‘I’m fine Jack, thank you. Did you say they should hang him?’ she said, wiping her mouth with her hankie. He hadn’t seen her do that for a while and he knew from experience of her idiosyncrasy that she must be hungry.
‘It won’t bring back the kids, will it? But what a nice swing it would have to it,’ Dylan said chuckling.
Dawn rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘You can buy me coffee and a bun after that attempt at a joke.’ She laughed, realising how much she had missed the banter of her colleague. Debbie arrived with her hands full of paperwork, in a rush as usual, squeezing into a seat behind them. She always seemed so busy and yet, as an Investigative Support Officer, was able to answer all the questions asked of her, on all the different cases that she was putting case files together for. Debbie was a key cog in the wheel of the team; making sure deadlines were met with the CPS and defence, along with the rest of the team; but as a civilian, and because she just put her head down and got on with it, she was often overlooked.
‘Sorry I’m late; couldn’t find anywhere to park,’ she said. Her little round face flushed. Debbie was young and pretty with thick, curly ginger hair and soft green eyes.
‘You’ve not missed anything, only the news from our barrister that there’s no change on the plea of not guilty.’
‘Didn’t expect there to be any change. I’m all ready with my diary to note down the relevant dates of the next hearing and trial date,’ Debbie replied, as she searched busily for her pen, in her huge bag.
‘All rise,’ said the court clerk, as the judge walked from his chamber to address the court. Suddenly all cut to quiet in the room. Everyone in the courtroom rose. The High Court Judge Fryer-Black, in all his splendour, took his seat. He had agreed to hear the case, to set a date for the trial, in-between other court business that day. At least the hearing would be over in minutes; and they hadn’t had to wait all day for the case to be heard.
The defence barrister, a Mr Leonard Passmore, stood up. He could be seen by everyone in the public gallery through a tinted plastic panel that separated it from the rest of the court. The hearing lasted minutes, as the not guilty plea was entered.
‘What a waste of bloody time and money,’ Dylan muttered to Dawn as they stood to leave.
Dylan was in the queue of the upstairs restaurant in the Crown Court, watching Dawn settling herself at a table in a quiet corner with Debbie. The room was packed and reminded him of any large department store’s cafeteria. Witnesses, police and defendants with their families were thrown together. Once again he thought how frightening it must feel to be a witness here with an offender, instantly he thought of Mrs Day.
He recognised a well known young burglar, looking like he’d just walked out of Burton’s window. Dylan wouldn’t put it past him burgling a clothes shop especially to give a good impression for his court appearance. How well he scrubbed up for court. Some would do anything to give a good impression to a judge and jury; displaying a united front with their family, all fresh faced and angelic looking. How many times did he need to be put before the court before he was sent down? How many people and their homes did he have to plunder before he was safely put behind bars? And then there were the others; the ones who couldn’t care less what anyone thought who were looking for a further spell inside prison. They didn’t get nervous like normal people did. Being institutionalised was their way of life. Prison was a place they met up with their mates and learned new skills for when they were released. Court was a day out for them, a chance to catch up with family and friends.
‘Coffee, tea, chocolate or Bovril?’ asked the lady behind the counter, breaking his reverie.
‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ Dylan offered, by way of an explanation.
‘Three coffees please, and the biggest cream bun you’ve got,’ he smiled.
‘Don’t apologise. There’s many in here that’d like to be miles away,’ she chuckled as she placed the drinks on a tray. ‘Any fink else?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you,’ he smiled as he handed her a ten pound note.
Dylan pushed through the small crowd with his tray.
‘Where’s Debbie gone?’ he asked.
‘Oh, she got a call there’s a trial starting on Monday, and she’s still got some disclosure to finish, and exhibits to copy, and CPS want them ‘yesterday’ as usual, so she apologised and headed back to the office’.
‘Hmm, more coffee for me then. Well Dawn, next year we’ll be listening to the load of bollocks his defence team come up with. We can expect a drama from Perfect & Best. If nothing else they’ll play up for the press,’ he said, grinning as he placed the coffee and cream bun in front of her and put the tray on the spare seat.
