The Yorkshire Dipper

by Maria Frankland

  I could kiss her. My dress needs taking in, not letting out. I look at myself in the full-length mirror then at Sara. “Do you still like it?” I ask her. “As much as when we chose it?”

  “Lauren, you daft sod. You look absolutely stunning. I love it.”

  “We need to find your dress now.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Sara replies. “I need to find a man first.”

  I gasp at my insensitivity. “I meant your bridesmaid dress.”

  “I know silly. The look on your face was priceless though.”

  I spend more time trying on veils and tiaras, then Sara and I decide to have a cheeky glass of wine in the pub next door. I freeze as we leave the bridal shop. “There’s someone behind my car.” I hiss at her. “Just like when we went to the café last month.”

  Sara looks over. “I can’t see anyone.” Last time, she tried to wave the situation away, but now she looks worried.

  I glance down the road to check for traffic before stepping out. Sara pulls me back. “Wait a minute.” Her voice is a whisper now. “You can’t just go charging over. If there’s someone there, they’ll have to come out eventually. I’m not letting you go across there. They could have a knife or anything. Shit.”

  I hear a sound like a rubber sole on gravel. Sara and I cling to one another as she reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone. We are both trembling. By now the woman in the bridal shop has come out to see if we’re OK and what is going on. As I speak to her and Sara speaks into her phone to the police, I see a darkly dressed figure dart away from behind my car at full pelt along a side street. He’s got a hood up and is over six foot. That’s about as much as I get.

  Mark rings me. “The report’s just come in. Are you OK? Where are you?”

  “In the Fox and Hounds.” I take a gulp of my wine. “I’m alright though. Whoever it was has gone. Probably just some jerk casing my car. I’d stupidly left my iPad on the passenger seat. Is there anyone who can drop you off so you can drive us both back. We were having a glass of wine anyway, but I might need two after that!”

  “I’ll get DCI Ingham to drop me off shortly,” he replies. “He’s just come on shift to do a press release about the latest woman. Then I can drive us both home. Is Alysha in school club?”

  “Yes.” I take another sip of my wine, feeling rebellious for drinking on a Monday afternoon. It’s part wedding dress celebration – part nerves – especially after seeing someone hanging around my car. “Hopefully, he was just after my iPad. And not me or Sara.”

  “I’ll get some details from you when I arrive, then I’ll get them circulated. We’ll catch him. Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes. Sara’s with me. Try not to be long.”

  “We’ll set off straight after his statement. He’s starting now.”

  “I’ll ask the pub to put the TV on so I can watch it. Which channel?”

  “Sky News.”

  “Would you mind popping Sky News on for us,” I smile at the landlady. “There’s about to be a statement about the river deaths. It’s gone national,” I say to Sara, my voice still wobbling.

  “Five deaths. It’s no wonder. I know you’re nearly married to one of them, but what the hell are the police doing? There should be patrols there night and day now. I’ve heard they’ve scaled back their usual recruitment programme as well.”

  “They’ve enough special constables they could use to patrol it.”

  “Would Special Constables be equipped to deal with a serial killer?” She splits open a bag of crisps in front of us.

  “I couldn’t eat a thing.” I push them towards her. “Do you think it’s a serial killer too?”

  “It could be. I bloody hope not though. Hopefully we’re being overdramatic. People have been falling into that river for years.”

  “Not this many in such a short space of time. I don’t buy all this resources argument,” I continue. “Mark’s brother Will, as you know, works in traffic. According to Mark, the revenue that comes in from speed cameras and fines alone is colossal.”

  “It’s a dreadful business if you ask me.” The landlady points a remote at the TV to turn the volume up. “They’ve not even put up fifty metres of fencing. How many more women are going to die in there?”

  “No more,” I say quietly. “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it. My fiancé is in the police and I’m a journalist. Although, I’ll probably get to the bottom of it all before they do.”

  Sara puts her glass down. “Don’t you be doing anything risky.” She narrows her eyes. “I mean it.”

  “Of course not. I’ve Alysha to think about. I’d never put myself in any danger.”

  We listen intently as DCI Ingham makes his statement, saying absolutely nothing that he hasn’t said before. To say he’s got the national platform of Sky News, I’m disgusted. All he does is repeat his warning from last month about levels of drinking, staying with friends, etc. He mentions the extra security measures the council and the police have implemented and reiterates that the drowning of Olivia Yates was a needless, tragic accident.

  Sara’s phone rings. I gather from her responses that it’s her Mum. “Hi Janice,” I call out. I pick up my phone and click on Facebook. I type Olivia Yates. There is an earlier video that has been shared onto her page from a woman. I click on it.

  My name is Petra Yates. I’m Olivia’s mother. If anybody saw anything in the early hours of Sunday morning that could lead us to piecing together the moments before my daughter fell into the river, then please contact the police on 101.

  My beautiful, caring, fun-loving girl had her whole life before her when she met her dreadful death. To the rest of you out there, please learn from this. How many more women are going to lose their lives in this way? Please look after yourselves, and each other. I don’t want any other mother to have to go through this. She gulps her way through her speech through a deluge of tears.

