White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

‘Don’t worry, babies have spurts of growth. She’s just fine.’

  The radiographer reeled tissue from a roll and wiped the gel off the taut skin on Jen’s bulging stomach. ‘Not long now, eh?’ the radiographer said.

  ‘I don’t want to go back to work,’ Dylan said as he walked out into the warm sunshine. He turned his face to the sky.

  ‘Me neither,’ Jen said, cuddling up to him. Jen put her seat belt around her but couldn’t look at Dylan – the flaming job always got in the way of everything.

  Having dropped Jen off, he walked through the yard at the police station, took the treasured photograph of his little girl out of his pocket and placed it inside his wallet. He headed for the incident room while Jen walked to the admin block. He switched his mobile phone on. It beeped incessantly.

  ‘Boss,’ he heard Taylor shout. The spell was broken.

  ‘Let me get in first,’ Dylan shouted as he opened his office door and put the lights on. The fluorescent lamp juddered once or twice and then lit up the room. John and Taylor followed close behind him, vying for his attention.

  ‘Stevenson’s been traced to a Travelodge near Heathrow Airport,’ John said.

  ‘He’s booked in till tomorrow, so it’s likely he’s arranged an early flight,’ Taylor added.

  ‘It’s a single room, so presumably he’s on his own and keeping a low profile,’ said John.

  ‘Why the hell are we sat here talking? Have you informed the local nick? We need to get a team down there and I want the local lads to be aware,’ said Dylan.

  ‘It’s all arranged, sir. We’re going in, in the early hours of tomorrow morning unless he tries to make a move first. We’ve got him under surveillance till then,’ said John.

  ‘Good. You two happy to go down there with an exhibits officer and two uniform to do the arrest?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘Two uniform?’ Taylor asked with a furrowed brow.

  ‘They can cuff him and set off straight back here with him. I don’t want anyone accusing us of trying to interview him en-route. You can stay and do the search and the exhibits officer can register and bag the property.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said John.

  ‘Okay,’ Taylor said.

  ‘You’d better think about getting off home then. Get your heads down for a few hours and I’ll arrange with uniform for a plain car from the night shift to be here at twenty-two hundred hours. When you get there, arrange for the night porter to let you into Stevenson’s room and that way you can surprise him. Remember he might be our murderer, though, so leave nothing to chance.’

  ‘Okay, boss, we’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Not too early though, eh?’ he laughed.

  At one time Dylan would have worked till late arranging the details of the arrest himself, dashed home to pack a bag, led the team south and brought the prisoner back to interview him himself. But not tonight, tonight he wanted to spend time with Jen.

  Experience had taught him he would be a lot fresher to deal with a prisoner when others had brought him in. It would be lunchtime tomorrow before he was safely ensconced in a cell in Harrowfield police station. Even then, Stevenson would no doubt want the eight hours’ sleep that the Police and Criminal Evidence Act dictated he was entitled to. Of course, it was wrong to interview someone when they were tired, he thought, tongue-in-cheek.

  Jen couldn’t believe he hadn’t headed south with the team – her spirits rose.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Stevenson’s arrested without any problems. Uniform are on their way back with him. Just starting the search of his room – will speak before we set off back, came the text from Taylor.

  ‘That’s a good start, Jen,’ Dylan said, as he put his mobile phone on the kitchen table and sunk his teeth into a thick slice of toast and honey. ‘Mildred’s murderer is well and truly locked up.’

  Jen looked at him with a wide-eyed smile as she picked up his empty porridge dish. ‘I didn’t know you knew who’d done it?’

  ‘Proving he did it is, well, mere detail.’ He grinned sheepishly as he rose from his chair and leaned towards her for a kiss. ‘If only that were true.’

  She walked to the sink and dropped the dish into the soap suds. ‘So, it’ll be another long day, then?’ she said, reaching for the fruit bowl. ‘I’ll put extra bananas in your lunch box and make sure you eat them,’ she said, wagging a finger at him.

  Dylan grimaced.

