‘I do actually, yes. I took the liberty of doing some quick checks pre-empting your question.’
Dylan looked across the desk into Vicky’s face. His eyes twinkled.
‘So, what you’re telling me is that it isn’t Alan Bell’s tooth in the back of the taxi but you know whose it is? Come on Beryl, stop teasing?’
Chapter Eleven
Why would the killer leave Davina Walsh’s tooth at the scene of Alan Bell’s murder? It didn’t make sense. But what it did do in Dylan’s mind was reinforce the murderer pre-planned the murder, before setting out.
‘He knows exactly what he is doing and it’s quite apparent he is very calm in completing his task. What puzzles me is why would he leave Davina’s tooth and not Alan’s at the scene?’ said Raj.
‘To link the crimes or to test our investigative skills,’ said Dylan.
‘Do you think he carries his previous trophies with him when he sets out to murder?’ said Vicky.
‘He’ll be aware that women’s teeth are smaller than men’s so... Maybe, he wondered if we would pick up on the little clue he obviously left for us?’ said Raj.
‘He’s playing with us,’ said Vicky, eyebrows raised.
‘He thinks he’s in control,’ said Raj.
‘What concerns me is that he is gaining confidence. It seems to me that he will go on killing until we find him?’ said Dylan.
***
At the debriefing that evening he shared with the team the update from forensics and made them aware just what a brutal, manipulative serial killer they were dealing with.
‘I’ll be breaking to the media tomorrow morning that we have a serial killer on the loose who extracts teeth at the scene of the crimes. ACC Wendy Smythe will join us and because of the serial killer status of the enquiry she will now be in overall command of the investigations into the three murders. Collectively these serial murders will now be known under the official police operational name of ‘Operation Tangent’.
***
It was dark and raining when he drove out of the police station yard. The lights in the incident room lit up the second floor of the building and he knew they would continue to burn throughout the night.
Dylan arrived home and here too the lights in the house burned brightly upstairs and down. That could only mean one thing – Maisy was still up. He parked the car and alighted from his vehicle with a spring in his step. If he was lucky he would get to read her a bedtime story. He put his key in the latch feeling happy and opened the door. A feeding cup landed at his feet. Splashes of milk fell on his trouser leg. Maisy squealed. Jen shouted at her. Max who had been about to greet Dylan turned on his paws in the hallway and headed for the kitchen, his flag of a tail in-between his legs. Dylan calmly put his briefcase down and picked the cup up. He threw his jacket over the chair.
Jen was down on her knees facing Maisy, she had a hold of her arm and was also engaged in a conversation on the phone. Her eyes were like hard blue pebbles that matched those of their daughter, who promptly on seeing her daddy burst into tears. Jen let go of her arm and Maisy ran to Dylan, holding her arms up for him to pick her up. He obliged by swiftly sweeping her off her feet. She clung to him and sobbed into his shoulder. He looked at Jen questioningly soothingly rubbing Maisy’s back. He stepped over toys that littered the floor.
‘Dad,’ Jen mouthed, shaking her head. ‘There has been a break-in.’ Holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder she scooped some bricks up and put them in a container.
‘At home?’ he said.
‘No, at his friends, it’s not good, the husband, he’s in hospital, he’s had a heart attack.’ She turned away. ‘Yes, Dad I’m still here,’ she said.
Dylan took Maisy to bed, her sobs calmed when he started to read to her. He closed her bedroom door quietly behind him when she fell asleep, clinging to her favourite soft toy. Hearing Jen still on the phone Dylan headed for the bedroom, took off his shirt and tie and put on his jeans. With any luck he wouldn’t be called back out.
When he finally got downstairs Jen was in the kitchen pouring them both a glass of wine. She looked tired. The tea she had started preparing, some time ago, languished on the worktop. Maisy’s half-eaten supper was in a bowl on the corner of the table. Max had his back to them, his head buried in the cushion of his basket but his tail swished to and fro when he heard Dylan’s footsteps on the tiles.
