White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘We can understand, Mr Forrester, how upset you are,’ John said. ‘But we’re just doing our best to catch the killer and we have to eliminate anyone with a motive.’

  ‘Not if she thinks I did it, you aren’t. Can you even begin to imagine how we feel at the moment? Do you have a daughter that’s been raped? Do you?’ he said with venom. Taylor flinched at the emotion in his words.

  ‘Everybody is a suspect, Mr Forrester, until we find out who did it. And we will. Remember, we’ve spent years dealing with victims of crime so we do know how badly people feel. We really aren’t immune to it all,’ said John.

  Bill Forrester slumped back down in his chair. ‘Of course, I’m sorry. It’s just the thought of naked pictures of my daughter being out there. Will you let me tell Stephanie and we’ll explain to Pam. She’s very distressed as you can see – and who knows what this will do to her?’

  ‘Of course,’ said John.

  Together they sat and painstakingly went through Mr Forrester’s movements over the past few days. John looked at Taylor’s face. Such was the detail that there was no doubt in his mind that they would be able to confirm his account of events as being true. Stephanie and Pam entered the room once more, the mother’s arm around the daughter’s shoulders protectively. Quietly, they sat back down on the sofa.

  ‘Do you know a Brian Stevenson who lives at the bottom of your road?’ Taylor asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s a customer of mine,’ said Stephanie, looking surprised.

  ‘You don’t think?’ said Bill.

  ‘We have many people, who are subjects of enquiries at this stage,’ John said.

  ‘Do you know if Denton and Greenwood knew him, Pam?’ asked Taylor.

  ‘No, well not really,’ she whispered, glancing up at her mother. All was silent. The adults’ eyes were upon her as she regained her composure and recalled a memory. ‘They asked me about him once,’ she said, wiping her tear-stained face with the back of her hand. ‘I can’t tell you anything else.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ asked Taylor.

  ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘Really, I don’t know any more.’

  ‘Tell me what you do know,’ John said in a softer tone.

  ‘I was in the car with them one day. They’d given me a lift home from school. He cut them up or we cut him up at the junction. I can’t remember which.’

  ‘Go on,’ said John.

  ‘I said I knew who the driver was, or at least where he lived.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And when they dropped me off outside our house, I watched them drive to his and stop outside.’

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she cried, turning to her mother for comfort.

  Taylor’s mobile rang and made them all jump. She stood up, excused herself and walked towards the door to take the call.

  ‘Donald Harvey is at Harrowfield nick,’ she said to John as she popped her head around the living room door. He nodded and rose to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, we are going to have to go. Thank you for your time.’

  Taylor opened the passenger car door. ‘What a nob,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Forrester.’

  ‘He seems pretty genuine to me,’ said John.

  ‘Typical man,’ she said, flicking her hair back over her shoulder.

  John took a deep breath.

  Dylan was also on the move. Leaving his team industriously searching through Stevenson’s home and personal belongings – no matter how secure Stevenson had thought they were, locked cupboards and drawers would not stop the police from entry. He drove in the sunshine to Harrowfield Police Station.

  His first stop was the Imaging Department. They had Danny Denton’s mobile number, so he knew that they would find the service provider. Dylan had to know if it was switched on, being used, and if so where? A location would be a godsend at this moment in time.

  He wondered how Billy Greenwood was. No one had contacted him, so he presumed he was still alive. Passing the hospital, he had a sudden urge to go and see for himself and speak to Greenwood’s medical team. He still didn’t know much about the weapon that had been used to stab him other than it had been a knife. Was it double edged, single edged? What length was it?

  The surgeon who had stitched him up might be able to help, he thought, as he parked the car. Maybe if he went in on spec to introduce himself, he could have a quick word without having to make an appointment.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Donald Harvey had been on the south coast, visiting friends to update them on the death of his mother, he told Taylor and John. He seemed genuinely shocked when they informed him about the attack on Denton and Greenwood.

  ‘I’m sorry, if you want me to feel sympathy though, mate, I can’t. What goes around comes around, as my mother used to say. Have you locked Stevenson up yet?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re trying to locate his whereabouts at the moment. Any ideas?’ asked John.

  Donald Harvey shook his head. ‘He’s absconded? He’s done a runner, hasn’t he?’ he said, straightening up and looking into Taylor’s eyes – as much as to say I told you so.

  Taylor nodded. ‘We’ll find him.’

  ‘Well, doesn’t that just say it all?’ he said. ‘And when you do, let’s hope it’s not too late to save another poor biddy – and you recover some of my mother’s money, too.’

  Dylan’s arrival at the door of the ward where Greenwood was put a smile on the face of the uniformed officer guarding him.

  ‘You okay?’ Dylan said, putting a hand on the officer’s shoulder as he stood to greet him.

  ‘Yeah, it’s alright here, sir. I’m being well looked after by the nurses,’ he grinned.

  ‘I bet you are.’ Dylan smiled. ‘Any change?’ he said, tilting his head in Greenwood’s direction.

  No sooner had he spoken than he heard a man’s deep voice calling down the corridor from the nurse’s station.

