Killer Smile

by RC Bridgestock

‘I remember them using a small hand saw to cut through the bone at one time,’ Dylan said, his eyes never leaving the procedure taking place.

  ***

  ‘The cause of death is down to the severing of the carotid artery which means the poor man bled to death from the neck wound. Again, I don’t think due to the depth of the wound that he did this himself. This would be difficult as these arteries are protected by the windpipe. The cuts to the wrists are pretty superficial only cutting the vein... With his professional background, if he was intent on killing himself I would suggest he would have slit the vein vertically.’ Stow peered over his glasses at Dylan. ‘I asked for the back of the head to be photographed when it was shaved and that is because I wanted to record the reddening and bruising of the skin on his scalp. This is significant because it confirms to me that someone grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head quite violently, I would suggest, backwards. Most probably at the same time as they cut his throat. So Inspector in my professional opinion this is not a suicide, but murder.’

  ‘And like we thought, in your opinion, our killer wanted us to think it was suicide?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Another little test; not unlike the way he has tried to fool you before at the other murder scenes?’ said Stow.

  ‘Extracting the Michael then not a tooth?’ said Dylan.

  ‘I do the jokes Inspector,’ Stow chuckled. His belly laugh was unlike any other that Dylan had ever heard. His joviality was always infectious. ‘Now did you hear the one about the dentist who planted a garden? A month later he was picking teeth!’ he said to Vicky as they walked down the corridor to the office.

  Dylan’s job was to ensure priority exhibits such as the recovered tools were taken to the Forensic laboratory for examination. On his mind was also what needed to be sent now as a matter of urgency due to the post-mortem findings. In silence Dylan and Vicky walked out of the mortuary building. It was always such a wonderful feeling to fill the lungs with fresh air after the confines of a post-mortem.

  ‘Can I cadge a lift?’ she said. ‘Andy is going back to the nick via the hairdressers.’

  ‘He’s still courting then?’

  Vicky laughed at Dylan. ‘You are so old-fashioned sometimes,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing wrong with being a gentleman,’ he said.

  They walked towards Dylan’s car in silence by way of an avenue lined with trees. The air was still and calm. It was suddenly very qui

  The two detectives reached the car. There was a change in the air. There was a loud bleep as Dylan turned off his car alarm and he and Vicky opened their doors simultaneously. Even though it was quite dark, or as dark as it gets on a summer’s evening, above Vicky’s head Dylan saw a line of dark clouds ominously appear on the horizon.

  ‘Those look like they aren’t fooling around,’ he said pointing in the clouds’ direction.

  Doors closed, Dylan started the engine as the first fat raindrops fell on the windscreen. As they drove out of the car park the cloud seemed to burst right above them and Dylan pulled into the filling station, as much to shelter from the deluge of rain that he couldn’t drive in as to fill up with fuel.

  ‘What’s there to laugh about?’ said Dylan throwing her a whimsical glance.

  ‘Where did the dentist get his gas?’ said Vicky, laying her head back against the headrest as she turned to face him.

  ‘This is one of Stow’s jokes, right?’

  Vicky nodded, her blue eyes were laughing.

  ‘Then I have no idea,’ he said with half a smile.

  ‘At the filling station!’ she squealed as if she had been about to burst.

  ‘But that isn’t even remotely funny,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I know and that makes it even funnier,’ she said with tears now streaming down her face.

  Dylan shook his head. ‘You really are crazy, do you know that?’ he said.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later Dylan turned his vehicle into his parking space at Harrowfield Police Station.

  ‘Martin Crossfield must have gone straight to his dental practice after the funeral,’ said Vicky thoughtfully.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Well, if he didn’t, he had the same clothes on. Do you think the killer accompanied him then?’

  ‘He might have, or he might have just arranged to meet him there?’

  Dylan closed his car door and looked up towards the sky. He was thankful for the freshness the rain had brought. He waited for Vicky to alight and gather her belongings. They walked across the yard together.

