‘The owner of the knife we believe is a Dean McIntyre. He’s a violent individual who is already in custody. He’s got previous convictions so if it’s him you should get a hit on the national database. Another arrest is also imminent so I will arrange for swabs to be forwarded to you from that person too.’
The hunting knife was the murder weapon. Dylan looked upward to his ceiling. ‘Thank you, God.’
The news was like a breath of air to Dylan’s starved body. He stood and walked the few steps to look out of his window drinking in the daylight, and as he did so he noticed DC Rupert Charles strolling across the yard to his car. He rapped on the window to catch his attention but, apparently unhearing, the detective constable got into his car and swiftly drove out of the yard. Dylan dragged his fingers through his hair and a moan escaped his lips. ‘Ned,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Here now!’
Chapter Twenty Two
Dylan sat in on the morning briefing for the Knapton murder. He had a list in front of him of the seven arrested so far. He glanced at the names. Jason Paul, Phillip Masters, Joe Grayson, Harry Withers, Martin Lister, Paul Bishop and Tara Cabe.
‘It’s like dealing with a football team. We need to make sure we have all their DNA because forensic have found blood on the knife, apart from Freddie Knapton’s. Also because it is inferred that they all ‘stuck the boot in’ let’s ensure we have seized their footwear,’ said Dylan.
‘I think I can speak for everyone when I say that all footwear from our suspects have been seized and the mandatory DNA taking has been done,’ said Raj who looked around the room for confirmation. ‘Sixteen-year-old Tara Cabe, in the presence of her mother, basically confirms what Jason and Martin told us about the attack. She also tells us she was so frightened that she ran away as fast as she could from the car park. She states that she hadn’t been aware before the attack that Dean McIntyre had a knife.’
‘How reliable do you think her account is?’ said Dylan.
‘I believe her. She appears genuinely shocked, frightened and upset but we are now aware she has a drug problem, and she could easily be confused. She confirms to us the word has been passed around since Knapton’s murder that nobody should say a word, or they’d end up dead.’
‘Who’s putting the word out?’
‘Ruwal and McIntyre, of whom she says everyone is terrified.’
‘Paul Bishop is a cocky twat. He’s nineteen years of age and he knows it all. He is adamant that Knapton needed sorting before him and his dog badly hurt someone. He says that they had done the rest of us a favour by getting shut of Knapton.’
‘Did he know about the knife?’ said Dylan.
‘Yes, he said that he knew Dean had a knife but he says that he thought it was just to scare Knapton.
‘Great work everybody, I think we now have a good idea of what took place that night. We are missing Farah Ruwal at the moment and Dean McIntyre whose already on remand, and that makes nine of them in total, or is anyone else mentioned as being there at the time of the incident?’ The room was instantly quiet.
‘So can I take it by the silence, no one else has been mentioned?’ Dylan continued, ‘Uniform are out at the moment to arrest Farah Ruwal on suspicion of murder and search her flat. Tomorrow I’ll contact the prison and arrange for McIntyre to be produced to the police cells within the next couple of days, and we will arrest him for murder and interview him. We don’t want to be keeping this lot any longer than the thirty-six hours’ detention we already have authorisation for. We need forensic results, we need mobile and computer results and we aren’t going to have them in the next few hours. So reluctantly we’ll bail them for a couple of weeks after the next round of interviews and by that time we might have all the information we need. This also allows us to concentrate on our two main players, Dean and Farah.’
‘I’m day-off tomorrow sir, do you want me in? The kids have an eye sight test booked in after school that’s all,’ said Raj.
‘Not unless you need to come in?’ Dylan said.
‘Overtime? I’m in!’ said Vicky. ‘That’ll pay for the designer handbag I’ve got my eye on.’
‘You’ve been around long enough to know I can’t authorise unnecessary overtime.’
Vicky slouched back in her chair and pouted.
‘I’ll no doubt be pulled over the coals already by the Chief for the cost of the two investigations.’
‘Yeah, well he isn’t the one doing all the bastard work is he?’ Vicky mumbled under her breath.
