White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Sad bitch,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dylan made his way to the incident room which was crammed with officers. The heat hit him, and the lack of air. The smell of body odour was as intense. All heads turned at his entrance. Dylan fanned his face with his paperwork as he walked to the front of the room. He sat, leaned back in his chair, and scanned the faces in the room. All was quiet and still. Anticipation hung heavy.

  He introduced himself, DS John Benjamin and DS Taylor Spiers before he went on to outline the purpose of the meeting, which was to exchange and update the information on each of the three incidents he was currently dealing with. While they were all being investigated independently, snippets of information suggested there might be connections.

  ‘In respect of the fatal, fail-to-stop accident that killed Grace and her dog, we recovered debris left at the scene,’ said Dylan. ‘We now know that she’d withdrawn a large amount of money from her investments recently and sold her home to an equity-release company. Brian Stevenson was Grace Harvey’s financial advisor and he was attacked by Donald Harvey, Grace Harvey’s son, at her funeral. Donald Harvey accuses Brian Stevenson of swindling his mother out of her money. Brian Stevenson says Donald Harvey has had the money to help him maintain a certain lifestyle abroad. Donald Harvey denies the allegation.’

  ‘Brian Stevenson was also the late Mildred Sykes’s financial advisor,’ added DS Taylor Spiers, before shooting Dylan a toothy smile.

  ‘PC Whitworth, boss,’ said a uniformed officer at the back of the room. ‘Do you think the two whose car was involved in the double fatal outside Mothercare, might have run over the old lady too?’

  ‘Maybe, but we will need the evidence to prove it beyond doubt, as usual,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Boss, it maybe something or nothing but Stevenson was the name on the TV that we seized from Denton and Greenwood’s flat. I personally telephoned Mr Stevenson and, although he said the TV was his, he told me he’d sold it on,’ said Vicky.

  ‘But he was broken into,’ said DS Taylor Spiers, defiance blazing in her eyes at Vicky. ‘I’ve seen the damage to the patio doors.’

  ‘Let’s stay with him then. You will see I’m having passed around a picture of Mildred Sykes for the people who are not fully up to speed with that investigation. Was Stevenson the last person to see Mildred Sykes alive? We know he fits the description of a visitor to her home, and we have a re-occurring finger mark in her house that’s yet to be identified. We do know that the fingerprint is definitely not Mildred Sykes’s. We don’t have Brian Stevenson’s prints, do we?’

  DS Taylor Spiers shook her head.

  ‘So, that’s something we need to do as a priority,’ Dylan snapped.

  ‘Big mistake,’ Dylan heard Vicky say to Taylor in a low murmur, but he let it go with a glare at the pair.

  ‘We also seized a glitzy clock from Denton and Greenwood’s flat that was obviously out of place and we’re checking to see if we can find any marks on it to identify whose it is,’ said Vicky, sitting up straight in her chair.

  ‘Do we know if Stevenson, Denton and Greenwood know each other?’ asked Dylan

  ‘Sir, this picture of Mildred Sykes.’

  ‘Yes, Vicky.’

  ‘The clock in the background is just like the one I’ve been trying to place.’

  ‘Really?’ Dylan said, feeling slightly excited at the revelation.

  Vicky looked at the photo again. Her mouth opened and shut without her saying a word. She looked at Dylan. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no intelligence to suggest that they know each other but I don’t know if that question has been put to any of them,’ said Taylor.

  ‘Okay, so, we’ve got ongoing tests to prove Denton and Greenwood’s car is involved in Grace Harvey’s murder. Now, let’s talk about the one involving Bridey Tate and her son Toby. You, PC Whitworth, dropped behind their car in stationary traffic at a red light on the high street, didn’t you?’

  PC Whitworth nodded.

  ‘You get out and proceed to approach the men inside when the car sets off at speed. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But you don’t identify them?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then you see the occupants of that car shoot the red light and mow down our young mother and baby who are stepping off the pavement at the time, and the car, as we all know, is then found burning a short time later on the moors. So, do we have anything new on this?’

