When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel

by RC Bridgestock

  ***

  Dylan found work a welcome distraction. Feverishly he went through the notes, and then standing, he looked at his clock before heading out of his office and into the corridor towards the briefing room. Standing in front of the kitchenette mirror he saw dark circles under his eyes and wisps of unruly hair protruding from behind his ears, he looked a sorry state. Slicking back clumps of hair, he fastened the buttons on his suit jacket and straightened his tie, turned and marched into the meeting -fully prepared for what lay ahead.

  Despite the turmoil inside he noticed a cloak of silence fell over the room as he entered. He nodded his reassuring smile. The mask of a detective once again served him well. Everyone present moved to find a seat, and when all the seats were taken others leaned their backs against the walls, door and filing cabinets. Dylan took a seat at the front of his audience beside Vicky and Raj. He noted that a few had started softly speaking, while others remained silent. All had one purpose in mind: to catch a killer.

  An hour later the meeting was over and he felt as though they were making progress, Dylan was pleased. Dean McIntyre was today’s target, his bail address was 4 Radlee Terrace, where he lived with his father. It was hoped he would be at home. There was the hustle and bustle of many people in one room moving, scraping chairs, and the shuffle of footsteps. A hubbub of noise ensued and the delegates filed out in an orderly fashion through one door - all with a renewed purpose and eager to get the day started.

  ***

  Frank McIntyre was one of those men you heard long before setting eyes upon him. Bad language spewed from his mouth in a torrent of abuse when the police knocked at his door. The image Vicky had of this man was confirmed as soon as she saw him, and she was glad to have Ned at her side.

  Dark skinned, he stood flexing his heavily tattooed, body builder muscles at her when his child-like, painfully thin girlfriend called him to the door. With a roll-up in one hand she stood in front of his six foot seven towering frame, wearing a skin tight baby pink T-shirt, that showed off her skeletal frame. Her faded jeans rested on her protruding hip bones. She shook like a leaf.

  Vicky and Ned were at the front door aware that two uniformed officers were at the rear as planned, just in case Dean McIntyre tried to do a runner.

  ‘What the fuck do you want now?’ Frank spat at Vicky’s feet. He leaned heavily on the door frame that he filled with his bulk. ‘Is Dean the only person you know on this fucking estate? He’s been here all night, hasn’t he Raquel?’

  Vicky cleared her throat and began to speak. ‘We want to talk to Dean about a robbery at the Elf garage.’

  ‘You’ve already interviewed and bailed him. When are you going to get it into your thick skulls, it ain’t him?’

  ‘Surprise, surprise, we found out he was lying to us?’ she said with a little smile. ‘So we take it he’s in then?’ she said firmly pushing her way into the house.

  Showing the whites of his eyes Frank McIntyre stepped back and Ned followed her inside.

  ‘Don’t you need a warrant or something?’ Raquel said finding her voice.

  Vicky scanned the room before turning her gaze back to Raquel. ‘No, where is he?’

  ‘Where he always is at this time of fuckin day, in his pit,’ said Frank collapsing into a leather armchair.

  Vicky looked at Raquel questioningly.

  ‘Upstairs, first on the left.’ she said, her eyes turning towards the back of the house.

  Under a grubby, grey duvet in a darkened room that smelt of damp and mould Dean McIntyre was found in his bed. ‘Come on Dean. Time to wake up?’ Ned said in a raised voice.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Dean said as he lifted his head and saw, through eyes half shut, the police officers standing at the foot of his bed. He pulled the bedcover over his head and curled up in a ball.

  Vicky spoke to the two uniformed officers who were still outside the house, over the airways. ‘We’ve located the target in his bedroom. At this time, he’s being uncooperative. Can we have some assistance please?’

  Dean McIntyre kicked out. ‘You can’t go dragging people out of their fucking beds. I’ve done fuck all wrong,’ he shouted from under the duvet.

  A hush came over the room. There were raised voices downstairs and in a short space of time, to the annoyance of his father, two uniformed officers had joined Vicky and Ned in Dean’s bedroom.