  “Poor woman.” I dial the Press Association. “Lindy,” I check it’s her as I get through. “Am I OK to submit a piece later today through one of the copy takers. I’m going to literally take the police apart.”

  “What about Mark? Would it be better if someone else wrote the piece? The last thing you want is ructions at home.”

  “This is my story.” I glance out of the pub window at my car. Whoever was there appears to be long gone. “And I’m not going to report on anything that isn’t factual.”

  “I’ll look forward to reading it.”

  As I hang up Mark strides in with DCI Jonathan Ingham close behind. “Hey you two. Are you OK?”

  “We’ve had a drive around,” DCI Ingham says, “and haven’t seen anything untoward.”

  I feel like saying so you’re speaking to me today, are you, but instead I blurt out, “I’m not happy with the measures you’ve put in place at the Yorkshire Arms Sir. What on earth are you playing at?”

  “Lauren.” Mark frowns.

  “It’s OK Mark.” DCI Ingham smiles as he checks his watch. “I’m not going to discuss it now, Lauren. Obviously you’ve already been through an ordeal already today. I’m going to suggest you put any concerns about the security project in writing and mark it for my attention.”

  “The security project? Five women are dead, not to mention all the deaths in previous years, and you refer to it as a project?”

  “Easy Lauren.” Mark puts his hand on my arm. “That’s another matter. Let’s talk about this man you think has been hanging around, shall we?”

  “I need to get back.” DCI Ingham smiles at us. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my sergeant here.”

  “Shush.” Mark squeezes my arm as DCI Ingham walks away from our table. “He’s right. Let’s focus on one thing at a time. Firstly, are you having another? I’m going to get myself a coke.”

  “Water,” we chorus. “Sara has to work this evening and I’ve got an article to write.” I need a clear head when I’m doing any kind of writing.

  “I won’t ask what your
article will be about,” he says.

  “Good. You shouldn’t. And neither should Ingham.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlotte

  Charlotte hadn’t much felt like going out, but it was her friend Sofie’s birthday and she knew she’d never hear the end of it if she blobbed. She had been feeling queasy for several days and had put it down to some chicken that she probably shouldn’t have eaten. Still, a few ciders seemed to have taken the edge off, and Charlotte had felt more normal. If she’d moped around at home, she’d have been in bed by now, feeling sorry for herself. And she would have seriously pissed Sofie off.

  “You’re a barrel of laughs tonight.” Sofie looked at her. “Come on Char. It’s my birthday.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking that I’m glad I feel a touch better. Anyway, how does it feel to be thirty? It sounds old if you ask me.”

  “You’re not that far behind me.” Sofie laughed. “Just over a year to go. To be honest, it doesn’t feel any different to being twenty-nine.”

  “You’ll have to start acting responsibly now,” Charlotte went on.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps get a mortgage and hold down a job for more than three months.”

  “Get a mortgage! I’m quite happy with how things are with me and you living in our little rented flat and having a laugh.” Sofie glanced across to some men on a neighbouring table who seemed to be checking them out. “I think we’ve pulled Char.”

  “Oh, I can’t be arsed with all that.” Charlotte followed her gaze. That was honestly the last thing she needed. However, she knew she would have a hard time deterring Sofie from responding to them.

  “Things have got boring since you started seeing Luke.” Sofie necked her vodka and coke. “You’ve gone all sensible. You’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. I bet he flirts with other lasses when he goes out. Another drink?”

  “I bet he doesn’t.” Charlotte just wanted her bed and couldn’t be bothered with all this. “Just get me a glass of water. I’m starting to feel ropey again.”

  “No chance. It’s Saturday night. Water!” Sofie rose from her chair and shimmied past the lads’ table, seemingly enjoying their attention as she headed for the bar. One of them got up to join her there, whilst the three remaining lads were looking at Charlotte. She’d hardly bothered getting dressed up this evening and wished they’d stop looking at her. Suddenly, she felt awful again and her mouth started to water. Desperately, she looked around for a drink to wash the saliva away, but she and Sofie had drunk everything. Her stomach heaved and she knew if she didn’t get out of there, she was going to chuck up right in front of them all.

  There was a queue snaking from the toilet door so running in there wasn’t an option. Instead Charlotte jumped up, managing to make it to the main exit and to the river bank, just in time.

  She’d barely eaten all day. It was just regurgitated cider that pooled around her feet and soaked into the mud of the banking. What on earth was she thinking – coming out whilst feeling like this? Although she’d spewed the cider, she still felt drunk and sank onto a nearby bench to compose herself. Sofie would probably be too busy with the lads to notice her absence.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lauren

  I shepherd Alysha towards the chair. “Just a trim for both of us, and my usual highlights. I’ve brought plenty of stuff to keep this one entertained.”

  Amanda, my hairdresser, laughs as Alysha pulls her tablet from her rucksack. “I can’t believe how well they manage all this technology nowadays. Especially at that age.”