‘Where do you stand on sentencing then Jack? Eye for an eye?’ Dawn asked, her eyes fixed firmly on the cake. ‘That mine?’ she said pulling the plate with the cake on in front of her.
‘That feels like a promotion board question,’ he said as he sat down.
‘Come on it’s me you’re talking to. Do you really think that life imprisonment is really a deterrent?’ she said, taking the largest of bites of cream cake.
‘No I don’t. People are living longer these days, so I think they should extend life to more than fifteen years, and no early release for good behaviour, if I’m honest. Or bring back the death penalty. That’s my personal view.’
‘Mmm,’ she said, fighting not to lose a drop of the cream as she took another bite of the cake and quickly devoured the rest.’
‘Let’s face it, wouldn’t you be good inside if you thought you were gonna get out a few years earlier? Someone who kills at twenty years old can be out when they are thirty,’ he said, as he stirred sugar into the second mug of coffee.
‘The pendulum of justice swings too much in the offenders’ favour these days for my liking.’ Dawn said, licking her lips.
‘Mine too, especially when they go onto re-offend after being released. How can the sentence they served have really been a punishment, otherwise they’d never dream of committing another crime.’
‘If anyone takes someone’s life, they should have all their human rights taken away from them, never mind them having civil rights. At least that would be a start, and might stop the cheeky bastards trying to claim for stuff like clothing they say we’ve damaged when we apprehended them. Do you remember that murderer who wanted us to buy him a new leather jacket because he said we’d ruined it in the property stores? It had the victim’s blood all down the front of it, goddamit.’
Dylan smiled at her. ‘You’re really on your soap box today Dawn.’
‘Hormones. I blame everything on hormones these days, they’re the most wonderful excuse,’ she laughed.
‘Yeah, well we don’t make the laws, just uphold them, remember.’
Dawn rubbed her rounded stomach.
‘You ever wanted kids, Jack?’
‘I’d have to find a woman who’d agree to marry me and this lifestyle first,’ he said, as he stood up and looked around the room.
‘Have you?’ Dawn looked up into his smiling face.
‘Had he?’ He mused.
‘May be but you’re not in the need to know bracket,’ he said, touching his nose. ’I thought we were sharing that cream bun,’ he said looking at the empty plate.
Dawn ran her finger round it. ‘And you know what thought did don’t you?’ she laughed licking clean the remaining morsels of the bun from it.
‘Let’s get back to the nick and get the Family Liaison Officer’s to speak to the Hind and Spencer families. It’s going to be upsetting for them, knowing he isn’t pleading guilty, but nothing more than they would’ve expected from a serial killer I wouldn’t have thought,’ said Dylan.
‘I just hope that we get a local Crown Court. The baby should be here by then,’ she said. ‘But we’ll just have to wait and see where there’s a place in the court calendar won’t we?’ Dawn sighed.
Chapter Thirty
Jen lay back and soaked in the luxury of
a lavender scented bath. Max had been walked and fed, and if she knew Dylan, it would be a while before he got home because of the court appearance that day. Whatever happened, there would be work to be done back at the office, and depending how long he’d been at court, would dictate how much of his daily routine work he had to catch up on when he got back. She smiled, and then sighed; languishing in the bubbles she immersed her head under the water, loving the feeling that washed over her. The day had been long and her body was tense and aching. She was so tired she could have fallen asleep as the smell of the aromatherapy oil engulfed her senses.
Her mind drifted back to her day at work, and the awful news that the mother of one of her colleague’s had been told she had breast cancer. It had been an emotional dinner-time, as the young woman had told Jen about the gruelling treatment her mum would have to endure, as well as coping with the fact that she might lose her hair. Absentmindedly her hand glided over her unusually tender breast. She cupped them in her hands and they felt heavy. Lifting her arms, she checked her armpits and then let her fingers probe deeper into her right breast and then her left.
