‘Good, that’s good,’ said Dylan.
‘The lab at Sheffield will invoice you for the work Inspector, and my guess is that the work that has now to be done will be time consuming.’
‘What you’re saying is that this is going to cost me. I’m sure I will blow my budget with this enquiry but in my mind providing we have results it is money well spent.’
‘And that we will never know until we try.’
‘Just get me a result then I can justify the expenditure to the hierarchy,’ Dylan said with a slight grimace.
‘Be assured it will be given priority. This one is interesting, very interesting... I’ll be in touch.’
***
How could anyone put a cost to a murder investigation? If there was an open line of investigation on Dylan’s enquiries it would be completed. He knew however that the powers that be wouldn’t agree. Structure in place, Dylan would now have to be patient but anyone who knew Jack Dylan would say he wasn’t a particularly patient man. The days rolled by and the machinery of the incident continued to churn out enquiries or ‘actions’ as they are commonly known. Every action had to be completed in order of urgency and written up as completed, or not as the case may be, and for what reason. The golden rule for DI Dylan was each action was as important at the last because the last action could be the one that led to the perpetrator. Each member of the team was invaluable to the SIO. Dylan’s theory being, a team was only as good as the weakest link and Dylan wouldn’t tolerate, under any circumstances a weakened chain.
An audit would be carried out by the HOLMES sergeant at regular intervals which would look at staffing levels, workloads and actions completed. This would make sure that everyone was pulling their weight, this ensured nothing and no one were overloaded and urgent enquiries not missed, buried under a mountain of paper.
A murder investigation has no capacity to carry passengers and anyone Dylan believed was slacking he would personally speak to, if he had to speak to them twice they would be off the investigation and never work on another.
People said he was ruthless. As far as Dylan was concerned it was a professional approach. He also had to justify the continued high staffing levels to Divisions who provided those officers for the initial support. Their Divisional Commanders were always looking to get their staff back. The knock on effect of this, for them, was less bobbies on their beat which reflected in their performance figures. Dylan was constantly reminded that a murder, no matter how violent was recorded as just one crime for the commanders. Dylan was more than aware. But that one crime would create uncertainty and fear in a community as well as what devastation it caused to the families involved. They deserved professional commitment and whilst he was in charge that’s what they would get from him and his team.
Jen was back at work and Maisy returned to her child minder’s, Dylan hadn’t heard from Professor Stow and here had been no major leap forward with either of the murder investigations.
‘It’s time to share with the media the fact that the victim’s teeth have been extracted,’ he said at the briefing. ‘PC Bullock and PC Mitchell as the family liaison officers I want you to make sure the families are aware of the content of the press release before it goes out.’
***
Dylan parked his car outside the radio station on the industrial estate in Harrowfield. It was nestled in the middle of other light industrial, warehouse type buildings, singled out by its huge masts that reached high into the brilliant blue sky. On entering he was led into the Green Room by the show’s producer. He had an earpiece in one ear and headphones draped around his neck.
‘I will take you through to the studio in a few minutes,’ the producer said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, coffee?’
Dylan smiled at Maggie who he could see in her goldfish-bowl like studio. She put her thumbs up at him.
‘Coffee please,’ he said making himself comfortable in a big, red chair that was designed in the shape of a hand. Fingers and a thumb comfortably supported his back. The music played softly in the background and Maggie Currie announced his arrival at the station, on air. He looked up at the opening of the door and the producer came in with a mug in his hand.
‘Would you like to follow me and I’ll take you through to the studio?’ he said.
The huge desk Maggie sat behind engulfed her small frame. Dylan was guided to a seat opposite her. The producer positioned a microphone in front of him. He looked around him at the thick fibreglass lined walls as Maggie flicked switches, pressed buttons and hit keys on a keyboard. When she had completed her tasks she looked up at him and put her headphones to the back of her head as the news played.
‘Dylan,’ she said standing up and leaning towards him to peck him on the cheek. ‘Lovely to see you again. I will be speaking to you just after the weather, is that okay?’
The producer disappeared and the On Air light above the door was immediately illuminated.
The room was full of monitors, speakers, digital audio equipment.
‘Joining me this afternoon is Detective Inspector Jack Dylan from Harrowfield CID who is with us to make a direct appeal in relation to the recent murders in Harrowfield. And you have some interesting information to share with us today haven’t you Inspector?’
‘Thank you for having me on your show Maggie. The investigations into the brutal murders of Davina Walsh and Carl Braithwaite continue to move forward at pace. Today, I’m here to primarily make an appeal to anyone with information to contact the incident room at Harrowfield Police Station or if they don’t feel they can do this for any reason they can anonymously contact Crimestoppers on 0800 555 111 who will pass on the information on their behalf.’
‘And you have news on those investigations for us don’t you?’
‘Yes, today we are releasing information which we hope will encourage people to come forward. It has become apparent that there is a macabre and bizarre twist in both crimes. The killer randomly and roughly removed some of the victims’ teeth which is linking both these enquiries for us.’
