at a picture of Liz and Malcolm with their daughter Gemma, on the wall. ’Is Liz the burnt corpse John?’ he asked, nodding towards the photograph.

  ‘Who else could it be?’ John looked puzzled.

  ‘Now, that’s a question and a half. Rule of thumb, never presume. It could be someone who stole Liz’s car, perhaps?’ Dylan said, as they walked on. ‘Or someone might ’ave wanted us to think it was her, perhaps even Liz herself. Blinkers John, don’t wear blinkers.’ Dylan tutted as he walked ahead, up the stairs.

  There was no sign of a struggle. The sheets on the bed in the main bedroom had been left in disarray, as were the ones in the back room. Wet bath sheets lay on the floor of the en-suite. Gemma’s pink Disney princess bedroom, with a castle canopy over the bed, was neat and tidy. The sun shone brightly through the pink curtains of the child’s bedroom, creating a rosy glow. It felt warm and cosy.

  ‘Get the rooms fingerprinted and the sheets from both unmade beds seized, John.’ Dylan went downstairs and John followed, making notes as he walked.

  ‘Dishwasher’s got unwashed glasses and plates inside,’ Dylan noted, as he opened it with his gloved hands. He pointed to the overflowing dustbin. ‘We might get DNA and fingerprints from the empty cans, and if we’re lucky enough we might even get a saliva sample, if someone drank from them. Seize the wine bottles. Once we’ve collected everything that might ’ave some relevance or yield any evidence, then we’ll meet up with the Scenes of Crime Officer, Exhibits and Forensics, to prioritise the exhibits, prior to their submission to the lab. Remember, there’s a cost implication to the enquiry, even though it’s murder.’

  John nodded.

  ‘Do you think she was entertaining someone the night before her murder?’

  ‘Yeah, I do, and if she was, then closer examination of the bedding and the crockery will hopefully tell us who.’ Dylan walked into the lounge. ’Telephone and address book needs seizing.’ Dylan pointed to the book on the table. ’Anything that tells us her mobile number needs looking at, and keep your eyes peeled for a laptop. There is no obvious sign of a computer, but the murderer could be someone she’s met on the net.’

  ‘You remind me of an insurance assessor, looking at everything, ignoring nothing and evaluating what value it may have or reveal to the investigation.’

  Dylan smiled. ’And so will you by the time you’ve finished working with me.’

  Standing once again on the driveway next to his car, Dylan pulled off his rubber gloves and shed his protective suit, placing them both in his personal brown paper exhibits bag, marked clearly with his name. They’d already been in the house for over an hour.

  ‘Liz’s parents; Mr and Mrs Platt?’

  John nodded.

  ‘I think we should go and visit them now, don’t you? We must tread carefully though. We aren’t one hundred per cent sure that the skeletal remains are hers yet. We’ll leave the rest of the team here.’

  The search team were given their instructions and the two men set off in Dylan’s car. Twenty minutes later, with John close behind him, Dylan took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the neat semi-detached town house owned by Ken and Connie Platt. He immediately recognised the lady who answered the door as Mrs Platt; the lady who had come to the front desk to report her daughter missing. Clinging around her waist was the little girl who’d been with her that day, Gemma.

  ‘Detective Inspector Dylan, Mrs Platt,’ Dylan said, showing her his warrant card. ‘We’ve met before at the station if you remember.’ She nodded. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant, John Benjamin.’

  ‘Hello, yes. Do come in.’ Connie said, ushering them into the kitchen. She offered them a seat around the kitchen table and excused herself whilst she settled the little girl in the lounge and on her return, promptly shouted to her husband Ken in the garden.

  ‘He loves sitting with a mug of tea, hands dirty, back aching, watching the fish in his pond.’ Connie sighed as she filled the kettle at the kitchen sink. ’Can I offer anyone a drink?’

  ‘Two coffees would be nice. Half a sugar for both of us, please.’ Dylan smiled.

  Ken ambled to the door and leaned on the frame, placing an empty mug on the unit as he mopped his brow with an old hanky. His face was red and puffy with over exertion.

  ‘Bloody flies...as soon as the sun comes out,’ he growled, brushing them away with his arm.

  ‘It’s the police love,’ said Connie.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said as he caught sight of the serious faces of the officers sat at his table. Shaking his head he stepped out of his gardening shoes and into the house. ‘Not Malcolm again. Hasn’t our Liz been through enough?’ he sighed.

  ‘No, we were wondering if either of you’d had any further ideas of where your daughter might’ve gone?’ said Dylan.

  ‘No. She just asked her mum if she’d ’ave Gemma,’ he said, panting as he pulled a chair out from under the table. He sat down heavily, with a groan.

