When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel

by RC Bridgestock

  In readiness for a rapid response, paramedics had been in a vehicle nearby, secreted behind a high hedge along a nearby country lane. They were called forward to Filby Hall to deal with a man with gunshot wounds.

  ‘One injured suspect arrested, one suspect deceased, two nine millimetre handguns recovered.’

  Dylan and Terry relaxed back in their chairs. Dylan joined his hands together and put them behind his head. ‘Threat neutralised,’ he whispered, blowing air out of pursed lips. ‘Thank the lord. Can I have an update from Silver and Bronze commanders please?’ he said sitting upright once more.

  ‘Bronze commander, both suspects opened fire at the officers when challenged, fortunately no police personnel injured. All events recorded on video. We’ve got the police helicopter up monitoring events. Can we have it to transport?’ Dylan heard them say. He looked at Terry puzzled. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said.

  Jon asked for talk through. ‘We’re going to need at least one of you to take charge of the homicide scene until professional standards arrive.’

  ‘We’ve got a vehicle on standby,’ said Dylan who was already on his feet and heading to the door.

  ‘Roads are blocked in the locality I’m being told due to a pile up on the main road. We’ve no choice but to fly you in. Can you be prepared to join the helicopter on the helipad in the next few minutes, sir?’

  Dylan’s heart dropped immediately to his stomach as panic set in. He felt hot liquid running through is veins belying the cold sweat that formed in beads on his brow. ‘You’ll never get me in the air,’ he heard himself saying the words to Jen, over and over again. Dylan looked back at Terry, his eyes wide.

  ‘The scene needs to be protected. It’s going to be an independent investigation team from outside the force area on behalf of the IPCC,’ said Terry. ‘You go to the scene and I’ll see to things here at the station, and also let your assistant chief constable know you’re up in the clouds.’ He gave Dylan a sarcastic grin.

  ‘The scene is secured. Secondary teams are on standby to carry out enquires at the hotel and also at the Maltings.’ Jon updated control.

  ***

  ‘I’m hearing that at least three shots were fired by the two men before one of the targets was shot dead and the other injured. Tac advisor’s raging that they managed to fire any rounds,’ said PC Rothwell. Dylan followed her up the stairs. He felt numb. ‘The pilot is already in the aircraft waiting. There’s no time to get you into a flying suit,’ she said at the door to the roof of the building where the helipad was located. ‘The rotors are running; we will approach from the front right of the helicopter. I will indicate to you when the pilot has given me the thumbs up to escort you to the aircraft. Have you ever been in a helicopter before sir?’

  Dylan’s mouth was so dry, he couldn’t speak. He licked his lips. ‘I don’t fly,’ he finally managed to say.

  ‘What never?’ she said, a little smile lifting the corners of her lips.

  Dylan shook his head. ‘Never, ever.’

  ‘Don’t worry, just follow me, I’ll escort you to the aircraft as I said, and place you in a seat at the rear, strap you in and close the door. You will have a communication lead attached to your helmet,’ she said passing him the helmet she held loosely in her hand. ‘Once that’s attached we will be able to communicate. Until then, the noise that you can hear outside will be so loud we won’t be able to speak to each other from the brief time when we open this door, to when we connect via comms. When we get outside be aware of the strength of the wind the rotors produce, it will, I promise you, nearly knock you off your feet. Dylan looked from her five-foot-six, slight build to his six-foot solid stature. ‘Mark my words sir, it will knock your socks off. My advice, push into the backdraft and you’ll be fine.’ Dylan looked at her and felt more reassured. ‘Are you ready,’ she said with her hand on the door. ‘Before we go. Have you any loose items in your pockets, cash?’ she said.

  Dylan fumbled in his pockets.

  ‘If so just make them secure.’

  He nodded his head.

  ‘We’re off then,’ she said as she flung the door open.

  Lisa headed towards the front of the helicopter and Dylan followed. Even with the helmet on, the wind strength powered by the rotors surprised him.

