Killer Smile

by RC Bridgestock

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said. He scowled at the pile of papers that Raj brought in for him to read and sign. She smiled broadly, walked back towards the door, opened it and shut it quietly behind her.

  ‘Any news on Thelma’s missing purse or the money that was syphoned out of her bank account?’

  ‘No, sadly not, nor have they captured the person responsible for the village’s mini crime wave. But, they got an ear print believe it or not from the post office job. I don’t know if it’s good enough to get DNA from but if it is, and he is known to them now, or in the future they’ll catch up with him with any luck. In all honesty I think that’s what made Ozzy persuade Thelma to spend the money from the sale of her home and buy this holiday home in Spain for them all to use.’

  ‘Why Spain?’

  ‘Ozzy picked it up for her. It’s a bit selfish of him because he’s working there at the moment so he gets to use it. But, it’s a nice place, Dad says, by the border in northern Spain and better still it was a bargain.’

  ‘Have they been out to see it, this... apartment?’

  ‘Villa.’

  ‘A villa?’ he said with surprise in his voice.

  ‘Yes, they’ve just got back. Dad says it is truly amazing. They were invited around to their new neighbours and guess what, they own a yacht!’

  ‘You never said they’d been abroad?’

  ‘I didn’t know till just now. Dad says it all happened very quickly. They had to go to get the papers signed to secure the property.’

  ‘Buying abroad? Hope they’ve got a lawyer who specialises in Spanish land law. I’ve heard some horror stories from ex-coppers. I expected you to say they’d bought a timeshare – not a villa. How much did she get for her house on the Isle of Wight for goodness sake? Sounds iffy to me.’

  Jen sighed once more. ‘Why do you always have to put a downer on things? Not everything has to be dodgy. Sometimes nice things just happen to nice people,’ she said. ‘Dad deserves a bit of luck.’

  ‘In my experience if something sounds too good to be true it usually is. I won’t be going.’

  ‘Well, me and Maisy might have to go alone then mightn’t we?’ Jen said, and he heard the click as the phone was put down. Dylan was tired. It made him grumpy. He shouldn’t take it out on her. He made a mental note to apologise later, even if he thought he was right – this time.

  ***

  Jim Woodcock arrived at Harrowfield Police Station promptly at five o’clock.

  Vicky was called to the front desk. After introducing herself to him she invited him into a side room adjacent to the front counter in the foyer.

  Mr Woodcock junior was not a big man. He had a long nose, receding chin and a full set of perfectly spaced square, white, teeth that he showed off to her in a broad, friendly smile. Vicky noticed he moved swiftly and easily on short stumpy legs.

  He sat down in the clinically white room on a bolted down chair and frowned at the desk that he saw was also secured to the floor. ‘Do you really think someone is going to walk out with them?’ he said.

  She closed the door behind them and sat opposite him. ‘You’d be surprised,’ Vicky said. ‘That’s when they not attempting to throw them at us,’ she said raising an eyebrow at him. She saw what she thought was a flash of admiration in his big dark, blue eyes as she put her paperwork between them on the desk.

  ‘Really?’ he said as he too pulled papers from a folder he had been carrying under his arm.

  ‘Nice people you mix with,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said. Vicky noticed his mop of thin black curly hair that refused to be disciplined when he patted it down, which he did frequently. Although dressed in jeans and T-shirt he was clean shaven and exuded a smell of an aftershave she was familiar with. Her first impressions of him being a bit odd looking were soon dismissed by the easy way he had about him and his rich smooth velvety voice. She was disappointed that he kept his lips very tight so little of his teeth showed when he talked. He reminded her a bit of a ventriloquist in that way.

  Jim Woodcock produced a piece of paper that he eagerly swivelled around on the table so she could read it. His little fat finger caught hers and it was soft and warm to the touch. ‘I was summoned by my mother after her and the Gillards had been to visit. Father hasn’t been well and... well basically, he’s dying if I’m brutally honest.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Don’t be, it’s his own doing,’ he said dismissing her sympathy instantly. ‘Mother has a problem with her memory but she’s not daft. She can remember things from her childhood as if it was yesterday.’

