Killer Smile

by RC Bridgestock

  ‘Wrong? There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Ralph snapped, shovelling a heaped spoonful of sugar into his mug of Horlicks.

  ‘Everything all right at home?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Is Thelma okay?’

  ‘What you asking me that for?’

  ‘Just trying to be sociable... it might be strange having her son living in your house too. You are pretty much strangers,’ Dylan said.

  ‘What’re you saying?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dylan raised a smile, his voice shifted up an octave. ‘I’m just showing an interest.’

  ‘Young men these days,’ Ralph tutted. ‘Smoking and drinking in bed. At his age I was working from six o’clock in a morning until six o’clock at night and then I went to college to try and better myself,’ he muttered under his breath.

  Call him a cynic, Ralph’s mood and the tone of his voice told Dylan a different story to what he was telling his son-in-law. But, maybe Ralph still hadn’t accepted Dylan’s explanation about the phone call he’d overheard with Beryl at Forensic. Or was Ralph missing his home comforts? Then maybe, Dylan, tired as he was, was imaging things…

  ***

  The good night’s sleep Dylan had been looking forward to evaded him; his thoughts were in turmoil. Keeping an open mind about murder investigations was an art in itself, without doubt. His gut feelings told him a dangerous predator was trying to make his mark in Harrowfield and Dylan’s fear was that this was only the start. ‘Tomorrow/today,’ he told himself as he looked at the neon lit numbers of the alarm clock, ‘he would contact Doctor Francis Boscombe, the Offender Profiler himself.’ Perhaps he could steer Dylan towards the type of individual he was looking for.

  Francis Boscombe worked for the Home Office in London. His present role was to examine those in prison for murder; trying to understand the reason for their actions and their subsequent incarceration. Dylan had used Boscombe on the Daisy Charlotte Hinds and Christopher Spencer murder enquiry. Although, in truth he knew all the ologist’s in the world alone couldn’t catch a killer but they could give him expert advice. And whether Dylan took it and acted on it was down to him. The offender profiler could at least confirm that the detectives were on the right track. There was nothing to lose in talking to him.

  As soon as the grey daylight began to filter through the bedroom curtains Dylan got up showered, shaved and dressed in silence. Only the creaking of the floorboards outside the bedroom door told him that someone was on the landing. Dylan stood quietly whilst he tied his tie, a frown upon his face, looking momentarily from mirror to door, fully expecting his father-in-law to knock upon it and enter. But after a few minutes he realised he must have changed his mind and noiselessly have crept down the stairs because when he reached the kitchen Ralph was there too.

  Jen’s dad was talking on the phone. He was sitting in his dressing gown and slippers and looked all of his seventy-six years. His pallor was as grey as the day outside. He held a hand to his brow. ‘You must report it to the police,’ he said in hushed tones. ‘There’s bugger all I can do from up here is there?’

  ***

  It was shortly after seven a.m. and the team of six officers were outside the home of Roger Briggs. The house was a smart looking detached, brick built property with climbing roses around the doorway. A pottery sign reading ‘The Heights’ was fixed to the five-bar gate, that opened onto a driveway, where a car was parked.

  Dylan walked up the path. CID officers followed. Uniformed officers stood back at the entrance to the garden path. Dylan rang the doorbell. Westminster chimes rang out. They appeared to go on forever and ever.

  Eventually the door was answered by the man of the house himself. A lady, whom Dylan took to be his wife, was in the hallway, a few feet behind him. She peered over his shoulder to see who the caller could be at that time of day.

  ‘Mr Briggs, Roger Briggs?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Who’s asking?’ he said. Roger Briggs looked the suited detective inspector up and down. ‘Double glazing, Jehovah’s witnesses? Whatever you’re selling we don’t want it,’ he said looking briefly at his watch. He began to close the door with a force that would have made it slam shut if Dylan’s size ten booted foot was not in the way.

  ‘Detective Inspector Jack Dylan, Harrowfield CID, this is DS Vicky Hardacre and DC Duncan Granger,’ he said, indicating by way of his thumb to the CID officers behind him. ‘May we come in?’