  ‘We’re sifting through CCTV and speed cameras, boss, to see if we can get a good enough picture to identify the driver and passenger of that vehicle. There are a few hours of footage yet to be looked at to see if we can ID the vehicle and the occupants on their journey to the moors. At this moment in time we know there were two occupants in the car, but we can’t get a picture that’s good enough for the ID of Denton and Greenwood. It’s apparent that the driver and his passenger have either their hoods up or hats on,’ said John.

  ‘Well, probably isn’t going to be good enough for CPS. We need to ensure that we have the evidence to show there’s no doubt,’ Dylan snapped.

  ‘And where did they get the Subaru from? Was it stolen?’

  ‘No bought, cash, sir. I checked it out, it’s legit,’ said PC Whitworth.

  Dylan shook his head. ‘Well, the cash must have been stolen or they’ve sold some stolen gear. Any reports of a large amount of money going missing?’ There was a sea of shaking heads before him. ‘Come on, we’re not talking peanuts here, are we? I mean how much does a brand spanking new Subaru cost?’ The room’s occupants remained silent. Dylan sighed. ‘I’m also hearing that there’s someone asking about Denton and Greenwood on the Greenaway Estate. I thought it was Graham Tate, he makes no bones about the fact that he wants revenge, which is understandable, but the description that John’s snout has given us is definitely not him.’

  ‘What about Stevenson?’ asked Taylor, ‘or Donald Harvey? He didn’t hesitate in attacking Stevenson in broad daylight at his mother’s funeral.’

  ‘The answer, my friends, lies within a small group of people who are possibly connected, so we need to dig deep to find the evidence to connect them and prove who did what. If you’re telling me we need more people looking at CCTV tapes then let’s get on with it,’ Dylan said.

  The meeting ended with Dylan feeling frustrated. He walked down the corridor to his office like a man on a mission. He could hear Taylor’s heels clicking on the lino as she followed him. The likelihood that Denton and Greenwood were responsible for the car incidents was looking strong and Stevenson was looking more like a fraudster than a murderer; but what connected Stevenson to Denton and Greenwood?

  ‘Taylor,’ Dylan said, without stopping or glancing back. ‘Chase the financial investigation team up on Stevenson. Tell them I want a result in the next seventy-two hours and I don’t want any excuses.’

  ‘Sure, but you know what they’re like,’ she panted, as she tried to match his pace.

  ‘Look, just do it, please, will you. Or do I have to do everything myself?’ Dylan said, stopping at Taylor’s desk in the incident room. Taylor dropped into her chair. ‘I’m on with it, aren’t I?’ she said, raising her eyebrows at Vicky who sat sedately opposite her.

  Dylan walked the few paces to his office.

  ‘Want a coffee, sir?’ shouted Vicky.

  Dylan slammed his door shut.

  ‘Guess that will be a no-thank-you then, Vicky,’ she mumbled.

  Dylan opened his door. ‘Yes, please,’ he said, in a softer voice, ‘and about time too.’ He smiled. It made him so angry when he knew who was responsible for a crime but he had to wait for the results of enquiries to come in. No singular person or department ever seemed to have any urgency unless they were being paid overtime. He wanted these incidents wrapped up – and he wanted them wrapped up now.

  His phone rang. ‘Dylan,’ he snapped, snatching it up.

  ‘Somebody
sounds grumpy,’ said Jen.

  ‘I’m just busy, that’s all,’ he sighed.

  ‘Shall I ring back?’

  ‘No, no. I’m sorry, Jen,’ he sighed with his head in his hands. ‘It just pisses me off. I just need that bit of concrete evidence to get these three jobs sorted. I can feel it in my bones that we’re on the right track.’

  ‘Jack, you’re letting things get to you and you know yourself it’s making you grumpy. You’re tired. It’s not helping that you’re not getting your sleep and people won’t like you for it, you know.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not here to be liked,’ he said sulkily as he put down the phone.