  Standing over the bed, Vicky Hardacre took one look at her colleagues, ‘Due to new evidence coming to light, you are being re-arrested in connection with the Elf service station robbery.’

  He continued to be unresponsive so he was unceremoniously hoisted from under the covers by the two uniformed police officers, handcuffed and taken outside to their marked car, where he was placed in the rear of the vehicle.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ said Frank joining the detectives in his son’s room.

  ‘Cell area, Harrowfield Police Station,’ said Vicky. ‘Now if you don’t mind we need to search his room.’ Ned ushered Frank out onto the landing where he remained, watching.

  There was nothing obviously of relevance in the room but there was a laptop computer and a mobile phone which they took possession of. Bagging and tagging them immediately in evidence bags before they removed them.

  Frank followed Vicky and Ned down the stairs.

  ‘What’re you doing I paid for them?’

  ‘That maybe,’ said Vicky over her shoulder. ‘But they might hold evidence in the stored data. I’ll write a receipt for you, don’t panic.’

  ‘Clever cow.’ Vicky heard Raquel say. ‘Who does she think she is?’

  Vicky walked down the front path to the car. ‘Will he be in Court tomorrow?’ Frank shouted after her.

  ‘Probably,’ she called back. Ned was already sat in the driver’s seat.

  Arriving back at the police station a sense of urgency prevailed. ‘I hope the computer geeks can get us something from this laptop,’ said Vicky. Her eyes were bright. ‘Who knows it might show us the purchase of the knife, now wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake for us right now?’

  ‘The data from his mobile should give us the information we need to find out who he’s been hanging about with and where, but we aren’t going to get any intelligence back before he’s due for an interview,’ said Ned.

  ‘He’s under arrest for the robbery so we’ll concentrate on that first. We’ll not know if he’s going to talk to us until his solicitor gets here,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Let’s face it, Sarge, he’s not going anywhere for the foreseeable and then he’ll be up for a remand in custody at court after we charge him with the robbery.’

  ‘And that will afford us some time to do some more digging into any subsequent revelations from his belongings.’

  ‘We can still talk to him under caution in the interview about his movements around the time that Freddy and his dog was murdered though can’t we?’ said Ned.

  ‘Certainly. He’s not under arrest for the murder, so we would automatically eliminate him, if possible, like anyone else we talk to. But, he may not want to talk to us at all, especially knowing he’s going down for a stretch.’

  ‘Thought we weren’t doing negative today Sarge?’ Ned frowned.

  Vicky eyed Ned suspiciously. ‘Are you taking some sort of happy pills?’

  ‘No, why?’ Ned grinned.

  ‘You don’t seem your usual, annoyingly, frustrating self today.’

  Ned chuckled sheepishly.

  ‘Don't tell me. The wife’s forgiven you?’ Vicky said.

  Ned nodded.

  ‘More fool her,’ she said opening the door and letting it slam in his face, locking it behind her. He looked through the window and raised his middle finger. ‘Swivel,’ he mouthed.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ she said.

  ‘What you grinning at?’ Dylan asked as she walked into the CID office. He was stood over Andy who was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up. They were both looking at Andy’s computer screen. Dylan stood straig
ht.

  ‘Where’s Ned?’

  ‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ she said as the double doors opened and Ned marched in muttering under his breath.

  ‘What’ve you two got for me?’

  ‘Computer, mobile phone and Dean McIntyre is in the cells boss!’ she said.

  ‘Do you think he might want to clear his slate and admit to what he’s done?’ enquired Dylan.

  ‘Let’s say you’ve probably more chance of discovering the moon is made of green cheese,’ Vicky replied.

  ***

  Two hours later Vicky and Ned were sitting in an interview room with Dean McIntyre and his solicitor Yvonne Best, from Perfect & Best Solicitors who resided in Harrowfield’s old Co-op building.

  Formalities of the caution took place and everyone in the room spoke their name in turn for the purpose of voice identification.

  ‘Dean you were previously arrested for a robbery at the Elf service station and granted police bail whilst the witness completed the identification process known as VIPER, as your solicitor Mrs Best is aware. The witness positively identified you as the robber. Do you have anything to say about this?’

