When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel

by RC Bridgestock

  ‘Good, that means you can pay for today,’ said Declan. His eyes on the elevator lights that counted the lift to the ground floor. The lift opened and the brothers stepped in.

  ‘I will.’

  ***

  The Devlin brothers stepped out onto the stone steps at the front of the hotel dressed in matching Italian, designer suits. Declan asked the doorman to get their car brought round to the entrance. There were large news placards on show outside the newsagents opposite.

  ‘See that,’ said Declan. ‘While we have been enjoying ourselves the police have been working around the clock. Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.’

  ‘More fool them.’

  The elder brother laughed. ‘Yeah, well not everybody is lucky enough to have a brother like me to look out for them.’

  ‘What do you mean? We’re a team. We get on alright, don’t we our kid?’

  ‘I told the Gov I’d look after you, and if you get us caught, I for one aren’t ready for the alternative to going down - just remember that.’

  A crafty smile flickered over the younger brothers face. ‘Me neither. Those ladies last night, they were just begging for it weren’t they?’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Declan laughed out loud at the very idea.

  ‘Ladies? They’re bloody prostitutes!’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Damien. ‘Shani said she’d have done anything for me and I believed her. I could do worse than settle down with a girl like her.’

  ‘And me with Nancy.’ Declan sniggered. ‘And before you say anything, that’s not her real name either.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’ Damien looked puzzled. ‘Why wouldn’t you believe her?’

  ‘Nancy? Just Nancy? Nancy is the name of the bloody character from Oliver Twist and Shani Wallis, for your information, is incidentally the name of the actress who played her. Didn’t you learn anything from dad’s obsession with Fagin? Cause she’d have done whatever you wanted her to do, you were paying her!’ Declan paused and lowered his voice. ‘Just so happened that she didn’t have to because you were stewed.’ Declan raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile.

  Two leggy blondes in short, tight skirts and strappy high heels climbed out of the red flash car that pulled up at the foot of the steps. The doorman obviously knew the lady driver and didn’t intervene but instead signalled to the brothers that their car would be arriving imminently. Declan secreted a large tip in his hand - which the doorman gratefully accepted with a bow as he stepped forward, seeing the royal blue Mercedes draw up at the bottom of the steps, he opened the car doors and shut them when they were all seated.

  ‘For the ladies and gents,’ he said tongue in cheek and a tap of the hand on his breast pocket where he had covertly secured the monies.

  ***

  ‘Will you be wanting me to park your car Sir?’ said the car park attendant when they arrived at York Races.

  ‘Declan looked at his brother, frolicking with Shani. ‘Yes,’ he snapped. Alighting from the vehicle he opened his wallet, handed the little man in the ill-fitting uniform a few notes and passed him the keys.

  He looked up at Declan with a shocked expression on his face. ‘That’s very kind Sir. You sure?’

  ‘Go on,’ Declan said eventually. ‘Get yourself a ticket, have a bit of fun why don’t you?’

  Declan and Nancy followed the younger two.

  ‘You’re my lucky girl,’ Damien told Shani as they walked through the big metal gates. He looked about him, and content he wouldn’t be heard he whispered in her ear and gave her a wad of notes. She giggled like a child.

  In the club lounge Declan silently studied the form. Nancy poured herself another glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket on the table. She looked extremely bored.

  ‘There are people who do that for you here,’ Declan said to her without looking up.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said nonchalantly, looking about her then proceeded to hiccup.

  ‘I do,’ said Declan. His eyes found hers and she noticed they were like steel. Hastily she put her glass down on the table, crossed her legs and sat back in her chair.

  Damien and Shani continued to giggle like school children. The money Damien had given to her was on show, stuffed in the garter at the top of her stocking.

  Declan looked irritated. ‘Know anything about horses Nancy?’ he asked, frustration with his brother growing in him.

  ‘I like a ride. But not on a horse.’ She gave a slow suggestive wink.

  ‘That’s good since it’s in the job description.’

  Enjoying the fact, he was making an effort to at least engage with her she leant forward, showing him ample cleavage. Seductively she rubbed the inside of his thigh. ‘Ah, so you have read the services on offer?’ she said with a smile as she licked her glossy red lips with her tongue.

