Killer Smile

by RC Bridgestock

  Dylan’s face looked at her with a furrowed brow.

  ‘I heard,’ he said.

  Jen scowled at Dylan.

  ‘What did your son want brought to Harrowfield?’ Jen asked Thelma.

  ‘Oh, it’s something to do with this business he’s running for our new next door neighbours in Spain. Mr Reynolds: he treats Ozzy like a son he never had. He’s doing ever so well. He makes pots, well the people they employ make pots.’ Thelma gave a little laugh. ‘I can’t see Ozzy making pots can you Ralph?’

  ‘No, no I can’t,’ he said looking at Thelma adoringly.

  ‘And they export them from Spain to Harrowfield?’ said Jen.

  ‘All over the world I believe,’ Thelma said.

  ‘We’ve brought you a sample,’ Ralph said digging deep into a carrier bag.

  ‘We couldn’t bring the real thing. The real ones are the size of me,’ said Thelma.

  ‘Ozzy was over the moon to get this new contact in Yorkshire. We’ve brought a case full of stuff for them – it weighed a bloody ton,’ said Ralph. ‘Aye, I have to give the lad credit. He seems to be doing well for himself now... who’d have thought his nomadic lifestyle would provide him such dividends in the end?’

  Dylan caught the hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘I’m just pleased he’s settled down,’ said Thelma. ‘At least I know where he is for once in his life.’

  ‘Where is it?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Where’s what?’ said Ralph.

  ‘The case he gave you to bring?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Oh, we didn’t actually... He took it to the airport and arranged for someone to meet us off the plane so we didn’t have to carry it,’ said Thelma. ‘He’s being very thoughtful...’

  ‘I’m not as young as I was. I couldn’t even lift the bloody thing,’ Ralph said. ‘Nice chap he was, the man who took it off us at Leeds/Bradford; very grateful to us for bringing it over for him.’

  Dylan held the miniature in his hand. He held it every which way studying it with undue interest. Jen took it from him.

  ‘Thank you. It will look lovely on our fireplace,’ she said with a scowl at Dylan.

  ***

  It was nearly midnight and DC Wormald was scanning CCTV footage. The darkness outside was not the only indicator to him that it was late, as the telephones were exceptionally quiet. It was surprising how much work could be achieved in an incident room at a late hour. At that moment the phone rang and Andy pressed pause, leant over his desk and picked up. ‘Andy Wormald CID,’ he said. His eyes closed, his mouth opened and he yawned.

  ‘Control; uniform require assistance. They’ve got a man trying to get into a house.’

  ‘A burglar?’ he said.

  ‘No, a drunk.’

  ‘A drunk and you’re calling CID?’

  ‘He’s causing a bit of a disturbance. Uniform say he’s frightening the poor woman inside and he’s asking for you by name.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you! Can I show you attending?’

  ‘I suppose so. Give me the address,’ he said.

  ***

  Dylan awoke the next morning as suddenly as if he had drawn back the curtain. He stretched his legs, got out of bed and stood. Jen was sleeping. The house was still. Unheard he padded downstairs in his stockinged feet, put on his shoes whilst sitting on the bottom step and reached out to ruffle Max’s broad head. The dog lifted his head and looked at Dylan with gentle brown eyes. Max shook his pendant ears, groaned and stumbled to his feet. Dylan walked into the kitchen, Max followed. Dylan raised the blinds, put the kettle on and retrieved a cup from the cupboard, spooning in coffee and sugar before opening the door to allow Max to go out into the garden. He strode in to the lounge and pulled back the curtains. Turning he saw the cinnamon coloured pot on the fireplace. He walked over and picked it up.

  ‘He makes life sized figurines as well,’ said Thelma who was standing at the open door; she was a small figure against a dark background like a picture in a frame.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.

  ***

  In his inebriated state DC Granger had slept heavily but his waking had been as sudden as Dylan’s. He lay wide eyed for a moment and tried to figure out where he was. His surroundings were familiar but this place was not his home. He moved his head and cried out in pain, the room spun.