  The aircraft was smaller than he anticipated, never before being up close. Once inside and the door closed, just as Lisa had said, she indicated a seat and he sat down. She attached the comms lead to his helmet and he felt a lot easier and reassured knowing he would soon be able to hear her voice, and she him.

  Lisa smiled as she made herself busy by turning on her computer. Conscious that he was nervous she constantly glanced in his direction. When she was able to speak to him she would reassure him. A well-oiled cog, the procedure was now in motion, and there was no stopping it.

  ‘Just ensuring the radios are on the correct channels,’ he heard her say, her voice, such a relief to his brief unhearing world. ‘Follow our instructions in case of an emergency,’ she said. ‘An emergency?’ Dylan’s heart beat faster, his temples throbbed, his blinking was frequent, his swallowing often. He couldn’t remember when he was last so scared. Probably when he was that little boy facing the enraged bull at his grandparents’ farm. And, as then, he had no place to hide but face the fear head on.

  Dylan could hear the pre-flight checks; doors and harnesses secured, radio checks done, both engine control switches confirmed at ‘fly’. In-between liaising with the pilot and control to confirm they were preparing to take off, Lisa reassured Dylan that all was well.

  The helicopter was airborne. What seemed to take an age had in fact taken but a few minutes according to Dylan’s watch. These guys were good, very, very good and not for the first time that day was he was impressed and proud to be part of such an elite team of professional people - the police service.

  To settle his nerves Dylan didn’t take his eyes off Lisa, looking for any change in her facial expression or body language. Safely en route, and with constant reassuring glances from Lisa, she liaised with the units on the ground, who’d started planning with the pilot a suitable landing site.

  ‘Don’t worry sir, you’re perfectly safe, do you think I’d be sat here if you weren’t?’ She stretched her neck to look out of the window. Dylan closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His stomach was churning. Look at that dreadful traffic down there it’s like a car park. One, two, three, four, five, six cars in that pile up,’ She turned back to Dylan. ‘See what I mean? You’re much safer up here than you are down there.’

  Dylan heard Jon’s authoritative voice over the airways. ‘The grounds are large enough to land the helicopter.’

  ‘We need a place free from wires, animals, and fairly flat,’ Lisa said.

  ‘Plenty of room here, the garden is like a football pitch. In fact,’ he said seeing the goalposts at either end, ‘it is. The house has a football pitch would you believe?’

  The helicopter was circling the location and the descent began. Only now could Dylan bring himself to look out of the window.

  The landing was as smooth as the take off and Dylan knew the sense of the word relief when the pilot gave the authority for them to exit the aircraft. Lisa unstrapped herself with ease and leaned towards Dylan to unstrap him, she removed his communication lead from his helmet. She motioned him to follow her and she helped him get out of the helicopter. He was grateful for her reassuring hand holding onto his arm to guide him out of harm’s way. At a safe distance from the rotor blades she stopped. ‘That’s it sir, you’re all done, you can give me your helmet now. Unless of course you fancy coming back with us?’ Lisa gave him a cheeky grin. Jon Summers was walking towards him. Dylan took off his helmet and handed it to Lisa. ‘I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer,’ he said. ‘I really couldn't have done that without you.’ He looked about him as siren’s rung out loud and clear.

  ‘The firearms commander’s not happy, one of the Devlin’s managed to fire three rounds before h
e was dealt with.’

  ‘Ambulance on site?’

  ‘Paramedics are working hard to keep who we believe to be Damien Devlin, alive.’

  ‘Don’t try too bloody hard,’ Dylan said. The wind created by the helicopter rotor blades, preparing for take-off, carried his words with it.

  ‘Sir?’ Jon said cupping his hand around his ear.

  ‘I’m eager to see if the weapons are ones that were used for the killings at Merton Manor,’ shouted Dylan as the two men ran towards the house.

  ‘And the murder of Cedric Oakley,’ said Jon.

  ‘I’m told they’re the right calibre,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Patience is a virtue sir. Ballistics’ will be on it straight away.’

