White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Did Denton and Greenwood know Stevenson? I suppose if it was them that burgled his house and he’d found out,’ Dylan said, thoughtfully.

  ‘You’d better put Bridey’s dad on the list to be eliminated too. He did threaten to kill them,’ John said. ‘And let’s not forget the most recent events. These two were accused of raping Pam Forrester, which is why we were going to arrest them. We need to eliminate her parents and relatives as well.’

  ‘Her mum owns a flower shop,’ Vicky mumbled sleepily, from where she rested, her head in the crook of her arm on the desk.

  ‘Brian Stevenson uses her shop for his flowers,’ said Taylor.

  ‘That’s enough, for now,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I’d like to start with Brian Stevenson, sir,’ said Taylor.

  ‘Okay, you start there with your team. John, you take the others for Graham Tate. Let’s see how we go with those two for the time being. Then, we’ll have to have a rolling programme, to trace and eliminate each and every suspect, as soon as possible. I also need a team to deal with the latest scene, which I’ll take charge of,’ said Dylan. ‘Vicky, you stick with me on that one, will you?’

  ‘Nowhere else I’d rather be, boss, but your right-hand woman,’ she yawned, with a distinct smile as she rested her chin in her hands and looked up at him.

  Taylor glared in her direction. ‘You’re so bloody obvious,’ she whispered with a sneer.

  Vicky tilted her head and blinked her long eyelashes at Taylor as she smiled broadly. ‘And I suppose you aren’t?’ she replied.

  ‘Remember, everyone, it’s our first chance to secure evidence against the suspects, maybe our only chance. We need concrete alibis for the full night in question from these people, and I want their co-operation. Any issues, I’ll be at the end of the phone – so don’t hesitate to call me if you need to.’

  ‘I think it’s worth a mention, boss, that PC Tim Whitworth’s daughter was stopped on her way home from school and threatened with rape. His wife has taken their daughter to her mother’s and he was out on the town drinking last night, I’m told, drowning his sorrows. He hasn’t turned in as yet for his shift. He had involvement with Denton and Greenwood after the Tate fatalities, if you remember. I’m not saying for a minute he is capable of such an act, but I thought I should mention it,’ said the uniformed duty sergeant.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name. You are?’

  ‘Sergeant Palmer, sir.’

  ‘Thanks for that. Let’s see if we can locate him as soon as possible.’

  ‘If I know Whitworth, he’s probably got a massive hangover and he’ll still be asleep,’ said Vicky.

  ‘But, he’ll still need an alibi like any other suspect. Could you follow that one up for me, Sarge, please? Also, no doubt there’s a welfare issue that needs monitoring too,’ Dylan said considerately.

  ‘Yes, for sure. No, I wasn’t pointing the finger, sir,’ said Sergeant Palmer, looking slightly flushed.

  ‘You never know. History, as we are all aware, tells us policemen can turn into murderers too. We have to consider all possibilities. Right, so that’s everybody occupied then, I think,’ Dylan said with a deep sigh. ‘We’ll have to leave Bill Forrester until a team comes free. He, too, like you said, has one hell of a motive. Denton and Greenwood raped his daughter. Okay everybody, let’s get out there and be professional. Don’t forget the reporters will be sniffing around and, remember, keep me updated with any developments. The slightest of problems, anything you need to discuss, you know where I am. If the press ask questions, refer them to Liz at the Press Office. I’ll put out a brief statement. Debrief at five. Let’s do it,’ Dylan roared.

  The room emptied with a noisy buzz. Everyone was eager; all had a mission. Dylan wondered about Sergeant Palmer’s reason for throwing Tim Whitworth into the pot as a suspect for murder. Did he know more than he was sharing with them?

  Everyone slept in from time to time. Dylan remembered one occasion when he had slept in as a rookie. He should have been ready to parade at 05.45 for the six o’clock shift. He got there at 07.30. He’d thought about telephoning in sick when he’d woken late after working over until midnight the previous day, but hadn’t wanted to let his team down.

