White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Dylan ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘Who the hell is it?’

  ‘An Asian businessman who checks out. He bought the car yesterday.’

  ‘Stevenson is circulated. All ports, mind. We need to speak to him and fast. Make sure he’s flagged up on PNC as wanted in connection to Mildred Sykes’s murder.’

  ‘On with it, boss,’ she said as she leapt up from her chair and glided out of the office.

  His telephone rang, ‘Jack Dylan,’ he snapped.

  ‘CPS, Inspector Dylan, Case Progression. I’m just confirming the date for R.V. Harold Wilkinson Little, your double child murderer at Sheffield Crown Court, a four-week space has been allocated.’

  Dylan scrawled the date on his blotter.

  ‘The necessary notifications will be sent out to you shortly but I thought you’d appreciate the early call.’

  ‘Thank you, forewarned is forearmed, as they say. I’ll let them know to diary it for relevant witnesses.’

  The evidence was overwhelming and the sentence wouldn’t be much different either way, so there was only one conclusion to come to – that Little was making the families of the victims suffer still. He wanted to see for himself the pain on their faces in court and the distress he had caused them. Was his need for revenge so deep-rooted? Or was he just pure evil?

  Now that Dylan had a date he would contact Dawn. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been in touch with her lately, but every time he reached for the phone he wondered what he was going to say to her. ‘How are you?’ He knew how she was. She was having treatment for post-natal depression. He felt sad, inadequate – there was nothing he could do or say to change her situation so he’d done what he always did when he didn’t know what to do and worked his socks off to blot it out.

  John made him jump when he rushed into his office. ‘Had a call from Graham Tate’s neighbour. He’s back. She’s keeping an eye out for us till we get there.’

  ‘Get round there at once,’ he ordered. ‘And invite him in for questioning. If he refuses, arrest him.’

  Chapter Forty

  Dylan sat patiently listening to the ringing tone that in turn went to the answering machine. Leaving a message, he wondered if Dawn would be well enough to attend court. Of course she would, he told himself. What was he thinking? She wouldn’t miss this court case for the world.

  ‘Just got confirmation that Stevenson’s profile’s been circulated to all ports, sir,’ Lisa told him as she walked in. He took the paperwork she held out for him.

  ‘If he was intending to leave the country, we might just get lucky,’ he said, hopefully.

  The priority was to question Bill Forrester and Graham Tate about their whereabouts at the time of Denton’s murder. It was highly likely the pair had lots of enemies but, as ever, Dylan would follow the detective’s golden rule and clear the ground beneath his feet before he went on to do anything else. Graham Tate had two good reasons to want to see them dead, the Forresters did, too.

  Dylan closed his door. While the officers were out and about making their enquiries, he decided to sit quietly and grab the chance to review the investigation into Mildred Sykes’s death. He needed to satisfy himself that they had left no stone unturned.

  If she had opted for equity release like Stevenson had said, where was the flaming money? Was Donald Harvey’s accusation right? Where was Grace Harvey’s money? Striking similarities between the two women made their deaths too close for comfort, thought Dylan. Did Denton and Greenwood do Stevenson’s dirty work for him?

  Found in their possession was a silver carriage clock, which was obviously stolen property. There couldn’t be anything more out of place in their bachelor pad than that bejewelled ornament. Dylan opened the envelope that contained the blown-up photograph of Mildred and stared at it. The clock seized from the flat that Vicky had shown him was most definitely like the one in the picture. He was certain that the clock had not been on the mantel shelf at Mildred’s house when he had walked around after her murder.

  ‘Vicky,’ he called.

  ‘Yep,’ she said, opening his door wider.

  ‘That clock seized from Denton and Greenwood’s flat. Has it been checked out yet?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Book it out of the property store, will you? And be careful, I don’t want any unnecessary fingerprints on it.’

  Vicky nodded and slowly turned. ‘Yes, boss,’ she drawled.

  ‘Vicky, like yesterday, please. Oh, Vicky,’ he hollered.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, stopping in her tracks and retracing her steps.

