White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Nice job,’ said Dylan to Taylor when she joined him. Taylor looked a little confused. ‘The question you put to him about the clock?’ She smiled at him knowingly. ‘Do you think it is the one that’s in the picture?’

  DS Spiers shrugged her shoulders. ‘Could well be,’ she said.

  ‘Get the photographic department to blow the shot of the clock up for us and let’s see if he identifies it. I want to see the clock that was recovered from Denton and Greenwood’s flat as soon as possible,’ continued Dylan.

  ‘Fancy a quick one, boss?’ DS Spiers asked, as she collected her coat from the back of her chair in the CID office.

  Dylan flashed her a questioning glance.

  ‘Drink?’ she smiled.

  ‘Okay, just the one,’ he said, slightly flustered. ‘I’ll see you at the King’s Head in a minute.’

  ‘Last one there pays,’ she said, grabbing her bag as she hurried out. Dylan watched her out of his office window as she ran to her car.

  Just calling for a drink on the way home. See you soon pretty lady x, Dylan texted Jen.

  Dylan’s mobile rang just as he placed a pint of beer and a glass of wine on the table in front of Taylor. She took the opportunity to shuffle closer to him on the seat as she removed her jacket.

  ‘Somebody’s popular,’ she said, grabbing his thigh with one hand as she picked her wine glass up with the other. She smiled at him with her perfectly painted red lips.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he said, furiously wiping the beer he’d spilled down the front of his coat.

  ‘Come on, all work and no play,’ she said seductively. ‘You could do with a relaxing massage.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m going home in a minute to the woman who knows just how I like it, so don’t bother,’ Dylan said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bill Forrester paced up and down outside the video interview room. He waited and waited as the events of his daughter’s ordeal were disseminated piece-by-piece, minute by minute, in fine detail, so the officers could gain as full a picture as possible.

  Inside the room, Pam was telling interviewers of her first crush on a boy called Danny Denton. How she’d lied to him about her age at the beginning of their friendship but how she’d told him and his friend Billy Greenwood the truth before they raped her. She told the officers that she had been flattered that an older boy had paid her attention and that she had thought he loved her. She wept, and Stephanie’s heart went out to her.

  ‘We need to start at the very beginning,’ said the interviewing officer.

  ‘I never agreed to … I told them how old I was … when I realised what they were after,’ she said with pain and anguish in her eyes. ‘I didn’t want sex. I’ve never …’ She sobbed and wiped away her tears.

  ‘I know, I know,’ the officer said sympathetically. ‘You’re doing really well, Pam.’

  Bill Forrester was making plans. Once he had the names of who had done this to his daughter, it wouldn’t take long to find out where they lived.

  Pam talked. The officers took the statement. Stephanie had told the officers that both her shop and her husband’s business premises had been broken into as well as their home over the weekend that they had been in France. They hadn’t been able to figure out how the perpetrators had got in, as there had been no sign of a forced entry, but now it seemed possible that the intruders could have used a set of the Forresters’ keys.

  ‘Pam, you’ll have to identify the exact location that the rape took place, so a search can be done to corroborate what you have told us.’

  Pam nodded. Stephanie remembered when her daughter had been upset as a child. This time was different; she couldn’t put a plaster over a wound and kiss it better. The interview seemed to go on and on and all she wanted to do was hold Pam’s hand and give her daughter a cuddle.

  Bill Forrester looked at his watch. Almost four hours had passed. One consolation was that they were together.

  ‘What happens next?’ asked Pam.

  ‘The samples that have been taken from you will be sent to forensics for examination, along with your clothing, and the two youths accused will be traced, arrested and interviewed as soon as possible,’ said the interviewing officer.

  Pam’s face was now flushed with exhaustion.

  ‘It isn’t over yet, though. You may have to go to court. But let’s not worry about that at the moment,’ said the officer kindly.

  ‘I never want to see them again, not ever,’ Pam sobbed.