  Declan swiftly pushed her hand away. His patience was wearing thin with Damien whose behaviour with Shani was attracting attention.

  Sulkily, Nancy slouched back in her chair and purposefully picked up her champagne flute and downed the contents in one. She slammed the empty glass on the table. The action brought no reaction from Declan. After a moment or two she picked up a beer mat, read the information upon it and turned it around slowly, in a limp hand. From her bucket leather seat, she surveyed the other guests until her eyes met those of an older gentleman at the bar who raised his brandy glass to her. The group of tweed-clad men in his company, apparently from the horsey set it was deemed due to their attire, became suddenly very raucous. Sensing Nancy’s distraction and thankful it had taken the attention off his younger brother and the prostitute, Declan followed her gaze.

  As he leaned forward and beckoned her, the red-faced Nancy leaned very slightly back.

  ‘Know him, do you?’ he asked with the flick of his head in the direction of the bar.

  She nervously cleared her throat. ‘No.’

  ‘A customer is he?’

  Nancy was silent.

  ‘You wouldn’t tell me if he was, would you?’

  Declan could see the fear in her eyes and a thrill ran through his loins. He lifted his brow and his face broke into a reassuring smile. ‘That’s okay,’ he said softly reaching out to take her hand gently in his. She flinched initially at his touch, but he caught her hand at the fingertips and held them tight. ‘He could be useful. Go on, to work, let me see how good you are. Use that charm of yours. See if he’ll give you a tip,’ He encouraged her to stand. She looked about the room nervously.

  ‘Don’t worry there are no Pigs in here,’ he said. ‘If there were I’d smell ‘em.’

  Hearing Declan’s aggressive tone, Shani turned to look at her friend. Shani’s face was full of concern. With questioning eyes, she followed Nancy’s footsteps as she walked to the bar. Not liking the fact that her attention had been re-directed, Damien put his large hand about her face and squeezed her cheeks between his finger and thumb. He turned her head back to face him with a rough hand. ‘No girl of mine looks at other blokes when they’re with me,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Do you understand?’ Shani nodded her head in small jerky movements and he rewarded her with a hard kiss on her lips.

  When Nancy got to the bar, the drinks waiter was absent. She stood on her tip toes. Tapping the tips of her false nails on the bar. She loosened her bracelet and when it dropped to the floor and she bent over to retrieve it she knew she had the tweed-clad men’s attention.

  ‘Oh, let me get that for you,’ said the older gentleman beside her. ‘I don’t want you having to bend down in that dress my dear,’ he said struggling to reach the floor to pick it up with his aged hand. ‘They might fall out.’ The other men laughed and all attention was on her.

  Taking a moment to look at Declan she saw him give her a reaffirming wink and with a nod of his head prompted her to carry on. ‘That’s right lass, “where there’s muck there’s brass,” or so they say in Yorkshire,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘Why, thank you,
kind sir,’ Nancy said to the old gentleman as she placed a beautifully manicured hand on top of his. She moved in closer. The old man’s eyes were on her breasts, exposed through her see-through blouse, unashamedly she played to his weakness for a pretty young girl. She rewarded his attention with “oo’s” and “ou’s” that came thick and fast. Soon she had the old gent under her spell; laughing at his jokes. Frequently she reached out to touch his jacket lapel, finger his tie, stroke his arm. Turning to face the bar laughing, they appeared deep in conversation - their heads together over the same racing paper that Declan had been studying. The old man pointed to this and that with a shaking hand and before she left him she leaned in to kiss his cheek. His friends collectively commented on his prowess, loudly, as she prepared to leave him at the bar. Unperturbed, she moved in at his request and he whispered something in her ear. She whispered something back and he turned to look at Declan. Giggling she returned to the table.

  ‘I told him you were my cousin,’ she said before turning around to smile at the man through thick, mascara lashes. He blew her a kiss. She blew him one back.

  Declan raised his glass to the gent and unsmiling he nodded; coughed into a fist and returned to engage with his friends.

  ‘So?’ Declan raised his eyebrows to her.

  ‘His name is Cedric Oakley and he lives at Welford Grange, near Wetherby.’