Jen picked up Dylan’s large glass between floury fingers, turned and held it out to him. He held it up. ‘That bad?’ he said.
‘Worse,’ she said, her shoulders drooping. She turned back towards the worktop, picked up the rolling pin and began rolling out the pastry that had hardened around the edges. ‘Supper won’t be long,’ Jen said wiping the back of her hand across her forehead.
Dylan came up behind her, put his head on her shoulder and hugged her from behind.
‘You don’t have to...’ he said. ‘Shall I go and fetch us fish and chips?’
Jen put her head back to his, looked up at the ceiling and then closed her eyes for a moment. ‘It’s no good letting perfectly good stewing steak go to waste,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s not like we can do anything to help them is it?’
Jen turned rolling pin still in hand. ‘Is there nothing you can do?’
A weary smile crossed Dylan’s face. ‘What do you think I can do?’ he said. ‘Anyway don’t you think I have enough on here?’
‘Of course,’ she said sullenly. ‘It’s just if I was ever in their position there is no one I’d rather have taking charge of the enquiry but you.’
‘I don’t know about that. I feel pretty damn useless at the moment. I think I’m getting too bogged down with the killer’s motive, rather than the evidence,’ he said.
***
Dylan sat quietly in the lounge, ostensibly reading the evening paper, in effect he was going over the details of the murders. Each victim’s background was different. They used different dentists. They didn’t know each other and they had nothing in common with each other, until their untimely deaths.
The only apparent common denominator was they all had good, strong, white teeth. Was this really the only thing that led the killer to them and if so how? Dylan was still in deep thought when Jen arrived with his dinner on a tray.
‘You look troubled,’ she said as she sat down beside him. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Ah, I was just wondering whether or not I should let the Divisional Commander know that the Assistant Chief Constable is intent on doing an impromptu “performance check” on Harrowfield Division tomorrow.’
‘Well she’ll be left wanting if she’s expecting Hugo-Watkins to know what’s happening. He was out with Avril Summerfield-Preston all day today looking for a new painting he could buy for his office.’ Jen tutted. ‘You’re not really thinking about forewarning him are you? Let the bugger reap what he bloody sows.’
Dylan ate his food in silence. He licked his lips and handed her the tray when she stood.
‘Pudding,’ she said.
‘Mmm... give me a minute.’ Dylan picked up his phone.
‘You’re going to warn him aren’t you?’ She stood to go into the kitchen but turned at the door.
‘He gets paid three times as much as you, does half the hours you do and they promoted him two ranks above you, you’re crackers,’ she said.
‘Better the devil you know. If they move him, the Divisional Commander that comes out to cover will only want to make his mark and change things, probably not for the better and then they will move back to whence they came before the implications of the changes impact, so they aren’t around to pick up the pieces. But we are there and left to suffer the consequences. At least Hugo-Watkins does care about Harrowfield Division.’
‘Only because he lives on the Division.’
Dylan tossed his mobile around in his hand thoughtfully then proceeded to key in a number.
‘Walter, I’m just ringing to let you know...’ Jen heard Ja
ck say as she went into the kitchen to wash up.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan arrived at work to find television satellite vans and journalists with their gear causing traffic congestion at and around Harrowfield Police Station. It was barely seven a.m. The media frenzy was building towards the press conference and he knew from experience it would only get worse. The town’s serial killings would today become national headlines. Murder assured interest. Bad news travelled fast.
It was known that a national news broadcast automatically brought about increased telephone calls to the incident room and staffing levels had been raised in anticipation.
Before the working day began Dylan sat in the tranquil quietness of his office updating his policy book. He was more than prepared for the deluge of questions that would accompany the conference. Although some of his colleagues tried their utmost to avoid being interviewed by the media Dylan didn’t mind they, like he, had a job to do and journalists knew how to spread the word and had the platform to do it efficiently and effectively. It was getting them to sustain their interest that he had a problem with. The appeals he had written were about to reach a nationwide audience and who knew what or who that may bring to their attention.