  ‘You did really, really well Pam. You’ve been very brave,’ they said as Stephanie reached out to take her daughter in her arms.

  PC Tim Whitworth sat in his local, thinking. He stared into the glass of beer. Frances always blamed his job. If the tea burned, it was because he was home late from work. If his shift pattern didn’t permit them to go somewhere, it was the job that was at fault. If they had no money, she blamed his job. In fact, the police force had a lot to bloody answer for in his marriage.

  He was angry, frustrated and tired, not only with the person who had threatened Sara but also with Frances. It was a coward’s approach to threaten his daughter instead of him, though, so he decided he had the right to be angry as he downed his third pint.

  ‘Little bastard,’ he said out loud. It had to be Denton. It just had to be.

  Dylan moved away from the saloon to hear the voice of the caller. He listened intently. Taylor sat looking at him.

  He rang off, and hurriedly picked up his coat. ‘Drink up, time to go,’ he said.

  ‘My place? I’ve got a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge,’ Taylor said as she followed his billowing coat out of the pub’s swinging doors.

  ‘No thanks. We’ve an early start tomorrow and you need to get people notified so that we can lock up Denton and Greenwood earlier than planned. They’ve just been named in a rape.’

  ‘It’ll keep. I suppose,’ she said flatly as she ran to keep up with him as he walked across the car park. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t like the other guys she knew that would jump at the chance of being invited back to hers. ‘I’ll ring around the team leaders and get things organised for a meet at five in the morning then, shall I?’ Taylor said.

  ‘Yeah, see you then,’ Dylan said, jumping into his car and slamming the door shut in her face. Taylor stood alone, looking bemused, as he sped away.

  ‘The good news is I’m home,’ he told Jen. ‘The bad news is that I have to be back for five in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Jack … how many times do I have to plead with you not to?’

  Dylan gave her a tired look that told her he wasn’t in the mood for an argument.

  ‘I know, when the job’s running,’ she sighed. There was no point in trying to discuss it. ‘Go up and put something comfy on, I’ve got something warm in the oven.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said with a wan smile, before reaching out to cuddle her. He buried his head into her shoulder and, hugging her tight, he moaned with fatigue.

  Max laid across Dylan’s feet in the lounge. For now, the dog was going to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘I suppose it’ll be a long day tomorrow too?’ Jen said as she put a plate of stew and dumplings in front of him. Dylan screwed up his nose. Jen laughed. ‘You are funny. Stew’s good for you.’

  ‘But I like pies and chips and crisps and …’ he wailed at the tray balanced precariously on his knee.

  ‘And I’d like you to be around to see our baby and not in an early grave, thank you, mister. Now eat that veg and then you can fall asleep,’ she scolded, sitting down on the settee next to him with his drink in her hand.

  ‘If I can get these two put away then things will quieten down, I’m sure,’ he said, shovelling a mouthful of dumpling into his mouth, his dislike of vegetables soon forgotten in his haste to tell her of his day. ‘I want to disturb them before they wake, if I can, tomorrow morning, which is why we’re in so early.’

  ‘Until the next murder, you’ll
rest then, eh?’ she said, reaching over to stroke his brow.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘I only nag because I love you,’ she whispered, kissing the top of his head as she stood to take away his plate and fix him rhubarb crumble and custard.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  There was an almighty crash.

  ‘Billy. Coppers,’ yelled Danny. His eyes were blinded by the torchlight. His pulse beat within his temple. Fear gripped his entire body.

  Billy pulled the duvet over his head, curled up in a tight ball and braced himself.

  Danny saw the outline of a dark figure before he felt a blow to his head and heard his nose crack. His legs buckled and he fell heavily to the floor. A strong hand grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head backwards. There was a jab at his throat and the intruder drew a sharp knife expertly across his neck.

  Billy could hear a tussle and waited for them to come for him. He knew it was only a matter of time.

  Due to the carotid arteries being severed and the lack of oxygenated blood to the brain, Danny passed out almost immediately. Blood pumped from the gaping wound and the intruder stepped over Danny and left him to drown in his own blood.