  Paperwork: Dylan looked at his in-tray in dismay. The pile must have been at least eighteen inches high and he needed to clear it. With the mood he was in it seemed like a good time. Shredder at the ready, he took the first piece of paper off the top and stared at the subject matter.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘What? What the fuck is this?’ Dylan said out loud as Vicky walked in with his cup of coffee in one hand and two biscuits in the other.

  ‘Boss, you ready to go?’ asked John, slightly unnerved by Dylan’s tone. Dylan stood, took the cup from Vicky and gulped a mouthful of coffee before handing it back to her. He slid a biscuit off the plate she held and popped it into his mouth, collected his jacket from the back of his chair and headed towards the door, clipping on his black tie.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ he said.

  When they arrived the funeral procession for Bridey and Toby was about to commence. Dylan stood alongside his colleague. A marked police vehicle shone in the afternoon sunshine at the front of the cortège. The streets were lined with townspeople for as far as Dylan could see. TV cameras were set up.

  There was a gathering of people in black. The footpath leading to Harrowfield Parish Church’s wooden porch was awash with bouquets, soft toys and photographs.

  ‘Detective Inspector Dylan,’ called a chirpy little voice, ‘have you identified the driver yet?’

  He looked sideways and saw Riley Shaw from the local paper.

  ‘Not yet, Riley, but we’re making progress,’ he called back.

  Not quickly enough, though,he thought to himself.

  The inside of the church was full to bursting with mourners. Dylan felt a chill that sent a shiver down his spine, or a goose walking over his grave, as his old mum would have said. There was standing room only at the back, which is where John and he stood.

  The music started. ‘I’ve Been Missing You’by Chris De Burgh echoed around the room and through the speakers to those stood outside. Dylan shuffled. He looked up at the stained-glass window at the front of the church and clasped his hands in front of him.

  Shuffling could be heard to his left and out of the corner of his eye he saw the first of the two coffins being carried down the aisle. The same aisle that Bridey and Graham had walked down not long before, a gentleman whispered to his friend who stood in front of them. This time there were no smiling faces, no jubilation, and no wedding march. The coffins were adorned with brilliant white lilies, which Dylan thought created a heavenly light of their own, a halo and a tribute to the loves of Graham Tate’s life.

  The coffins were laid to rest at the end of the aisle in front of the altar, together side by side. The vicar read Psalm 23, ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’, Dylan’s favourite psalm. Readings were delivered through the tears of loved ones and there was an address before ‘Jerusalem’rang out. Afterwards were prayers and Dylan prayed hard for the capture and conviction of the people who had done this terrible deed. Dylan watched Graham pick up Toby’s tiny coffin and lovingly cradle it in his arms as he walked back up the aisle with it to Toby’s final resting place with his mum, Bridey, in the graveyard.

  ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am the thousand winds that blow. I am diamond glints in the snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumnal rain. When you waken in the morning hush, I am the soft uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine in the night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there, I did not die,’ read the vicar.

  Dylan and John turned and left the family and friends of Bridey and Toby to their grief, tossing coins into the collection for the church roof fund as they passed.

  ‘I need a drink,’ said John, loosening his tie as he hurried his step to catch up with Dylan.

  ‘Me too,’ Dylan said, shaking his head. ‘Tell you what, I’ll stand you a brandy in a coffee, how’s that?’

  ‘Anything with a hint of alcohol sounds good to me,’ John said, as they reached the car. ‘Right or wrong, boss, I’d want revenge if that happened to me and mine.’

  ‘It wouldn’t bring ’em back.’

  ‘No, but I’m sure it would make me feel a hell of a lot better. A few years in prison, which let’s face it, is all the driver of the car will get, isn’t sufficient for their lives.’

  ‘I know but we don’t make the law, John, we only enforce it, mate.’

  ‘If Graham Tate gets hold of the people responsible for Bridey and Toby’s death I can’t imagine what state we’ll find them in,’ John said thoughtfully.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was that time of day. Billy and Danny were outside the school gates in their new car. Pam looked beyond the crowd and saw Danny. ‘Wow,’ she murmured.