  ‘Bananas are a good source of energy. Slow release of natural sugars. A lot better than pies – or, even worse, a bag of crisps that has no nutritional value at all,’ she said, mocking his vigorous dislike of anything good for him.

  ‘Speak when I can love, as usual,’ he said, taking the sandwich box from her outstretched hand and placing it on the top of his overflowing briefcase.

  Jen sighed as she watched him leave.

  Forty-five minutes later, Dylan was in the incident room telling his staff that Stevenson had been arrested and John and Taylor were searching the hotel room he had been using.

  ‘That for me, Dennis?’ Dylan asked, seeing the detective, who resembled The Hulk, walking across the room with a cup of tea in his good hand.

  ‘Just getting yours, boss, white with one sugar, isn’t it?’ Dennis said, swivelling on one foot and retracing his steps back to the kettle.

  ‘Well done. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Yeah, you might well be,’ he laughed. ‘I’m still only just managing to negotiate the coffee powder onto the teaspoon and into the cup without too much of a mess on the table, with this bandaged hand.’

  ‘Hey, Band-Aid, mine and Lisa’s are both white with one sugar, and you owe a quid for the tea fund,’ Vicky called from where she sat at her desk.

  ‘A quid?’ Dennis shrieked.

  ‘Yeah, and that’s cheap. Tight arse,’ she called. ‘If you can’t manage to get a quid out of your pocket I’ll help?’ Vicky laughed.

  ‘She’s not joking either, mate,’ Dylan said.

  ‘I can tell that by the look on her face,’ Dennis said, fumbling in his pocket for a coin. ‘This is victimisation of the afflicted,’ he muttered.

  Dylan’s phone rang in his office. He hurried to pick it up.

  ‘Taylor,’ he said, immediately as he held the phone to his ear.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ she yelled in order to be heard over the noise of the traffic. ‘One alleged financial advisor nearly crapped himself this morning when we woke him but he wouldn’t talk to us.’

  ‘No wonder, he was probably in shock.’ Dylan found himself shouting back, needlessly. The office personnel stopped to listen and expectant faces stared at him from the incident room.

  ‘What did you say?’ Taylor yelled.

  ‘Never mind. Did you find anything on him?’

  ‘He had a large amount of cash and about two dozen gold rings in his belongings. There’s also a few sets of keys and a Lloyds debit card and credit card in the name of a Brian Stewart.’

  ‘A new ID?’ Dylan pondered. ‘Why would he have that? We’ll give it straight to the financial team when you get back. With their contacts, they might get a quicker result than us.’

  ‘Can’t hear a thing, sir. Look, we’ve done all we can here, so we’re going to get some breakfast and then make our way back.’

  ‘Okay. Drive carefully,’ he said, but the phone line was dead.

  A new identity? Rings? Brian Stevenson was becoming interesting. He strolled out into the CID office. ‘Brian Stevenson’s on his way back to the bridewell, and I want him to be under constant supervision when he gets here,’ Dylan informed the office staff before shutting his office door. Dylan sat at his desk in the quiet, thinking. He picked up his phone.

  ‘Can you let me know when Brian Stevenson’s in?’ Dylan asked the custody sergeant.

  Vicky burst into Dylan’s office.

  ‘Boss, CID are being requested to attend a stabbing at the shopping precinct.’

  ‘What do we know?’ he asked, putting the pho
ne down with a degree of urgency.

  ‘Young lad has been stabbed in the back by a bloke. No apparent motive, according to witnesses. The bloke’s legged it and the lad’s being taken by ambulance to hospital.’

  ‘Get your coat, I’ll come with you,’ said Dylan, grabbing his jacket. ‘Dennis,’ Dylan called, ‘you’re in charge of the office. Just answer the phones and keep scouring the McDonald’s CCTV tapes,’ he said, sweeping past him towards the door.

  ‘Okay, boss,’ he said.

  Dylan stared at the scene of the stabbing on the precinct for several minutes before entering the cordon. A crowd had gathered. Vicky spoke to uniform, who told her that the police had saturated the area, but so far the attacker hadn’t been traced. Dylan lifted the police tape and walked into the inner cordon.