  He’d dreaded what his sergeant would say. His supervisor at the time was a stocky bull-necked ex-military man who spoke with his fists, then asked questions. He wasn’t known for patience in waiting for answers. Dylan recalled as if it was yesterday sheepishly sneaking in the back door of the nick that morning. The sergeant had been ready to lift him off his feet by his collar and pin him up against the wall, as Dylan feared.

  ‘The shift inspector doesn’t know that one of his men is missing yet,’ he had said through gritted teeth. ‘And it’ll stay that way…’ he said, putting Dylan’s feet back down on the ground. ‘Now get yourself some coffee and toast before you get out there, otherwise you’ll be useless to me. MOVE,’ he’d hollered. Dylan had scarpered so fast he was sure he’d created sparks on the wooden floor with his toecaps.

  ‘It’ll never happen again. Will it, PC Dylan? The sergeant had shouted after him.

  ‘Not on your life, sir,’ Dylan had hollered back.

  Dylan remembered taking off his helmet and mopping his brow in front of the mirror in the gent’s toilets. In those early days, supervisors didn’t stand for any messing about – and the strategy worked, Jack Dylan had never been late for a shift again.

  Dylan was concerned that he didn’t have an obvious front-runner for Denton and Greenwood’s attack, someone who stood out from the rest of the pack. He didn’t even have a strong feeling towards any one of the suspects. It could be any of them or, then again, none. The pair had angered, upset and annoyed so many people.

  He knew the death of a loved one affected people differently, but rarely did it turn them into murderers.

  There was no love lost for these two among the investigating teams either. The whispers around the room, even at this early hour of the investigation, were that Denton and Greenwood had got what they deserved: summary justice. Dylan wasn’t naïve. It was a bad-on-bad murder. Who really cared if gang members or drug dealers killed each other, as long as innocent people weren’t hurt? He knew it was his job to motivate the team to gain results.

  It certainly wouldn’t be an easy investigation unless they got an early break. Some of his counterparts seemed to fall on the domestic murders or the ones that didn’t need a lot of investigation. Dylan always seemed to land what the police force deemed ‘the runners’.

  He absentmindedly wrote on his notebook, Ring to see how Dawn is … He kept intending to, but hadn’t got around to it.

  He picked up the phone to call Jen to let her know that their plans for a quiet Bank Holiday were out of the window. He knew he was giving her information she didn’t want to hear, yet again, and his heart sank.

  ‘It’s only me,’ he said, trying to put a smile in his voice.

  Jen knew by his tone what he was going to say. Dylan always started the same way when he was about to give her disappointing news, she dreaded the ‘It’s only me,’phone calls.

  ‘The lock-up never happened. Someone got there before us,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘It’s gonna be a long day. One’s been murdered in the flat and the other’s critical in hospital.’

  ‘Oh no, you owe me big time, mister, leaving me to spend the Bank Holiday alone.’ Jen tried to sound cheerful but she had a heavy heart.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ he said. Jen put the phone down and rubbed her stomach: once again the job had won. Yes, she knew she was being selfish but didn’t she deserve the time with her man that others took for granted? He’d bring the smell of mortuary home with him again tonight and no doubt wake her up but, she smiled, she knew she could cope with anything as long as he came home.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  John Benjamin was confident that his target was the murderer. In fact, he was so confident he would have bet his salary on it. The pain
and anger Graham Tate must be suffering was beyond anything he could imagine. And he was just as confident that once he locked him up he’d confess. Why wouldn’t he want to tell the whole world about his revenge on the men he believed to be the murderers of his young wife and child?

  In a few minutes John would know if his gut instinct was right, as two cars containing his team of eight police officers drew up outside the Tate family home. The curtains were closed and a car was in the driveway, which intimated to John that Graham was inside.

  Three officers were directed quickly and quietly to guard the back of the house with a dog handler. John could only hope and pray that the dog would be quiet as he watched the handler open the van’s doors.

