‘It’s nice to be able to stretch your legs and get a drink during the long flight isn’t it?’ said Raj.
‘It is. You could eat your meal off the floor in the airport at Lan Tau, but the food markets are a different thing. A Chinese stall holder cut a chicken’s throat in front of me and I was assured it was to show how fresh it was.’ Wendy Smythe pulled a face. ‘And some of the insects they’d have you eat... taste horrid.’ It was Rajinder’s turn to pull a face. ‘I had to go to the dentist there too... First time ever abroad. Well, it’s alright being able to speak tourist Cantonese but another to explain to a dentist which yáchǐ... That’s how your friends got involved.’
Raj and Dylan looked puzzled.
‘Tooth ... needed attention,’ she said showing Raj a gap in the gum on her bottom jaw.
‘Ouch,’ said Raj. ‘That still looks sore.’
‘I’m sure you jinxed me with this with this bloody case,’ she said to Dylan whose attention was still on the incident unfolding in the CID office. ‘They were so helpful... your friends,’ she said, her voice trailing to a whisper as she turned her head to look over her shoulder and see what Dylan was looking at. The office was empty. ‘Am I boring you?’ she asked Dylan with a frown and a good humoured smile.
‘Yes, no, I was just wondering where John and Vicky had got to?’ said Dylan. ‘It’s always good to have someone with you who speaks the lingo when anything like that happens isn’t it?’ he said, turning his attention back to the ACC.
‘Yes, and Yin thankfully speaks fluent Cantonese. She took me to a dentist she knew and was chatting to him all the time he worked on me. I told her to tell him I was heading an investigation regarding a murderer who extracted teeth from his victims when he said he had to take out mine. He actually spoke very good English and he went on to tell me that they had a similar case in Hong Kong that he had advised the police on. Their killer was never caught. He suggested Yin speak to the person in charge, so you never know you might get an email from her, him, them. I can’t understand why anyone would want to be a dentist though can you? Can you imagine looking in people’s mouths all day?’ she said. She shuddered.
‘You and I know everything is a commodity,’ said Dylan. ‘In Hong Kong as well as over here.’
‘How would you go about selling teeth and what does one do with someone else’s?’
‘Ned Granger,’ said Dylan, ‘tells me someone he knows makes jewellery with human teeth. His acquaintance buys them on the internet.’
‘Ned Granger. I thought someone was missing. Where is he?’
Vicky returned at that precise moment to hear his name being mentioned. Everyone looked her way.
‘Ned?’ said Dylan.
‘Yes he...’ she said. Her eyes locked into Dylan’s and she looked flustered.‘...has taken some exhibits to the lab.’
The door finally closed behind ACC Smythe. Dylan, Raj and Vicky breathed a sigh of relief.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ said Dylan.
‘Ned’s with John. He’s not in a good way.’
‘Hungover or not, tell him I want to see him!’ Dylan said, his face was like thunder.
***
Dylan was a few minutes from home – DC Granger was on his final warning. Why the hell would some people never grow up? He had told his detective constable how disappointed he was in him. The man had cried. Next time Dylan would have no choice, he told him, he’d be out.
Dylan’s head hurt, he took a sip of water. His mobile phone rang. He indicated and pulled in to the side of the road. The phone stopped ringing, no number available. He looked in his mirror, indicated. The driver coming out of the hospital entrance flashed his car lights to allow him out. The mobile rang again. He waved the good samaritan on. The driver of the car looked at him bemused as he went past and shook his head at Dylan. Dylan knew that face, but where from?
‘Hello. Dylan,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘It’s Beryl...’ said the caller. ‘The fishing line that was on the reels you sent across to me to be examined? It’s a definite match to the garrotte recovered from the taxi in the Alan Bell murder enquiry.’
‘So quick? Really?’
‘Really. It’s too late today, but tomorrow I’ll be straight on it and look at the fishing line under higher magnification for the possible matching of wire cutting grooves.’