  ‘You look good,’ Danny said to the excited teenager. A blush crept up Pam’s cheeks. She was coyly aware of the watching group of girls. Throwing her hair over her shoulder, she smiled at them like a cat that had got the cream.

  ‘That’s Sara you were asking about,’ she said to Danny. A big grin spread across her face as she waved to a girl who stood at the opposite side of the road.

  ‘Whitworth’s daughter?’

  ‘Yep, the ginger-haired girl,’ she said.

  ‘She’s not very old, is she?’ said Danny.

  ‘She’s my age,’ said Pam, indignantly, forgetting for a moment that she had told them she was sixteen.

  Billy stared at Sara Whitworth long and hard. ‘Is she?’ he said, with surprise.

  ‘Enough about her. When you coming for a spin with us? What about tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be great,’ Pam said. She’d been really bored in France with the oldies. She deserved to do what she wanted now and there was nothing more daring and grown up than spending time with Danny.

  Billy was quiet as he watched the ginger-haired girl cross the road. A car stopped in front of her and Billy thought she was about to get in but she walked around the back of it and made her way up the main road.

  ‘Is he coming?’ mouthed Pam.

  Danny nodded. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get rid of him,’ he whispered and she giggled once more. ‘Pick you up from yours tomorrow morning.’

  ‘The oldies will be gone by half-eight at the latest, so see you after then. I’ve gotta go, I’ve got a riding lesson,’ she said, tucking her wayward hair behind her ear.

  Pam’s mind was all over the shop as she walked away from them with a grin so wide it made her nose wrinkle. What would she tell them at school? Would she need a note? What if her parents found out? If she didn’t go, Danny might not want to see her again.

  Oh, it was a no-brainer; she was going alright, what was she thinking of? How could she even contemplate missing out on a day out with Danny? It was a thrilling thought but scary too, because she’d never done anything before that her parents didn’t know about.

  She shivered with excitement. What would she wear? She’d do her hair and nails tonight she decided. ‘Whoopee!’ she yelled, flailing her arms in the air and running down the grass banking in delight.

  ‘Let’s see where that copper’s daughter goes, Danny?’ said Billy, pointing to the girl disappearing slowly out of their view.

  ‘Why? What’re you thinking?’ Danny asked suspiciously.

  ‘Don’t know yet, but I do know I’m looking forward to t
omorrow,’ he grinned.

  ‘Thought you weren’t listening?’

  ‘Well, you know what thought did, don’t you?’ Billy said. ‘Too right I was,’ he said, pulling the pink thong out of his pocket and sniffing deeply as he stuck it under his nose.

  ‘She won’t want to come out with us again after that,’ Danny snarled.

  ‘So, we’d better make the best of it then, hadn’t we?’ Billy said, with a glint in his eye. ‘Why don’t we give the copper’s daughter a bit of a fright?’

  Danny drove the car slowly. Just close enough to keep their prey in sight.

  Sara Whitworth walked the well-worn route home, totally unaware she was being followed. She walked across the green and through the little park with the swings and slide that her mum and dad had taken her to often when she was little. She marched over the tarmac in the small car park where she had learnt to ride her bike. Next she came to the picnic area where they often had their tea outdoors and on into the coppice that led to their back door. Although the traffic had been busy on the main road, there weren’t many people on foot, Billy noted.

  ‘I’ve got an idea. Tomorrow, if we’ve dumped Pam in time, let’s come back here and wait for her to walk home from school. I’ll give her a message for her dad. I’ll need a balaclava,’ he said wistfully.

  ‘You’re a bad lad, Billy Greenwood, a very bad lad,’ Danny said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was a quarter to nine when Pam heard a car rolling along the gravel driveway.

  Her mother and father had been rowing. It appeared her father had misplaced an expensive watch her mother had bought him for his fortieth birthday and, two days on, they were still not talking … Pam had suffered the backlash – how dare he accuse her of drinking his beers out of the fridge? She didn’t even like beer! She was adamant she wouldn’t show her face this morning until they had both left for work.