  As suddenly as the noise started, it stopped. Billy dared to raise his head from under his bedcover to hear nothing. The weight of a body thrust upon him took his breath away. Suddenly, he felt a sharp stabbing pain. He screamed. His attacker pressed the pillow in his face. Billy gagged for air.

  Another flurry of stabs rained upon him and he tried in desperation to prevent the blade from penetrating his torso. It was no use. The knife was piercing his whole body in the frenzied attack. Dazed, he realised the attack had ceased. He groaned. Everything was still. Then, with no warning, his attacker jumped on him again, screaming like a banshee.

  Dylan and the arrest team made a silent approach to the targets’ flat. Eight shadowy figures crept up the stairwell. A rat scurried in front of them making headway to an overflowing bin. Dylan stopped in his tracks and shuddered. The stench on the landing was gut-wrenching.

  Surprised by the smashed open door at Denton and Greenwood’s flat, he turned to face his colleagues and shrugged. He put a finger to his lips and signalled to them to stand flat against the wall. The council flat was in darkness. Dylan reached inside and fumbled for a light switch. He found one just inside the doorway. Only then did he start to take the lonely walk of an SIO into the flat, unaware of the horrific sight that awaited him.

  One corpse lay at the end of the hallway. He stood over it and recognised Danny Denton. Gingerly he stepped to the side of a two-foot-square patch of thick red blood so that he could check the rest of the flat, mindful that the murderer might still be there. It wouldn’t be the first time he had caught someone at the scene shortly after they had committed a crime. He cautiously looked around him, listening for the tell-tale sounds of the killer.

  He pushed a door open wide. It led into a bedroom. Again, he reached for the light switch inside. This time the bulb was out. Using the light from the hallway, he could make out bed-covering in a heap on a mattress laid on the floor. Examining it as much as the darkness would allow, he could make out cuts in the cloth that appeared to be consistent with it being slashed. Carefully he lifted one edge of the duvet and beneath it saw the motionless body of another male that Dylan presumed was Billy Greenwood.

  Multiple stab wounds were now visible as his eyes became accustomed to the low light and he bent down closer. Greenwood was motionless. Dylan assumed he was dead and he did something that he had never needed to do before in his career – he felt Greenwood’s neck for a pulse. Was it wishful thinking, or could he really feel a faint throb beneath his fingers?

  ‘Get paramedics here quickly,’ Dylan shouted. ‘And arrange for the scenes of crime supervisors. We’ve one dead male and another with multiple stab wounds. Tell them I think I might have a pulse.’

  The body was still warm to his touch, so he knew the attacks had happened just a short time ago. There was very little first aid he could do. Even if he tried, which wound would he try to stop the bleeding from first?

  He felt helpless. The injuries were beyond any training Dylan or any members of his team had ever had, he was sure of that. If they’d come to the flat an hour earlier? He should have come to arrest them last night. They had the relevant evidence. His thoughts quickly moved to suspects as he stood above the dying man.

  He didn’t give Greenwood a cat in hell’s chance of survival. Who was enraged enough by these two to commit these brutal murders? Where should he start?

  Careful not to disturb any evidence, Dylan retraced his steps, as best he could, towards the entrance of the flat.

  ‘Where’s SOCO?’ he asked, impatiently. ‘I need footplates and I need them now.’

  He tiptoed past the body of Danny Denton and for the first time noticed flowers strewn on the floor. What on earth were flowers doing in Denton and Greenwood’s flat?

  DS Spiers stood in the doorway. ‘Boss, maybe I can help. ‘I’m first-aid trained.’

  ‘So am I, but what we’ve been trained to do would be futile,’ Dylan replied.

  ‘But at least I’d have tried,’ she pleaded.

  ‘When I say no, Taylor, I mean no,’ he said firmly. ‘Billy Greenwood may be dying but his best chance of survival is with the paramedics when they arrive.’

  ‘But, you’re just letting him die.’

