‘En route. Say hello to Jen for me,’ Peter called back.
Dylan’s head was bent as he tapped numbers into his mobile phone but his eyes were immediately raised to his elder. Peter knew Dylan well.
Chapter Seven
Jen watched Maisy sitting upright asleep in her pushchair in the kitchen. She loosened her outdoor clothes but her daughter didn’t wake. The little girl’s soft snoring and the way her hair curled into damp tendrils at the nape of her neck reminded Jen so much of her father. A comical little laugh escaped from her lips.
Jen busied herself heating soup for the child’s dinner and made ham and cheese sandwiches to share. Eventually she lifted her out of her pushchair to wake her, so exhausted was she from playing in the park she was lethargic. She kissed her sleepy head and sat her on the toilet for a moment or two, talking to her softly as she did so. Maisy, still drowsy, raised her little eyes to Jen and smiled wanly. ‘I’m done,’ she announced a few minutes later with a widening grin. Maisy jumped down, rolled up her sleeves and pulled her step out to enable her to wash her hands and when she had dried them she ran to sit on her seat at the table. Jen sitting next to her took a hearty bite out of her sandwich and Maisy was spooning a helping of soup into her mouth when the phone rang; it was Dylan.
‘What you up to?’ he said with a smile in his voice.
‘Just having lunch. You?’
‘I’m at Merton Manor, or should I say what used to be Merton Manor. There’s been a fire, the house is gutted and as if that’s not bad enough we’ve two bodies.’
Jen looked down at the sandwich she held in her hand as he spoke. Her stomach heaved. She pushed her plate to one side and, gagging, she reached for the biscuit tin and took out two ginger biscuits. She snapped one in half, ‘An accident?’ she said, popping it in her mouth.
‘No, arson. It looks like someone has tried to cover up the murders.’
‘More murders?’
‘Yes, both bodies have bullet wounds.’
‘Oh my god.’
‘Yeah, so I’m up to my neck in the proverbial again. Remind me, why I do this job?’
Jen nibbled at the biscuit. ‘That’s simple Jack, you enjoy a challenge and the thrill of the chase. Me, I’m just looking forward to your retirement, and hoping you’re not too knackered to enjoy it.’
‘Me? Knackered? Never!’ he said.
‘You going to be late tonight?’
‘Not too late I hope, but tomorrow I’m likely to be busy once we’ve recovered the bodies.’
‘Lovely. Something for you to look forward to then?’ Jen proffered a groan.
‘What’s that?’
‘A day in the mortuary, I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I were you knowing that.’
‘It’s all part of the job. Hopefully we’ll get some clues as to how the fire was started and recover a bullet at the PM. Which may help us nail the killer...’
‘I wonder how many hours you’ve actually spent in a mortuary over the years?’
Jen watched her daughter intently as she concentrated hard on eating her sandwich while her parents talked. Jen offered her another spoonful of soup. Her little mouth opening expectantly reminded Jen of a little bird being fed.
‘I dread to think, but it makes me very grateful.’
‘What for?’ Jen wiped Maisy’s mouth with a piece of kitchen roll.
‘I walk out at the end of the post-mortem, and not many people can say that.’ Dylan chuckled. ‘How’d you get on at the hospital?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Okay, if you don’t want it sugar coated I feel like S. H. I. T. E.’ she said. She gave Maisy a wide false smile. In return she saw two little bright eyes smiling back at her.
‘And the baby?’
‘Stop fussing, it’s all good. It’s my hormones, they’re all over the place.’
‘Good,’ he said distractedly. ‘Maybe we should think about getting a bigger house now that we’re having another?’
Jen felt an overwhelming feeling of panic wash over her. ‘Maybe,’ she said abruptly.
‘That reminds me, work wise, have you informed all those that need to be aware that you’re pregnant?’
‘I had to because I had to ask for some time off today. Beaky looked at me as though I’d thrown a rotten egg at her, but that’s the kind, considerate supervisor Avril Summerfield- Preston is and we’re not going to change her now, are we?’
‘Better the devil you know, as they say. Peter Stonestreet sends his regards. I’ll have to go. Give Maisy a big hug and I’ll ring you, as usual, when I’m heading home.’
Jen’s eyes found the hospital paraphernalia over spilling out of her handbag. She plucked out her appointment card and threaded it through her fingers. It was a different size and colour this time round. Being Consultant led was going to mean a different approach for this pregnancy she had been told. As she looked at the date of the next appointment it filled her with trepidation; she didn’t know why.
***
The much awaited catering van arrived at Merton Manor. The thick brown paper Doggy bags of food for the officers on site were unpacked and handed out to eager outstretched hands. Dylan felt more in need of liquid refreshment. He looked inside the bag he’d been handed which revealed a chocolate bar, an apple and a salad sandwich made with brown bread. A small bottle of water was concealed by a thin white paper napkin. A healthy lunch, and not one he would have chosen, but enough to sustain him. He listened intently to the peace of the countryside, pondering how idyllic the setting was for a family home. Sadly, all that glistened was not gold here though, and the words from one of his favourite Shakespeare plays rolled off his tongue. ‘All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.’ Did the large house and its location play a part in the crime? He shuffled off the wall impatient to move forward with the job. He walked towards Jon. ‘Anything for me?’ Dylan said, looking over his shoulder at the building.