  Satan was a huge black Alsatian with fierce, staring red eyes. As he was unleashed from his cage he lurched from the vehicle and started barking with excitement and John cringed. Everyone moved rapidly into position.

  John walked up the garden path and banged with gusto on the front door. There was no response. Tilting his head, he listened intently for noises within. The sound of him knocking again echoed down the street. Still there was no response. He stepped back and looked up at the windows before hammering again and this time he peered through the letterbox.

  He wondered whether Graham might be dead. It wasn’t unknown for people to commit a murder and then commit suicide. But, on the other hand, he could just be refusing to answer the door to them. A hell of a lot of people did, in DS John Benjamin’s experience. They often thought that the police would go away, but they soon learnt that they were wrong to assume.

  Again, he beat his fist against the door. The noise was beginning to raise interest from the neighbouring houses as curtains were drawn back and doors opened. People stood in their gardens now and at their gates. John was left to make the decision. Did he go away and come back later or did he force entry? Graham Tate could be inside injured. Should he ring Dylan? What would Dylan do in his position? He closed his eyes, prayed he was making the right decision and gave his colleagues the order to smash their way in. At the third attempt the door gave way to the battering ram and the front officer was catapulted inside.

  Shouts of POLICErang out from his team members as an organised search of the house commenced. There were pots in the sink, empty beer cans and takeaway food containers littered about the kitchen worktops. Photographs of Bridey and their son Toby were scattered over the sofa. John could feel the deep sadness in the darkened lounge. The scent of the room smelt familiar: musty, like a muddy river, the air thick in some way. Where was Graham Tate, he wondered?

  ‘Arrange to have the door boarded up,’ he told the team, despondently.

  John stood in the garden of the house watching daylight rapidly bringing sunlight to the street as he keyed in Dylan’s mobile number. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Boss, there’s no one home,’ he said, his head hung low.

  ‘What do the neighbours say?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘We’re just going to start house to house. I have had the door put through.’

  ‘You’ve put the door through before asking neighbours if they know where he is?’ Dylan shouted down the phone. Vicky put her hands over her ears. ‘Why did you need to get in there so quickly? What if he’s totally innocent? After everything that’s happened to the poor guy, we go and smash his bloody door down. Great,’ Dylan said with a moan as he held his head in his hands.

  ‘But I thought he might’ve attempted to take his own life or …’

  ‘You’re assuming a hell of a lot, aren’t you?’ Dylan yelled. ‘Look, stick with the fact that you were concerned about his welfare and you thought he was inside requiring medical assistance. I presumed you thought you saw the curtain move or heard a noise from within?’

  ‘Er, if you say so, boss.’

  ‘What a bloody mess,’ Dylan groaned.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘In future, just have a bit of patience, eh?’ Dylan sighed. After a second, he broke the silence. ‘Look, don’t worry, we’ll find him. And by the way I’d have probably done the same, mate. Speak to you later.’ He knew how John felt and he knew he’d done the same thing over the years and it soon brought you down to earth when the target wasn’t where you thought he should be.

  He knew young John Benjamin would learn from his mistake, and Graham Tate would be incensed by it, but nonetheless it was and always would be an everyday occurrence in policing. Unfortunately, in that situation, as the man in charge, you were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t.

  ‘At least it was the right address,’ Dylan said out loud. Vicky smiled, but her face held a grimace. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve known officers raiding the wrong houses. Now, that’s an embarrassment for the officers but petrifying for the innocent occupiers.’

  ‘I’ll go and make us some strong coffee, shall I?’ Vicky said.

  Dylan was worried. He was feeling negative. He was in charge of enquiries into three road deaths, a rape, an assault, a murder, and an attempted murder that could turn at any minute into a murder. None of the aforementioned looked like being solved and all eyes were upon him. The public wanted people locked up. Headquarters, hierarchy, were on the warpath. The figures for violent crime were no longer on a downward spiral, because of these crimes. All, his fault of course, or that’s how it felt when his bosses contacted him for answers. In spite of his predicament, he smiled. Wasn’t that why he loved the job: the challenge? His office door opened, bringing him out of his moment of self-pity.

