White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  It was strangely soothing. A camera was focused on him from the top right-hand corner of the room and a strip of metal ran around the walls. He knew that was an alarm bell that the officer could use to summon his colleagues in case he was under attack. He smiled, he only knew that because they had had to use it when he had punched a copper in an interview room once.

  PC Tim Whitworth threw the door back in a sudden, sharp movement, which made Danny jump as it slammed against the wall behind him.

  ‘Your stories check out, so before I can think of something else to keep you in for, get out of my sight,’ he spat, holding the door ajar.

  ‘I need the crime number for the insurance, mate?’ Danny said. He could feel the officer’s anger and reluctantly PC Whitworth walked back into the room, leaned on the desk and wrote the number down on a piece of paper, and then threw it at him.

  ‘Cheers,’ Danny said, with a smile as he turned and reached out for the officer’s hand. PC Whitworth grabbed his collar and, standing up, he pinned Denton to the wall. ‘Keep looking over your shoulder, mate,’ he said, bringing his knee up into his crutch before throwing him out into the foyer.

  ‘Hey, you can’t do that,’ Billy shouted as he rose from the bench he’d been sitting on, loud enough for the desk sergeant to hear. The desk sergeant raised his eyebrows and craned his neck to look over the counter to see what the commotion was about and then carried on with what he was doing.

  PC Whitworth glared at Billy. ‘Fuck off,’ he mouthed. Danny walked up to Billy and, putting a hand on his shoulder, turned him round to face the exit and pushed him towards it.

  ‘He thinks he’s hard in that uniform,’ he whispered. ‘But I know his name. We won’t forget him,’ he grimaced, rubbing in between his legs.

  ‘Too true we won’t. The bastard,’ Billy said.

  PC Tim Whitworth stood at the exit of the police station and watched the two until they had walked under the subway tunnel towards the town and out of sight.

  ‘We’d better ring the insurance company when we get home,’ said Danny. ‘And we need to give Pam that tenner back she lent us when we see her.’

  ‘Why would we want to do that, Danny?’ asked Billy.

  ‘Well, we wouldn’t want her to think we’re only after her for her money now, would we?’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Billy said. ‘I’ll text her.’

  ‘Good plan.’

  It wouldn’t be long before news of Bridey Tate’s fate and that of her son spread.

  The hospital and police were frantically trying to get hold of Bridey’s husband and family.

  The road remained closed and the police were interviewing the shocked witnesses. The mangled wreck of the pram remained in situ, battered and wretched. Next to the police cordon was a growing memorial: a wall of flowers and soft toys.

  CID was now at the scene.

  This was an evil crime, a deliberate act. Why did the car need to get away from the police so badly?

  PC Tim Whitworth took the call on his radio at the scene. ‘The chassis number’s been checked and the car is confirmed as belonging to a Danny Denton,’ said the police officer from the control room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I’m gonna be late tonight, love. It looks like the old lady was murdered,’ Dylan told Jen’s answering machine. ‘Catch up with you as soon as I can.’ He put the phone down in haste and called out to anyone in the CID office within earshot.

  ‘I need to get the incident room up and running, house-to-house enquiries urgently completed and forensic officers to the deceased’s home, please.’

  The scene needed to be searched and the next of kin identified. Initial enquiries had suggested that Ms Sykes had no family.

  ‘Who was the last person to see her alive, Taylor?’ Dylan asked DS Taylor Spiers as he handed her a list of people to contact. She shrugged her shoulders, wide-eyed.

  ‘Get the team together for a briefing as soon as possible, will you? This bloody murderer has had one hell of a head start on us.’

  He picked up the phone to ring the Press Office and give Liz a brief statement.

  ‘A murder enquiry is under way after the decomposed body of an elderly lady was found at her home address,’ he said. ‘Number 11, Causeway Cottages. A post-mortem has shown that she died from a non-accidental head injury, which possibly occurred some six weeks ago. Police hope to name the lady later today but are appealing for witnesses.’ I know they’ll want more, but I need to get things up and running and to obtain more background information on the victim before I can give them anything,’ he said to Liz at the Press Office.

  No sooner had he put the phone down than it rang again and Dylan picked up straight away.

  ‘Boss, John Benjamin, has anyone told you about the young mother and her son who’ve been mowed down on a zebra crossing by an alleged stolen car?’ he said. Dylan leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Go on, first I’ve heard of it,’ he said, disgruntled.

  ‘Twenty-one-year-old mum and her eight-week-old son are both on life support at Harrowfield Hospital, it’s looking like there is nothing that can be done – they’ve both got massive head injuries. I’m at the scene and we’re urgently trying to trace next of kin.’

  ‘What do we know about the car, John?’

  ‘Been confirmed as a red Ford Fiesta that’s owned by a local scrote. Him and his mate apparently reported it stolen today.’

  ‘I’ll see you at the scene as soon as. By the way the PM on Mildred Sykes shows she was murdered by a fatal blow to the head. I’m trying to get that one up and running with Taylor.’

  ‘No probs, see you soon.’

  How accurate the saying is that it never rains but it pours,thought Dylan.