  ‘Coffee,’ he gestured with the cup in his hand.

  She smiled. ‘Lisa,’ she called across the office. ‘Boss wants a coffee.’

  Dylan smiled.

  The clock, of course, would need to be thoroughly examined inside and out and fingerprinted. With vigour, he set about writing a list of actionable enquiries for the HOLMES team to put onto the database, to be allocated to ensure no duplicate actions were undertaken. He needed evidence to prove beyond doubt it was Mildred’s property. If it was, had they stolen it from her or from Brian Stevenson? He needed to prove a sequence of events.

  Had Stevenson been systematically robbing his elderly customers of personal property and their savings? His head was buzzing. He searched his desk drawer for his paracetamols. Popping two in his mouth, he chomped on them, swilled his mouth with cold coffee and swallowed them, grimacing at the taste they left.

  It was evident Stevenson hadn’t liked all the attention he was getting from the police, and Dylan was sure they were only scratching the surface of his unscrupulous dealings with his clients. He hadn’t forwarded to Dylan his list of clients as requested. Picking up his phone, he dialled the number of the coroner’s officer to see if he could get a list faxed to him of elderly people and their cause of death, registered in Harrowfield within the past two or maybe three years.

  Stevenson’s trade may have been that of an accountant/financial advisor – but was that just his cover? He had money, but was that because he’d stolen it? Had they stumbled on a serial killer, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who had charmed and fleeced his victims? As soon as Dylan obtained the list, he would put the names in the system for them to be checked against Stevenson’s clients.

  The documentation from his account – where was it? Had Grace Harvey’s death just been a coincidence, a little too close for comfort for Stevenson? He wanted the financial investigation unit to prioritise enquiries into Stevenson to see what they revealed and he’d also get a warrant for his home address to get it searched, make use of the time before he was detained, before a custody time-limit clock started running.

  In some circumstances, he may have been the only visitor to these lonely people. Would anyone be surprised or shocked if an elderly person with a bad heart had fallen at home and died? After all it was a daily occurrence. Had a man with no scruples found himself a profitable niche?

  Dylan was satisfied with where the investigation was going. He now needed to find Stevenson – and the evidence to nail him.

  He moved on to Denton and Greenwood. Dylan had no doubt their car had killed Grace Harvey and they had raped Pam Forrester. He urgently wanted evidence to prove beyond doubt that this pair had callously knocked down Bridey and Toby. But who’d killed Denton? Was Greenwood going to survive? If so, would he talk to them? The dilemma lay heavily on Dylan’s mind.

  Dylan walked through the incident room with a wedge of paper enquiries he had written for the HOLMES team to process. He was conscious that the team were spread thin. They were all working independently, which he deemed the right approach in this situation.

  ‘Boss, I think I better make that coffee a strong espresso,’ said Lisa, looking up from her computer screen at him.

  ‘I’m flagging,’ he said, gratefully. ‘And it’ll soon be time for the debrief.’

  ‘Hey, I might even be able to find some choccy biscuits too.’ She grinned as she stood and heade
d for the kitchen.

  ‘You’re a treasure,’ he said, looking at his watch. Was it that time already? The teams would be back in soon, but at least he’d had some time to mull over the recent incidents without interruption.

  ‘Two biscuits,’ he remarked a few minutes later as Lisa handed him a plate across his desk.

  Lisa smiled.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. The HOLMES team were the lifeblood for this SIO. They were a constant source of support and he really appreciated them, which was why he always ensured that they were included in everything to do with the enquiry.

  Dylan’s phone vibrated in his trouser pocket and he jumped, spilling his drink. Lisa laughed. ‘I put it on vibrate so it wouldn’t ring in debrief,’ he said. ‘I’ll never get used to it doing that.’ Dylan’s face flushed as he pressed the buttons to read the message.

  Hiya, been baby clothes shopping with Dawn. She sends her love. All okay, said the text from Jen. Dylan closed his eyes. Bless her. She knew how busy he was but also how concerned he was about Dawn so she’d gone to see her. Now he knew Dawn was okay he didn’t need to worry about ringing her any more.