  ***

  ‘And,’ Vicky was saying as Dylan walked in the office, her voice loud, her mood mischievous. ‘Ned was only banging on the door of the house they had moved out of a month ago wasn’t he?’ she said to Lisa. ‘Good job Andy was here otherwise he might have ended up in a cell.’

  Lisa looked at Dylan over Vicky’s shoulder.

  ‘Ned’s wife, she wouldn’t let him in, in the state he was in,’ Vicky said, as if by way of an explanation. ‘He’s such a lightweight drinker,’ she said. Turning in haste she walked directly into Dylan. All was quiet.

  ‘Where is he now?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Sleeping it off sir,’ said Andy.

  ‘What’s he working?’

  ‘He’s working two p.m. till ten p.m., sir.’

  ‘Tell him I want to see him in my office the minute he gets in,’ said Dylan.

  The mood was set for the day and the team worked in relative silence. Dylan’s mood didn’t appear to be one that would accept joviality.

  Lisa informed him that the ACC had put a call in to the office to say she was back at work and would be over later in the day. His mood darkened. He had no good news to share.

  Professor Stow teetered at Dylan’s door before making the usual flamboyant entrance he was better known for. Lisa without being asked walked in almost as soon as he was seated, carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits.

  Before the tray was put down on Dylan’s desk Professor Stow leant over and pinched a chocolate biscuit. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at Lisa as he popped the whole biscuit into his mouth and took another. ‘Preferably with a little brandy?’ he said with a mischievous wink.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ll have to make do with sugar today,’ Lisa said. He counted four heaped spoonfuls into his cup. Dylan thanked her and asked her if she could arrange for the dentistry implements to be brought in. Professor Stow smiled which displayed his crooked yellow teeth.

  ‘I haven’t long, I’m due to lecture at the University,’ he said, peering over his half-rimmed glasses at Dylan.

  Professor Stow considered the contents of the dental case with great interest. He whistled through his teeth. ‘Mon. Charriere, Collin, Paris,’ he read. ‘Holy Moses, these are probably worth a ruddy fortune,’ he said.

  ‘Incomplete?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Yes. There’s about eight hundred pounds worth of tools here and if it was complete well... you’re looking at a thousand five hundred maybe, at auction. ’

  ‘Really?’ said Dylan. ‘They’ve yet to be examined by forensic.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t touch. These are very easily identifiable, surely if they have been stolen someone would be missing them?’ Professor Stow’s mouth was still open in a perfect O. ‘Wow, I’ve never seen anything like these, except in a museum that is... The tools that are missing are the elevator which helps rock the tooth back and forth until the periodontal ligament has sufficiently broken and the supporting alveolar bone has been adequately widened, to make the tooth loose enough to remove it with forceps, which are also missing, by the way. These here are,’ he said pointing to one of the implements, ‘tweezers, files and they are a very thin pair of dental forceps for use on a child.’

  ‘Are they in your opinion from the same era as the ones our killer is using?’

  ‘I’d say most certainly. And not only that, the items that are missing are just the type of implements he would require to do the professional job he does, with the know-how of course.’

  Dylan explained how they came to be in police possession.

  ‘I presume they’ll also b
e examined for traces of blood?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Dylan said.

  ‘The fine workmanship on the bone handles oozes quality. If you find the missing tools they will fit nicely into those perfect moulded grooves.’ Professor Stow stood and proffered one of his hands towards Dylan. ‘I must go, students to frighten,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Call me when he strikes again because he will if he isn’t caught, mark my words.’

  Stow looked back at Dylan from the desk where Lisa sat. ‘If he ever takes you for granted, Sparrow, call me. You can come and work for me any day.’

  ‘Glad to see you’re back to your old self Prof,’ said Vicky.

  ‘And wouldn’t you know it’s down to beer.’

  ‘Beer?’ said Vicky. ‘Beer?’