  ‘Any tips?’

  ‘Firepower in the three-thirty. Apparently, it’ll walk it.’

  ‘What a coincidence.’ he said with a wicked smile.

  ‘A coincidence?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he grinned. ‘Guess if he’s going to walk-it that means it’ll come last then?’

  Nancy kicked his shoe playfully under the table. ‘Are you for real?’ Nancy laughed out loud.

  Declan sat up and took a bundle of twenty pound notes from inside his jacket pocket and handed them to her. ‘Put a grand on its nose will you,’ he said, giving the all-seeing gent at the bar a wink.

  Confirmation of his bet in his hand, he stood up, grabbed hold of Nancy’s hand and bending down reached out to punch his brother on the arm. Damien wasn’t pleased to be interrupted from the fun he was having with his playmate.

  ‘Firepower,’ Declan said. ‘We’ve got odds of five-to-one. Come on, they’ll be under starters orders in a minute and I want to see this one pass the post.’

  Chapter Ten

  With Dylan otherwise engaged on the Merton Manor Fire investigation, DS Vicky Hardace had quietly and efficiently succeeded in setting up the Freddie Knapton murder incident room. DS Raj’s influence, organisational skills and tidiness was evident.

  ‘Priority enquiries are out with the investigative teams’ boss,’ said Vicky nodding in the direction of those busily inputting on their computers, speaking on the phones and in conversation with colleagues. She pulled out a chair for Dylan, looked around and called out to Ned. ‘Get the boss a coffee will you?’

  Ned sat staring at a piece of paper that he had extracted from an envelope. His face was pale. He was hunched in his chair, appeared unshaven, unwashed and with his shirt crumbled and his tie loose, he looked as if he’d not slept.

  Ned snorted, pushed back his chair and sluggishly dragged his feet towards the kitchen, stuffing the correspondence in his back pocket.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Life’s tough but it’s tougher when you’re bloody stupid.’

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘The Mrs’, she’s gone to her mothers with the kids. Need I say more?’

  Dylan shook his head but DS Raj approaching them turned his frown into a smile. As always she was smartly dressed, her dark shoulder length hair coiffured in a neat chignon bun; her light olive skin glowed. She looked down at Dylan with her big brown eyes, giving him her warm friendly greeting. ‘The girl’s done good,’ she said, screwing up her nose playfully at Vicky.

  Vicky’s cheeks reddened.

  ‘I can’t help feeling very proud of her,’ said Raj, emotionally.

  ‘And she reckons to be tough, but we all know she’s not,’ said Vicky. Suddenly her smiling mouth turned down at the corners, and she frowned. ‘That’s as long as you don’t leave dirty dishes in the sink, and remember to clean up your clutter.’

  Raj laughed and when she laughed she looked far younger than forty.

  ‘Seriously though, that call I’ve just taken was from a very angry man,’ she said, perching herself on the edge of the desk. ‘He said he’d threatened Knapton recently. Here’s his name and address. You might want to speak to him,’ she said handing a piece of paper with her neat, bold writing on it to Vicky.

  Vicky took it from her and read it out loud. ‘Arthur Carson, Flat Five, The Maltings.’ Vicky raised her eyes to looked at Raj. ‘That address, is within walking distance of Groggs Park.’

  ‘Exactly! He did apologise for his outburst, but it appears he heard that his elderly neighbour, who’s apparently nearly blind and hard of hearing, was knocked over by Knapton’s dog in Groggs Park: and to add insult to injury, Knapton called her a silly old cow and told her to fuck off. Mr Carson said he was unaware of what’s happened to Knapton and Satan until now. But, who knows he might be able to tell us more.,’

  ‘I dare say there are a lot who threatened Knapton,’ said Dylan. ‘With no direct line of enquiry we’ll just keep eliminating people, who come forward, wherever possible.’

  ‘Forensics say they’ve found fibres in Knapton’s dog’s mouth, which they think are possibly denim,’ said Raj.

  ‘Satan bit his attacker?’ said Vicky her eyes opening wide, momentarily. ‘What strikes me is that Knapton has been a scourge on the community for as long as I’ve been in the job and I guess people have somewhat accepted that he’s, well, Freddy Knapton. He’s just a twat.’

