Sergeant Wilson got up to leave. ‘I’m on with it, sir.’
‘Be seeing you soon, Sarge,’ said Vicky.
Sergeant Wilson nodded at Dylan and smiled warmly at Vicky.
‘Bit too obvious, mate,’ whispered Dylan.
‘You think so?’ she cringed, as she sat on the chair facing Dylan, swinging her legs. She sprang up, smiled and glided out of the office.
Dylan shook his head.
To give John a break and allow him to nip home and see the family, Dylan agreed to stand in for him on the second interview with Stevenson. A different face might get a different response from him, occasionally he knew that worked. On impulse, Dylan grabbed the crucial exhibits recovered from the hotel room to take in with him.
Taylor opened up the interviews after the usual caution. Stevenson once again sat staring at the detectives and didn’t respond to the change of personnel. Dylan sat quietly watching every twitch on Stevenson’s face.
‘You were the last person to see Mildred Sykes alive according to her neighbours and on your own admission. You took her a bunch of white lilies, didn’t you?’ said Taylor.
Stevenson didn’t respond.
‘Mr Stevenson, the purpose of an interview is to ascertain the truth. If you have nothing to hide, I can’t understand why you refuse to answer our questions,’ she continued.
Two blank faces looked at Dylan and Taylor from the other side of the table. Lin Perfect made a note in her book. ‘Inspector, it is my client’s right to remain silent if he so wishes,’ she said, raising her eyes to look at Dylan.
Dylan cleared his throat. ‘I understand that, and you will understand that it is my duty to put the allegations in order to give him the opportunity to respond,’ he said. He turned his head to address Stevenson. ‘So, do you agree you saw Mildred Sykes?’ said Dylan. Stevenson stared directly into his eyes. ‘Well?’ said Dylan, raising his voice. The pair jumped. Taylor suppressed a smile.
‘You know I did,’ said Stevenson, quietly hanging his head. Dylan was pleased he’d spoken, and hoped he would continue to do so.
‘According to reports handed to your solicitor,’ Dylan said, nodding in Lin Perfect’s direction, ‘it was about that time that she died. We know of no other visitors after you left. Your fingerprints are all over the house. Can you tell me why?’
Brian Stevenson brought his hands up to his face and rubbed it vigorously.
‘What were you looking for?’
It was now or never.
‘We have paper evidence that tells us you’d already taken large amounts of money from her. Does the jewellery that’s been recovered – for the purpose of the tape, DS Spiers is showing Brian Stevenson the rings they recovered from the hotel room Mr Stevenson was arrested in earlier today – belong to her?’
Stevenson glanced at the rings on the desk in the plastic bags.
‘Well, does it?’ Dylan said impatiently.
‘Multiple questions, Inspector,’ Lin Perfect interrupted.
‘Feel free to answer any of them, Mr Stevenson,’ Dylan fired back. ‘Start with your prints on her bedside drawers, eh?’
‘I helped her look for things,’ Stevenson stammered.
‘What things?’
‘All sorts of things,’ he said, obviously agitated.
‘Like what?’
‘Look, I was just about her only visitor, her only friend, so if she needed anything, I’d help,’ Stevenson said.
‘Friend? Is that what you call yourself?’ Dylan stopped and checked himself before resuming the mask of the hardened detective. ‘So, how did she get her head injury?’ Dylan said in a quieter fashion.
Brian Stevenson shrugged his shoulders.
‘Don’t you see that’s why you’re sitting where you are? I think you should think very carefully about your situation, Brian.’
The room went silent. Dylan knew that neither Taylor nor he would break that silence. A minute passed. Dylan could almost see Brian Stevenson’s brain working, considering his options. Stevenson looked sideways at Lin Perfect. She stared at him long and hard. It was the look of a parent telling a child to behave, or else. She opened her mouth to speak and Dylan held his hand up to stop her.