The interview finished, the producer came back in to the studio and whisked Dylan out before the next item was broadcast.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was great. Let’s hope we get some response.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ said Dylan. ‘I’d have liked for the appeal to be stronger but I didn’t want to strike more fear in the community.’
‘Hopefully it will have the desired effect.’
‘Well, if he rings here the trace is set up and static obs are in place at the previously used telephone booth, mobile patrols ready to respond.
Dylan was back at the police station but within the hour the caller had bit.
‘Good girl Maggie,’ said the caller. ‘Glad you did as I asked. But, now ask him why he’s lying? He said the extractions were random when he knows they were not.’ The caller’s voice was irate towards the end.
Dylan and the team waited with bated breath.
‘Sorry boss,’ came the call. ‘He didn’t use the same phone booth.’
‘I guess that’s not a surprise,’ said Dylan. ‘Don’t worry Vicky.’
‘Wait on. He did use a call box within a five mile radius and the response was quick, just not quick enough. The drive past proved the box to be empty and there was no one in the immediate vicinity.’
‘I wonder where he lives,’ said Dylan. ‘What we do know is that he listens to the local radio station.’
‘Does that suggest he lives in the locality?’ said Vicky.
‘At one time I’d have said yes, but these days, especially with the availability of being able to listen in on the internet, I’m not so sure...’
Dylan put down the phone and immediately it rang again.
‘Professor Stow!’ said Dylan.
‘We’ve linked the striation marks and we are now trying to date the implement with the odontologist by its size if that’s at all possible,’ he said.
Dylan began to structure mor
e press releases, anything he could think of that would keep the murders in the public eye and would be relevant enough for the media to pick up and run with. Using the family members at a conference, photographs of the deceased and going over their last movements before their deaths. He hoped one of these would jog someone’s memory.
‘Human teeth and dental instruments are available on the internet, Amazon, eBay...’ said Ned Granger. ‘That’s where my friend gets them from.’
‘Enquire with Amazon and eBay and see if they have ways and means to see if they can tell us if any have been delivered to Harrowfield or surrounding areas recently. I don’t want anything left to chance if we are able to obtain that sort of information,’ said Dylan.
‘I’ve a list of prison releases and other institutions for people arriving or returning to the Harrowfield area. These are being worked through, traced, interviewed and eliminated where possible,’ said DS Raj.
Debrief over Dylan dismissed the officers. Everyone needed a good night’s sleep.
Dylan’s respite was brief as he was awoken at four o’clock the next morning by the control room which required Dylan’s attendance at the scene of a taxi driver who had been robbed and murdered. It was on his patch and he was the on call senior investigative officer.
Chapter Eight
Dylan travelled the main road that linked Harrowfield to Breland his thoughts in disarray. Had the taxi driver been killed for his cash? Or could this latest murder be connected to the others? Part of him hoped it would be linked. The early hour meant that typical of a Sunday morning he passed people staggering, brawling and crawling home – literally. Some would be under the influence of drink and others drugs. Age nor creed, drink and drugs did not appear to be discriminatory as to the influence it had on humans.
He stopped the car at a red traffic light. Alongside, a traffic officer was standing at the driver’s side of a sports car. It was apparent by his stance, and pad in hand, that he had given the young driver a tug, for motoring offences.
‘Do you know who my father is?’ Dylan heard the driver say. Dylan looked his way. He knew that arrogance would not go down well with his colleague.
‘No, didn’t your mother tell you? Now do as you’re told and get out,’ the officer snarled.
So much for the kid’s bravado Dylan thought with a smile on his face as the lights turned green.
‘If only your fathers could see you now,’ Dylan said shaking his head at a group of girls, laughing hysterically after collapsing in a heap at the pavement edge of a zebra crossing.
Dylan knew only too well that sadly amongst these were potential victims. Harrowfield, like many towns and cities provided numerous opportunities for predators who were out and about, like foxes in the night, scouring for isolated, incapacitated prey.
He wished he had a pound for every time he’d heard a parent say, ‘If only I’d picked them up.’ ‘If only I had told them they couldn’t go.’ Or the victims cry, ‘If only I’d got a taxi.’ ‘If only I had credit on my mobile phone.’ If was a little word with a big meaning and hindsight, as everyone knew, is a wonderful thing.
Dylan was almost at his destination. He drove slowly so he didn’t miss the road sign. The tripe factory and a cattle market of yesteryear had long gone. As a young PC Dylan would chase rats around the wasteland, loading bays andcar parks on nights. He could still smell the pungent odour that was worse during the night shift. Cow heel, elder and tripe, was considered a tasty treat in those days. His parents and grandparents might have succumbed to the delicacies but he never had. He shuddered at the thought of them.