‘Incidentally, Paul Bishop admitted to being the artist,’ said Ned diplomatically changing the subject. ‘His grandad was in the war and drew ‘wot no’ Chad cartoons for him when he was a kid.’
‘Get stuck into his ribs about the damage.’
Ned nodded.
‘Okay everyone, meeting over.’
Vicky raced to her desk, threw her pen and pad inside her drawer and locked it in quick time.
‘Going somewhere?’ said Ned.
‘I’m nipping out to put a deposit on that handbag before it’s sold,’ she said in a whisper and with the wink of an eye. ‘If Hugo-Watkins can have new furniture in his office. I can have that bag.’
Overhearing, Dylan shook his head. Sitting at his desk he leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head, and for a moment, he closed his eyes. When he opened them and sat forward his focus was on the pile of enquires he had written off as ‘no further action’ earlier in the day. The result of wasted man hours on hopeless pursuits and unproductive enquiries. He leaned forward picked the paperwork up and carried it to the outer office placing it firmly in the HOLMES incident loggers tray before finishing for the day.
Lack of sleep was beginning to be a regular occurrence. Information from interviews and enquiries spun around in his head. Not only was the Freddy Knapton murder enquiry keeping him awake but also the Merton Manor. He was spinning plates and the pressure was on - he could almost hear the review team knocking at his door. On hearing Maisy call in her sleep he put on his trousers, pulled on a sweatshirt and shut the bedroom door quietly behind him, so as not to wake Jen. By the time he reached Maisy’s bedside the dream had passed and she was peaceful so he went downstairs in search of a warm drink.
Max sat by the kitchen table, his head rested on Dylan’s thigh. His beseeching eyes looked up at his master. Dylan felt the dog’s powerful jaws at his fingertips as he rubbed the fur under his chin. Dylan opened his laptop and Max, now devoid of his attention, lay down with a deep groan and positioned himself purposefully, it seemed, across Dylan’s foot. As dawn broke, Dylan had completed his schedule for the day. His head, although feeling foggy, felt much relieved for downloading his thoughts onto paper. When Jen appeared he smiled at her. Jen’s face scrunched up in a yawn. She looked pale. He gave a gentle kiss on her cheek as he spooned coffee into the cups. She put her arms about him and, feeling the cold skin of his hairy stomach under her warm hands, she snuggled up to him tight. ‘I didn’t hear you get up?’
‘My mind was running ragged with what needs doing so I thought it best to get up and write it all down.’
It was Dylan’s turn to yawn. ‘And now I have, I could quite easily go back to sleep.’ Jen looked up at the clock, squinting as she did so in the half-light. ‘What time you due in?’
‘Half-six.’ Dylan suddenly tightened the grip on his mug.
‘Careful,’ she said as his lack of concentration nearly saw the drink spill on the floor.
‘I think I’d better get you some sustenance,’ she said concerned. Dylan sat down with his drink and Jen moved around the kitchen, gathering the breakfast things and putting them on the table. ‘Banana, Porridge?’
‘Thanks. Whatever. I want to grab a shower before I go to help me wake up.’ He drew a hand across his face and rubbed his red eyes with fisted hands.
‘You look absolutely shattered.’
‘I am, but the Knapton job is coming together. We just need
to secure the evidence to prove what we suspect took place before we submit the file to CPS. We need to put each and every one of the gang before the courts for their involvement. The last thing anyone in the team wants is for those responsible to walk free.’
‘And how’s things coming along on the Merton Manor fire investigation?’
‘Slow. We’re systematically working through the information we’ve being given and waiting for tests to come back from the experts. Frustratingly, as you know, some take longer than others and it’s a waiting game for us right now. I’m across to Lancashire this morning making enquiries about a hire car and its users.’
***
At six o’clock Dylan was sitting in his car in the driveway. He started the engine and looked up to see Maisy and Jen waving at him from the bedroom window. His heart took a leap of contentment.
Vicky Hardacre was sitting at her desk looking focused. When Dylan reached her she was tapping her pen on her notepad, seemingly oblivious to him. ‘Any startling news?’ he enquired.