‘Excellent,’ Dylan said looking up at the clear night sky.
‘We aim to please,’ she said. Dylan could tell she also had a smile on her face.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet, but I thought it was a piece of news too good not to share. You have a good evening.’
‘You too, no doubt we will speak tomorrow.’
With that the line went dead. Dylan held the phone in his hand for a moment or two. He realised his hand was sweating. Even without the killer or the hoodie the evidence trail was substantial.
***
Jen saw Dylan pulling up on the driveway. Dylan saw Maisy opened the front door. She ran out of the house and into his arms. ‘Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!’ she called out in her high pitched, excited way. ‘When did you learn to do that little lady?’ said Dylan.
‘Today!’ she said with an eyebrow raised. ‘What a nice surprise to see you home early for once,’ said Jen as she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Well,’ she looked at her watch. ‘Early for you,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll get your dinner on before I bath Maisy.’
‘It’s been one of those days.’ Dylan sighed as he sipped a coffee. ‘But, things might be looking up. I’ve just had a call from Forensic. The fishing line wire on the reel we had handed in at the charity shop, is a match for the garrotte found in the taxi.’
‘No?’
‘Yes, and since it was the last murder that was committed by our would-be serial killer I am hoping we can prove beyond doubt that it was cut from the line that was handed in.’
‘Pasta okay?’
Dylan nodded, unable to speak as Maisy, who sat on his lap insisted on putting her hands over his mouth.
‘Pull a funny face Daddy, for Maisy,’ she said, squealing with delight as he did as she asked. She turned his face to look in the mirror and attempted to copy him.
Dylan’s mobile phone rang. Jen took Maisy. He picked the phone up from where it lay with his keys on the kitchen table. The smile on their daughter’s face was immediately gone.
‘Dylan,’ he said, brusquely.
Maisy started to cry. Jen put her finger to her lips.
‘Yes it’s DI Dylan,’ he said turning into the hallway where it was quieter.
‘Sorry to trouble you sir. It’s Geoff Painter, Coroner’s Officer. I’m ringing you to inform you of the death of Mr Timothy Woodcock. He suffered a major heart seizure and there was a Do Not Resuscitate note on his hospital file. I understand that one of your officers, according to hospital staff, had been to see him so I thought I would let you know in case it was relevant to ongoing investigations.’
‘He wasn’t a suspect Geoff, but his home address does feature and formed part of an investigation. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll ensure the incident room updates our records accordingly.’
The face in the car, he remembered it was that of Timothy Woodcock’s son Jim. Maybe he’d called in to see his dying father.
Dylan returned to the kitchen. He smiled at Jen and held his arms out to Maisy. ‘Come here you,’ he said to his daughter. ‘How about I read you your bedtime story tonight?’
‘You’re not going anywhere?’ said Jen.
‘No,’ he said. He saw the relief on her face.
‘The call, I thought...’
Dylan put his finger to her lips. ‘I know what you thought. I see you jump when the phone rings and a look of sadness come into your eyes, don’t think I don’t. But not tonight; now, where’s my dinner?’
Dylan growled at Maisy as he put her down on the floor and proceeded to chase the squealing child around the house
.
***
Dylan dropped Maisy off at Chantall’s the next morning. It was the first time he had seen Maisy’s childminder since Maisy had been ill. At the door she was met by her friend Annabelle and the two little girls linked hands and skipped off without so much as a by your leave. He smiled. Dylan was well aware of the need to learn good social skills in life and the ability to make friends was one of the most important.
The morning briefing was over in twenty minutes. Dylan updated the team with regards to the death of Mr Woodcock senior. He also told them about his call from forensic.
‘I want to know who our local burglars are? Who has admitted to burglaries in a twenty mile radius of the Woodcock’s family home? Nothing from your informants Ned, Andy?’
The men shook their heads.
‘I’m going to brief the ACC about the developments. I want you out and about and with your ear to the ground.’