  It was apparent by the look on Roger Briggs’s face that Dylan now had his full attention. ‘We are investigating the murder of Davina Walsh, the young lady who was killed recently on the cycle path, behind the Anchor Inn,’ he said.

  Mr Briggs gave Dylan a veiled look. He stepped backwards and directly into the woman behind him. He stumbled but didn’t turn round, or apologise, but remained locked in eye contact with the detective.

  ‘We have evidence to prove you were in that area around that time and in close proximity to where the body was found.’

  ‘You’ve evidence to prove I was in the area and in very close proximity to where the body was found?’ Briggs said. He swallowed hard. ‘Is this your idea of a sick joke?’ he said, turning around abruptly on his wife. You, you fucking bitch! What have you been saying?’

  Mrs Briggs’s hand went to her face. A look of distress flashed across her eyes. ‘I didn’t... but, why would I?’ she said staring up at her husband. Dylan saw Roger Briggs’s wife was physically shaking, her mouth remained open. If she had fallen at his feet she couldn’t have begged harder for him to believe her. ‘No, no, honestly... I don’t know of ... please, you’ve got to believe me... this is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘I’m arresting you under suspicion of murder,’ said Dylan, and before Roger Briggs knew what was happening he was handcuffed and being frogmarched to the waiting marked police vehicle.

  DS Vicky Hardacre entered the house and taking Mrs Briggs by the elbow she led her into the kitchen. ‘Let’s put the kettle on shall we?’ she said to DC Granger and nodded towards the children who were sitting quietly at the table, toast on their plates, hands by their sides. ‘I’ll explain what is happening Mrs Briggs. Come on now take a seat. Louisa isn’t it?’

  Mrs Briggs nodded.

  ‘Is it okay if I call you Louisa?’

  Ned Granger steered the children into the hallway.

  ‘Do you want to go upstairs and get yourself ready for school?’ he said kindly. ‘We just need to speak to your mummy. She’s okay, don’t worry, she’s just a little shocked that we came this early that’s all.’

  The oldest reached out to hold the youngest’s hand. Together they walked up the steps, looking back at regular intervals to see Ned standing on the bottom step. Each time they did so he hurried them on with a wave of his hand and a smile. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Mum is okay, don’t worry, we’ll look after her.’

  There was no missing the hole in the staircase wall which was the size of a fist.

  ‘Is there anyone we can call for you; a family member, friend? Someone who could take the children to school for you and pick them up?’ said Vicky.

  Louisa Briggs sat on a wooden kitchen chair, her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. She looked up at Vicky and it was only then that the detective saw the bruise down the side of her face.

  ‘My neighbour will be here soon, she takes them to school,’ she said. Sitting up she caressed the side of her neck which was deep red in places, mottled and bruised.

  ‘He did that,’ said Vicky softly.

  Mrs Briggs looked down at the floortiles under her stockinged feet. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly with a little hesitation. She looked directly into Vicky’s eyes. ‘Yes, yes he did, but it was my fault,’ she said with more vigour. ‘I’m a terrible nag and the children and I are so untidy,’ she said, apologetically.

  ‘Do you think your husband is capable of murder Louisa?’ Vicky said.

  Roger Briggs’s wife looked at Vicky long and hard without releasing the ey
e contact. Then she blinked and shook her head. ‘No, no I don’t think he is capable of murdering anyone else…’ she said.

  ***

  The children were collected. It was a fraught exchange. The Briggs children didn’t want to leave their mum, the neighbour was clearly puzzled by the attendant officer’s presence.

  ‘Could you pick the children up and keep them at yours after school, until Mrs Briggs can collect them please?’ said Ned.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She tried to peer around Ned. ‘Louisa!’ she called out. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Louisa Briggs said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pick the girls up as soon as I can Sonia.’

  Ned nodded, smiled sympathetically and shut the door behind her.