‘There doesn’t appear to be any security as such, sir.’
‘No, I must admit one of the first things I’d have had done would be to have electronic gates at the bottom of the driveway,’ he said nodding his head towards the police circus that was gathered there. Dylan looked into his paper cup, drained the remainder of the hot beverage and threw the dregs to the ground. He rubbed the apple on his jacket sleeve, considered its shine to be as good as that of a cricket ball, then took a bite. Juice ran down his chin and he dabbed it with the napkin. ‘I’m going back to the station to get the press release done, and while I’m there I’ll try get an update on the Knapton murder. Keep an eye on things here will you while I’m gone?’ Jon nodded his head. ‘I’m on my mobile if you need me.’ Jon watched his boss walk towards Inspector Stonestreet.
‘Thanks for everything Peter,’ said Dylan. ‘I always know that if it’s you and your team that’s working when I get called out to a job nothing’s left to chance.’ Dylan patted his colleague on the back.
‘How’s Jen doing? A little bird tells me she’s in the family way again?’
‘Nothing gets passed you does it? She’s emotional.’
‘Ah, and it’s at times like this she’ll miss her mum being around. That was a bad job. She was taken far too soon. Look after her. This is just a job remember. Work to live, don’t live to work.’ He wagged his figure at Dylan. ‘The youngsters have a habit of growing up quickly. I often look at pictures of my girls and say to them, ‘You were so cute, what happened?’
‘And when you pick yourself up off the floor?’ Dylan laughed.
‘They know I’m only joking. I might not say it often, but it’s all in here,’ he said, patting his hand on his heart.’
‘But when the job’s running what are we supposed to do?’ said Dylan.
‘I know what you’re saying but, I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it until you listen, while we must work to live...’
‘We shouldn’t live to work.’
�
�That’s it son, now look sharp and get this one sorted. It’s a bad ‘un.’
‘Aren’t they all?’ said Dylan.
‘You’re not wrong. I didn’t think I’d ever say it but I don’t miss CID and the long hours. Once my eight-hour shift is done in uniform, it’s done, and I’m off home.’
‘I’d settle for a twelve hour shift these days and I know Jen would too. I’m just nipping back to the station. I won’t be long.’
As Dylan walked away he heard Peter whistling as he knew he often did when he was thinking. Dylan took off his coverall’s on leaving the scene and handed them in to be placed in an exhibit bag that would be tagged, for future disclosure, should they be required.
Dylan spoke to Connie at HQ press office about the distribution of the facts he was able to share with the media and what intention he hoped the press release would achieve before he wrote it. ‘The fire at Merton Manor, that occurred earlier today, in which two people are known to have died is being treated as murder by the police. An investigation is underway, led by Detective Inspector Jack Dylan. The deceased have yet to be positively identified. We are appealing for anyone who was in the Merton Manor area at the time of the fire, or has any information, no matter how trivial they think it maybe, should without hesitation contact the incident room at Harrowfield police station.’
The CID office was quiet, which meant hopefully that everyone was out and on enquiries. He glanced at his office clock. There had been no update from Vicky regarding the Knapton murder. Dylan decided to quickly check his emails and sift through his in-tray of everyday paperwork which didn’t stop because he was dealing with a murder or two. He ensured the cogs were in motion to get the two incident rooms up and running.
On arrival back at the scene of the fire, Dylan’s footsteps quickened towards Jarv who told him she had completed the photography and seized relevant samples. CSI Mark Hamilton and Andy Wormald were standing with Jon discussing the large amount of parcelled exhibits that had been collected, bagged and tagged. It appeared, much to Dylan’s delight, that Jon was coping admirably. As he suited up for the second time at the scene, he could see that there was only one fire tender now present, which had remained as a precaution, but now they were also preparing to leave.
Jarv, still booted and suited went over the list of what she had done and why with Dylan. She had been extremely thorough. ‘We’ve located two safes in the house sir, both are open but what is unusual for a robbery is that jewellery remains inside. They were opened prior to the start of the fire, confirmed by the pattern and extent of the carbonising within. Forensics are in attendance. It’s a David Walker, I don’t know if you know him, but he’s pretty switched on.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Moving to the outside of the building, the tyre marks are all cast. The first impressions are that they’re all the same type of tyre. The paint sample and debris, as well as photos of gatepost are done. Sergeant Clegg and his team from the support unit are searching the grounds but they’ve found nothing of note, as yet.’
‘Now where’s Jon gone?’
She nodded her head in the direction of the detective and forensic expert who had just left the building.
‘Bill Dixon said he’ll get us full details of his staff compliment on site and the recordings you asked for, along with duty statements from his colleague Wesley Crutcher.’
‘Good, if we haven’t got them by the first thing tomorrow, get the incident room staff to chase him up will you?’