  Thank you, love. You’re a star x he replied.

  Jen grimaced as she felt the baby kick her under her ribs.

  Dylan dunked his biscuit in his drink and thought of Dawn. How often had he seen her do that and lose half of it? He smiled as he popped the soggy biscuit in his mouth, remembering how she would chase the remnants around her cup with a spoon. His phone vibrated again.

  Just opened a letter from the hospital. They want to give me another scan – think you can make it? he read.

  Try keep me away x

  Jen knew he meant every word but she also knew she could be quite easily going alone.

  Vicky knocked at his door and, seeing him put down his mobile, she entered his office and closed the door behind her.

  ‘You’ll never guess what?’ she said, sitting down opposite him, a look of bewilderment on her face.

  ‘What?’ said Dylan?

  ‘Guess who was there when I called on Sharon McDonald?’ she whispered.

  Dylan smirked. ‘A uniformed sergeant by any chance?’ Vicky looked disappointed. ‘You knew he’d be there? Thanks a bunch,’ she said, throwing the piece of paper she was carrying with her onto the desk. ‘I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.’

  ‘You embarrassed?’ he laughed. ‘Now that is something I’d like to see,’ he scoffed.

  ‘I’m jealous, though,’ she said dreamily.

  ‘What? I can arrange for you to spend more time with Sergeant Palmer, if you like?’ he said, amused.

  ‘No silly, she’s got the proudest looking tits you’ve ever seen … and they’re not…’ she grabbed her own bought and paid for large bosoms in both hands, ‘even implants, I might add,’ she said, looking down her own top.

  ‘She, being the cat’s mother or Ms McDonald?’ Dylan asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

  Vicky ignored him. ‘She is the cat’s mother. Sharon opened the door in the shortest skirt. I swear she looked like she was going to a gypsy wedding. Well, she may as well have been bloody topless, and,’ she continued theatrically, ‘not only that, she was wearing red high-heeled shoes too. Well, you know what they say about red shoes, don’t you, boss?’ she added, leaning towards him, arms crossed.

  Dylan laughed.

  ‘Enough to give you a bloody thrombosis, I’ll tell you,’ she said.

  Dylan laughed a hearty laugh.

  ‘Anyhow, they’re way too big for me actually,’ she said, screwing up her nose. ‘I’m quite happy with my babies, thank you,’ she quipped.

  ‘You are a drama queen,’ Dylan said, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m so not,’ she said. ‘That bloody sergeant had his tie off.’

  Dylan sat grinning. ‘It’s warm, there is nothing wrong with an open-necked shirt.’

  ‘Well, straight up, I got the distinct impression he’d been there for a while, especially when she asked him if he wanted another top up or something stronger,’ she said.

  Dylan laughed out loud.

  ‘You’ll see, boss, he’ll still have a glow about him when he gets back for the debrief. That’s if he makes it.’

  ‘More importantly, did you get the statement from her?’

  ‘It’s not funny. I had to sit there asking her questions and she was nearly sat on his bloody lap.’

  ‘Vicky, did you get a statement?’

  ‘Yes, but I think I’m suffering from shock,’ she cried, hand to her brow.

  ‘I’ll send you for counselling afterwards, damn it, but what did she say?’

  ‘I’d rather have a lager and black,’ she grinned.

  ‘The statement, Vicky?’ Dylan growled.

  ‘The boys were in McDonald’s. Denton chatted her up and she agreed to meet them, so she wrote her phone number on his arm – end of. She’s a nympho, boss, I swear.’

  Dylan was still grinning. ‘Did you get all her details?’

  ‘Didn’t need to, did I? I’m sure Pervy Palmer got them down and, yes, I mean her details. I wouldn’t bother going there, boss, you’d get fed up waiting in the queue. She’s a very popular girl is our Shaz McDonald, so they tell me. I hope sweaty Palmer doesn’t catch something. She’s known on the street as Big Mac.’

