There was a finality in Jen’s voice. Dylan rose and stood by his window, and was just able to distinguish the shape of the officers whose stooped tired bodies were making their way hurriedly towards the police building anticipating the debrief and being dismissed to go home to their beds.
‘Yes, it’s procedure for them to search the house if he was arrested for driving under the influence of drink or drugs, should he have any drugs at home.’
‘Dad can’t deal with this on his own; he’ll not cope with the shame of it. He needs me there.’
Dylan turned, took a step towards his desk when a rap came at his door. He looked up and made a gesture at Vicky to leave him be. ‘No. Jen. Listen to me. Think of Maisy. Please don’t go rushing off. You don’t need to go. Thelma is with your dad. It’s her son. He’s nothing to do with your dad.’
‘Will he be released on bail, back to Dad’s house?’ she said directly.
Dylan looked up at the full moon that hung in a blackened sky. What could he say that meant he did not lie to her? He said nothing. He knew Ozzy would be released on bail. The National Crime Agency would see to it.
‘He will be released back to my dad’s won’t he?’
‘Yes, I would think so unless he has some other permanent residence? Look, I can’t... I don’t know all the facts and right now I’m needed in a debrief. We’ve arrested Jim Woodcock for the murders.’
A cold clarity seemed to possess Jen. ‘This will kill my dad. Honesty, integrity, it’s all what dad’s about...’ A sob caught in her throat.
‘Jen, I’ll be home after the debrief and we can talk then.’
***
Dylan slept fitfully; like a fierce but tired animal, and next morning Maisy had woken at five o’clock and Jen’s hands had been full entertaining their daughter. He was out of the house before dawn. He found it very difficult to be distant with Jen but there wasn’t anything he could say to alleviate her anxiety and since nothing had been forthcoming from the Isle of Wight he could only assume that Ozzy was yet to be bailed.
The incident room office phone was ringing as he entered the room and looking around him he realised there was only him there to answer it.
‘Detective Inspector Dylan,’ he said.
‘Are you the man in charge?’ said a man with a rasp in his voice.
‘I am. How can I help you?’ Dylan fingers ran fluidly through the papers in the in-tray on the desk. This had all the hallmarks of a crank call. The line went quiet for a moment or two. ‘You still there?’ Dylan said cocking his head on one side as he looked at the inside of a file. He paused, took the phone away from his ear, looked at the receiver and was just about to put it back on its cradle when there was a high pitched scream.
‘Is everything okay?’ said Dylan with a furrowed brow.
‘Sorry, damn cat dragging a bloody dead mouse into the office. Our tea lady, she’ll never get used to dead vermin appearing all over the place. I keep telling her the cats are either wanting to feed her or show off their hunting skill and in return they only want a bit of fuss, don’t you Smudge?’ he said. Dylan could hear a distinctive, loud purring. ‘But she won’t have it will she?’ he said kindly. Dylan was about to hang up. ‘Broadstairs, it’s Ted Broadstairs I’m night security man for Ventrix Mill on Waterford Road,’ he said. The man grunted and in Dylan’s mind’s eye he had bent and placed the cat on the floor. ‘I heard on the local radio last night that you were looking for some discarded clothing in relation to an attack on our patch.’
‘Yes, that’s right, why?’ said Dylan a look of optimism caressed his face. He picked up a pen and pulled a blank piece of paper towards him.
‘I, well, I found some clothing rolled up on the landing of the fire escape at the back of the mill, canal-side. It’s only recently been put there. I know because I have to check the fire exits daily for obstructions,’ he said.
‘You’ve not moved it?’
‘No, not yet I haven’t. I have checked the security CCTV footage and it shows a bloke leaning onto the landing and placing the clothing there – then he clears off. Bloody suspicious I think... Thought you’d like to know about it.’
‘You’re right, I do. Do you keep your CCTV on twenty-four-seven?’
‘Too right we do and the tapes are stored in chronological order for easy retrieval, if need be.’