  Louisa Briggs ran to the kitchen sink and retched as if she might be sick. ‘Have a sip of tea,’ said Vicky. She turned and started at Vicky with big round empty eyes.

  ‘We need to search your house. I’m sorry. I know it is very... intrusive... but it’s an essential process in our investigation.’

  ‘The hole in the wall. Did your husband do that?’ said Ned Granger. Louisa nodded. ‘But, it was me that... He was going out and I hadn’t ironed his best blue shirt.’

  ***

  Roger Briggs stood by the Custody Suite counter being booked in, protesting his innocence and demanding to speak with his MP.

  ‘At this moment a solicitor will have to do,’ said the Custody Sergeant.

  ‘This is damn ridiculous! Heads are going to roll! Mark my words... heads will roll. I demand to see the man in charge of the investigation,’ he said.

  ‘But, you’ve already seen him,’ said the Custody Officer with an eyebrow raised.

  ‘I certainly have not. When?’ said Roger Briggs. He stood erect. His chin was raised and both sides of his mouth turned down.

  ‘When he locked you up,’ said the sergeant with a little smirk.

  ‘Now, do you have a solicitor you wish me to call out to represent you? Or would you like me to ring the duty solicitor?’ he said, his voice was monotone.

  ***

  Ms Perfect, duty solicitor, sat alongside Roger Briggs in an interview room. The formalities were complied with. It was now three hours after his custody clock had begun. DI Dylan and DS Hardacre watched the prisoner intently from the opposite side of the table. The two more than aware that there were twenty-one hours left before they would have to ask for a further extension to his detention to continue interviewing, from the Divisional Commander. Should they not have enough evidence to charge him with at that stage for the offence the courts could afford them a further thirty-six. But, once the seventy-two hours was up, they knew that they would have to charge Mr Briggs or release him.

  In turn those present in the interview room spoke their names, for the purpose of voice recognition for the interview recording. This done the search for the truth could commence.

  Dylan was pleased. Roger Briggs was talking to them. In fact he was loud, arrogant and bullish with his responses to questions put to him by the two officers, and it appeared he thought he was in charge, at this early stage. The officers let him; but how wrong he was.

  He denied knowing Davina Walsh. He denied being in the area at the time of her murder and stated that he had a watertight alibi, his wife.

  ‘Louisa will confirm I was at home, with her all weekend,’ he said without hesitation. So sure of himself it appeared.

  ‘You seem very confident your wife will give you an alibi given you’ve hit her, bruising her face badly and at the same time we understand you also knocked a hole in the wall with your fist, at your home, her home, the family home?’

  Lin Perfect intervened. ‘That is totally unacceptable Inspector. My client is here on suspicion of murder, not for a domestic incident between him and his wife.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’d have to disagree. You see your client is putting his wife forward as an alibi and because of the history between them, I think it’s more likely that she would be compelled, through fear, to say what he wants. He even blamed her wrongly for his arrest this morning, but let’s move on shall we?’

  ‘What do you know about my relationship with my wife?’ Briggs said. He looked at them through slit eyes. 'How dare you? I have been nowhere near the Anchor Inn recently.’

  Dylan ignored his outburst and continued, ‘Very close to Davina Walsh’s body there was a condom.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint but I don’t use condoms. Never have. You can ask my wife. This is such a pathetic attempt at a stitch up. Can’t you do something?’ he said raising his voice at his solicitor. He banged his fist on the desk. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  Lin Perfect didn’t shy away but blinked momentarily at the continued emphatic waving of his hands.

  ‘If you let me finish,’ said Dylan, ‘... very close to the body of Davina Walsh, who was brutally murdered, a condom was discovered...’

  ‘Are you bloody deaf? What don’t you understand about I-do-not-use-condoms!’ Briggs threw himself back in his chair and let out a huge sigh.

  Dylan stared at Briggs intently. If he thought the detective inspector was intimidated he was wrong. Dylan continued in a calm, unhurried fashion. ‘The condom had been discarded. It had been recently used.’