He saw blue flashing lights in the distance and headed towards them. Adrenaline started to pump through his veins. Had the killer struck again, so soon? If so his workload had just increased – three undetected murders which in police terms meant that the attacker had just gained himself the title of serial killer. Should this be the case, things would change in the investigations. An Assistant Chief Constable would be assigned to overlook the investigations as per Home Office guidelines – albeit this ACC did not have to have any investigative skills. The financial cost to the Force would be a huge implication as would the impact on Divisions; more staff would be seconded to the investigation with immediate effect. There was no doubt he would be heading this enquiry, even though he had two more murder investigations on the go. He knew the Force had no one available to step in to take charge, they hadn’t even advertised for senior investigating officers this time around. This wasn’t an oversight on their part but an intention to keep to the overall budget, which was at an all-time low, to achieve government targets. The thin blue line was almost non-existent and it worried Dylan where it would all end. As for the Assistant Chief Constable no matter who he or she was he would be more than happy for them to deal with the policies and press. This was a positive role they could take on without being hands on in the investigation. It was an opportunity for the person in the ACC role to use their vocal skills that had been developed extensively in training. ‘In the theatre of operations’ was always a good line for them to make use of or ‘no one will penetrate the ring of steel’ another. Phrases like this made Dylan smile. There was nothing surer than he and his team would carry on as normal, with their shirt-sleeves rolled up in the arena doing battle.
Dylan was no stranger to dealing with serial killers but he worried about the effect the label for the killer would have on the community. It gave him and his team another chance to obtain evidence against the killer. The other part of him hoped it wasn’t. Whatever, one thing he knew for certain was that another family on his patch would be awoken with the same horrendous, life changing news. A loved one was dead.
Dylan waited at a crossroads. He felt the knot in his tie and ran his finger under his collar. He knew some of his colleagues turned out in the middle of the night to incidents in jeans but what sort of image did that portray to the public, he thought? Especially ten hours later when they stood in front of the media. He was confident in his own mind that perpetrators watched the news to see what the person looked like that was leading the hunt for them. The public, he felt, also needed to have confidence in the Senior Investigator and first impressions for both were of no doubt important.
Decidedly buzzing and anxious to get on with the job in hand he steered his car into the side of the road and parked directly behind a marked police car. Beyond the crime scene tape he could see a yellow cab with the taxi sign illuminated on its roof. His mind was focused on what was in front of him. He got out of the car and walked towards a small group of people. He could make out DS Vicky Hardacre, Ned Granger and DC Wormald amongst others who were unrecognisable due to already being booted and suited. Uniformed officers were guarding the scene. Crime Scene Investigators were setting up, handing out coveralls from the back of their van and unloading equipment. It was unprecedentedly quiet. Everyone was doing the job they were trained for and with the minimum of fuss. The best way to deal with a heinous sight as a murder usually was, in his experience, to concentrate on what needed to be done to preserve the evidence to catch the person responsible. To let emotion get in the way was asking for trouble. There was nothing else that could be done for the poor soul who had died but justice would prevail if it was anything to do with Dylan’s team and they would put the perpetrator behind bars. As Dylan got closer to the scene his eyes looked beyond the team and to the taxi cab. The driver’s door was open and the cab was positioned neatly at the side of the kerb. The weather was not a concern so no evidence should be lost this time to the elements.
Vicky left the group and walked towards Dylan. Very carefully she carried two white plastic cups.
‘Coffee boss?’ she said. ‘Crap vending machine stuff from the foyer of Bentley’s Mill over there,’ she said indicating the imposing soot-blackened building opposite, ‘but it’s better than nothing.’
‘Looks like the soup we used to get at the swimming baths as a kid. Kind of them though,’ he said taking a sip. He w
inced. ‘So what have we got?’
‘Alan Bell, cab driver, forty-five years old... Been doing the job for going on twenty years according to his mate Micky, so he was no stranger to the game. He’s a bachelor and we’re told he is known to his friends as “Film Star” because of his love of cosmetic surgery – all he spends his money on. Well, that and his foreign holidays.’
Dylan raised his eyebrows at Ned who joined them. ‘...yes, before you ask. He’s had his teeth whitened boss.’
‘He also has a gym membership and is never without a tan,’ Vicky said.
‘Whatever floats your boat,’ Ned said.
‘Maybe you could take over his gym membership Ned?’ Vicky pulled her jacket tightly around her. ‘What are you looking at me like that for? I don’t need to go to the gym,’ she said.
‘If the cap fits,’ said Ned. One dark eyebrow lifted and a corner of his mouth tipped up.
‘Fit for his age,’ said Vicky.
‘Well, not anymore,’ said Dylan studiously.
‘His mouth is open and it looks like teeth are missing,’ said Ned.
‘So, we think our man has struck again do we?’ said Dylan his eyes scanning Vicky’s face.
‘It certainly looks that way. Paramedics have pronounced life extinct. Mr Bell appears to have been garrotted in a similar way to Davina Walsh,’ said Vicky.
‘Last sighting of him?’ said Dylan.
‘Just after midnight; he was in George Square, Harrowfield. At the taxi rank chatting with late night revellers, according to Micky. He found him. Apparently, according to his mate Film Star liked to think of himself as a bit of a ladies man.’
‘So he may have picked up his fare, the killer, from the rank?’ said Dylan. ‘How come his mate raised the alarm?’
‘Micky was dropping off a fare about an hour later when he saw Mr Bell’s, taxi here, with its lights on and the driver’s door wide open to the pavement. He didn’t think anything of it, but on his return from dropping off his fare it was still here.’
Killer Smile Page 12