  ‘Sadly I don’t possess patience. We can’t even touch them for now. Where’s the CSI Supervisor?’ As he said the words he saw crime scene investigator Mark Hamilton. ‘Good, once we’ve got the guns photographed in situ, made safe and recovered, we’ll be able to move forward. Continue videoing everything in situ ready for Professional Standards. IPCC will be involved.

  Terry Hawk stood down the units at the other locations. ‘Sarah tells me we owe the horses an apple,’ he said to Dylan.

  ‘Order them a sack of apples!’

  The scene was a busy one. An established approach to secure evidence and protect the scene was in motion. The firearms team had re-grouped, Dylan knew the officers would be waiting for their debrief - their job done. Weapons fired were being retained as exhibits. ‘We’ll have a debrief with all concerned at Harrowfield nick at five o’clock tonight,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Yes sir.’ Jon scribbled down actions as instructed by Dylan, updating him after each were completed.

  Dylan was more aware than most, from personal experience, of taking part in the shooting of a man albeit several years ago, how rigorous these type of investigations were.

  ‘The chief superintendent from the Professional Standards Unit is on his way, stuck in the traffic,’ said Terry Hawk on talk-through.

  Dylan would be pleased to hand it over to him. He would be the liaison with the IPCC. These guys were ruthless, but fortunately Dylan and the team had had the foresight and time to enable them to capture the events of this incident on camera, for the safety of all concerned. He never wanted anyone under his command to go through what he had - and years later still be suffering the consequences of. The footage from equipment that they had in place would stand up in any court of law to show a lawful killing.

  It was a massive relief to him that no police officers had suffered any injuries during the armed assault. If any had, he would have carried the guilt with him forever.

  ‘The secondary teams have moved into action sir,’ said Jon. ‘The team at the hotel searched the room where they had stayed but it revealed nothing other than to confirm they had stayed there.’

  ‘One less scene to worry about,’ said Dylan. ‘Find out if Vicky has an update on the Maltings?’ Dylan barked the instruction. ‘She knows what she was looking for.’

  Dylan made his way across the lawn to speak to officers at the scene. His phone rang and he excused himself.

  ‘Vicky, what have you got?’

  ‘The old man who lives at number eleven only turns out to be the grandfather of Damien and Declan Devlin. He’s a frail old man. Wanted to know if they were in trouble because, he tells me, they’re good lads. They brought him the staddlestone in his garden as a present for his birthday.’

  ‘If only he knew the full story. And he will,’ Dylan sighed. ‘Did you get chance to check the staddlestone out?

  ‘Yes, the identification marks on it are clear, it came from Merton Manor.’

  ‘Fucking brilliant!’ Dylan said rather louder than he intended. Those around him lifted their heads from what they were doing to turn his way.

  ‘And you’ll be pleased to know we’ve had confirmation of fingerprints found on the bank notes seized from The Wellington Hotel.’

  ‘That’s great. If Clancy Mason at Ballistics can confirm that the two nine millimetre hand guns recovered today are the ones used at Merton Manor and to kill Cedric Oakley, like we think, we’ve hit the jackpot. We will have enough to piece together irrefutable evidence. One of them might have got away without going to court but I can’t wait to see the other going behind bars for the rest of his bloody life.’

  ‘You’ve not heard then?’ said Vicky, her voice lowered.

  ‘Heard what?’ Dylan was walking around the exterior of the crime scene. He leaned against a fence post.

  ‘I’m with Terry Hawk in the command room boss, I believe he wants to speak to you.’

  Dylan heard muffled voices and Terry took over.

  ‘What haven’t I heard?’ said Dylan.

  ‘The injured brother, believed to be Damien Devlin died en route to the hospital mate. The Paramedics tried hard to save him but they couldn’t.’

  Dylan banged his fist on the gate. He felt a fire cursing through his veins. ‘Twat! Bastard! How dare he fucking die?’ But deep down he knew it was justice.

  ‘In all honesty listening to the running commentary, those guys had probably planned to die should they get cornered by the police. There was nothing we could have done that would have changed the outcome of this incident I fear. They were happy to have a shoot-out.’