  ‘Would your friend like a cuppa tea?’

  ‘Hey Gus,’ the uniformed officer called. ‘Come and meet my inspector, who’s in charge of the investigation.’ Dylan’s face must have said it all. A male nurse was the last thing he’d expected after the officer’s comment.

  ‘Thrilled to meet you,’ said the nurse, smoothing the blue plastic apron that protected his uniform as he walked down the corridor towards them. Dylan offered his hand.

  ‘White coffee, one sugar would be nice. Is the staff nurse about?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll get her for you. You want a top-up?’ he asked the officer as he took his empty cup.

  ‘No thanks, mate,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll be peeing all day. But thanks for the offer.’

  Never assume, Dylan thought to himself as he smiled at the male nurse. What did he always tell others? His golden rule, assume nothing.’

  ‘See what I mean, sir.’

  ‘Mm … I’d prefer women myself,’ he grinned.

  The staff nurse appeared and Gus left to make the drink. She was a buxom woman with kindly eyes. ‘Staff Nurse O’Grady, Inspector. Now how can I be helping you?’ she said, in a strong Irish accent as he held her soft, chubby hand in his.

  ‘Jack Dylan. I wonder if we can have a chat about Greenwood and his injuries?’

  ‘Dr Thomas is on his rounds but if you’d like to come along to my office?’ she said, throwing an infectious smile in Dylan’s direction. ‘We can have a little chat over that cuppa and I’ll see if I can find a biscuit.’

  ‘I’ll follow you then,’ he said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

  Staff Nurse O’Grady flopped onto a chunky, low, cushioned seat in the staff room.

  ‘Blessed chairs, once I get into these buggers I’ve one hell of a job getting out,’ she said. The telephone rang and, apologising to him, she leaned over the back of the chair to lift the receiver. The male nurse brought in Dylan’s coffee and at the same time a young-looking female nurse came to the doorway with something in her hand. Seeing Staff
Nurse O’Grady on the phone, she waited patiently. Dylan looked at her and smiled.

  ‘They used to say in my younger days that if you wanted to look busy you should walk around with a piece of paper in your hand,’ Dylan said quietly.

  She giggled. ‘Everything needs a signature,’ she said, as a rosy glow crossed her elfin face.

  ‘Protocol, eh? How much more time would we have if we didn’t have to fill in all the damn forms?’

  She nodded in agreement. From where Dylan was seated he could see the hustle and bustle of the nurse’s station beyond and it reminded him of the police enquiry office. The staff members were obviously busy going about their own personal duties and yet there was no panic. The overall atmosphere of the place was of peace and relaxation.

  He had had occasion to investigate rogue nurses, and likewise rogue policemen. There was always one bad apple, the proverbial black sheep, but they were few and far between, he conceded. Staff Nurse O’Grady interrupted his thoughts as she beckoned the nurse over and signed the paperwork. She took a package from her hand. The nurse left with a backward glance and a smile.

  ‘Dr Thomas won’t be long now. In fact …’ Staff Nurse O’Grady cupped her ear and they both stopped and listened. Dylan could hear the heavy sound of a man’s step coming towards the room, ‘… that’s him now. Metal segs in his shoes, always gives him away.’

  Dylan had expected a stooped, grey-haired older man with half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose. How wrong could he be? Dr Thomas was a tall robust young man with a curly mop of blond hair and ruddy cheeks. In fact, Dr Thomas looked like a surfer. His handshake was such that Dylan thought he was about to dislocate his shoulder.

  ‘Mr Greenwood’s nurse tells me you want to know about his injuries,’ he said, perching on Staff Nurse O’Grady’s chair arm.

  ‘Yes, please, if you’ve got the time,’ said Dylan, taking his notebook out of his jacket pocket.

  ‘Well,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘some injuries were superficial. They didn’t penetrate deeply and missed vital organs and major arteries. However, others slipped through the rib cage and deflated his left lung. One caught the edge of his liver and spleen, which caused a vast amount of blood loss and pretty much a blood bath internally as well as externally.’ He sighed.

  Dylan looked up from his notes.

  ‘One injury went through his calf muscle right to the bone where we recovered a fragment of metal.’

  Dylan’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘From the weapon used?’

  ‘I would have thought so. Do you have the weapon he was attacked with?’

  ‘Not yet, but when we do that’ll prove to be an excellent piece of evidence for us,’ Dylan said with gusto. ‘What state is he in at the moment?’

  ‘His vital signs are good. We’ve placed him on a life-support machine to allow his body to deal with the injuries and the shock. He should survive, however, he’s likely to be left with some disabilities and what they’ll be, we don’t know as yet. He’s still on our critical list and right now his life is in the lap of his God – if he has one.’

  Staff Nurse O’Grady crossed herself, got her rosary beads out of her pocket and kissed them. Dr Thomas smiled at her.

  ‘We all pray,’ he said, with a smile.

  ‘I know you’ll think I’m being impatient and downright insensitive,’ Dylan said. ‘But what sort of timescales are we looking at before you take him off the machine, to see if he can hold his own?’