  The incident room was quiet. The night shift was working. Lisa was still sitting at her computer.

  ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’ Dylan said.

  Lisa’s eyes looked red rimmed and sore.

  ‘Anything new?’ Vicky asked. She stifled a yawn.

  ‘A message on your desk from Jim Woodcock. He’s cancelled his appointment with you.’

  ‘Why?’ Vicky said. Her eyebrows knitted together.

  ‘He said he’s not ready to talk to anyone yet. He needs time to come to terms with his father’s death,’ she said.

  ‘He seemed perfectly okay at the funeral,’ she said looking at Lisa over the top of the note she held.

  ‘Well I suppose a lot of people can appear okay on the surface but sometimes it takes just a little something... Maybe the funeral has just made him realise that he’ll never see his dad again,’ said Lisa.

  Vicky crinkled her nose at her colleague. ‘I wouldn't have thought... but I guess you never know... and of course now with the death of Martin Crossfield... his friend?’

  At the rear of the office the doors swung open and in walked John and Ned.

  Ned went straight to his desk and John followed Dylan into his office. He felt in his breast pocket for his pocketbook. ‘According to the cleaner, boss the door was locked when she arrived. The cleaner tells me he’s very particular and his flat is always spotless. So clean in fact, that you wouldn’t think anyone lived there. With regard to the photographs, Claire Booth has named some of those present at the funeral for us. She can’t think of anyone who had a grudge or a bad word to say about her boss.’

  John turned to leave.

  ‘Thanks John, will you send Vicky and Raj in please?’

  ‘It’s time we were at home but I want one of you to arrange to go and see Edna Woodcock. I want to know all there is to know about her adopted son and her son-in-law. Do we know if Mr Woodcock had any other children we should know about?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ said Raj.

  ‘I just think we ought to be certain there are no more siblings knocking about.’

  Dylan picked up the report from JJ Associates that was close at hand. He turned to Raj, ‘There is something niggling me about this,’ he said passing the document to the sergeant.

  ‘The two dentists and Jim Woodcock went to a conference together. I want to know dates, times etcetera. It may be that they were out of the country for at least one of the murders which would give them an alibi without us doing any more digging,’ said Dylan.

  ‘What about the other people at the funeral?’

  ‘Put them into the system to be traced, interviewed and eliminated. Were any of them a close friend of Martin Crossfield?

  ‘The receptionist said the dentist was a hard worker who kept himself very much to himself. They all knew each other more than likely.’

  ‘A dentist, a loner... If we didn’t know otherwise Martin Crossfield should be a suspect. How come his name hasn’t come into our investigation?’ said Dylan.

  ‘I guess as a dentist in the area he will be on a list for someone to interview at some point but a visit to him was obviously not deemed as important as some of the other leads we are following up sir,’ said Raj.

  ‘Whoever our murderer is it is obvious he isn’t going to stop until we find him,’ said Dylan. ‘And once the media know the truth about our latest murder they will be on our backs like a pack of
hungry wolves.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jen stirred slightly at Dylan’s homecoming but only to throw off the duvet. The heat in the room was such that it felt hard to breathe comfortably. Dylan pulled back the curtain slightly to enable him to open the window wider. He turned to see her sleeping face and bent to kiss her forehead. She flinched as if a fly had landed upon her face but didn’t wake. He walked to his side of the bed, took off his clothes, threw them over the chair and slipped in between the sheets. He reached out for Jen’s hand, it was moist with sweat. He held it tightly and wished she was awake; to talk, to listen. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep but pictures of the murder scenes played through the darkness one by one like a silent movie; the post-mortems, the sequel to the night terror. What was he missing? Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep in which he was running between yellow, hazy streaks that turned out to be sand dunes, deep as trenches. There were grey, dimpled, faceless beings above him, pointing the finger; guilty, guilty of what? He was running for his life, he could barely breathe and in that moment he went over the edge of a cliff and into an abyss. He was falling, falling into a deep, dark sea. Dylan felt a strong jolt in his chest and he woke. His body was bathed in sweat and his heart beat was erratic. He lifted himself up on his elbow. He was panting. There was light through the gap in the curtain from the street lamp outside which afforded him the relief of seeing his wife’s sleeping face, content in her peaceful slumber and he felt a surge of love.