‘Thank you. Can I ask you to leave the clothing in situ and someone will be with you in...’ Dylan lifted his arm and pulled back his shirt sleeve to look at his watch, ‘in the next half an hour,’ he said.
***
Vicky pulled up a chair, straddled it and with her arms crossed on the back of it she didn’t take her eyes off the clothing that was being shown to Dylan from inside an exhibit bag. Dylan had to stop himself punching the air. The rolled up pair of trousers were wrapped inside a blue hoodie. In the inside pocket of the hoodie were found two shiny dental tools.
‘From Martin Crossfield’s surgery do you think?’ Vicky said.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘He would have needed something to replace the ones he had left behind wouldn’t he if he had intended to carry on with the killings?’ Dylan briefly closed his eyes. ‘Please God,’ he thought.
The CCTV that had been seized would be, as a matter of urgency, copied. This would then be their working copy which could be used for viewing. As a priority the master copy would be sealed and retained for evidential purposes.
Dylan sat with Vicky and Raj to view the tape. For what appeared like forever the three looked at an empty fire escape. Then as if it was a rat that was finding its way down a sewer pipe a hand was seen feeling around the step and onto the landing. A few seconds later a man’s head appeared. The head was topped with dark flyaway hair. He disappeared. Those present watching the tape groaned. But before long he lifted himself up by his arms to look on the landing. Now his eyes could be seen. Again, his image fell away. With one big push they saw his chin come into view but it was skywards and all that they could see was his neck until suddenly, plain to see, there was a perfect full screen of Jim Woodcock’s face.
The email addressed to ACC Wendy Smythe was urgent. On receipt she picked up the telephone and rang Dylan.
‘With that sort of luck you should buy a lottery ticket,’ she said. ‘So what time’s the interview?’
‘Nine thirty,’ said Dylan. ‘But, once I disclose these findings to Perfect and Best I wouldn’t think it’s going to happen until at least ten o’clock.’
‘You’ve enough ammunition I’d have thought to sink an armada now with this. It’ll be interesting to see if he talks. I’ll be over sometime this afternoon. I’ve a discipline hearing to attend in the next thirty minutes but I’m sure you will still be talking when I get out. Keep me updated. And Jack...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well done,’ she said before putting the phone down. Dylan was still smiling when his phone rang a few seconds later.
‘Dylan,’ said Gary Warner. ‘I’ve a bit of bad news. They’ve released Oswald Moore on bail, for reasons already known to you. The home where he was living, Jen’s dad’s house has been given as the address where he will reside so it is expected he will go there.’
‘Promise me you keep a close eye on his whereabouts won’t you?’
‘Yes, we will.’
‘Jen is adamant she wants to go down and take our daughter Maisy with her.’
‘No need. Our source reckons Ozzy will be on his toes within the hour, and the surveillance team will be behind him. Hopefully he will lead us right to the team bringing the drugs in and ultimately the stash.
‘You’re sure everything is going to plan.’
‘I’m sure.’
Dylan put the phone down. Vicky walked in his office. His face was sombre.
‘I thought you’d be bouncing off the walls,’ she said. ‘Rachel Nicholson has been released from hospital.’ Vicky frowned. ‘What’s up?’
He pondered. Was a trouble shared, a trouble halved?
> ‘Nothing. It’s going to be another late one. Let’s get some breakfast inside us while we have time,’ he said. ‘At least before we rain on Jim Woodcock’s parade. It should be game, set and match to us today with any luck.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight.
DS Raj and DI Jack Dylan sat in the interview room with a toothless James Woodcock. His solicitor sat to his left but very slightly behind him. Without turning his head she was out of eye contact with her client. Vicky watched and listened with John Benjamin from the monitor established in Dylan’s office.
Woodcock was reminded that he was still under caution.
Dylan started the questioning by disclosing the finding of the clothing, showing him photographs of each item, referring to each with an exhibit number. He showed him the dental tools and then a still photograph from the CCTV tape which was a picture of the person placing the clothes onto the factory’s fire escape landing.
‘Is that you?’ Dylan asked the prisoner.