  Roger Briggs was sweating profusely. He ran his fingers through his hair. He shuffled in his seat. Annoyingly for him he couldn’t move it as it was bolted to the floor.

  Dylan waited for a moment or two for the prisoner to calm down. Briggs leant forward and tapped under the table with busy fingers, emphatically.

  ‘The contents of the condom have been forensically examined and a DNA profile obtained which resulted in your arrest. The contents have proven positive, beyond any doubt, as being yours. So now, would you like to explain to us how that can possibly be, if you don’t use condoms and have not been near the Anchor Inn recently?’

  Briggs recoiled from the table. His head bowed. There was silence...

  ‘You’re very quiet suddenly?’ said Dylan

  ‘I want to speak to my solicitor, in private,’ he said.

  His solicitor agreed after the disclosure that it was timely to consult with her client.

  Dylan couldn’t argue, it was their right to do so, he terminated the interview.

  ***

  Back in the office Dylan hoped that an update from the team at Briggs’s home address would give them a find of relevance that they could use in the next interview. Ultimately, as time passed the next call he got could be from the custody suite informing him that Briggs and his solicitor were ready to resume.

  ‘We know he’s a wife beater and is lying through his back teeth. Arrogant git,’ said Vicky.

  ‘He’s lying alright but about what? For all his arrogance, I am not getting a feeling he’s our murderer.’

  ‘He beats his wife and his DNA is inside a used condom next to Davina’s body. What more do you want?’

  ‘I’m not disputing what it looks like... but before we get carried away let’s see what he’s got to say in the next interview.’

  ‘That’s if he carries on talking. It’s just our luck that he’ll “no reply” to everything after speaking with his solicitor.’

  ‘Now who’s being negative?’ said Dylan.

  Ned Granger walked in Dylan’s office. ‘We have it confirmed that Roger Briggs’s credit card was used at the Anchor Inn on the night before Davina was murdered, boss,’ he said.

  Vicky’s eyes lit up. ‘I thought he said he hadn’t been near the Anchor Inn?’

  ***

  The solicitor was with her client for over an hour before the call came in to say they were ready to reconvene. Briggs was noticeably calmer and his body language suggested he was in a more receptive mood.

  ‘The last interview was halted at your request, so you could consult with your solicitor after we disclosed to you that your DNA had been found in a condom next to the body of Davina Walsh. Do you now wish to say anything about that?

&
nbsp; There was a brief pause. Briggs turned to look at his solicitor. No longer did he stare at the officers with intent.

  ‘Okay, look, I have no idea how it got next to the victim’s body, but I do accept it’s my DNA. I’m sorry but I can’t help you any more than that.’

  ‘Let’s rewind to the previous interview. You said you hadn’t been out the night before Davina Walsh’s body was found or the morning of the discovery of her body. You said your wife could verify that you were at home. Was that a lie?’ said Dylan.

  ‘I told you that because I know I am one hundred per cent not involved in the murder of that woman.’

  ‘Let’s start at the very beginning shall we? Are you still saying you were at home on the morning it is believed Davina Walsh’s murder took place?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Were you at work?

  ‘I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know. I’m confused. I work shifts?’

  ‘Okay so is there someone we can check what shift you were working that day?’

  ‘You can check with our admin department.’

  ‘Good. We will.’

  Vicky remained silent as Dylan continued.

  ‘Where were you on the Sunday night – the night before Davina Walsh was murdered?’

  ‘I was at the Anchor Inn. But, that was the night before she was murdered for goodness sake.’

  Vicky looked sideways at Dylan.

  ‘Who were you with at the Anchor Inn?’

  ‘Look I’d argued with the wife, which is not unusual and I’m not proud of it but, I did hit her that night and I punched a hole in the wall of the staircase. I get frustrated. The children had gone to bed. I stormed out and went for a few beers.’

  ‘What time did you leave?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Was it before midnight, after midnight?’

  ‘Before.’

  ‘What were you wearing that night?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know... Probably my jeans and a jumper.’