‘By the time I got to the shop the handbag had sold out,’ she said solemnly. Dylan rolled his eyes. And with that she got to her feet and headed for the kitchen. ‘Brew,’ she shouted as Dylan continued to his office and opened the door. He’d just taken off his coat and was hanging it up when Vicky walked in with two mugs.
‘Farah Ruwals been arrested.’
‘And?’ he said as he leaned forward, pressing a button to boot up his computer.
‘They had to smash the door in.’
‘What was the problem?’
‘There wasn’t a problem. She couldn’t be bothered to answer it.’
‘I’m glad they made use of the door ram. I’d have been bloody annoyed if they’d walked away from an unanswered door.’ Dylan sat down behind his desk and unlocked his desk drawers.
‘They’d hardly do that on your shout, now would they?’ she said raising an eyebrow. ‘Apparently she kicked-off big style, ended up in hospital feigning illness but she’s in the cells waiting for us this morning.’
Dylan looked across at her from his computer screen. ‘You’d think people would know by now that we’ll do whatever it takes to arrest someone who’s wanted.’ Dylan’s eyes went back to the computer screen.
‘What’re you reading,’ Vicky said after a moment or two.
‘The night report,’ he said absentmindedly. ‘I’m off into Lancashire with Jon Summer on a Merton Manor murder enquiry, but before I set off I want to have a quick scrum down with the team.’ As if on cue the doors started banging in the direction of the outer CID office - the team was starting to arrive for duty.
‘For a young lass Ruwal does a pretty good impression of an ill-treated carthorse this morning according to the custody staff.’ Ned shuddered as he entered the room. ‘Not a pretty sight.’
‘Hark at you. Have you looked in a mirror?’ said Vicky.
Ned stood before them, his unbrushed curly hair was tucked behind his ears. His shirt tail out of his trousers. Vicky looked down at his feet to see he wore odd socks. ‘Did you get dressed in the dark?’
Ned’s lip curled and he stuck out his tongue.
‘Children,’ growled Dylan. ‘We don’t have time.’
‘Ruwal has some risky selfies on her mobile phone and they’re not for the faint hearted. Do you want to see?’ said Vicky.
‘Has she really?’ Ned said his eyes widened.
Dylan scowled. ‘I’ll take your word for it if they’re not from the scene of the murder.’
Vicky shook her head. ‘No they’re not.’
‘I’ll delegate that then - privilege of rank. I’d like a résumé of all yesterday’s interviews, in brief, for each prisoner, stating what they admit to, on my desk before the end of the day. So when I get back from Lancashire I can catch up. If you need me, I’m on my mobile,’ said Dylan.
Late morning brought a curtain of fog down in Harrowfield as Dylan and Jon travelled through Tandem Bridge en route to Redchester. It was a struggle to see six feet ahead. But as Jon drove the vehicle out onto the moors the wind that had picked up moved the fog along and the sky was dark and threatening rain. The Yorkshire weather was displaying its repertoire of changeable conditions. Before long the heavens opened and a deluge of rain fell.
As they arrived at the local police office closest to the garage, fortuitously, a police officer was just entering the usually unmanned police station. Dylan knew that local knowledge may assist them but also it was courtesy to let the locals know of a visit. You never knew when you might need backup.
Redchester Regal Hire Cars had no less than six high-powered, luxury cars on their forecourt. Dylan had to admit to being disappointed not to see a royal blue Mercedes amongst them. A professional eye on the extent of the security, told him that money had been heavily invested on the premises. Security fence spikes to deter and prevent intruders and a banner advertising ‘Redchester Regal Hire Cars’ sponsored by a security company spanned the frontage of the white, corrugated roofed building.
Jon parked the car directly in front of the mesh-panelled reception windows. Before the two detectives had reached the door a tall, well-groomed man opened it and greeted them. Standing on the door step, he towered over the two six foot detectives, offered his hand and a welcoming smile. The thin faced, clean shaven salesman was of slim build, he wore a pinstripe suit, brilliant white shirt and a blue silk tie.