  ‘Billy Greenwood’s in theatre. News is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it,’ said Lisa. ‘He’s not regained consciousness and the officer guarding him just told me he’s got at least thirty-five stab wounds.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ he sighed. ‘We have his DNA and fingerprints on file but it would be helpful if we could get a sample of his blood for comparison purposes. Liaise with the incident room staff, will you? We need to arrange to keep him under constant supervision, that’s if he survives theatre. If he recovers consciousness, no matter how briefly, he might be able to tell us something about his attacker and we’ve a duty of care, even for scumbags like him.’

  ‘Will do, boss. Do you want a coffee, you two?’

  ‘That would great,’ yawned Vicky.

  ‘Looks like you’d better make it another strong one,’ he laughed.

  ‘You know I don’t do early mornings and late nights,’ Vicky scowled.

  No sooner had Lisa closed the door, when the phone rang.

  ‘Ignore it,’ Dylan said to Vicky as she reached out to pick it up. ‘It’s time we went back to the flat. Danny Denton’s body is still in situ.’

  Suited and booted in protective clothing, they re-entered the scene for a closer look, accompanied by the scenes of crime officer.

  ‘The flowers need collecting as an exhibit,’ he instructed. To Dylan they were just flowers but who knew what they could reveal? There was no murder weapon to be found inside the flat, he was told by SOCO, and searches were on-going of the immediate area outside, including the drains.

  Although he talked of the murderer being one person, there was a possibility that he couldn’t ignore that there may have been more than one attacker.

  ‘I hate bloody lilies,’ Vicky said, screwing up her nose. ‘They stink,’ she said as she picked them up with a gloved hand and put them in an exhibits bag. ‘I’d rather have daffs, if you ever feel the need to buy me any flowers.’

  Dylan couldn’t help but smile. ‘And the likelihood of that is?’

  ‘If the murderer did bring them with him, what’s he trying to tell us?’ she said with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Time will tell, as you say, boss,’ added a distracted Vicky as she leaned over the body on the floor. ‘It’s a bloody massive wound that, in’t it? The killer certainly wanted to make sure Danny Denton was a dead man.’

  ‘On the positive, we shouldn’t have any problem proving intent,’ Dylan said. ‘He nearly took his flaming head right off.�
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  ‘Mm, that’s true.’

  The scene itself revealed nothing else but Dylan decided to keep it sealed just in case they needed to return. His phone rang as he left the flat.

  ‘Taylor, sir. Stevenson’s not at home. His Porsche has gone and neighbours tell us they last saw him leaving the house with a suitcase yesterday evening.’

  ‘Do we have his car registration to circulate?’

  ‘Already done, boss. I’ll take my team on to Donald Harvey’s, shall I?’

  ‘Yeah, if you’re sure Stevenson’s not there you might as well.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ she said, climbing into her car.

  ‘You haven’t forced entry, have you?’ he asked with baited breath.

  ‘No, why would I?’ she snapped.

  Dylan exhaled. ‘Just wondered. We’ve got Stevenson’s DNA on record. Let’s hope he gets stopped quickly,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be in touch,’ DS Taylor Spiers said, and she rang off.

  ‘No suspects in custody yet,’ he sighed to Vicky.

  Brian Stevenson was becoming more and more interesting to Dylan. There were no apparent friends of his that had come to light. Dylan had taken an instant dislike to him. But then again there were quite a few people he didn’t like but that didn’t mean they were criminals.

  ‘What you got to smile about?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘Ah, nothing,’ he said. ‘Why doesn’t Taylor like you? Is there some history between you two that I should know about?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? You know me, I’d tell you if there was. But, I’ll let you into a secret. I don’t like her much either,’ she whispered. ‘So, it makes no odds to me whether she likes me or not,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.