  He gave a long impatient sigh. He was looking down at his hands that were resting on the table that stood in-between the officers and his solicitor. After a few silent moments he slowly raised his eyes to look at Vicky. ‘I’m fucked, aren’t I?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shit happens.’

  ‘Do you want to tell us about it?’

  ‘What’s there to tell? You know all about it, that’s why I’m fucking here isn’t it?’

  ‘We don’t know everything. You had a knife. Where did you get it from?’

  Dean McIntyre shuffled in his seat. ‘It’s legit. I bought it. Straight up.’ Dean turned his hands palms up.

  ‘Where did you buy it from?’ Ned asked.

  ‘Army surplus, Queen’s Street. Owner’s top shelf.’

  ‘Why did you want a knife like that? Couldn’t you have taken one from home? Let’s face it, any knife is going to frighten someone if it’s pointed at them,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I wanted a proper one.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been cheap?’ asked Ned.

  ‘Twenty quid,’ he said showing his bottom lip. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Where did you get the twenty quid to buy the knife?’

  Looking down at the floor between his legs Dean McIntyre shuffled his feet. ‘Frank has a tankard where he puts his money. He doesn’t know I know about it. He’ll kill me when he finds out I’ve nicked off him.’

  ‘Where’s the knife now?’ asked Ned.

  He was unresponsive.

  After a few minutes Vicky tried. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No,’ he said, with a scowl. ‘I chucked it when I saw all the blue lights. I didn’t want to get caught with it on me, did I?’

  ‘You chucked it where?’ Vicky leaned towards the table and nearer to him. He responded by sitting back. He waited a moment before answering.

  ‘I threw it by the dustbins that belong to them flats by the park.’

  ‘And you expect us to believe that? It cost you twenty quid and you threw it away? Did you go back to look for it?’

  ‘Yeah, the next day but it had gone.’ Dean’s mouth opened wide and he yawned noisily.

  ‘So, you went back to the place where you'd thrown it and it had gone, disappeared?’

  McIntyre nodded.

  ‘Okay. What did you do with your clothes you were wearing on the day of the robbery?’ said Vicky.

  He had a smirk on his face. ‘Went in next door’s bin. I’m not daft.’

  ‘How much did you get from the robbery at the garage?’ asked Ned.

  ‘Fifty.’

  ‘Pounds or pence?’ snapped back Ned, his face deadly serious.

  ‘Fifty pence. As if?’ Dean scoffed.

  ‘What did you do with the money?’ Ned continued.

  McIntyre shrugged his shoulders. ‘Spent it.’

  ‘What on?’

  ‘Beer, a bit of weed.’

  ‘You’d threaten a woman with a knife and almost scare the living daylights out of her for fifty quid? The knife cost twenty and the rest goes on beer and weed?’ Vicky said raising her voice slightly.

  ‘I wasn’t gonna hurt her was I?’

  ‘She didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, whatever she said, I never touched her.’

  ‘What’s troubling me, is that it doesn’t make sense to nick twenty quid from your dad, who you admit will kill you when he finds out, and throw the knife away that you bought with it?’

  ‘I didn’t know the woman would only have fifty in the fucking till did I?’

  ‘Where’s the knife Dean? I don’t believe you threw it away… did you?’ Vicky pushed on.

  ‘Well, I did.’

  ‘You got away from the scene of the crime without being caught. You weren’t being chased. So, why throw the knife away?’

  ‘What’s the use in asking me, if you don’t believe me when I tell you the truth?’ It was Dean McIntyre’s turn to lean towards the table and for Vicky to sit back. ‘Look, I’ve admitted to doing the crime, so I’ll do the time. It’ll be a piece of piss. I’ll catch up with me mates inside,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘What colour handle did the knife have?’ asked Ned.

  ‘What colour? I’m not sure.’ McIntyre looked confused. He shook his head. ‘I’m tired. I don’t want to answer any more questions,’ he said turning to his solicitor.

  Vicky shuffled the papers on the table and held them in her grasp. Her face showed her annoyance.