  ‘I kid you not. It helps flush the kidneys and the bladder. Plus, the alcohol takes the edge off the pain.’ Professor Stow’s pink flabby cheeks wobbled when he laughed.

  ‘Surely not?’

  ‘Well it works for me,’ he said with a wink of a twinkly eye. ‘And I don’t intend to have any more trouble now I know about the cure.’ Professor Stow tapped his bulbous red nose.

  Lisa scowled as she watched him leave the office, the echoes of his raucous laugh in his wake.

  ‘He is joking, right?’

  ‘No, seemingly it’s all down to the hops... you’ve just got to avoid the beer if you’re on antibiotics or narcotic pain medications otherwise you render the drugs useless and it will make you sick. He seemed perfectly serious when he told me,’ said Dylan.

  ‘He’s a funny old man,’ said Lisa.

  ‘He’s better for knowing,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Professor Stow?’ said Vicky.

  Lisa nodded her head.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ said Vicky who passed her in the doorway.

  Dylan was writing, he stopped and his pen hovered over a piece of paper. ‘They nearly killed him you know,’ he said looking up from his work.

  ‘What did?’

  ‘The kidney stones.’

  ‘Really,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Yes, what he didn’t tell you is that when we saw him at the PM it was his first day back at work,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Vicky. ‘I didn’t know you could die of kidney stones.’

  ‘Well, now you do.’

  ‘Are you busy?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Just penning some things I want to cover with ACC Smythe. I don’t want talk of her Hong Kong trip to derail us, whatever happens.’

  ‘A quick update?’

  Dylan nodded.

  Vicky sat down hands together on her lap. ‘I’ve just finished taking a statement from the volunteer at the Forget Me Not charity shop and guess what?’ she said. ‘She says the guy who brought in the fishing equipment and dental implements had a hole on the left shoulder of his hoodie. She recalls it because when she thought about it, he had the bag in his right hand as he leant over the old lady to put the bag on the counter and she saw the hole and thought to herself that they had better hoodies for sale.’

  ‘We need to trace the hoodie and more importantly the wearer.’

  Dylan’s phone rang. He picked up.

  ‘Dylan, it’s Wendy Smythe. I’m on my way over for an update. I’m sure you must have been missing me.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said with a grimace.

  ‘Thanks for the contact with Phil and Yin. I don’t know what I’d have done if they hadn’t been there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’ll update you when I see you.’

  ‘So you’re on your way now,’ he said looking at the clock. It was one thirty.’

  Vicky physically shrank in the seat and crinkled up her nose.

  ‘Look forward to it,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure the detective sergeants are available for you to speak to.’

  A broad smile crossed Dylan’s face. ‘If I have to suffer, so do you.’

  ‘Thanks for nothing,’ Vicky said.

  Raj put papers in front of Dylan to sign. No words were necessary.

  ‘You need me to be available for what?’ said DS Raj.

  ‘The meeting in about half an hour with Windy-Wendy,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Vicky,’ Dylan growled.

  ‘Whatever you do don’t mention the latest holiday,’ he said. ‘Where’s John?’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ said Raj.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ACC Wendy Smythe strode into the incident room and headed straight towards Dylan’s door. Dylan saw her and stood. He walked out into the incident room to greet her.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said offering his hand. ‘Roads busy?’

  ‘I came on the train. It seemed like a good idea at the time but I guess I was lulled into a sense of false security having just come back from China. The Chinese could teach our railway operators a thing or two about punctuality, cleanliness and courtesy,’ she said, with a sour look upon her face as she took off her jacket and brushed the back of her trousers. The ACC caught Vicky rolling her eyes at Dylan.

  ‘Made in two days for me in Hong Kong this suit, I’ll have you know. Great work ethic Tam’s Tailors have. Something that is sadly lacking in this country DS Hardacre,’ she said. She surveyed her surroundings with her nose in the air. Vicky brushed the sweet papers to one side of her worktop next to the cups of half-drunk coffee and stood with her back to her desk.