Stevenson turned to Dylan. ‘When I called to see her, she had already fallen and hurt her head. She refused to let me get any medical attention for her. She was a stubborn old thing, just like my mother used to be,’ he said with tears in his eyes. ‘I went back to see her the next day to make sure she was alright and took her the flowers to cheer her up but she was already dead. I was shocked, shaken …’ he swallowed, ‘… afraid I would get the blame. That’s why I haven’t said anything before. I was frightened. Old people die in their homes all the time, don’t they? So, I thought it was best to let her be found by someone else other than me,’ Stevenson said. He stopped talking momentarily. ‘There was nothing I could have done for her.’
Dylan and DS Taylor Spiers remained silent. The tape purred on. By remaining quiet and listening, Dylan hoped Stevenson would continue.
‘She was undeniably dead. I was sure she was, otherwise I would have called for an ambulance,’ he said.
‘Do you know where she’d fallen?’ asked Dylan.
‘I think she had fallen down the stairs,’ he said, thinking aloud as he looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. ‘Yes,’ he sniffed. ‘I think that’s what she said.’
‘And you didn’t push her?’ Dylan said.
‘No,’ Stevenson said. ‘No, I didn’t push her.’
‘You understand we’ve got to ask the question.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t,’ Stevenson got a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face.
‘Okay, then. Now, do you remember the silver, gem-studded carriage clock that we asked you about earlier?’
For a minute Brian Stevenson looked bewildered by the question. He physically shook himself. ‘Yes, yes, I do. It was stolen from my house. That clock was the reason I knew my house had been burgled.’
‘If that’s the case, why do we have a photograph of Mildred Sykes with that same clock behind her on her mantlepiece?’
Stevenson stared blankly once more past the detectives and made no reply.
‘And can you explain why Mildred Sykes’s fingerprints are on that clock?’
Stevenson’s face blanched, but he made no reply.
‘Well?’ Dylan waited for a reply that never came. ‘You robbed an old lady of her savings, her personal belongings and, when you had bled her dry, you battered her to death, didn’t you? Her injuries were not as a result of a fall, as you would have us believe, but as a direct result of being hit over the head by you with a ferocious blow. It was the same system you’d used on Grace Harvey, and I wonder how many more old people? It was unfortunate for you, wasn’t it, that Grace’s death occurred around the same time that Mildred was found. You had to think about getting away and you had obtained another name.’
Brian Stevenson fidgeted for a moment, swivelled round on his chair and turned to face the wall.
‘You can turn your back. You can remain silent. What you can’t do is change the facts, which are that you befriended, robbed and beat to death a defenceless old lady. You’re nothing but a greedy, evil man,’ Dylan spat.
Suddenly Stevenson turned and opened his mouth, his eyes wide, his face contorted. Lin Perfect jumped up from her seat and moved quickly to DS Spiers’ side. Stevenson threw his arms in the air.
‘You know nothing. They were nasty, bossy women – just like my mother – and they expected everything from me, everything. Do you hear me?’ His outburst stopped as suddenly as it had started and he sat down, once more turning to face away from them.
‘I think we need to have a break, Inspector, please,’ Lin Perfect said, holding up her notepad in a shaking hand. She stood at the door like a caged animal, hoping to be let out of the room quickly.
The interview was terminated.
‘Donald Harvey was telling the trut
h,’ Taylor said thoughtfully as she hurried behind Dylan down the corridor. ‘I think I owe him one hell of an apology.’
That was the last thing on Dylan’s mind as he went over what Stevenson had said – and, more importantly, what he hadn’t said.
Chapter Fifty
Flashing blue lights could be seen and sirens heard as he arrived back in his office. A note was pinned to his desk. Jen rang, can you ring her back, it said. Dylan brushed it aside and picked up his mobile phone. There was a message.
Avril Summerfield-Preston left her calling card. I was out walking with Dawn and Violet trying to get little Button to make her appearance. Aren’t I the lucky one? Speak soon. X.
‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll catch up with you sooner or later, love,’ he mumbled, as he tucked his phone in his pocket and smiled to himself.