Suddenly she stopped, feeling a large hard rubbery lump to the left of her nipple. A squirt of adrenalin shot into her stomach and she sat up. She’d always had ‘lumpy’ breasts, but this felt different. She felt a wave of nausea. Her hand wandered to her right breast to see if it felt the same. No it was definitely different. She stood up in the bath as a flush of panic ran through her body. She looked at herself in the mirror, over the washbasin. She turned from side to side. Her body was firm and well proportioned. Her breasts well rounded and her stomach was fairly flat she thought, as she grabbed hold of the excess fat on her hips and screwed up her face. Did one breast look larger than the other, she wondered? How was she supposed to know she didn’t spend time feeling her breasts. Stepping out of the bath she grabbed a warm towel from the rail and started rubbing her body vigorously. She reached for the moisturiser and smoothing on the cream, her hand once more went involuntarily to her breast. No, it was still there, the hard unmovable mound hadn’t gone. Did she honestly think it would? As she padded down the stairs in her pyjamas, she saw the security light come on outside, and was pleased that Jack was home.
‘We won’t tell Jack will we mate,’ she said, as she hurriedly passed Max, who’d been waiting patiently for her at the foot of the stairs. Fleetingly, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed the top of his head. He stood and followed her into the kitchen. She switched on the kettle. Max sat watching her and her eyes filled with tears. ‘What would I do without you baby,’ she said. He crawled on the floor to her feet. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and she bent down to stroke him, her confidant, her friend.
Had it really been six years since she had chosen him? She had lavished her time on him and he had helped heal her heartache. He was her only companion when she’d moved from the Isle of Wight, unable to stay in the familiar surroundings after she had got the devastating news and her fiancé had left her. Max and she had been comfortable together since then, just the two of them, until Jack had come into their lives. She wiped her wet face with her sleeve and stood as she heard Dylan’s key in the door. ‘Jack’s enough on his plate, hasn’t he Max without our problems,’ she muttered, as she reached in the cupboard for a mug to make Dylan a warm drink. Max being the eternal optimist, stood close behind her, assuming that he was going to get a treat and he wasn’t disappointed.
‘Now what shall I make to eat?’ she sighed to herself, as Max bounded off to greet Dylan. Was it really nine o’clock? she thought, as she looked at the clock? Where had the evening gone?
The next day, the press office was hot on Dylan’s tail.
have you seen the bloody headlines? Families call for capital punishment to be brought back for child killers.’ Vicky read out the front page of the Harrowfield Times.
‘That’s always gonna to be the case.’ Dylan said.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t say ’owt to the press after the pre-trial hearing, boss’
‘Ah, Vicky, an opportunity missed,’ chuckled Dylan. ‘That would have caused ructions over at HQ wouldn’t it if I’d put my two pen’orth in?’ he laughed.
‘You’re too professional for that,’ she said, causing her brow to furrow.
‘So far,’ he agreed as his mobile rang. She got up and left him to his call.
Dylan peered at the mobile screen over his glasses, ‘unknown number.’ It was probably some reporter trying to get him to comment on the not guilty plea. ‘Dylan,’ he roared, to scare off the caller. He heard beeps as if it the person was ringing him from a call box. He waited.
‘Boss, it’s Larry. Call off the wolves, will you? I want to talk to you. I’m not your murderer. I thought you knew me better than that.’ Before Dylan could speak, he’d gone. His speech sounded slurred and his voice was tired and emotional.
‘John.’ shouted Dylan.
‘Yes boss?’ said John as he appeared at Dylan’s door.
‘Larry just rang. He wants to talk.’
‘If he’s still driving that mobile home in Yorkshire, he’ll be lucky if he’s not picked up by us before he gets to meet up with you.’
‘Put a call out-to the force for officers to keep their eyes peeled for him, and get us an urgent visiting order for Malcolm Reynolds, will you? I think it’s about time we see what happens when we tell him about Larry and Liz.’