  ‘She told me she’d got an appointment but she didn’t say where or who with.’ Connie interr
upted.

  ‘And she hasn’t contacted you since?’ said John.

  ‘No, it’s not unusual for her to ask us to babysit Gemma but when she’s away she always stays in touch,’ Connie spoke quietly. ‘Gemma rang her at home the other night.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘The same day I picked her up from school and the first night it was planned for her to stayed over, which was why I came to report her missing, when she didn’t return to pick Gemma up the day after or the day after that. She always rings to speak to Gem you see, and we can always get her on her mobile but this time I’ve tried...we’ve tried to get her. Her mobiles’ dead as a door nail.’

  ‘She probably didn’t take her charger with her; she’s done that before now.’ Ken said, gruffly.

  ‘She’s a one,’ said Connie, shaking her head.

  ‘What number have you got for her? Can I see please?’ said John.

  ‘Well course you can,’ said Connie reaching out for her mobile phone.

  ‘Come on, let’s stop beating about the bush, eh? What’s going on?’ said Ken. ’Has something happened? Do you know where she is?’

  Dylan saw panic flash across Connie’s eyes, and he knew she hadn’t told her husband she’d given his officer a key to Liz’s house.

  ‘The other day the police were called to a burning car at St Peter’s Park,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Yes, I saw it on the news.’ Ken covered his mouth with his hand.

  Connie screamed. ’Tell me it’s not...my baby.’

  ‘Not Liz, please.’ Ken said, reaching for Connie’s hand.

  Gemma burst in aroused by the raised voices and stopped abruptly when she saw her grandparent’s tears.

  ‘Why are you crying? Nana...Gramps? Are you sad?’ she said grabbing the front of Connie’s pinafore and staring wide eyed up into her face.

  ‘Yes, darling, we’re sad...we’re very sad’ Connie said, pulling Gemma to her and cuddling her tight. Gemma pushed her away and Connie bent down to her level. Dylan watched Gemma put her tiny hands to each side of her Nana’s face before kissing her softly.

  ‘Do you want a drink, love?’ Connie said, gulping back the tears. She dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue from her apron pocket.

  ‘And a biscuit please,’ she whispered shyly, as she stroked her Nana’s cheek. They all watched in silence as Connie guided Gemma to the door carrying her drink and biscuit precariously on a tray. Connie closed the door, behind them.

  The kettle was whistling on the gas stove and John walked over to take it off. ’Shall I do the honours?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, yes please,’ Ken replied, in a daze as Connie once again took a seat next to her husband.

  Dylan explained to them the circumstances of the body, the enquiries to date, the fact that the car had been proved to be Liz’s and the activities at her home. John passed around the cups, placing one directly into Connie’s hand, ensuring she gripped it properly as she shook uncontrollably.

  ‘Here, have a sip,’ he told her. ‘Strong tea, it’s good for you. It’ll steady you,’ he said holding his hand over hers whilst she took a sip. Connie shuddered and looked at Dylan her face aghast.

  ‘Sorry, no sugar, it’s not good for anyone in shock,’ he said.

  ‘It can’t be her...I wouldn’t let myself think she has been killed? I thought that things like that didn’t happen to people like us...I thought you’d just find her . . .’

  ‘Do I need to come with you to identify her?’ said Ken.

  ‘It’s not that easy Mr Platt. You see, visual identification is impossible,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Ken cried, holding his head in his hands.

  John had never witnessed such grief. ‘I’ll need the name of Liz’s dentist if you have it please?’ he said.

  ‘Of course. You did say that at the station.’ Connie rose to get the details that she had already written down for Dylan, in an envelope on the dresser. ’But I still don’t understand,’ she said. ‘She was sat where you are just the other day.’ Connie stumbled over her words, coughing frenziedly into her hanky. Ken rubbed her back and held the cup once again to her mouth. She gulped the hot liquid, gratefully. ’She would’ve told us if there was anything wrong. She was delighted Gemma had started school. She was so proud and coping well.’ Connie continued.

  ‘Do Malcolm and Janet know yet? Ken asked. ’ave they been told anything?'

  ‘No, not yet. We know where Malcolm is obviously, but who’s Janet?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Janet’s Malcolm’s mum. She lives in Merton, Merton Village,’ Connie got up and reached for her address book, from the worktop next to a bundle of cookery books, and handed it across the table to John.

  ‘I promise we’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got the test results. I’m sorry it’s the most terrible news anyone could hear, but there is little doubt in my mind that it is your daughter. We know the car was hers and it’s a female’s body, and she’s missing’ Dylan only confirmed to them what they didn’t want to hear; their worst nightmare. Connie let out a gasp, tears welled in her eyes once more, and she dabbed at her cheek as they fell.