  ‘Yeah, well it was a lot less painful for them than I’d have liked it to be. I can see the news headlines tomorrow, can’t you – Harrowfield police gun down two armed criminals? The investigation into the shootings will leave nothing to question, and sadly for the officers involved - that won’t be quick and painless. Each one of them will be under suspicion until the enquiry is over.’ Dylan spat the words out.

  ‘That’s the nature of the beast,’ said Terry. ‘We live and die by our sword, or our decisions as it were, as police officers.’

  Dylan ended the call and dropped the phone in his pocket.

  The area was out of sight of the general public, and the scene would be kept secure and sterile until the investigations had been completed. This location was quite rightly chosen, after discussions with the firearms tactical advisor, because it was the only place to neutralise the threat of two armed criminals without putting the public or the surveillance team in danger.

  Post-mortem’s would have to be carried out on both deceased. Two murderers and would-be robbers off the streets. Was their motive purely money this time or were they looking to kill again at Filby Hall? Dylan knew that questions would be asked of him, as to why the brothers weren’t intercepted en route, and he would be accused of setting a trap for the deceased. The enquiry into the shootings would leave nothing to question. It would be lengthy and thorough. As far as DI Dylan was concerned he, and his opposite number at North Yorkshire had made the right decisions. Dylan knew when there had been a homicide, there had to be a thorough investigation. He felt keenly for the firearms officers, they carry weapons so that they can confront this sort of situation. Sometimes they have to use their weapons, which still remains a rare event, and they should have the full support of the police force and the public in such difficult life threatening situations.

  Dylan realised he hadn’t heard anything about DC Rupert Charles. He asked Terry whether his team had any update.

  ‘The property he lived in was rented apparently and according to his landlord he did a moonlight flit. They’ve checked with your duties clerk, Dorothy Brown, and he hasn’t turned in for work since his last rest day, neither has he rung in sick. They are searching the house but it is revealing nothing at this moment in time. What we do know is that he owes money. So it looks like he’s done a runner.’

  ‘And his wife?’

  ‘She’s being notified through her work as she’s been working away. Well, at least he won’t be looking over his shoulder for the Devlin brothers when he reads about their demise in the newspapers.’

  ‘We have a duty of care Terry to him and his wife. I’ll get him circulated as missing and vulnera
ble.’

  ‘As if we haven’t enough to bloody deal with.’

  The incident room was full to overflowing at Harrowfield police station. The noise from within could be heard across the back yard. The fire doors were thrown wide open to allow North Yorkshire DI Terry Hawk and DI Jack Dylan accompanied by ACC Wendy Smythe in. As they entered the large open space that had been cleared as much as possible to house the amount of people attending, the talking amongst their audience stopped. The senior officers walked to the front of the room and sat in the seats that had been put there for them. The debrief was also being recorded.

  ‘I want to thank all those involved in this investigation and for the assistance given to us by Terry and his North Yorkshire team in what turned out to be a combined effort to trace and arrest those responsible, we now know, for four sadistic, violent murders. The outcome was not the one we intended but fortunately we were prepared and reacted professionally to a violent armed confrontation which, as you are aware, left two armed criminals dead. I want to praise the firearms officers for their actions in such difficult circumstances. I too have been in the position you are in, several years ago, but be assured justice will prevail. These enquiries are far from over. There is a lot of work still to be done over the forthcoming weeks. But, we can all sleep soundly tonight knowing that two violent armed criminals are no longer roaming the streets of this county.’

  Dylan sat down and the ACC stood up, also to thank the officers. ‘I have to inform you,’ she said. ‘That there will be a more detailed debrief, and a review in due course. Also, the IPCC are overseeing the investigation into the deaths of these two men.’

  The debrief was over and the officers were dismissed. Each individual team would have their own debrief and record lessons learnt for future incidents. ‘Lessons will be learnt from this,’ Wendy Smythe said to Dylan and Terry on her way out. ‘I’ll speak to you later Dylan, I want an update in respect of our missing detective.’