‘Lisa,’ Dylan called, ‘I need a team briefing and I need it ASAP.’ Lisa pattered into the office with a pad and a pen in her hand. ‘We need to discuss the results of the interview with Stevenson and speak about the need for the extensive work that will have to be done now, in respect of other elderly women that have died or any that are still alive and on his books, with a view to linking them to him.’
Lisa nodded in agreement as she took the notes in shorthand.
‘I need to identify the owners of the rings – and the only way to do that is if the relatives of the deceased, or his female clients who are lucky enough still to be alive, are able to help us. We’ll need to find out the cause of death of any of his clients who have died.’
‘That’s not going to be easy, sir.’
‘Not impossible, though. The easiest way, of course, would be if he’d speak to us but that’s unlikely based on his present behaviour and responses.’
Dylan stood before his team the next day. He was satisfied that Brian Stevenson had murdered Mildred Sykes after systematically stealing from her. He told them Stevenson had admitted being at her house, and that he knew she was dead.
‘The marks inside the carriage clock casing, along with Mildred’s, are his: fingerprints have confirmed it,’ Vicky said.
‘Fantastic. We’ll have another interview with him and then we’ll charge him and get him remanded for Mildred’s murder, which will allow us to continue our enquiries. Find out how his own mother died, will you, Dennis?’
‘I’m waiting for you to get stuck into him again, boss,’ said Taylor. ‘Shall I arrange for the solicitor to be ready in half an hour?’ she said looking at her watch.
‘Yeah,’ said Dylan. John had arrived, looking suitably refreshed. Dylan put an arm around his shoulder and led him into his office, closing the door before Taylor could enter behind them.
‘Going well then, boss?’ said John.
Dylan nodded. ‘At least we’re going to be in a position to charge, whether he continues to speak to us or not. So far so good,’ he sighed. ‘But it would be nice if he bared his soul.’
There was a knock at the door. ‘Ten minutes for the solicitor, boss. I’m ready when you are,’ Taylor said with a smile.
‘In that case Taylor, any chance of some coffee?’ he asked.
‘I hope that won’t spoil a celebratory drink later, sir,’ she said.
John pored over the notes that Dylan had given him. He needed to be fully updated on what was important to bring up in interview. The time was ticking away on Stevenson’s custody clock and they needed as much information from Stevenson as possible before they charged him.
When Taylor came back with the coffee, Dylan told her that he had updated John, who would resume interviewing with her.
‘Oh, okay,’ Taylor said, with obvious disdain.
Dylan was trying not to dislike her. The woman was physically attractive, but unfortunately her personality didn’t match her looks. She was moody, he already knew that, but he didn’t like the way she thought that men couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to resist her. She had a lot to learn if she was going to continue working with Dylan, because at the moment she didn’t know him at all.
He texted the only woman in his life. Things going okay. Will be charging later so it could be a late one. Don’t wait up.
‘Boss, the blue lights, a short while ago,’ said Vicky. ‘They were speeding off to St Thomas’s – a woman called on three nines about a bloke acting suspiciously in the graveyard. She’d been to put some flowers on her late husband’s grave when she saw him taking flowers from the others.’
‘And,’ Dylan said.
‘He had a knife in his hand.’
‘She obviously got away.’
‘Yes, but the description she gave our boys sounds like Wainstall. I wonder if the flowers were white lilies?’ said Vicky. ‘God, a goose has just walked over my grave,’ she continued, rubbing her arms. ‘How weird is he, eh? Helicopter has been scrambled; dogs have been called for, but nothing yet.’
‘He’s one of the evil ones, Vicky, who needs to be back behind bars sooner rather than later.’
‘The lady wasn’t wrong; the town-centre CCTV control room have informed Control they have sighted a man fitting Wainstall’s description carrying a bunch of flowers and heading towards the subway from Crown Street which leads under the ring road to the Midland Road area. Units have been deployed.’ Vicky said a short while later.