  Dr Thomas screwed his face up in thought. ‘Mm …’

  ‘He may have seen his attacker or have an idea who it was, you see,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I understand your frustration, but I’m afraid it’s likely to be another fourteen days at least.’

  Dylan’s face grew glum. ‘We also want to speak to him about a serious sexual assault and a couple of road deaths, so when and if he pulls through he’ll be arrested and taken from the hospital to the police cells. Until then, we’ll have to guard him.’

  Dr Thomas and Staff Nurse O’Grady looked at each other. ‘His future’s not good whichever way you look at it, is it?’ said Dr Thomas. ‘But let us do our bit and if, or as soon as, he’s able, we’ll gladly release him into your hands. Believe me, we need the beds, don’t we, Staff Nurse?’ He stood up and offered his hand to Dylan. ‘If that’s all, I must be going. I’ve a clinic in a few minutes.’

  ‘Of course, thank you both for your time,’ Dylan said, handing Nurse O’Grady his cup.

  ‘Come on, old girl,’ grinned the doctor as he offered Staff Nurse O’Grady the use of his hand to help pull herself out of the chair.

  ‘It’ll come to you both one day,’ she groaned, as she took the hand gratefully.

  ‘Inspector,’ she called out to Dylan as he headed out. He took a few paces back down the corridor and put his head round the door.

  ‘You’ll be wanting this?’ she said, handing him the package the nurse had brought her. Dylan frowned.

  ‘The piece of metal we found in Billy Greenwood’s leg.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Dylan with a smile. ‘We’ll need a statement. I’ll get an officer here to take it.’

  Staff Nurse O’Grady smiled. ‘No need, it’s done, here,’ she said. ‘See how efficient we are.’

  Dylan walked out into the fresh air. As he did so he saw the sign for the Maternity Department.

  Guess where I am? he texted Jen.

  The mortuary?

  Nope. Give up?

  Yes.

  The maternity unit.

  You’re a bit early for that love.

  Passing the main entrance, Dylan caught sight of two women who looked as though they were about to give birth any moment, in their dressing gowns, sharing a cigarette. Not a good advert for rearing children, but who was he to condemn them. If that’s the drug they needed to cope with their life, he wouldn’t be the man to point the finger. How could he, a reformed smoker himself?

  He reflected for a moment as he started the engine of his car. In his youth, when smoking was in fashion, it was advertised as much as chocolate. Every household had an ashtray or two and the ones in the CID offices were always overflowing with cigarette butts. The ring marks from coffee cups marked each and every wood-grained desktop that had scorch marks along the edge where cigarettes had been left to burn out. Ashtrays in the police cars were always full and everyone and everything smelt of smoke, but he hadn’t noticed that they had until he’d stopped smoking himself. How strange.

  Cigarettes were more available than biscuits in the office in the past and everyone always had a light. He always used to smoke a cigarette last thing at night and one first thing in a morning. When the pressure was on at work the total of his nicotine fix could rise to sixty a day. He smiled as he remembered one of the greatest teachers he had ever had at detective training school would smoke throughout his lesson. None of the students were allowed, mind, and by the end of the day the overhead projector resembled a birthday cake with a hundred candles of tab ends on it.

  Dylan was always reminiscing these days. It must mean he was getting old, he pondered. But he didn’t regret kicking the habit, especially now they had a little one on the way.

  He looked at the package on the seat next to him, put the gear stick into reverse and manoeuvred the car out of the parking space. His next job was to see this fragment of metal that could link the murder weapon to its owner, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the nick.

  His telephone rang. He cursed it as he pulled into a side road and stopped to answer it.

  ‘Jack Dylan,’ he growled.

  ‘Boss, John. Our information tells us that Graham Tate is home, and drunk.’

  Dylan grunted. ‘Well, that was expected, I suppose. Least we know where he is.’

  ‘I’m getting a team together to go and see him.’

  ‘I’m on my way to the nick. Keep me updated,’ Dylan said.

  Chapter Forty-Five

&n
bsp; In the privacy of his office, Dylan sat at his desk holding the small plastic tube and stared at the minute piece of metal recovered from Billy Greenwood’s body. He could see very little. The fragment couldn’t have been much bigger than a pinhead. Forensics would put this under the microscope to examine and photograph it. A blown-up version of that picture would hopefully give him the start to a puzzle.

  He could hear voices from the adjoining office and it didn’t take long before the banter between Vicky and Lisa became a loud exchange.

  ‘How’s it going, you two? Anything startling come from Stevenson’s house?’

  The room before long resembled a makeshift store of Stevenson’s property in clear and brown bags of all shapes and sizes. Some looked full to bursting, others contained a single document.

  ‘There’s been a lot of shredding going on there,’ Vicky said. ‘And,’ she said, coming into his office, leaning over his desk and looking into Dylan’s eyes. ‘He hasn’t got a hamster that he needed bedding for.’

  ‘There’s a lot of post that we brought with us and we’re just gonna start to sift through it all,’ said Lisa with a big sigh, as Dylan saw her empty a black bin liner full of unopened mail on to her desk.