  ‘Taylor, go back to the nick and start calling staff in, will you, please?’

  If looks could kill, Dylan thought, he would have fallen on the spot. He stood with the team outside on the landing. Scenes of crime personnel arrived.

  The sirens of the ambulance could be heard getting closer. As always it was a comforting sound.

  ‘Get the footplates down. They’ll want to go in,’ Dylan said, pointing his finger at the ground.

  As DS Taylor Spiers left, the green-suited paramedics arrived in the car park.

  ‘Danny Denton’s been almost beheaded,’ Dylan told SOCO. ‘It appears that he was disturbed from his sleep when the door was put through and was the first to meet the prowler. The reason I say that is that there’s another person, who I presume is his flatmate, Billy Greenwood, who’s still under a duvet in the bedroom. He’s got numerous stab wounds but I think he may still be alive,’ he said, nodding towards the approaching paramedics. SOCO officers moved into the scene.

  ‘There is one body in the hallway – that’s obviously dead.’ Dylan told the paramedics. ‘There’s another person, who’s got numerous stab wounds, but I found a faint pulse. Can you confirm life extinct for me on the first? And be as careful as you can, there’s lots of blood, and we’re trying to protect as much of the scene as possible.

  ‘We need to get this entrance secured and searched along with the flat. DS Benjamin, can you make a call and arrange for uniform to do the necessary with the scene to keep it sterile,’ he added. ‘We’ll let SOCO do their stuff while we all re-group at the nick. We need to plan our lines of enquiry, the management of this scene, mortuary and maybe the hospital if Greenwood is alive. We also need to select arrest and search teams for the suspects we identify. He or they are likely to be covered in blood. Time’s important. Any questions?’

  It seemed like only minutes later the paramedics came out of the scene with Billy Greenwood on a stretcher, an oxygen mask clasped tightly to his face.

  ‘Very weak pulse and vital signs aren’t good,’ commented the paramedic at the rear of the stretcher as they passed Dylan. ‘We can confirm the other’s dead so we’ve left his body in situ for you.’

  ‘Vicky, go in the ambulance with Greenwood for continuity,’ Dylan said. ‘Don’t forget about dying declarations. You never know, he might come round briefly and talk.’

  ‘Okay, boss,’ she said, nodding to Dylan before running after the paramedics, who he could see carrying the stretcher out of the stairwell and into the car park towards the waiting ambulance.

  Dylan watched the s
cenes of crime officers taking photographs of Danny Denton’s body from a distance. Once this was done, he could arrange for it to be taken to the mortuary. At this stage he had to consider calling forensics but he would discuss that with SOCO. Dylan knew he would be back at the scene booted and suited in his protective clothing to take a more detailed look, but for now he would put scene guards on the entrance, go back to the nick to get the incident rooms established and create direct enquiries for immediate suspects.

  There was no time to waste – they needed to move fast.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Detective Sergeant John Benjamin sat straight-backed in the chair opposite Dylan. ‘My money’s on Graham Tate. He’s got the strength and the motive,’ he said, stabbing the lead of his pencil into a page of his notebook.

  ‘He’s got to be a prime suspect with an abundance of reasons but, I don’t know, is he our killer? At the scene there were white lilies, strewn on the floor near Danny Denton’s body. Do you think that’s the modus operandi of a man like him?’ Dylan said, screwing up his face.

  ‘He arranged for a bouquet of white lilies to lie on Bridey’s coffin,’ John said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Who knows how your mind works when someone has just killed your wife? Maybe, in planning the murder of the killer, it was something he just visualised.’

  ‘They were also the flowers on Grace Harvey’s coffin. Does that put her son Donald in the frame too?’ asked DS Taylor Spiers. Her voice held a note of sarcasm.

  ‘Has Donald had any contact with Denton and Greenwood that you know of?’

  ‘No, but … Well, what about Brian Stevenson? He sent Grace and Mildred flowers and Grace’s flowers we know were lilies,’ she said.