‘I don’t need to say anything do I?’ he said turning to his solicitor. Ms Perfect shook her head with two short, jerky movements
‘She’s right. You don’t, but we all know it is you isn’t it?’
Woodcock made no reply and slowly leant as far away from the table as his chair would allow.
‘I believe Mr Woodcock that you attempted to murder Rachel Nicholson by hitting her over the head with a wooden truncheon. Fortunately for her this time you were disturbed and ran away. You collected the bicycle you used as transport into Harrowfield and at this time discarded the weapon. When you reached the canal, which you thought was far enough away for us to suspect you were involved you abandoned your bike, took off your outer garments to suggest to anyone you came into contact with that you were out jogging and put your clothes in what you thought was a safe place, until you could collect them later. You then commenced to jog along the canal where you came face to face with the two uniformed officers. Your intention was to kill Rachel Nicholson and remove some of her teeth wasn’t it?’
Jim Woodcock made eye contact with Dylan and shifted his body slightly to face him full on. He leant forward, his shoulders dropped. His face sagged, his eyes were dark, and his direct look piercing. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a controlled slight up turning of his lips. ‘Well done. Checkmate to you I think Inspector.’
Dylan felt Raj’s body recoil beside him. The professional mask still didn’t slip.
‘Credit to you and the team Inspector that I’m here so soon,’ he said. ‘That was not my intention.’
‘Thank you, but if you would, I’d now like to talk to you about each murder.’
‘Understandable,’ he said with a nod of his head. ‘As you rightly said before, I’m not going anywhere.’ Woodcock shuffled in his seat.
‘Comfortable,’ said Dylan.
‘Perfectly,’ said Woodcock
‘Okay, so let us begin. The first killing that we are aware of is the young lady cyclist Davina Walsh? Do you want to tell us any different?’
‘Yes, she was my first. Her downfall was routine. It was me who decided which day I would end her life,’ he said with a wink of his eye. ‘I was in control... father was dying... I had the power. I wanted a new set of teeth...’
‘You used a garrotte?’
‘Kindest way I thought. Silent, quick and clean,’ he said, drawing a hand across his neck. He made a rasping sound.
‘Then you removed her teeth, quite skilfully, I am told by the experts.’
‘I could have made a good dentist.’ Woodcock screwed up his face. ‘I just didn’t fancy it. But I did learn how to make my own dentures. I had to kill my victims so that they didn’t move whilst I executed the procedure. Lovely white teeth she had. Don’t you think there is something wonderfully clean and exciting about white teeth Inspector? The extraction of a tooth is such a wonderfully exciting ultimate procedure for someone like me. My father would have been proud. I was a natural. He used to say to me when I was young. “teeth are nice and white when new. They make for a smile and help you chew...” to try and get me to wear the dentures he had made for me.’
‘The used condom did throw us for a while...’ said Dylan.
Woodcock grimaced. ‘Dirty bastards, and in a police car in a public place too. I hope they got what they deserved. Everyone to their own. I’m not homophobic but... there is a limit to what people can stomach isn’t there?’ Jim Woodcock shuddered.
‘What about Carl Braithwaite? Remember, the murder in which you staged a robbery scene for us’
‘It was just one of those nights when I couldn’t sleep. He came out of the nightclub as I walked past. I asked him the time. He was nice, polite, he had lovely white teeth. Jealousy really is such a horrible thing...’
‘But you didn’t use a garrotte on that occasion, any reason?’
‘I didn’t have it with me. This one wasn’t planned. I found the weapon as I walked behind him down the snicket. I whacked him over the head.’ Woodcock’s eyes went up to the corner of the room. ‘The noise... it echoed... real eerie it was. About the only time I actually felt scared that I’d be caught and I hadn’t gained the label of serial killer.’ It was evident that Woodcock was reliving the moment. He looked back at the detectives with a smile. ‘Didn’t stop me pulling his teeth though. Some teeth are easier than others to pull out you know.’ Dylan knew full well he was talking through his fantasy but as long as he was admitting his crimes the detectives would listen.