‘There are four exits from that one, aren’t there, Vicky? One that takes you towards Pellon Lane, as well as Gibbet Street, Crown Street and Silver Street?’
‘You’re probably right. I wouldn’t know the street names.’
‘Get us a radio switched on and we’ll listen in to keep abreast of what’s happening.’
Vicky and Dylan sat quietly together in the CID office listening for developments. All units were in place with each exit covered, helicopter overhead and, according to CCTV control, he was still in there.’
‘Like a rat in a drainpipe, boss. They must have him, they must,’ said Vicky.
‘What worries me, Vicky, is who else might be in there with him. He could have attacked someone or be attacking someone – and we have no way of knowing,’ Dylan said, tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘Come on, come on.’ He picked up the phone. ‘Control room, DI Dylan, regarding the incident in the subway. Can we get double crews to enter each entrance with care at the same time? I’m concerned that our suspect may have cornered someone in there.’
‘Affirmative,’ the officer replied.
‘Vicky, get some car keys and grab that radio; we need to get down there.’
The phone rang. ‘Boss, it’s for you,’ said Dennis covering the mouthpiece.
‘I’m not here,’ he replied.
‘Do you want me with you, boss?’ asked Taylor.
‘No, crack on with Stevenson – we need him sorting. Hopefully it will be over by the time we get there.’
Vicky appeared with a pickaxe handle from behind her desk.
‘What the hell?’ Dylan said.
‘I know we’ve got CS spray and that, boss, but I don’t want Edward Scissorhands cutting me, especially across the bloody chest. My stab proof vest doesn’t fit me anymore.’
Dylan tutted. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘But, boss, Avril Summerfield-Preston wants to speak to you …’ Dennis mouthed the words to him so she couldn’t overhear.
‘If it’s her, I’m long gone,’ Dylan shouted as he strutted towards the door with Vicky in his wake.
Dylan’s right hand was on the steering wheel, while his left grasped the top of the pickaxe handle. ‘Put that bloody pickaxe handle on the back seat, will you, before you take my eye out?’ he said.
She groaned. Dylan looked at Vicky and knew they shared the same thought. ‘Hold on tight,’ he said.
The nearest access for them was Pellon Lane.
‘Stand-off situation, sir,’ said the uniformed officer as they alighted from the car. ‘Our man has a lady at knifepoint and is threatening to slit her throat.’
‘I knew it. Don’t take his threats lightly, he’l
l do what he says,’ said Dylan, gravely.
As Dylan and Vicky strode down the subway, all Dylan could hear were their own footsteps and the echo of a dog barking, which seemed to him as if it was bouncing off the cold, damp, tiled walls.
Chapter Fifty-One
‘You still got that pickaxe handle, Vicky?’
‘Right here, boss, up my sleeve,’ Vicky said.
Dylan smiled despite the dire situation. As they turned the corner of the underground tunnel he could see before him a large black Alsatian straining at the end of a leash held by a dog handler.
‘You better get the handle out. It might give the dog something to chew on,’ Dylan grimaced.
‘Thought you liked dogs?’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she let the wood slip down the sleeve of her coat and into her hand.
‘I do, but not attached to my leg.’
A group of officers stood in their line of sight. Shouting could be heard.
‘Let her go now. Do it now. Let her go!’
Dylan could see the backs of the uniformed personnel who wore stab-proof vests and slash-proof gloves. They were standing in an arch, each about ten yards from Wainstall. A couple of the officers brandished their batons, others were holding CS spray in their outstretched hands, but Dylan’s attention was drawn to the terrified look on the lady’s face.
Wainstall was holding her up by her hair with his left hand and Dylan could see he had a large bladed knife in his right hand, pointed at her throat. His eyes were dark and dead, like a shark’s eyes. He towered over his hostage, who was ashen-faced and gasping for breath. Wainstall didn’t look like a man who had an ounce of compassion in him as he taunted the police with all the arrogance of the victor.
White Lilies Page 26