  ‘You said the Gillards? That’s your sister and brother-in-law who your mother lives with in St Annes, right?’

  ‘Oh yes, she’s with the prodigal one. I’m the black sheep. I was adopted. I’ve written down what mother told me was missing. I don’t think they’re of any value, it’s more about the sentiment. The thing is the parents’ divorce was not an amicable one, after his little misdemeanour at work, so we don’t really know what father might have got rid of since mother left. I’ve visited father in hospital and in his lucid state he tells me the items should still be there. But, who knows?’

  ‘Do you have regular contact with your mother and father?’

  ‘Not really, you see I was a bit of a disappointment to the old man. I didn’t follow the family tradition of becoming a dentist and as I am the only son to carry on the name... Well, it didn’t bode well. And my sister thinks I lead her husband astray so I’m not flavour of the month, any month in her house. Your fingerprint people have attended at father’s by the way, but you are probably aware of that?’

  ‘Lead your brother-in-law astray? What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Father used to send me all over the world to dentist conventions with Devlin. It suited two purposes. He thought it might spark an interest in a dentist career for me – all it did was give me a love of travel. He also thought it might make my sister happy.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘She’s got a bit of a jealous streak has Gilly. Truth is it wasn’t me who led Devlin astray. The old devil can do that all by himself. He likes the women does Devlin. She’s a right to be suspicious of him. He’s the bad influence on me.’

  ***

  A skeleton staff manned the incident room. It was six thirty and Vicky walked into Dylan’s office. DC Wormald was already there.

  ‘Well, how did it go?’ Dylan said.

  ‘I’m just going to write up the Actions for inputting onto the database. You can’t choose your family – luckily he can choose his friends,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Even though the family adopted Jim it seems that they have somewhat abandoned him to a certain extent – sad really. The allegation of the theft of the dental and fishing equipment is interesting. But, then again, Mrs Woodcock may have been having one of her ‘moments’.

  ‘Check the date that the burglary was recorded on our systems will you? It would be interesting to see if it was prior to the date the first murder was committed,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Trouble is we don’t have specific dates of a burglary as the house has been unoccupied for some time due to Timothy Woodcock being in hospital,’ said Andy.

  ‘And it wasn’t till Mrs Woodcock and the family went along to the house recently that the burglary was reported,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Fingerprints come up with anything?’ said Dylan,

  ‘No, CSI shows “no marks of value,”’ Vicky said screwing up her nose.

  ‘Jim Woodcock tells me that his father is dying. I’m going to check with the hospital and see if I can go and speak to him, if that’s at all possible.’

  ‘I’ve done that,’ said Andy. ‘The Sister said he’d welcome visitors. She doesn't recall him having any since he was admitted.’

  ‘No, Jim Woodcock said he’d been to see his father,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Well, all I can tell y
ou is what the Ward Sister said,’ said Andy. ‘Mind you she wouldn’t be on duty everyday would she?’

  ‘Are visitors listed on the hospital file for seriously ill patients do you think?’ said Vicky.

  ‘I don’t know. Find out,’ said Dylan.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dylan had finished his dinner and Maisy was lying on the rug in front of the hearth colouring with Jen. ‘That’s an orange one mummy,’ Maisy said holding up a green pen.

  ‘No darling, it’s a green one.’

  ‘No mummy it’s orange!’ she said. Jen’s eyes flew up to Dylan and her nostrils flared. He bit his lip in an attempt not to laugh. Jen cocked her head and stared at Maisy and their daughter mimicked her mother’s image.

  ‘I think it’s time for bed lady, don’t you?’ said Jen raising her eyebrow.

  Maisy’s eyes hooded and her mouth turned downwards. She rose, threw herself at Dylan and hid her face in his lap. Dylan picked her up and held her high. She squealed with excitement and he brought her towards him and kissed her chubby little cheeks before putting her down in front of Jen. She reached out, grabbed Jen’s waiting hand and waved goodnight to him. He blew her a kiss and she blew him one back.