  He lay back on his pillow. His head sank into the damp hollow. The bedside clock showed three a.m. The phone rang.

  ‘Sir, Force Control,’ a voice said. ‘I have been asked to advise you by the Night Inspector at Harrowfield that he has implemented the area sweep action plan in conjunction with Operation Tangent.’

  Dylan sat up as if he were a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. ‘What are the circumstances?’

  ‘A lady unlocking her pedal cycle at the side of the China House restaurant where she had just finished her shift. She was hit from behind. Fortunately she had already put on her cycle helmet which broke the force of the blow but it still knocked her to the ground. One of our regular callers, Eddie who operates the council night road sweeper turned into the alley way and the attacker fled.’

  ‘She was lucky.’

  ‘She certainly was sir.’

  ‘Who’s the Inspector?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Stonestreet.’

  Dylan breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘At this moment the lady is in A and E and the Inspector has sent an officer to be with her. The scene is taped off. The static observations are in position and the helicopter is airborne. So with a bit of luck... we’ll locate our attacker.’

  ‘Can this Eddie give us any description of the attacker?’

  ‘Male, dark trousers, possibly denim jeans and a dark hooded top. He only got a brief glance but he does recollect white trainers or they may have had some sort of neon strip that caught his eye. Whether the incident is connected with your murders or not is yet to be seen but Inspector Stonestreet has a grip on it.’

  ‘I’m sure he has. Let him know I’m turning out will you. I’ll head to the scene at China House so will you let on duty scenes of crime and the night detective know I’ll see them there. Also can we ensure that any CCTV known to us in that area, especially in the direction he was heading is seized?’

  ‘Consider it done sir, all that has been added to the log.’

  Dylan was up, shaved and dressed. Jen stumbled out of bed towards him.

  ‘Are you just coming home or going out again,’ she said in a sleepy voice.

  ‘Going back out. I’ll ring you later.’

  ‘But... ’

  ‘Shh... it’s okay someone’s been attacked and the culprit has run off. I’ll have to go,’ he said giving her a kiss on her cheek as she yawned.

  ‘Make sure you put some fruit and a cereal bar in your briefcase....’ The door was closed and her words were silenced by the sound of his running feet on the stairs.

  Dylan got into his car. He sat for a moment and listened. Everything was so very quiet and still. He switched on his lights. Driving in the middle of the night, when he had had little sleep felt like living in a dream world. Often the nightmare proceeded when he was faced with the horrors of the imminent scene he had been called out to appraise. As he drove through the Sibden Valley towards Harrowfield he passed the dim shapes of farm buildings, Sibden Hall and the speckled show of lights above the town at the peak of Harrowfield Old Road; a welcome sight. As the car gathered momentum on the descent some creature ran out in front. Dylan’s foot hit the brake and the suddenness of pressure brought about a loud screech of brakes. The car was broadside at a standstill, in the middle of the unlit road. Dylan wound his window down. His heart beat rapidly. He couldn’t see a thing around him except the drystone walling he had barely missed, in his headlights. Breathing more freely he wound down his window. Close by a rusty wire fence trembling caught his eye as a creature of the night vanished over it. Was it good luck or bad to see a black Manx cat had crossed his path? He couldn’t remember but, it was definitely lucky for the feline.

  Dylan’s car emerged from the darkness as the road lighting now led the way into town. What seemed like moments later he was at the scene of the attack; ‘the circus’ was already there and what was night was now day thanks to the police dragon lamps illuminating the scene.

  ‘Sir,’ said DC Ned Granger who presented himself to his boss. He had kept somewhat of a low profile since his misdemeanour and was obviously keen to impress.

  ‘What’ve we got Ned,’ said Dylan.