  Quickly briefing Taylor on what he wanted her to do next, he excused himself to head towards the scene of the accident to ensure that no corners were cut and everything was done properly.

  ‘My God, what sort of place have I come to work in?’ Taylor said to Dennis. ‘It’s like that Midsomer Murders.’

  ‘Arrange the debrief for five, Dennis, and in the meantime a photograph from the house of Ms Sykes would be helpful, if you can arrange for someone to pick one up for me. Remember, Taylor, I want SOCO and forensic at her address; I don’t want anything left to chance. I’ll give the team the update on this latest hit and run at the briefing and you can do the update on Grace Harvey’s funeral so that they’re all fully aware of what’s going on.’

  Taylor nodded.

  ‘Right, I’ll be back as soon as I can – and in the meantime I’m on the mobile, so ring me if you need to speak to me,’ he said as he picked up his coat and briefcase and flew out of the door.

  Dylan could see DS John Benjamin’s large frame in the doorway to Mothercare as he spoke to a uniformed officer.

  He managed to drive to where the road was cordoned off, then had to walk to where Bridey and Toby had been struck. John raised his hand in acknowledgement of his boss’s presence.

  People were already passing bouquets to the uniformed officers guarding the scene, who were laying them neatly along the pavement’s edge. The upturned pram was a stark reminder to Dylan of what had taken place. Local press were gathering in droves with their cameras. Vans with television station logos were parked up with their masts aloft, their occupants frantically setting up filming equipment at the cordon. Tomorrow, the doom and gloom would be spread across the country in the national newspapers.

  Dylan scanned the scene. He noticed the absence of skid marks on the dry road surface. There had been no attempt to avoid the pedestrians, so why such desperation by the driver?

  ‘What’s the story so far, John?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Earlier today police were in pursuit of a red Ford Fiesta which nearly caused an accident by going through a closing railway barrier towards Tandem in the chase. According to witnesses the train only missed the car by a split second. The police car had to stop and the car got away. Its details we
re circulated over the police radio and a short time later it was spotted on the high street, two up. A police car pulled up behind it and put its sirens and blue lights on to alert the Fiesta’s driver to stop. Since it was stationary, due to the traffic lights ahead changing to red, the police officers got out of the car and ran towards the Fiesta. Its occupants, presumably seeing them in pursuit, set off at speed, mounting the pavement to pass stationary cars and mowing down the young mum with her son who were just stepping on to the zebra crossing. It didn’t stop, carried on at speed, and was later found burnt out on the moors. The owner, along with his mate, reported the car stolen at the nick some time later – which undeniably stinks. The police officers have talked to them and the lads are singing from the same hymn sheet so they’ve had to let them go. It looks like the enquiry will have to be overseen by the independent complaints commission because of the police pursuit – and that’s about it in a nutshell,’ concluded John.

  ‘Thanks. Phew. Control have told me that professional standards are on their way although, by the sound of it, I don’t think it got as involved as a pursuit by the police, did it? We need to gather all the information from the scene and descriptions from witnesses of the occupants of the Fiesta. Even if they can only give us an indication of what clothing they were wearing. And we also need to tie the burnt-out car to the scene to show it was the offending vehicle. Do we know if it’s a total burn-out?’

  ‘Not completely, boss, so I’m told. We may be lucky.’

  ‘Let’s get it collected from the moors on a low-loader. We might have some impact debris on part of the vehicle. Have we checked near the car for footprints or anything that might have been discarded?’

  ‘We’re on with it, boss.’

  ‘Just thinking aloud, we’ll have to start a policy book. What’s the update on the family?’

  ‘I understand they’re still trying to locate her parents. Graham, her husband, is a brickie and he’s out on a site. His boss has been made aware and was going over to collect him and take him to Harrowfield Hospital. I’ve arranged for a Family Liaison Officer to be turned out and I’m waiting for Control to let me know who that is.’

  ‘Good lad,’ said Dylan.

  ‘It’s not looking good, I’m told, for either of the casualties.’

  ‘The bastards eh?’ Dylan said with venom.

  ‘Yeah, exactly.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got a briefing back at Harrowfield for the murder of the old lady from Causeway Cottages but I’ll meet up with you afterwards at the nick and we’ll speak more. I take it we don’t think the car was stolen and the report was made after the incident?’

  ‘PC Tim Whitworth and his partner say there was no proof to detain. I think it’s an odd one but the only thing that concerns me is that there was a screwdriver stuck in the ignition according to our lads at the scene and the owner of the vehicle turned up at the nick with the keys. Would they have had time or the nous to think about staging it, do you think?’ John said, lines furrowing his brow.

  ‘Let’s just get all the information together before we make any assumptions. Never mind dangerous driving. Cars are weapons just like guns. They can and do kill. Make sure we get all the CCTV in the areas concerned – and that includes the information from the speed cameras if possible. See if we can nail ’em. Treat it as a murder. Oh, and if you…’

  ‘Need to speak to you, you’re on your mobile,’ John said.

  Dylan smiled.

  Leaving John standing on the pavement by the scene, Dylan texted Jen.

  I think the world’s gone mad x.

  And don’t tell me. You’re the only one who can put it right X, she texted back.