  ‘Do you want a suit, sir?’ a SOCO officer enquired, handing him a packet.

  ‘Yes, let’s not take any chances,’ he nodded to Vicky who took one too.

  Suited up, Dylan padded over to the spot where the incident had taken place. He could see suited SOCO officers stooped on their haunches, carefully taking swabs of marks on the flagstones. Others dusted the window of the Next store nearby, but as far as Dylan could see there was nothing to suggest that anything sinister had taken place.

  ‘Get the CCTV tape seized. At least it should be on camera,’ Dylan said to Vicky, pointing to the camera above. ‘Please God, let it have a tape in.’

  ‘Sir,’ shouted a uniformed sergeant running towards the cordon, his hat under his arm. Dylan walked towards him. ‘I have an officer in Union Street, who has found a bloodstained knife dumped in a waste bin,’ he panted. ‘Apparently a witness saw a man disposing of it. I’ve called for SOCO. And just to let you know I have a unit at A&E who will update me as soon as they’ve any information from the doctors regarding the victim. A witness has told us that the man he saw had two knives on him. Seemingly the bloke just ran up behind the kid, stabbed him and ran off. Officers are getting statements from anyone who can tell us anything.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge. We’ll just have a walk round to Union Street for a quick look at the weapon and then nip over to the hospital,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Mm. He’s rather switched on, isn’t he?’ Vicky said, thoughtfully.

  ‘He’s certainly got everything covered,’ Dylan said, looking at Vicky with approval. ‘But he’s done nothing that you wouldn’t have done.’

  Vicky screwed up her nose and pulled a face at Dylan. ‘I know, I know, same old, same old. I should take my exams, don’t go on,’ she said as they walked to the scene where the knife had been discovered.

  Dylan studied the implement carefully. It was rather like the knives butchers use, he observed. He’d get a closer all-round look at it once scenes of crime had photographed it and placed it in the protective clear-view ‘sharps’ tube.

  At the hospital, the boy was being prepared for theatre, Dylan was updated via his radio. He and Vicky were on their way. Initial examinations showed that he had one stab wound to his back. The concern was how deep it was and if it had affected any major organs. The boy had been identified and his family contacted.

  ‘So, Vicky, we’ve now got a stranger attack on a young lad and Billy Greenwood with a serious wounding that could have easily been a murder. Seize the boy’s clothes when we get to the hospital and arrange for another detective to meet us there so that they can stay when we leave for continuity.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, keying the CID’s office number into her mobile.

  ‘Oh, and Vicky?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, as she ran after him up the path of the hospital entrance.

  ‘Take charge of the CCTV and get it copied as soon as, so we can view it,’ Dylan said as got his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and put it to his ear.

  ‘Brush and arse comes to mind.’

  ‘What?’ he scowled in Vicky’s direction. ‘Dennis,’ he said, turning his head to get the reception to hear his detective back at the office. ‘Can you make some calls for me and find out who we’ve got in the hostels around here and who’s been released back into the community recently. The stabbing of this young lad appears to be random. Have we got a name or description of the victim?’ he went on.

  ‘No, but we will have once the statements are in,’ said Dennis.

  Dylan threw a look at Vicky as he held the hospital door open. ‘Give Liz at the Press Office brief details of the incident and ask her to appeal for witnesses, will you? I’ll see you on the ward.’

  Dylan stood at the nurse’s station. Vicky joined him. ‘The cells rang to let you know that Brian Stevenson has arrived and they’re booking him in at the custody suite. He’s still not speaking to us.’

  ‘Not even to confirm his name?’

  ‘Nope, he just nodded when they asked if he wanted the duty solicitor.’

  Vicky walked over to the drinks dispenser and held a cup under the machine. She sipped the cold water tentatively.

  ‘He’s not going to roll over easy, is he?’ said Dylan.