  ‘Okay,’ said Ned, terminating the interview. ‘We’ve got what we need for now.’ Sliding his chair back, he stood, and the others took his lead. ‘If you’d follow me, we need to charge Mr McIntyre with robbery.’

  ‘Harrowfield Magistrates tomorrow morning?’ said Yvonne Best to Vicky as they walked out of the interview room. They walked along the corridor in the cell area and to the charge desk where the custody sergeant was busy at his computer.

  ‘I guess so, with an application to remand him in custody,’ replied Vicky.

  Charged, Dean McIntyre was taken back to his cell.

  ‘That’ll give him time to come to terms with what he’s been charged for and then we’ll bring him out later to ask him what he knows about the Knapton murder,’ said Vicky.

  ‘It’ll be interesting to find out where he says he was when Knapton was murdered.’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll have anyone who can verify where he was, that’s the most important question,’ said Vicky raising her eyebrows at her colleague.

  Later that evening, a further interview took place with Dean McIntyre. He didn’t want his solicitor present, he said. He didn’t need a solicitor and it quickly became apparent his reason, as he confided in the officers that he had information that would help catch who had murdered Freddy Knapton. In return he wanted to do a deal which amounted to the charges being dropped against him, with a condition that he was released immediately from police custody. Then and only then, would he tell them what he knew, and to no one other than the man leading the investigation.

  The detectives went back into CID. ‘I’ll ring the boss at home,’ said Vicky forging ahead. As she entered the office she could see the light was still lit in Dylan’s office. Dylan was sitting, shirt sleeves rolled up, at his desk, a half-eaten pork pie in one hand and a file he was reading in the other. She knocked at the door and walked straight, in. ‘What are you still doing here?’ The top button of Dylan’s shirt was undone and his tie was askew.

  ‘Working, the same as you, I hope.’ Still without looking up he fumbled to find the can of coke situated in front of him. Locating it, he put it to his mouth and took a sip.

  Ned came to stand in the doorway.

  ‘McIntyre tells us he has some information that will lead us to the killer of Freddy K
napton,’ Vicky said. Dylan’s red, rimmed eyes looked up at her.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He wants a ‘get out of jail’ card,’ said Ned.

  ‘He can whistle, but I’ll listen to what he has to say,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t say anything?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Or perhaps he has nothing to say and he’s just trying it on.’ Dylan sat up, stretched his arms skyward and then ran his hands through his hair. He looked worn and weary.

  There was a pause as he dropped his arms to rest on the desk. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do I sense a but?’ he said looking from Vicky to Ned and back. Ned looked towards Vicky and gave her a nod to encourage her to go on.

  ‘He says he’ll only speak to you; and he won’t do so until he’s released.’

  ‘Is he credible do you think?’ said Dylan.

  Vicky wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Why would anyone roll over so easily on an armed robbery charge, and then offer information on a murder investigation as a get out of jail card free?’ Dylan asked quizzically as he sat back in his old leather chair tapping its arm with the base of his pen. ‘He’s not so thick as to think we’ll drop all charges, surely?’

  Vicky’s face flushed. ‘That’s what he’s looking for.’

  ‘What?’ Dylan said, his voice rising, his mouth twitched.

  ‘He did offer the information on the murder enquiry without any prompting boss,’ said Ned. Vicky looked grateful for him backing her up.

  ‘Mmm. I guess there was no point in him mentioning it unless he has something. Maybe it is his last ditch attempt for freedom?’ said Dylan.

  ‘I don’t think he’s naive enough to actually think that anything he tells us will not be checked and double checked before we agree to anything,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I think the penny’s just dropped that without turning into a grass he’s definitely going down for a while this time,’ said Ned.

  Dylan gave a wry smile, pushed his chair back from his desk, and stood up. He fastened the top button of his shirt and straightened his tie before plucking his suit jacket from the back of his chair ‘Well, in that case there is only one thing to do. I’ll go and see what he has to say. But, I’m telling you now they’ll be no charges dropped,’ he said putting his arms in the jacket sleeves. ‘The best he might expect from me is a letter to the judge when it comes to his sentencing, to say how much, if the information is genuine mind, he has helped us.