The assembled team members left the meeting with a positive spring in their step.
Dylan didn’t need to ring ACC Smythe to update her. She was already on the other end of the phone the minute he sat down at his desk.
‘We need to speak Dylan. I’ve been thinking. I want to give the media pictures of this very distinctive fishing reel and dentistry set to see if anyone comes forward to say they recognise it?’
‘Media involvement at this time would gain us nothing other than to alert the killer of the connection we have made.’
‘But think about the PR Dylan and the reassurance that we would be giving the public by showing them we are making headway with the investigations. I’m coming over. I want to discuss this further.’
Dylan gritted his teeth. The receiver rocked in its cradle where he had all but thrown it. ‘More about her bloody ego than in the furtherance of the investigation,’ he said to himself. ‘I won’t let her do it.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DS Vicky Hardacre had been out on enquiries with DC Ned Granger. A few minutes after their return there was a noisy commotion in the outer office.
‘What’s happening?’ said Dylan to Raj who delivered a facsimile from Forensic marked for his urgent attention?
‘The latest teeth joke,’ she said with a titter.
‘Go on,’ said Dylan.
‘I’m not good at this but... The teeth say to the tongue. ‘If I just press a little, you’ll get cut.’ The tongue replies, ‘And if I misuse just one single word, all thirty-two of you will come out.’
‘Not bad,’ he said with a smile. ‘Who’s the fax from?’ Dylan took the piece of paper from her outstretched hand.
‘Looks like the rough cut edge of the fishing line, on the recovered reel is an exact fit to one end of the piece of fishing line used to make the garrotte found in the taxi.’ Dylan eyes left the piece of paper and found Raj’s for a brief moment. He looked back at the printed words and back at Raj. ‘So we can say beyond doubt that the garrotte was made from the line that had been on that reel. That’s excellent news. Brilliant work by Beryl and her team.’
The door of the incident room slammed shut and the room went deathly quiet. Raj turned to see what had caused the sudden mood change. The ACC stood at Dylan’s door.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.
‘Tea, black with lemon for me,’ ACC Watkins said. Raj looked at Dylan.
‘Coffee, strong, spoonful of sugar,’ he said as he watched her place the large designer Blue Shirt Bag atop papers on the corner of his desk. Dylan’s eyes flashed upwards to meet Raj’s. Don’t ask if it came from Hong Kong, they pleaded. Raj left closing the door behind her.
***
They now had the murder weapon and it would be naive to think the two missing implements from the set of antique dentistry tools hadn’t also been used in the fatal attacks. But who was the killer and why did he kill, for teeth?
‘Who had access to Mr Woodcock senior’s home other than a burglar?’ said ACC Smythe.
‘The deceased, who was a retired dentist, his estranged wife Edna Woodcock, who now lives with her daughter Ginny and her husband Devlin Gillard, also dentists. Their adopted son Jim.’
‘What about the neighbours? If Mr Woodcock senior was in bad health did he have some kind of help around the home? It seems to me that solving this burglary is our priority. What are you doing?’
‘It appears he didn’t have any help, no. We are doing what we can. We’ve already done house to house enquires. I’ve got the team researching known burglars who operate in and around the area; it isn’t a high risk area, and we’ve done a leaflet drop. I’m open to suggestions to whatever else you think we might do?’
Wendy Smythe sighed heavily and held the eye contact she had made with Dylan. ‘I’m not happy. We need to talk through this media issue. I don’t want to keep information back from the public anymore; that could quite easily backfire on us.’
‘I agree, but neither do we want our killer to know the progress we are making. We would not only be sharing with the general public what we know but also with the murderer. If he thinks for one moment we are getting near to him, it might make him think he’s got nothing to lose... He hasn’t struck a fourth time – yet. Perhaps the influx of officers in Harrowfield has made him lie low, and if it has, we now need to find him before he gets the urge, or the courage to come out of hiding for his next unsuspecting prey.’