  ‘When are murderers agreeable?’ she said. ‘Look at poor Dennis. Who’d have thought he’d be attacked by a machete in Blackpool by an uncooperative child murderer.’

  ‘I’m just happy we’ve plenty to put to him when it comes to the interviews, which reminds me to get Dennis to chase up the identification of the carriage clock for me. I still want to know if the one in Mildred’s photograph is the one recovered from Denton and Greenwood’s flat and the very same one that Brian Stevenson says he had taken from his house. It’s doing my head in. I never want a flaming carriage clock.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Dylan?’ said the nurse, hurrying towards them down the corridor.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry to say that the young man just brought in with a stab wound has had an adverse reaction to the anaesthetic. He’s now classed as critical. I’ll keep you updated on his progress.’

  Dylan looked up at the ceiling. ‘That’s all we bloody need,’ he muttered.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Dylan’s phone flashed DS John Benjamin’s name. Technology was bloody good these days. To know who was ringing before you picked the phone up was a godsend – sometimes. ‘John,’ he said on answering it.

  ‘We’ve broken down. We’re on the hard shoulder off the M1 about eighty miles away from home,’ John shouted.

  Dylan could hear the high-pitched screech of a woman’s voice in the distance amongst the whoosh of traffic, then he heard a door slam. It was quieter – John must have got into the car.

  ‘Taylor’s on to Vehicle Fleet Management playing hell. The car’s just been serviced according to the log book but I think it’s the fan belt that’s gone.’

  ‘Can’t you use a flaming stocking,’ yelled Dylan in exasperation.

  ‘A what?’ John was looking down at Taylor’s trouser-covered legs. ‘I don’t think …’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Dylan as he put his hand to his brow. ‘Look, give me your exact location and I’ll get a garage out to you.’

  ‘I’ve already arranged for the motorway cops to ferry us to the end of the motorway. Our lads are picking us up there, as per Dennis.’

  ‘Good man. Make sure you get out and wait on the banking for them. Motorways are dangerous places,’ Dylan said involuntarily shuddering as he remembered a job he’d once dealt with where a whole family had been killed by a heavy goods vehicle while waiting on the hard shoulder in their car after they’d broken down on a motorway.

  ‘Now you sound like my dad,’ John said.

  ‘Mm … thanks,’ Dylan mumbled. ‘But you wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the carnage I’d seen.’

  ‘Yes, boss, sorry,’ John said, more seriously.

  ‘Let me know when your arrival’s imminent. I’ve gotta go, mate. We’ve got a young lad been stabbed in the precinct and it’s not looking good.’

  ‘Gang related?’

  ‘No, first reports suggest it’s one man.’
>
  ‘Known to him?’

  ‘Initial enquiries seem to suggest it’s a stranger.’

  ‘Gotta be a nutter then, surely?’

  ‘Time’ll tell,’ Dylan said. ‘Never assume.’

  ‘See you soon, boss,’ John said.

  Dylan inhaled deeply as he walked back into the CID office.

  ‘How’re you doing with the recent releases and the return to the care in the community, Dennis?’ he asked.

  ‘Still compiling a list, boss, and then I’ve gotta run the names through the system. I thought there’d only be one or two but there are bloody loads.’

  John was right, Dylan conceded. It probably was somebody with mental problems who was out roaming the streets of Harrowfield. That was all Dylan needed. If his victims were being chosen at random, God knew where he’d strike next.

  ‘Message for you, boss.’

  Dylan looked up from his writing, pen in his hand.

  ‘Cells say the duty solicitor is from Perfect & Best who have been contacted and to let them know when you’re ready to start interviewing,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Have you heard from John?’ Vicky shook her head. ‘They’ve broken down.’

  ‘Shame,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘Vicky,’ Dylan growled. Vicky looked sheepish.

  ‘Just a thought, boss,’ she said, changing the subject before he gave her a lecture on how capable Taylor was as a DS. ‘On the stabbing incident, if the young lad dies, and I hope to God he doesn’t, but if he does and it was due to the adverse reaction to something the hospital staff did, would it still be murder?’