  Dylan was putting his dirty dishes in the dishwasher when he heard Jen’s footsteps on the stairs. ‘She off already?’ he said looking at her over his shoulder. Jen nodded and padded quietly across the kitchen to put clothes in the washing machine. As she got up and turned Dylan was standing with his arms open wide. ‘Come here you,’ he said. She did as she was told and rested her head against his chest. ‘Tired?’ he asked hugging her tight. She threw her head back to look up at his face and stifled a yawn. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘What’s Maisy been up to today then?’

  ‘Well, for starters she purposely tipped up her milk on the carpet when I was talking to Dad on the phone this morning – which meant I had to hurriedly cut him off and he was about to give me an update on the Spain adventure. Then not satisfied with the biscuit I gave her she started yelling, “Nack, Nack,” and came back from the kitchen with a packet of crackers that she threw at my head! Hence, I didn’t get to ring him back.’

  Dylan stifled a grin. ‘She’s a surprising good shot for a nipper isn’t she? She threw a shoe at me the other day when I was driving and only because she didn’t want to be in her car seat. Maybe she’ll bowl for England when she grows up?’

  ‘Or might fly to the moon, why not?’

  ‘If she fancies it...’ he said with a little laugh. ‘The world’s her oyster.’

  ‘Yes, well I’d like to know where my sweet little girl has gone. I think you’d better use your detective skills to find her because someone has replaced her with a little terror!’

  ***

  At seven o’clock the next morning it was raining heavily. Dylan could hear Jen trying to coax Maisy into eating her breakfast as he dressed for work. ‘Just one more mouthful...’

  ‘No Mummy, go away,’ he heard Maisy say as he reached the kitchen door. He put his head around the door frame. ‘Daddy’s home for breakfast,’ she called out with glee and struggled to get off her child seat to get to him. Jen looked at Dylan and shook her head. ‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ she said as he lifted her in his arms, sat down and placed her on his knee.

  ***

  Dylan travelled in the rain to Harrowfield Police station. As he drove into the back yard he saw Rajinder hurrying along. Her head was forward and her umbrella held like a shield. She ignored others, struggling as she was with putting her umbrella down, briefcase under her arm. He parked up. She disappeared into the building. A black cab drew up at the same door and he walked towards it. The rain glistened on its roof. Out stepped Vicky. Her face was pale and grey. Dylan looked at her, his eyebrows knit together.

  ‘Great night boss,’ she said sheepishly as she rummaged in her handbag. She paid the driver. Dylan followed her. She wore her clothes clumsily as if she had slept in them. They bagged at the elbows and the knees.

  ‘Come on you, let’s get in before that black cloud that’s hovering above us bursts,’ he said giving her a guiding hand as he looked up to the sky. ‘We’ve got a long day ahead, at the mortuary.’

  ‘Don’t I know it...’ she said looking up at him. Her husky voice seemed to come from a distance.

  It was a day for them to be present whilst independent pathologists carried out a second post-mortem on Davina Walsh on behalf of any future defence team. Dylan’s presence was required as a matter of routine in case the findings challenged the examination carried out by Professor Stow. In the next few days an inquest would be opened and closed by the Coroner until after an arrest had been made and the police had charged an offender.

  However, this meant for Gary and Davina’s friends the funeral could now take place.

  The same process had to be carried out in respect of Carl Braithwaite and Alan Bell. The independent pathologists on behalf of any future defence would then write to the Coroner stating they were satisfied the bodies could be released for funeral purposes. Dylan was satisfied that the prosecution no longer required the bodies to be retained. The following couple of weeks would see Dylan with Vicky, Raj or John attending the funerals.

  ***

  Dylan had learnt to deal with murder enquiries by not getting sucked into the emotion. But although his head told him such, his heart could not help being moved by a funeral service.