  I am very lucky with Alysha. She sits beautifully whilst her hair is cut, telling Amanda all about school and her flower girl dress. I’ve had an easy time being her mum. One or two of my friends have told me horror stories about their own parenting trials and tribulations. With Mark so desperate for baby number two, I’m scared we will get one next time that does not sleep and screams all day. I sit across the salon, half listening to Amanda and Alysha, and half paying attention to my phone. The silver-grey colour scheme in the salon and whiff of shampoo calms me. I always enjoy a trip to the hairdressers. I reach over for a glossy magazine. Normally, I would not have the time to look through one of these.

  “Are you doing anything exciting this weekend?” Amanda asks Alysha. “Apart from having your hair cut of course.”

  “I’m going to the fire station with my daddy tomorrow morning and then baking with my mummy in the afternoon.”

  “It sounds as though you have a very busy day to look forward to.” Amanda holds the mirror behind Alysha’s head. “There, you can see I’ve not cut too much hair off. I’ve just tidied it up a bit. We can see those beautiful green eyes of yours now.”

  “And she can see where she is going. Good girl. Mummy will swap places with you now.”

  Alysha accepts the lollipop she is offered then plugs her earphones in to watch whatever princess programme she is currently addicted to, whilst I get my hair done. If only mine was as quick as Alysha’s. I try not to let her spend too much time being electronically babysat, but Mark is at work, Mum is busy today and needs must sometimes. I enjoy the smell of conditioner, the hum of the radio, and the latte I’ve been made, whilst continuing to flick through Cosmo. Meanwhile, Amanda systematically layers my hair with foils and colour.

  “I saw your story in the Yorkshire Gazette last month. Well done you. I keep seeing your pieces all over the place.”

  “Thanks. Though I wish it had done some good.” I sigh. The hairdressing salon always feel like an oasis away from reality, but I can never get too far from it all at the moment. Both Mark and I seem to be living and breathing this river case. “I don’t think Mark was happy with the article, but we agreed from the get-go when we first met, that our careers would never bring us into conflict personally. Though we debate things, we would never let them come between us.”

  “That’s the best way – there’s not many couples that could cope with that.” She bends another foil around a strand of hair with the tail of her comb. “And you tell it like it is – I like that. What was the headline?”

  “Local Police Fail River Death Victims,” I sip my latte. “Everything I said was true, about them being slow to deliver on what they had promised, I mean. I had photos printed to back it all up.”

  “You don’t need to convince me.” She combs through another section of hair. “My sister’s friend was one of the women who drowned.”

  “Really?” I replace the glass cup onto the saucer. “Who?”

  “Becky. I think it was around November time when she died. Caroline, my sister, was in bits. So was Becky’s boyfriend. She was only in the pub in the first place because they’d had a row.”

  “What about?”

  “Lauren, this is completely off the record,” she says, mixing the highlighting solution with her brush. “You can’t repeat this.”

  “What is said in the salon stays in the salon.” I put my finger across my lips in mock-solemn oath.

  Amanda laughs and flicks her long chestnut hair behind one of her shoulders. She always wears heels and is immaculately made up when she’s working. She’s ten years older than me, though no one would think so.

  “He’d been syphoning money out of their joint account,” she begins. “A lot of money. He’d developed a gambling addiction.”

  “How much?”

  “Thousands. Everything they had, according to Caroline. I’m not sure how much Becky knew about the money before she died, but her family got wind of it all when they were dealing with her affairs afterwards.”

  “Thousands! Blimey.”

  “According to Caroline, it was the lies that affected Becky. Right up until the last moment, he was lying through his back teeth to her. He’d backed out of a promise that they were going to go away and had booked a lad’s holiday instead. And he had called off them buying a house together.”

  “Do you think he’s got something to
do with…”

  “He’s been well and truly investigated,” she says. “Becky went for a walk around the streets in the centre for a while and was picked up on a number of security cameras. Then obviously she ended up in the Yorkshire Arms.”

  “What about him?”

  “Seb? He went straight to the bookies. Obviously full of remorse.” Sarcasm drips from her words. “Then he went home. He can be accounted for through his IP address, all night, winning on Blackjack, according to Caroline.”

  “Winning?”

  “Big time. Caroline told me that on one hand alone, he placed thirty grand. And he just kept winning. He’s ended up with over two hundred.”

  “Grand? You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. But he has lost the love of his life.”

  “True.”

  “He could have paid back what he did Becky out of half a dozen times over. Fortunately, she never knew about the money before she died.”

  “Has your sister seen him since?”

  “Yes. She said he was just crying. He’s racked with guilt at how he treated her. And that she’d died after they’d been rowing. Caroline has been feeling really guilty as well.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve told her not to be so stupid, but she won’t listen. She was texting with Becky that night whilst she was in the Yorkshire Arms. Caroline had told Becky to message and let her know she’d got home safely. She was drunk by all accounts.”

  “Who? Becky?”

  “Yes. But she didn’t. Text, I mean. Caroline was away with her boyfriend that night for her birthday. Otherwise she might have picked Becky up from the pub herself. Anyway, she fell asleep. Something she’s hated herself for ever since.”

  “The poor lass. It’s not her fault.” I sip my latte.

  “I’ve told her that. But Becky was in such a state that night about falling out with Seb. It wasn’t just the fall out – it was him letting her go without trying to stop her.”