The Yorkshire Dipper

by Maria Frankland

  “Lauren doesn’t. She looks like she’s gone. It’s as though just the shell of her is left.” I reach and touch her hand. It’s freezing cold, with a waxy texture. “I just hope wherever she is, she’s at peace.” My voice cracks as I gaze at her. “Can you give me a few minutes with her sis?”

  “Will you be OK?”

  “Course I will.”

  “I’ll just be out there.”

  I take a step closer to the coffin, this time touching her cheek. “I miss you so much sweetheart.” My voice sounds alien in the silent room. “I hope you don’t mind me deciding on your wedding dress for you to wear. It’s gorgeous – just like you. I would have given anything to have seen you in it on our wedding day. For you to have walked down the aisle and been my wife.” Tears are running down my cheeks. This is awful. Bloody awful. “You made my life complete Lauren. I hope I did for you too. You gave me a wonderful daughter and I’ll take the best possible care of her.”

  Then I remember. “We should have been having baby number two.” I stroke the finger where she’s still wearing her engagement ring. I’ve asked for it back before she’s cremated so I can give it to Alysha when she’s older. “We’d have been so happy. I can’t believe you’re gone.” I feel slightly daft talking to someone who’s never going to answer me but it’s helping so I carry on. “Can you hear me Lauren? If you can, somehow, give me a sign. God, why did you have to die?”

  I’m quiet for a few moments as I wonder what to say next. “I’m going to get who did this to you. I promise. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it to anyone else. I’m just so sorry.” My chest aches with emotion. “I should have looked after you. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The sobs threaten to engulf me.

  I manage to pull myself together and wonder if they can hear me outside, so I lower my voice. “Wherever you are, lovely lady, wait for me. When I’m older and I’ve brought Alysha up, I’ll come and find you. You just make sure you’re looking out for me.”

  I stand, continuing to stare at her, drinking in every aspect of what I can see. This image will always be imprinted on my memory, but it will never detract from the other images I have of her.

  When I return to Claire and fall into her hug, I’m utterly wrung out. It’s been the worst ten days of my life. But now I’ve seen she’s at peace, I’ve taken another step towards accepting it.

  Claire and I make the drive home in near-silence.

  “Are you not going to pick Alysha up?” she asks as I drive past the bottom of Will and Eva’s estate without turning in.

  “No. I’m going to ring and ask if they’ll keep her for tonight.” I try not to feel guilty, especially after the promise I made to Lauren. “I left some more clothes there this morning on my way to work.”

  “Mark, you can’t keep on like this. She needs you.”

  “She’s being well looked after. She’s got Heidi to play with and both Eva and Will are fine with it. Cut me some slack Claire. It’s only been a few days.”

  “So what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

  I pause for a moment. Nothing means anything anymore. “I don’t know. Maybe a brew. Or a brandy. A shower. A chat with Brenda.” We pull up on the driveway. “The first thing I want to do though is to give the station a ring and find out the latest with the TV appeal.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Olivia’s Family

  We hurry up the garden path of Petra Yates, Olivia’s Mother. “It’s starting to feel like groundhog day.” I say to Chris and Hutton. It’s pelting with rain and I feel as desolate as the grey sky.

  “I don’t think we’ll get any additional information from this visit.” Hutton reaches for the doorbell. “It’s more about touching base with her now that the inquiry has changed direction.”

  “Changed direction is putting it mildly.” Chris straightens himself out as the door swings open. “Mrs Yates, I’m PC Chris Canvey. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

  “Come in,” she says, stiffly. “Though I don’t think I can tell you anything new.”

  We follow her into her kitchen where she moves papers and books from the chairs so we can sit down. She straightens up and looks at us with an air of suspicion.

  “I’m Sergeant Robert Hutton, and this is my colleague Sergeant Mark Potts.”

  A strained smile appears on her face as she takes a seat at the fourth side of the table. “Well, I’d like to say, it’s nice to meet you but obviously, given the current circumstances, that wouldn’t be true.”

  “It must be extremely difficult for you, Mrs Yates,” Chris says.

  “Call me Petra,” she replies. “It is more difficult now. An accidental death is hard enough to bear, but to know some brute did this, just snatched her life away, is dreadful. Are you any closer to catching him?”

  “We’re following up on leads from these second meetings with all the victim’s families, and those we’ve received through the TV appeal.”

  “I saw that.” She looks straight at me and I wonder for a moment if she knows who I am. “That poor girl. There’s a crumb of comfort in believing that Olivia’s death will have been relatively quick. What that Lauren Holmes must have…”

  Hutton glances at me and then quickly cuts in. “Which is why it’s imperative we catch whoever is behind these killings. The reason we’re visiting you, in light of the recent turn of events, is to check there is no new information you can think of that might add something to the inquiry.”