  As he sat in the pew, next to Vicky at the back of the church at Davina Walsh’s funeral he stared up at the high ceiling and the music filled his being. He studied the exposed wood beams. It reminded him of the ribs of a boat turned upside down. His eyes scanned the mourners, there were plenty. The uniformed presence reminded him of colleagues’ funerals, men and women he had worked with. His heart felt heavy. Emotions were high and he dared not look at Vicky who he saw out of the corner of his eye wipe away a tear for another young woman whose life had been lost. He thought of Jen, the way he had laid next to that morning in bed just watching her and listening to her breathing, long before Maisy had woken her. He thought of her hair that had been on her pillow and draped down over her dimpled shoulders. He thought of her honest eyes, steady eyes, eyes that did not lie to him as others had before, making him untrusting in the opposite sex. And her air of deliberateness, fearlessness and her sensitive intuition that she clung to despite what had happened to her in the past. And then it was over. The coffin was carried out of the church and the young woman, with so much to look forward to, was put in a grave, six foot down in the ground.

  ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep...’ said the vicar.

  Dylan and Vicky stood on the periphery of the group of mourners.

  ‘How do you cope?’ said Vicky wiping her eyes as they walked to the car.

  ‘With funerals?’ he said.

  ‘With death...’ she replied.

  ‘We’re all going to die one day. All we can do is try and make a difference whilst we’re here and help preserve the life of others. How do I cope?’ he said getting into the car. ‘I believe that the body is a shell that is left behind when we die and our soul goes on.’

  ‘So when you see bodies that are disembowelled, ripped open, faceless, horribly mutilated you don’t see a human being?’

  ‘No, but what I do feel is a passionate need to catch the person or people responsible and prove beyond doubt how that person died to ensure the perpetrator is put away for as long as possible. For the victim and for the families that are left behind to hopefully give them some sort of closure to help them move on. When my mum died the nurse opened a window to let her spirit go free. I liked that. It helped. Whatever we believe it has to allow us to get on with the job we are here to do.’

  Vicky nodded her head and Dylan started the car. The next funeral would be Carl Braithwaite’s which was to be a small family affair and proved not to be the public show of affection for the loner who was the taxi driver Alan Bell. Having no close relatives or partner his
funeral was to be a celebration of his life, by those that knew him. A line of taxis would follow his coffin though the town centre which would bring Harrowfield to a standstill. Flags would fly and horns would blare, continuously.

  Dylan was left feeling emotionally drained and guilty that these three people were buried and as yet, as the man in charge of their murder enquiries he had no idea who had killed them, or why.

  ***

  It was late Friday evening and Jen waited for him with a bottle of wine in the fridge and a steak under the grill. Dylan walked in the door.

  ‘Crap week?’ she said with a screwing up of her nose. She walked towards him.

  ‘I’ve had better,’ he said, opening his arms to her.

  She put a hand to his face. ‘What is it you tell me? The funeral is simply to allow an outpouring of grief for family and friends, but you know, they know, the person has gone.’

  ‘It’s not that Jen. I feel as though I’ve let them down. I’m the person in charge of investigations. I want to give them answers and I can’t. Should I have even gone to the funerals? Wouldn’t the victims’ family and friends expect me to be spending every minute I have trying to find the evil bastard that killed their loved ones?’

  Jen gave him a quizzical look. ‘You’ll find them. You can’t possibly work anymore hours and I think the families would be pleased you found time to attend the funerals. I know you won’t give up until you have those responsible behind bars and one of these days you’ll get the break you need.’ Jen studied his face. ‘Sometimes I hate the bloody job,’ she said with tears in her eyes. Dylan held her tight. He planted a kiss on her head. ‘Hey, don’t you get upset,’ he said. He licked a tear from her cheek. ‘Why do tears always taste of salt?’ he said.

  She smiled at him despite how she felt but her look was fiercely serious. ‘I just watch you become embroiled. You sink deeper and deeper into yourself as the days pass and the murders are not detected. You don’t like to think that each one takes that little bit more from Jack Dylan... but it does, believe me it does.’