  ‘What you getting at?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘I think he’s done something that’s pushed someone over the edge to commit murder.’

  ‘But why would someone do it in such a violent way?’ said Raj.

  ‘Find out what he did and to whom and we might find out who murdered him,’ said Dylan.

  Ned pushed a tray of cups ungraciously across the desk. The dark, hot liquid splashed about in the half filled mugs. ‘In God we trust, all others are suspects,’ he said under his breath.

  Vicky’s mouth opened and closed. ‘That’s a bit profound for you isn’t it? Have you sugared?’ she said reaching out to pick up a mug.

  ‘I’ll drink it for you as well if y’like,’ he muttered. Ned sloped back to his desk hoisting up his belt that held up his trousers. He slumped back in his chair, put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his fist.

  ‘Pull up a chair Raj,’ Dylan told her. ‘Ned,’ he called. ‘Come and join us. Let’s have a brainstorming session while we can.’

  ‘This should be funny,’ Vicky said to Dylan quietly. ‘According to your missus Ned, your brain’s are in y’trousers aren’t they?’ she continued in a much louder voice.

  Ned showed her his middle finger and the tip of his tongue.

  ‘Vicky,’ growled Dylan.

  Raj gave her a withering look.

  Sulkily Vicky threw Ned a pen and paper. ‘Oy, Lump you’ll need these.’

  ‘This is not the time or the place,’ Dylan scolded, as he shuffled to the edge of his seat and leaned over the desk. Pen in hand, he hovered over his open notebook. ‘Right, first off, make enquiries with the RSPCA, PDSA and local vets to see what information is available to us regarding treating dogs with attack injuries.’

  ‘And perhaps complaints about dangerous dogs?’ said Raj.

  ‘Yes, good,’ said Dylan, putting pen to paper.

  ‘Local dog owners?’ said Vicky. ‘There should be a database for the dogs that are micro-chipped.’

  ‘There’s a microchip register.’ Ned told them.

  Vicky turned her head towards Ned. ‘As they say, we’ll leave that one with you then kid,’ said Vicky cheerily. />
  Ned groaned.

  ‘Fell for that didn’t you?’ said Dylan.

  Ned’s already rounded shoulders dropped. ‘Have we thought the killer might not own a dog and, not all dogs are microchipped.’

  Vicky rolled her eyes and tutted. ‘Okay, then find me an alternative more promising line of enquiry?’

  Ned frowned and remained silent.

  Dylan turned to the others. ‘Dogs are like children to their owners, don't forget sometimes they’re all a person has for companionship.’ His thoughts turned to his meeting with Jen. New to the area, and with only Max to keep her company. How things had changed for her and him since that fortuitous day.

  ‘From previous enquiries,’ said Raj. ‘I found dog owners don’t tend to know fellow dog walkers, or necessarily the dog breed, but they might know the dog’s name. It might be worth having a category for those dog names that are given to us during the enquiry, which may ultimately help us match them with their owner?’

  ‘Yes, I can relate to that,’ said Dylan. ‘I hear a woman calling Sonny and Peaches regularly in the park when I walk Max but I’ve no idea what the dog owner’s called.’

  ‘I bet Jen does,’ said Raj.

  ‘Yeah, because she’s more sociable than you,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Me unsociable?’ Dylan raised his eyebrows. ‘I bet she doesn’t,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Ask her.’

  ‘I will.’

  Satisfied the subject had been covered Dylan moved on. ‘It would be useful for us to work on the timeline for Knapton’s movements over the past week. Do we know if there is CCTV in the vicinity of where he was sleeping rough, or his usual haunts? If so, seize it; it’s a laborious task I know to watch the footage but it may help us trace, and eliminate people he was acquainted with.’

  ‘I’ll look at that boss,’ said Vicky raising a hand in the air.

  Dylan stretched his aching back. ‘So, we’ve plenty to keep us busy. Until we discover something else that either leads us down another path, or shows us another motive to investigate. So, we’ll stick with this approach, agreed?’ The team agreed. ‘Hopefully gathering this information will establish facts on the database worthy of cross referencing to ultimately help us catch the killer’.