  ‘The victim is a Rachel Nicholson, she’s twenty-two years old, a wannabe singer who works part-time as a waitress. She travels to and fro from her home address to her workplace on a regular basis, on her bike. She always locks this with a chain to the drainpipe at the side of the premises. I am told that there had been no previous problems. What struck me is that this girl, it is said by the restaurant owners, is known for her beautiful smile and brilliant white teeth,’ he said.

  Inspector Stonestreet joined them. In his arms he carried a small black cat. ‘I wonder if Miss Nicholson stooped down to stroke this gorgeous creature?’

  Ned looked bemused.

  ‘It’s said to be lucky to touch a black cat,’ said Inspector Stonestreet.

  ‘Well, she was lucky that’s for sure,’ Ned said.

  ‘This is the work of our killer Peter isn’t it?’ Dylan put his hand out to stroke the cat. ‘I guess we could all do with a bit of luck right now in this investigation couldn’t we? Have we got an update on her?’

  Peter Stonestreet kissed the cat between its ears and as if it knew it was being dismissed it leapt out of his arms and onto the floor. It was in no hurry to leave him however, brushing up against his leg in an adoring way. ‘Slight fracture to the skull, she’ll be detained. No doubt about it though her helmet saved her from serious injury, possibly death.’

  ‘I want the headgear seized as an exhibit Ned along with the clothing that she was wearing. Have you seized the CCTV at the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ said Ned. ‘But, it only covers the front of the premises according to the owners.’

  Inspector Stonestreet was distracted by the running commentary of the observer in the Force helicopter that could be heard over the airways. ‘The helicopter has a man in its sights. He’s running on the canal bank towards Waterford Road in a westerly direction.’

  Ned retrieved his pocketbook to record the description being given: shorts, sleeveless vest, white trainers.

  The jogger was running at pace now on the canal bank but they were staying with him. A few yards on and the jogger had stopped. They’d lost him amongst the bridges and the mill. However a few minutes later he re-appeared. He had his hands on his hips and he was bent over the canal. The commentary continued.

  ‘He looks like he may be vomiting. The jogger is up and running b
ut we’ve a lot slower pace. He’s now walking, and within five hundred yards of our officers. Man now being checked by patrol officers. We will continue to search the area.’

  ‘Inspector Stonestreet to Control. Can you ask the officers who are doing the checks on the jogger to keep me updated please. I am with the SIO at the scene outside the China House Restaurant.’

  DS Vicky Hardacre joined the group.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Wet her bed more like,’ said Ned flicking the baseball cap off her head.

  ‘Who says I was in my bed?’ she said with a nod in the direction of a police car that was leaving the scene as she picked her hat up off the floor.

  ‘Well, by the way you’re dressed ...,’ he said raising an eyebrow.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Dylan said. ‘What do you already know Vicky?’

  ‘It’s okay I heard what’s going on en route, sir,’ she said.

  They stood quietly around Inspector Stonestreet, waiting for an update from Force Control.

  ‘New member of the team?’ Vicky said looking down at the black cat that sat patiently watching them from the branch of a nearby tree that stood in a pot on the precinct pavement.

  ‘That’s the second I’ve seen today,’ Dylan said. ‘The other was lucky it didn’t end up under my tyres.’

  The cat raised its head, turned and precariously walked along the branch.

  ‘You know what that means don’t you sir?’ she said seriously.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s bad luck to see a black cat early in the morning and for it to walk away – OMG that’s the worst...’

  Ned looked at Dylan. ‘It’s official. She has lost her chuffin’ marbles.’ He turned to Vicky, ‘You have, you’re bloody nuts!’

  Inspector Stonestreet’s radio crackled and a voice came over the airwaves.

  ‘PC Jordan,’ said the officer at the canal scene. ‘Our jogger is still trying to get his breath back. He reckons we shocked him so much he can’t talk to us yet. At present he’s only given us that he’s in the habit of running when he can’t sleep... He looks in a bad way truth be told. I can’t think he runs very often.’