The door swung open and Vicky tumbled in his office and took a few wobbly steps towards his desk in her high heeled shoes. ‘Was it you who tipped old Walter off that Windy-Wendy was coming?’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Him and Beaky have just followed me into the back yard.’ She took one look at his face for her answer. ‘I guessed you had. It was either that or they’d both pee’d the bed. I don’t know why you bother?’ Vicky scowled. ‘What’s he ever done for you?’
He pointed to invisible sergeant’s stripes at the top of her arm. ‘We’ve got a short memory haven't we Vicky?’
‘Well yeah, but he knew he was getting a good deal when he helped me with my sergeant’s boards.’
‘Maybe, but he didn’t have to help you. Tell Lisa that the ACC will be here at anytime now will you and ask her if we can have a pot of tea; cups and saucers would be nice please.’
‘Tea? Have you completely lost the plot?’ she said screwing her nose up. ‘What’s up with coffee?’
‘Tea, it’s what she has requested,’ said Dylan.
‘Oooo it’s what she requests now is it?’ she repeated parrot fashion just as Rajinder entered the incident room with ACC Wendy Smythe in tow.
The ACC looked very smart in her uniform. Dylan rose to greet her. She carried with her a shiny black leather briefcase that was in slightly newer condition than Dylan’s old, battered one. He kicked his under his desk and out of sight.
‘Jack arrr,’ she said.
Dylan’s eyes flashed from Wendy Smythe to Raj. The ACC giggled like a school kid. ‘Don’t mind me - just practicing my chinese. Ney Ho!’
Dylan couldn’t hide his disapproval at her inappropriate manner.
***
The conference room was full. Reporters sat with their notebooks and pens on their laps. Television cameras, lights and shades adorned each end of the room along with their operators, all were trying to get the best angle for their TV footage. Microphones of all shapes and sizes stood alongside, or lay haphazardly upon the table that the ACC and Dylan would sit at. Large banners with the police logo stood upright at the back of the chairs and covered the door where they would walk in from the corridor beyond, that ultimately led into the heart of the police station. Dylan was impressed with Wendy Smythe’s approach. She didn’t profess to know everything about the investigation or about investigative procedure and neither was she afraid to ask – unlike some officers of the same rank. The strategy was agreed between her and Dylan and she asked if she could meet with Dylan for lunch afterwards.
‘Looks like you’ll be finding out more about the Hong Kong expedition boss,’ said Vicky out of the corner of her mouth. Dylan scowled at her but found himself nodding in agreement at the ACC’s request.
It was eight-thirty a.m. exactly when they sat united behind the desk. Only at this point did the flashing from the cameras cease. Wendy Smythe spoke clearly and with an air of calm. The gathered audience hung onto her every word. She had the full room under her spell and there was recognition for her faith in the Senior Officer Detective Inspector Jack Dylan and an endorsement for his track record in solving homicide enquiries.
It was now Dylan’s turn to speak of the enquiry itself.
‘I will remind you of the three murders in their order of discovery, why and how they are being linked followed by an appeal,’ he said. ‘Thereafter, there will be time for questions and one-to-one interviews with me that have been requested in advance afterwards.’
Dylan went on to share with the attendees the fact that Alan Bell was locally known as Film Star and that it may be that many people would only know the taxi driver by his nickname. He ended with an appeal. ‘I ask that anyone with any information about any of the incidents, or anyone who was in the area at the time, used the taxi that day or have information of someone collecting human teeth, no matter how trivial you think the information is to please contact Harrowfield Police or Crimestoppers. I will now open up the room to questions,’ he said.
‘Joel Duncan. Harrowfield Times. Does the community of Harrowfield need to be worried? Three murders in a matter weeks and the killer is still stalking our streets.’