  LOL Don’t wait up. Love you X

  Love you too X. Jen sighed. She had a sinking feeling that another meal for one beckoned her from the freezer.

  Dylan felt bad as he drove back to the nick. He would never understand how Jen put up with him but he was grateful she did. She was his ‘normal’ and he loved her for it.

  Dylan walked through the foyer of the police station eating a banana that Jen had packed in his briefcase earlier that morning. He wondered about the two lads he’d seen in there earlier. Was one of them the owner of the car that had been involved in the hit and run? Nah, if they had been involved in a fatal accident, he pondered, they were far too calm. He tried desperately to put names to their faces but was distracted by the noise coming from the incident room as he walked along the corridor. He was late.

  ‘Boss, the team are all ready for you. Shall I sit up front?’ asked the pouting Taylor Spiers.

  ‘Why not, I’ll just pay a call and grab a coffee, then I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Your coffee has been ordered, sir,’ Taylor said, fluttering her long eyelashes at him.

  DS Spiers sat facing the door when he walked in the briefing room, Dylan’s coffee cup protectively held in her hands. She uncrossed her legs and stood up to greet him. The room fell silent at his entrance and he sat at her side, taking the cup from her.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who haven’t worked with me before I’m Detective Inspector Jack Dylan and I will be in charge of this murder investigation. My deputy will be Detective Sergeant Taylor Spiers,’ Dylan said, indicating the woman who sat facing him.

  Taylor smiled and sat up with her head erect and looked straight at him. Her long black dangly earrings rested on shoulders tightly pressed against the back of the chair. Involuntarily her bust thrust forward and from where he was sat he could see straight down her cleavage.

  Her black shift dress with long flowing sleeves clung to her slender frame. The ridiculously high thigh-length black boots she was so fond of wearing with black fishnet tights, were crossed at the ankle and stretched out in front of her. She reminded him of a spider.

  He looked at the eyes of the young men in the audience who were openly admiring her and smiled to himself. God, he wished Dawn was with him on this one. Better the devil you knew.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, Vicky,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I’ve just heard Graham Tate has been collected and is en-route.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Dylan couldn’t help notice Vicky smiling sweetly at Taylor. ‘Mildred Sykes,’ he said with a cough. ‘Excuse me, we now know was seventy-eight years old and lived alone at number 11, Causeway Cottages. She hadn’t been seen for some time and, after neighbours raised concerns with the police, officers attended and decided to force entry. They found her fully-clothed badly-decomposed body in the front bedroom. From the post-mortem examination it looks like she has been dead for around six weeks. It is quite clear that the cause of death was a massive blow to the rear of her skull – that has been confirmed could not have been caused by a fall. She has bruises to her wrists where she may have been held or bound. Why was this elderly lady brutally murdered? What was the motive? At the moment we know very little about her and we will need to create a timeline to find out what she’d been up to in the last few days of her life. Who were her visitors? Who did she telephone? Who telephoned her? Is there anything missing from her home? So far we have failed to locate living relatives, so we’re reliant on neighbours at the moment. It’s not an easy one and the murderer or murderers have had approximately six weeks start on us, but I’m confident we’ll catch up. Let’s not forget, ninety per cent of the time a victim will have had contact with or known their killer or killers. So, let’s find who did it. Any questions?’

  ‘Do we know when she last cashed her pension, boss? If we did, then it might give us some start on a timescale,’ Vicky said.

  ‘I don’t think we do know at the moment, do we, Taylor?’

  Dylan said turning to his right-hand woman.

  ‘Er no, not yet,’ Taylor answered, glaring at Vicky. Dylan noticed.

  ‘Good point, Vicky,’ Dylan said. ‘And just on that, Taylor, see what dates are on the unopened post, will you? Okay everyone, you’ll get to know who you’re working wi
th and the enquiries that I want you to make will be allocated by the HOLMES team to the individuals as soon as possible. Ten o’clock finish tonight, then briefing back here at eight a.m. tomorrow. But before we close the briefing I just want to let you know about a hit and run today that, because of the injuries sustained, is likely to prove to be a double fatal. It may be while you’re out and about talking to people you hear something that’s relevant. Bridey Tate and her baby son Toby were run over outside Mothercare. The car was a red Ford Fiesta and it has been found on the moors burnt out. The owner has reported it stolen. Bridey and her son are on life support. The hospital, we are told, can do nothing for them due to the severity of the head injuries. Sadly, it looks like we will have a double fatal on our hands when the machines are turned off. It is believed there were two people in the offending car according to a witness. Feelings are understandably running high and, as you heard DC Hardacre say, Bridey’s husband is on his way to the hospital,’ he said morosely.

  He left the room while Taylor briefed the team regarding the Grace Harvey fatal.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Graham Tate’s heart pounded like a drum. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins and he felt sick to his stomach. In his heavy heart, he knew that, after this, his life would never be the same.

  He tried to comprehend the sight before him. There wasn’t a mark on his beautiful wife’s pale grey, lifeless-looking face as she lay on the hospital bed. There were tubes everywhere and beeping monitors. A starched white sheet covered her. Graham tentatively stroked the soft, smooth fingers of her uncovered hand.