The previous day’s court appearance seemed a long time ago as Dylan launched himself into looking at the outstanding actions on his murder enquiries, but he couldn’t get Larry, his letter, or the call - out of his mind. To Dylan’s surprise, John told him Malcolm Reynolds had been moved to an open prison, and the level of security of that prison now concerned him.
‘He’s done well boss, getting that move so soon, hasn’t he?’ John said.
‘Yeah, but to be fair to him, I suppose he’s a non-violent prisoner who’s done a good proportion of his time, with good behaviour. It’s got to be expected at some point. I wonder if he’ll be nipping out on day trips and to the local pub at night.’ Dylan said.
‘Most of ‘em do, don’t they? Then end up back on high security again because of the drink. They never learn.’
The surroundings of the open prison were pleasant in comparison with the high security incarceration. Dylan and John strolled into the almost empty visitor’s centre at HM Prison Wealstun where food and drink could be purchased from the refreshment counter. Malcolm Reynolds was sitting at a table, two prison officers on hand. Dylan thought he looked a lot fitter, cleaner, and he hoped more amiable than the last time they’d seen him. He got up to greet them and shook them by the hand. The saying ‘the calm before the storm’ came to the forefront of Dylan’s mind.
‘have you got news?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Not a lot,’ said Dylan. Malcolm’s shoulders visibly dropped.
‘We’re still trying to piece together what happened. How well do you know a Detective Sergeant Banks, Malcolm?’ Dylan asked. He noticed Malcolm’s eyes flash with recognition.
‘What the hell as that got to do with the murder of my wife?
‘How well do you think Liz knew him, Malcolm?’
‘What? Where are you going with this?’ Malcolm’s eyes glazed over.
‘We know that the night before Liz was murdered he spent the night with her at your house,’ said Dylan.
‘No way. Why’s he saying that?’ he asked John. ‘Where is Banks?’
‘He isn’t. We are. His DNA has been lifted from the bed sheets and his prints were found at the house,’ Dylan said.
‘The bitch. That bent bastard. Did he kill her? Was it him?’ Malcolm raged.
‘Calm down. I’m being straight with you, no matter how much I know the truth will hurt.’
‘What? Why would I want to hear one of your guys was shagging my missus? If it’s true, it’s a good job she is dead...I’d have killed her myself when I found out, and she knew it.’
> ‘You still haven’t answered me, do you know Larry Banks?’ Dylan probed.
‘Yeah, Larry was a bent copper. Didn’t you know that?’
Dylan tried to hide his shock at hearing the revelation spoken out loud, or was it just that he didn’t want to hear the truth.
‘Why’re you saying that? Because of what I’ve just told you about him and Liz?’ Dylan said.
‘Look, do you think I care a flying fuck whether you believe me or not? Think what the hell you like, but mark my words, he’s a fucking dead man.’
‘He’s not here. We’re trying to find him; he’s wanted with Interpol. Do you know where he is?’
‘Whoa. Why would I know where he is? I hope you catch the bastard. Bring him in here to see me when you do.’ Malcolm roared.
Dylan ignored his outburst. ‘So, how does he know Liz?’
‘He did me a favour a few years ago...then...I was arrested.’
‘Look, cards on the table apart from what we have said about Larry we can put Frankie Miller in St Peter’s Park; around the time of Liz’s death. He’s been identified driving away from the scene of an accident in the area around the same time. A balaclava was recovered in St Peter’s Park; that’s where we’ve got his DNA from and we’ve found traces of petrol on it. We can show that he telephoned Liz at your home and he had her photo at his flat. Someone poisoned your koi carp. He knew your address.’
‘The bastard...the absolute bastard. All the time he was celled up with me he was just gathering information. He knew I collected rare koi’ Malcolm paused, shaking his head. ’Boy, did he groom me. How naïve was I? The stupid bloody crack head. Hang on though . Why would he kill her if he’d got the money off of her? He’d no need to murder her had he? She didn’t know him, and if he was wearing a balaclava like you say.’ Malcolm stopped to think. ’I knew once he got out of prison he had to get his hand on cash. They’d given him time . . .’
Consequences Page 24