  ‘One shouldn’t make assumptions, Vicky. He was there on police business. He’s Tim Whitworth’s sergeant and PC Whitworth allegedly spent the night there in a drunken state with her on the night Denton got killed, so he’s every right to take his time taking a thorough statement.’

  ‘She’s well known on the shift, you know. McDonald’s is a coffee spot for officers. There’ll be trouble there in the future, mark my words, unless they want to be in the Sunday Sport. I can see the headline now. “Big Mac’s Bobbies”.’

  ‘And what do you know about the Sunday Sport?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Long story about a red-blooded rugby player I dated for a while – what a bloody loser he turned out to be. Always had a copy in his van. Yuk.’ Vicky’s face fell. ‘Why do I always attract them, eh? What I need is a nice, decent, honest guy,’ she said sulkily. ‘You ain’t got a younger brother, boss, have you?’ she asked seriously.

  ‘No, sorry,’ he chuckled. ‘But thanks for the vote of confidence. And you don’t need to worry, if I have to go anywhere near her or McDonald’s I’ll be sure to take you with me for protection. How’s about that?’

  Dylan heard the girls in the office laugh out loud a few minutes after Vicky had left his office. He shook his head and smiled.

  ‘I wish the criminal grapevine was as good,’ he yelled and looked up from his work to see a sea of raised eyebrows and broad smiles.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t begrudge us a bit of gossip would you, sir?’ Lisa said.

  Dylan, smiled and shook his head before turning to face his calendar on the wall. If he didn’t get a breakthrough soon on the Mildred Sykes murder, he knew he would have a review team breathing down his neck, as if he didn’t have enough pressure.

  Twenty minutes later, the debriefing began.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Taylor returned from the Forresters’ home just in time for the debrief.

  ‘Pam’s mobile has already been seized by the Child Protection Unit, I’ve been told, and Danny Denton’s number was stored along with text messages from him. It looks as though the love-struck teenager has kept them all. Her clothing and relevant samples have been sent to forensics so the rape investigation is well underway, but Bill Forrester hasn’t returned home from his golfing trip, which means he can’t be eliminated from the enquiry into Denton’s murder and Greenwood’s attempted murder yet. And, because Mrs Forrester and Pam haven’t seen him since Denton was killed, I didn’t think it was right to tell them about the murder or that Billy Greenwood’s life is on the line,’ said Taylor. ‘Have you spoken to the press? You see, I told them I’d update them, sir.’

  ‘Taylor, don’t worry about
press. I don’t want anyone to speak to them just yet,’ snapped Dylan. ‘What’s up with you woman? You’re obsessed with the press.’

  Taylor bit her lip and her face flushed with embarrassment.

  Just then there was a tap at the door and Sergeant Palmer slunk quietly into the room to a few sniggers. Vicky nudged Lisa. She was right, he did have a glow about his face. Vicky stared knowingly at Dylan. He cleared his throat and carried on.

  ‘Nice of you to join us, Sergeant. Have you anything you want to share with us?’

  ‘Sir, sorry I’m late,’ he said, bristling. ‘I … I’ve been having an interesting chat with Sharon McDonald,’ he said. The sergeant had everyone’s undivided attention. ‘She confirms that PC Whitworth was blind drunk when he came into the restaurant, er … McDonald’s where she works, which is why she took him back to hers, where he crashed out for the night.’

  ‘When she says crashed out?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Ah, he was so drunk he could hardly stand, sir. Apparently, he collapsed on her kitchen floor and that’s where he stayed till this morning. She tells me his T-shirt was covered in blood. She thought he’d been in a fight but she says he could quite easily have fallen in the state he was in. She believed the blood had come from his nose.’

  ‘And his clothing, has it been washed?’

  ‘No, I’ve got it here bagged and tagged for forensics and he has confirmed to me that it is his. I just took notes of what she can remember at this moment in time, so I could get back for this meeting. I’ve arranged for her to be seen again for a detailed statement because she says Tim Whitworth was mumbling something about Denton following his daughter home from school and threatening her.’