  ***

  Dylan’s office was functional and nothing more. It was no size for meetings of more than four people. The ACC sat next to Raj and DS John Benjamin, Dylan sat at his desk opposite and Vicky squeezed on to a stool in front of the shut door.

  Not off to the best of starts, the ACC’s briefing by Dylan in his office was to be long and in depth. Dylan pulled his Policy Book towards him and picked up his pen.

  ‘This hoodie with this mark on the shoulder? I’m of a mind to give the information to the press. It will show the progress we are making and we might be lucky enough to get a name of the wearer,’ said the ACC.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to have our first disagreement because that for me would be the wrong course of action.’

  The ACC scowled at Dylan. ‘Explain.’

  ‘If the wearer is our man then he’s going to get rid of the garment as soon as he is aware it is significant to our enquiry. The tracing of the specific hoodie wearer is the only continuity that we have on the CCTV in our possession. Personally I think we need to keep this under wraps.’

  ‘But think of the publicity Dylan. This simple act may give us our man.’

  ‘The profiler suggests, and for what it’s worth I agree, our killer is a loner. We need that hoodie. Giving that information to the media, at this time, I believe, would be like throwing that piece of clothing into the incinerator. Even with the hoodie in our possession, and its wearer being known to us, that still only puts him in a location before and after one of the murders. Maybe he was also the person who deposited the items at the charity shop but we have yet to get supporting evidence. We could even place him at the charity shop, let’s face it, but even then we still have no proof that the wearer of that hoodie is our serial killer. What this piece of evidence does suggest to me however is that if we can house him, with the hoodie, we are one step nearer in the right direction in the enquiry, maybe... Fibres recovered from within Alan Bell’s taxi may also take us a step further, but at this moment I don’t want any of this disclosed to the media. I don’t even want it to become common gossip in this police station, let alone the force.’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ ACC Smythe said raising her hand. ‘You’ve convinced me: for now. I’ll hold off on giving out the information. But what about an intelligence bulletin within the force showing the still of this man in the hoodie, which we have taken from the CCTV footage, near to the taxi rank, with a description of what he was wearing? It may be that one of our officers can suggest a name for him.’

  ‘I’ll agree to that. John, can you get onto it?’

  The dete
ctive sergeant was already writing down the action.

  ‘Everyone out there seems to be industrious enough,’ ACC Smythe said, fleetingly looking out of DI Dylan’s office window into the incident room. ‘And I’ve seen the snippets you have released to the media whilst I have been away,’ continued the ACC. ‘The press officer showed me the file. Thanks for your updates. Now I’m back we need to catch our killer, don’t we Inspector? So how do you intend to do it?’

  ‘All in good time. Once we have him, I want enough evidence to keep and charge him. It’s a bonus for us that he has only struck three times given the speed with which he has killed already.’

  ‘I haven’t been back at work two minutes and already feel the need for another holiday coming on,’ ACC Smythe said with a hint of melancholy in her voice.

  There was a noise outside in the incident room that drew Dylan’s attention to the outer office and almost in slow motion Dylan saw Ned stumble into Lisa’s desk and her neat work trays tumble. Vicky saw it too and Dylan saw the panic in her eyes. Raj saw the message that flashed unspoken between them and since she was sitting close to the ACC she touched her arm gently and turned to speak to her.

  ‘You must tell me about Hong Kong. It’s a place I’ve never visited,’ she said.

  Dylan looked relieved. ‘I’ll just order some coffee,’ Vicky said in what was nothing more than a whisper as she expeditiously nipped out of the door and closed it quickly behind her.

  Dylan could see Vicky tug on Ned Granger’s arm. His mouth was wide open and he stood solid. There were raised voices. Dylan’s eyes went back to the ACC and he smiled an uncomfortable smile. John excused himself from the room. The ACC was undeterred, her face animated as she described her holiday to Raj.

  ‘Well, for a start it’s quite an experience watching the Chinese doing exercises on an aeroplane,’ she said with a titter.