‘You must be very good to be able to extract so many teeth so quickly. Yet again the experts told me that the extractions were done very professionally.’
‘Of course. I am a professional,’ he said. ‘If I don’t do it right, I don’t get the same feeling of satisfaction either.’ With a cock of his head Woodcock’s eyebrows knitted together.
‘Who was it next?’
‘You know very well who it was Inspector, don’t tease me.’ Woodcock smiled on one side of his face coyly at Dylan. ‘Alan Bell The number of times I’ve travelled in his cab just to see those lovely white teeth of his. He stinks, terrible choice of aftershave, has the most annoying personality traits but his teeth are truly to die for.’ Woodcock’s face lit up. His eyes smiled. ‘Ha ha! I made a joke,’ he said looking directly at Rajinder. ‘To die for! He stopped, his face took on a frown. ‘Why are you not smiling?’
‘Let’s move on. Was dropping the garrotte...’
‘...an accident? Yes, it was,’ he said with a slow nod of the head. ‘I had to leave pretty quickly on that occasion. His fare came back out of the house. But not before planting one of the cyclist’s teeth for you to find.’ Woodcock pulled a face. ‘I didn’t really want to part with it but I didn’t want to let anyone else take credit for that murder. You see now, after three murders, I knew I would be given the status of a serial killer – not only in the newspapers... but also that woman, your boss, she went on TV talking about the murders. Fame at last!’
Dylan was conscious that the forty-five minute long tape was about to run out. If Woodcock and his solicitor agreed to carry on with the questioning the evidence would be admissible in a court of law. The tape was changed quickly by expert hands. It was sealed and signed. The detectives didn’t want Woodcock to dry up on them, not now. A new tape was installed and the interview continued. Dylan reminded Woodcock he was still under caution.
‘I’m intrigued,’ said Dylan. ‘How did you choose Martin Crossfield as one of your victims?’
‘Ah, Martin... we met for the first time in Hong Kong a couple of years ago. I’d gone with Devlin the devil, my brother-in-law to a dentist conference. Father always paid for me to go, long after he stopped working. He never did give up on me becoming a dentist. I did let him down. Not because I didn’t become a dentist but because he lost his job because of me. You see, he collected the teeth they found at home for me... because he had let me pull them out. It also made my paranoid sister happy to know her husband wasn’t up to anything he shouldn’t be... Oh my
god if only she knew... he was worse than me! He gets bored very easily. We went looking for a bit of excitement in Hong Kong.’ Woodcock raised his eyebrow and then winked at Dylan. ‘Devlin likes a bit of fun with the girls, but that got a bit out of hand and hey presto I found another way of collecting teeth! Martin, Devlin and I went to Tam’s Tailors together and got a new suit made. We thought we’d put them to the test. They really can make a suit up in a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘We got talking about the fun we’d had on that trip at Dad’s expense at his funeral. Martin and I were both wearing the suits we had bought out there that day, funnily enough. Now, Martin has got the ultimate teeth for anyone with a teeth fetish. He didn’t need to pay the girls for their services, handsome creature that he is... was... We got chatting. Devlin had to get home. He’s under the thumb,’ he said with a snigger. ‘Martin said he’d drop me off at home but he needed to go back to the practice. His surgery has just been refurbished, and he asked me if I wanted to go back with him to take a look. Now, I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, was I?’
Woodcock’s eyes clouded over. He scowled. ‘He poured me a drink. Then he started mocking me about my condition... He told me I didn’t have what it takes to be a dentist ... He said you couldn’t be a dentist without perfect teeth. He even offered to fit me dentures. That really was a step too far... I’d just buried my tormentor I didn’t need another.’
They had seen him angry, but never such anger as they saw now. His face appeared to swell, his mouth open, his eyes were like dull glass.
‘Could you explain to me again why you take the teeth?’
‘I use the teeth, only perfect teeth mind, to make my own dentures,’ he said, his lisp becoming more prominent. ‘And it excites me to do the extraction in double quick time... quicker than the others who said I would never be a dentist...’
Killer Smile Page 32