‘But would the disclosure to the press not flush him out?’
‘I’m not sure it would, no. I don’t want to show our hand at this stage in the enquiry.’
‘So what’s the alternative? Give me your proposed strategy Dylan to capture to our killer, before he strikes again.’
Dylan’s insistence on secrecy left Wendy Smythe poised above a precipice. She looked at the facsimile that lay in her hands. She was thoughtful and so was he. He got up and stood at the window looking out into the back yard. All was still. Wendy Smythe was aware of his strange stillness, the quiet strength within him. She appeared to him like the big black bird on the window sill, ready to pounce and to carry off something or someone in her claws. That someone was Dylan – off the enquiry.
‘We both know he could strike at any time,’ he said without turning to face her.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Lisa entered to put a tray of drinks on his desk. He looked over his shoulder and back before putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
Only when ACC Smythe had picked up her drink did he come back to sit opposite her. ‘We are building up a profile and all the while we are gathering evidence. We know what he wore. The hoodie is distinctive because of this hole on the left shoulder. We know he has access to a pedal cycle and uses cycle paths. We know where the fishing line that he used as his garrotte on the Alan Bell murder came from, and we can safely say it is highly likely that the tools that are missing from the dentistry set in our possession are the tools he has used to extract his victim’s teeth. We know he has had some training and knowledge of dentistry by the way the teeth are removed. And we know his prey are those with healthy looking, brilliant white teeth. So that’s our nucleus, we now have to retrace our steps to see if we have missed anything. We also have an action plan in place should he strike again. We are on the right track,’ he said. ‘I’m confident we’ll get there.’
Wendy Smythe held the cup to her lips. ‘But when...’
‘When, is the difficult question to answer,’ he said.
‘I can’t say I’m not impressed,’ she said. The cup remained in her hand but she rested it on her knee. ‘But, is there anything at all we can feed to the press? I am overseeing the investigation and I feel like I should be doing more to inform the public. The press side of the enquiry I can handle, which I am hopeful keeps the journalists away from your door and allows you to get on with the investigation.’
His blue eyes stared. He sat in his old leather chair with a stillness that was like that of a rock.
Wendy ran a finger around the rim of her e
mpty cup. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them.
‘Our Family Liaison Officer on the Carl Braithwaite enquiry is PC Mitchell. Michelle tells me that the family are very pro-police and let’s face it this maniac has murdered their son and he is still at large. They are desperate to do something to help. What if we can encourage them to do an appeal with you about how much the “not knowing” for them, is stopping them from moving forward with their lives? From the media’s point of view they have had very little access to the families of the victims, this may just keep the press on board for now.’ Dylan said.
She looked across at him. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding. ‘But from now on we need to review our position on a weekly basis and we need to regularly update the press to keep them on board.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dylan picking up his coffee cup and drinking its contents down in one.
ACC Smythe stood. Dylan was pleased, he had expected it to be harder to win her over to his way of thinking but he would never have given in to her request to give the media all they knew.
‘Right I’m off Dylan to have lunch with your delightful Divisional Commander. I’ll ask him what he’s doing to assist in detecting these murders in his Division. That’ll make him cough and splutter a bit on his big custard tart,’ she said.
And with that she collected her bag and was gone.
Vicky came to see him, a pork pie in hand.
‘What’ve you done now?’ said Dylan. He eyed her suspiciously but nevertheless took it from her.
‘It’s not from me boss, Lisa got it for you from your favourite pie shop whilst she was out on lunch. Ned paid...’
‘It’s to be hoped he’s learned his lesson this time. A team is only...,’
‘...as strong as its weakest link,’ she finished the sentence for him.
‘And I won’t have any weak links on my team,’ he said with a frown that caused a deep line on his forehead. He took a bite of his utopia. The warm meat juices ran down his chin. ‘Mmm... I’ll be out in a minute,’ he said as he retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket.
Killer Smile Page 24