‘Good day gentleman, Mike Talbot,’ he said shaking Dylan’s hand. He had a strong grip. ‘Men in suits? I recognise the walk of a police officer, my dad was in the Met. You’re not local I presume with that number plate.’ Mr Talbot gave a slight nod of his head in the direction of the plain clothes police vehicle.
Dylan introduced himself and Jon, who both automatically produced their warrant cards. ‘Harrowfield CID, West Yorkshire,’ Dylan said.
‘Come in.’ Mike turned and led the way into the building. The fan heater above the door in the narrow corridor blew out a dry heat and instantly Dylan undid his outer coat. Mike turned directly left through an open door and into a furnished office. He sat behind a desk in a leather executive chair; a desk top computer faced him. Two high backed chairs were strategically placed in front of the desk and he beckoned the men to sit. He went to pick up his phone. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, thanks we’ve just had one,’ said Dylan. Mike put the phone down.
‘How can I help?’
‘We need to have a chat with you about a triple murder that’s recently occurred in our area.’
‘A triple murder? Bloody hell, and how do you think I can help?’ Mike Talbot’s healthy pallor had turned slightly ashen.
Dylan outlined the circumstances of the fire and how the occupants had been discovered, he included the fact that the couple had both been shot in the head and also told him the wife had been pregnant and the child had been killed.
‘Who’d they upset?’ Mike Talbot blinked rapidly, picked up a glass of water and took a gulp. The swift action brought about a fit of coughing. He loosened his tie.
‘We need to trace and eliminate the users of a royal blue Mercedes, registration number is TTI 155 which was seen in the immediate area at the time. It’s the only vehicle connected to the enquiry that is registered out of our force area, and to here, hence the visit.’
‘Yes, that’s one of our cars. Blood and sand, I’ve been here a number of years but never before have any of our vehicles been the subject of an enquiry for murder; speeding, parking tickets by the bucket load. But murder, that’s surreal. Wait here a minute.’ As he spoke he stood, excused himself, and disappeared out of the door. Dylan and Jon could hear voices coming from down the corridor, the opening and closing of drawers and moments later he returned with a bright yellow pocket file. ‘Thought so, this is relatively easy,’ he said, his face looking brighter. ‘That particular car was booked out to a Mr Devlin. He paid in cash, up front.
‘Mr Devlin? What do you know about him?’ said Dylan.<
br />
‘Nothing much, other than he hires a car from us every now and then. Most of our business clients hire a prestigious vehicle when they are out to impress - whether that be a woman or business.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Them, Declan and Damien Devlin are brothers. They both look very much alike, big, burly chaps. Not people you want to argue with, if you get my drift.’ Mike handed documents that he pulled from the folder to Dylan. Here, this is all the information that we have. I can copy it for you if it’d help?’
Dylan scanned the pages before handing them Jon. Mike Talbot sat upright, rigid, watching the officers intently. He tapped his pen rhythmically on the desktop.
Holding a copy of the invoice in his hand Dylan lifted his head. ‘That hire charge is a bit steep isn’t it?’
‘We offer top class cars with no added cost for the amount of miles the vehicle might cover - within reason of course.’
‘Is it usual for your customers to pay you such large amounts in cash?’ said Dylan.
‘Depends what they’re hiring the car for,’ said Mike touching the side of his nose. ‘If it’s to take the mistress away, it’s usually cash.’ Mike tittered.
Dylan considered his answer. ‘Five thousand pounds still feels a lot to me to pay out in notes.’
‘I guess what’s a large amount to you and me is chicken feed to others - just depends on your lifestyle.’
‘And do the Devlin’s always pay cash?’
‘I’ve never given it a thought before but yes, yes they do.’
‘Do you know what line of business the Devlin brothers are in?’ asked Jon.
Mike Talbot scratched his chin. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever had that conversation but they’re always well dressed.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment or two. ‘Look, I hire cars. I only ask the questions that are on the booking forms. What does it say under occupation?’ he said pointing to the document Jon was holding.
When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 24