Dylan left Jarv and walked towards Jon and David. He proffered his hand to the arson specialist. ‘The accelerant, I’m certain it’s not petrol. I’ve taken samples.’ He held the nylon bags aloft. Dylan looked at him questioningly. ‘We use these now to deal with the inevitable evaporation. This will give me best possible chance to trace the origin of the inflammable liquid. Whatever it was, it’ll have been extremely diluted due to the amount of water about. I’ve also found the remains of a plastic bottle,’ he said holding up another nylon bag with the vessel inside.
‘Looks like a lump of melted candle wax to me,’ said Dylan,
‘No, it’s good, we should be able to do something with that,’ said David handing the bags to Andy, the exhibits officer. ‘Like Jarv and the fire officer have probably already told you, there’s more than one seat of fire on and around both bodies. It’s obvious the fires were started to destroy evidence connected to them. The gas taps, all being turned on, inevitably caused the explosion and a secondary fire. Again, to ensure destruction of any evidence and, perhaps whoever started the fires expected the bodies to go undiscovered.’
‘Thank you for your time. You’ve corroborated what the fire officers have already told us.’
Dylan needed a motive. What had been stolen from the house? The safes were open and jewellery remained inside that he would expect to have been of value. He wondered if the bodies had any jewellery on them? Had one of the deceased been forced to open the safes? If the perpetrators had got what they came for, why were the occupants then killed? Did the deceased know the robbers? Or had the robbers been careless enough to let them see their faces? Although Dylan’s mind continued to race ahead, his next job was to have the fragile remains of both bodies moved to the mortuary, and the immediate area where they had lain then searched.
‘I want the spent bullets,’ he said to Jon. ‘If we retrieve them ballistics will be able to tell us the type of weapon from which they were fired. It’d be good evidence if we also recover the weapon but even without it they’ll be able to tell us if it’s been used in other crimes.’
It took a further hour before the two bodies were finally carried from the house in body bags to the awaiting private ambulance that had been sent from Harrowfield coroner’s office. They would now be taken to the mortuary.
The search had initially proved negative for spent ammunition on the upper floor and the familiar pang of disappointment replaced the earlier upbeat, positive gut feeling Dylan had initially had.
‘I really wanted the shell casings,’ he said. However, having seen the destruction inside the house that the fire had caused the fact that they hadn’t been located shouldn’t have surprised him. On the positive, they had been lucky to recover the bodies in their entirety.
It was late and the team looked done in. He knew it was time to finish for the day. Uniformed officers would remain at the entrance to the driveway to keep the area secure for a few days yet, or until Dylan felt there was no longer a need to protect the scene. He informed those still working that he would brief the enquiry team in the incident room at eight a.m. the next day. The search team would continue to sift through the debris searching for clues. The post-mortems would also take place tomorrow. The thought of the smell of the burnt flesh, in the confined space, on top of the smell of the mortuary did nothing for his stomach, but that was another day. He looked at his watch and contemplated whether to ring Jen to tell her he was on his way home but decided against it. If she had any sense she would have gone to bed and be fast asleep. Maisy had a habit of rising before six o’clock and once she was awake, no one else in the house slept. Little monkey. His face broke into a smile at the thought of her little smiling morning face when she wandered into their bedroom teddy in tow.
It was around ten-thirty when he drove down the cul-de-sac towards the house. He passed a lone man walking his dog, but other than that all was quiet. Physically he could now rest but, mentally his mind, he knew from experience, would be working throughout the night, like it or not. Luckily for him there had been nothing that required his immediate attention on the Knapton murder enquiry and Vicky was proving to be a real asset to him.
The house was in darkness as he stepped out of the car and onto the driveway, apart from the lamp in the hallway that Jen switched on for him if she’d gone to bed before he arrived home. His earlier instinct had been right not to ring her.
It was three o’clock in the morning when Jen woke bleary-eyed. She rolled onto her back, reached out a
nd felt the bed next to her empty. She saw Jack sat by the window. ‘What on earth are you doing? Are you okay?’
‘Just writing a thought down before I forget it, it was keeping me awake,’ he whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘I can’t, not until you come back to bed.’ She gave a long agonising groan.
Dylan went to the bathroom. She heard him flush the toilet and was hopeful Maisy did not wake. He managed the few steps to the bed in the dark but stumbled as he reached the ottoman. Feeling his way up the bed he eventually climbed in. ‘Now, will you go back to sleep,’ he said, wriggling under the bedclothes. He turned away from her but instinctively Jen rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms around his stomach. ‘You’re freezing,’ she said. ‘How long have you been up?’
‘Not very long,’ he lied.
Now wide-awake, worry chequered her voice. ‘You sure you’re okay?’ she said.
‘Fine.’
‘Are you worried about the investigations? Two murder scenes in one day can’t be easy. Can’t someone else…?’
‘I’ve told you I’m fine,’ he said abruptly. ‘Go back to sleep.’ A few minutes later there came a sigh and Dylan shuffled irritably to rearrange the pillow. ‘I’m warm that’s all,’ he said dismissing her arms that were still about him. Jen rolled away and Dylan sat up putting the TV on. Jen screwed up her eyes to shut out the light. But she knew watching the silent motion of the programme would help take his mind off the horrors of the day. Within five minutes she could hear the change in his breathing. He was asleep. Only then could she rest too.
When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 8