‘Patrols have been increased and I would suggest the community needs to be vigilant as opposed to being worried. I cannot impress upon you how important, as Detective Inspector Dylan has outlined this morning, that any information should be passed on,’ said ACC Smythe
‘Evie Wallace, Yorkshire Star. Are these murders all about the teeth?’
ACC Smythe nodded for Dylan to take the question. ‘It’s wrong to assume at this stage exactly what the motive is, but all the deceased did have very white teeth some of which have been removed, only time will tell the relevance of that fact.’
‘Jason Costello, The National Imperial Press. From what you have told us, the victims’ teeth are extracted after death and this is done with some degree of skill you say?’
‘Yes that’s correct,’ Dylan said.
‘So the murderer will have a background in dentistry?’ Jason continued.
‘May, is the word I’d use Jason. We should never assume anything. I am keeping an open mind as to the background of the killer, but obviously it is a line of enquiry and I hasten to add it’s just one line of enquiry.’
The questions flowed in the same vein for ten minutes. Dylan ended the press conference and whilst some of those from the media left quickly, no doubt to get back to their respective outlets for a deadline, others waited for pre-planned one-to-one interviews.
As Dylan went to speak to national radio he saw the ACC speaking to radio presenter Maggie Currie.
***
A little hoarse from repetitive conversations Dylan sank into his old leather office chair and selfishly enjoyed a large cup of coffee undisturbed, wondering what headlines the media would run with. He would find out in due course as the HQ press office recorded and retained all publicity with regard to murder enquiries and he and the incident room would get a copy sent through the internal post for their knowledge should they wish to respond, and their retention. The reason for this also being that at any given time they all knew exactly what had, or had not been said in the media.
He saw Wendy Smythe talking to incident room staff as she made her way through the large room to his office and he was pleased. Although the respite had been brief the break had allowed his mind to settle.
‘Come on Inspector, I need something to eat and we can have that little chat you promised me,’ she said. ‘Bye, bye, bye,’ she shouted to the team.
‘Yes ma’am,’ he said.
‘We will have to eat out. This idea of closing canteens is a bloody nuisance,’ she said. ‘Chinese okay with you?’
‘I guess you’re going to show me your skill of ea
ting with chopsticks?’
‘Of course.’ Wendy Smythe laughed and when she laughed she looked ten years younger than her fifty-two years.
***
Dylan picked up his chopsticks and used them adequately enough. It was Wendy Smythe’s turn to be impressed. ‘Full of surprises aren’t we Dylan,’ she said.
‘Always keep a lady guessing my dad used to say.’
‘Makes a difference to treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen I guess,’ she said. ‘Which is what my dad used to say.’
Now and then the restaurant staff burst into a sing-songy noisy melody of arrr and laaa’s as they greeted their diners. ‘They’s such lovely friendly people,’ Wendy said. ‘Did you also know the invention of chopsticks reflects the wisdom of the Chinese?’
Dylan’s concentration was on eating. He shook his head.
‘Although they look simple they can nip, pick, rip and stir food and are considered to be lucky gifts for marriage and other important ceremonies. I’m quite used to them now. Taken years of practice though.’
‘I can’t say I have mastered them,’ said Dylan as he chased a piece of rice around the bowl.
‘Where did you learn to eat with them if you’ve never ventured to China?’
‘Jen and I have friends who work regularly in Hong Kong... Yin is originally from Hong Kong, Phil comes from Bradford. They are private investigators. I’ll give you their contact details if you like?’
‘Yes, I will drop in on them if I have time. Although my schedule is rather full. I used to live in Bradford. Do you remember the trams?’
‘No, I don’t but my mother often talked about them.’
‘Touche. Well, in Hong Kong people use them daily as a mode of very cheap transport. They’re known as “ding dings”. Lovely that name don’t you think?’
‘Sounds like something Maisy would play with,’ he said.
Killer Smile Page 15