  ‘I assure you we’ll do everything in our power to get the results to you as quickly as possible.’ Dylan told Ken. ‘There are two Family Liaison Officers on their way who’ll be able to spend more time with you, answer your questions and try and explain the procedures we are going through at the moment. Of course, if there is anything else you think we should know or anything you think you can tell us about Liz, we would be extremely grateful.’

  Ken nodded woodenly as he hung on Dylan’s every word; desperately trying to take in the information that he was being given.

  ‘They are PC Fran Hope and PC Clive Merton,’ Dylan continued, ‘experienced Family Liaison Officers. They’ll stay with you as long as you need them. They’re trained for this type of incident: they’ll be able to help you.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you.’ Connie sniffled.

  As if on command, a knock came at the door and John let the two officers into the house.

  ‘John and I will head off now Ken...Connie,’ Dylan said. Ken tried to stand and fell back on his chair. ‘No, no don’t stand. I can assure you both that everything that can be done is being done.’

  ‘One question before we leave if I may, do you think Liz was seeing someone?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘You’re joking she wouldn’t dare; Malcolm would’ve killed her,’ choked Connie. Ken shook his bowed head, crying softly.

  ‘The address for Janet Reynolds is?’ Dylan sighed heavily as he sat behind the wheel of his car next to John.

  Chapter Eighteen

  John knocked on the heavy, wooden cottage door. Wisteria hung plentifully around it. The garden was peaceful and the morning’s dew glistened, still blanketing the grass in the shade. John’s reflection shone back at him from the door’s window, as he stood waiting for an answer.

  ‘You won’t find her in love,’ called a bright and breezy lady’s voice from behind the privet hedge that ran between the house and its neighbour. John craned his neck to find its owner, only to see the top of a mop of white hair.

  ‘Do you know where Mrs Reynold’s gone? I’m Detective Sergeant Benjamin from Harrowfield CID,’ he said, straining his arm over the top of the hedge to flash his warrant card. ‘And this is Detective Inspector Dylan.’ His words seemed unnecessary, as the owner of the voice obviously couldn’t see him let alone the man by his side.

  ‘Oh...I hope nothing’s wrong dear. I’m a bit deaf. If you want Janet she’s on holiday.’

  ‘You don’t know where she’s gone do you?’

  ‘Why yes, she’s gone to France, but I’ve no idea where.’

  ‘When’s she due back?’ said John, grimacing at Dylan.

  ‘Er...she’s due back this Saturday. Leeds/Bradford Airport, she’s being picked up at noon.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs?’

  ‘Duke, Thelma Duke’ said the kindly, white haired old la
dy as she gathered her little dog from the lawn. ‘Come on Sandy, into the house with you, my man,’ she shrieked, in a high pitched voice.

  John followed Dylan’s suited frame down the path and stopped to shut the wrought iron gate behind him.

  ‘Get someone to meet Janet Reynolds off the plane will you. We’ll ’ave to break the news to her then. I don’t want her seeing anything in the press or on the news until she’s been told.’

  ‘Yes boss, I’ll do it myself,’ said John, squeezing his large frame into the passenger seat of Dylan’s car.

  Dylan smiled. John was a man after his own heart.

  The phone stopped ringing the moment they entered the SIO’s office.

  ‘Bloody typical,’ said Dylan. It would probably only be more work, and there was a vast amount of information to digest and intelligence to go through already.

  ‘We need to liaise with HMP Wakefield and ask for a special visit to see Malcolm to tell him of his wife’s death,’ Dylan said as he sat down. But he knew he needed confirmation it was her first, and quickly. John stood opposite, holding a pen and paper waiting for further instructions.

  ‘Er...Liz’s dentists get hold of them will you?’ Dylan said, handing him the envelope with the details. ‘Let’s see if they’ve got her records and if so let’s get them checked out. It’s probably gonna be the quickest way.’

  ‘Onto it already, boss …’ John said, as he went back to the CID office.

  Dylan grabbed the ringing phone, quickly this time.

  ‘Detective Inspector Dylan? Michelle at the press office. Have you any update for me yet on the police activity at ‘The Grange’, or the murder of Charlie Sharpe?’

  ‘In a word, no. Look, give me an hour and I’ll let you ’ave something to keep the wolves from the door.’ Hopefully, he thought, as he crossed his fingers.

  ‘Thankyou. They’re only doing their job; chasing deadlines can’t be fun, but some are a real pain,’ she said.

  ‘No problem.’ Dylan said, biting his lip as he replaced the receiver. Immediately it rang again. ’Detective Inspector …’ Dylan started.