  “Like what? I wasn’t with her that night.” The rain is slashing against the window pane, and I think of Lauren, laid in that coffin with the same rain drumming overhead. Rain she can’t hear anymore. “The man who was with her. He was cleared wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. We investigated him along with checking the CCTV from the Yorkshire Arms. He was clearly visible, sat at the bar at the time when Olivia left the premises, and for about an hour afterwards.” Hutton clasps his hands in front of him on the table. “He didn’t move from there - he just ordered more drinks.”

  “How can you be so certain that he didn’t do anything after that?”

  “We’ve also checked with the taxi company’s log. He was picked up immediately after being accounted for on the CCTV.” Chris speaks now. “Haven’t you already been told all this by DCI Ingham?”

  “Him.” She snorts. “He was supposed to visit, then he didn’t turn up. He was supposed to ring me back, but he never did. He was useless. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about making an official complaint. The way this whole thing has been handled isn’t good enough.”

  “Another two senior officers have taken over the case.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Which is partly why we’re going over all the facts again. Just to make sure there isn’t anything that has been missed.”

  “We’re obviously at more of a disadvantage,” Hutton adds. “As things are forgotten over time. But, things are sometimes remembered.”

  “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can add.” Petra sniffs. “I wish there was. I didn’t even speak or text her that night. She’d shut herself off. And me.” She looks towards the window. “Gosh, it’s coming down a bit out there. I was leaving Olivia to it. I knew she was licking her wounds after her break-up with Ben.”

  “Do you know of anyone who may have been out to hurt her? An ex, for example? I’m sorry we have to ask, but we need to cover everything.”

  “No. She’d recently split with Ben, who I didn’t particularly care for. He was a lot of things, but certainly not violent or psychopathic. Their relationship, from what I can gather, had just blown itself out.”

  “It wasn’t you who reported her missing, was it?”

  “No. Like I mentioned, we hadn’t had a great deal of contact in her last few months.” Her voice wobbles. “Something I really regret now. It was the man she was with in the Yorkshire Arms who made enquiries, when a body was recovered later the next day. He said Olivia had been drunk and had su
ddenly disappeared from the pub.”

  “Yes. We’ve got a statement from him to that effect.”

  “I feel sorry for the poor woman who found her.” Petra’s eyes fill with tears that she tries to blink away. “I didn’t find out until the day after, when I got the dreaded knock at the door from your friend DCI Ingham.”

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Charlotte’s Family

  Charlotte’s mum only lives a few streets away from where we’ve spoken to Olivia’s mum. As we pull up, so does another car. A woman around the same age as Lauren gets out.

  A woman throws open the front door even before we get to it.

  “Mrs Knowles?” Hutton says.

  “Yes. Hi Sofie. This is Charlotte’s friend and flatmate. She was with her that night.”

  I step aside and Mrs Knowles embraces Sofie when she reaches her.

  “It’s good to see you Jan.” After a moment or two, she pulls back.

  “I’m Sergeant Robert Hutton, and these are my colleagues PC Chris Canvey and Sergeant Mark Potts.”

  I’ve found the public never really seems to take note of our names. They are always more interested in our rank.

  “Would you like to come in?” Mrs Knowles and Sofie, now in front of us, step into the hallway with the three of us following. “It’s this way to the lounge. Charlotte’s Dad has taken the afternoon off work.”

  “Thank you.”

  We click along the tiled floor, obediently following to where she pushes a door open.

  “Hello again Mr Knowles,” Hutton shakes hands with Charlotte’s dad who rises from his armchair as we walk in. It’s a huge lounge and Sofie makes for the window seat. She’s clearly used to coming here.

  “PC Chris Canvey, we haven’t met before,” Chris also shakes hands with him. “And this is my colleague, Sergeant Mark Potts.”

  Mr Knowles and I nod at each other.

  “Take a seat,” he says, sinking back into his chair.

  Mrs Knowles sits in the chair beside him. Hutton and Chris sit facing them, leaving me no option but to join Sofie in the window seat. I take out my pocket book. There was nothing much to note from Olivia’s mum. But something, anything may emerge from revisiting these families and if it gives us the breakthrough we need, then it’s worth it. Besides, a personal visit in light of the perceived police failings and the new slant on the investigation isn’t a bad thing.

  “How are you all doing?” Hutton begins. There’s a collective shrugging of shoulders.

  Mrs Knowles eventually replies. “You know. Bad days, worse days, and not quite so bad days. It’s only been two months.”

  “How do you think we’re all doing?” Mr Knowles’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Our daughter is dead.”

  “She’d have been showing by now,” Sofie says. “I can’t believe she didn’t know she was pregnant. If she had, she wouldn’t have been drinking and might not have had to go outside to be sick.”

  “Did you know she felt sick?” Hutton twists his neck to address her in the window seat.

  “She had felt sick earlier, however she had drunk a bit whilst we were out, so I thought she was OK. I was going to the bar, and she was asking for water, but I just laughed at her. For asking for water, I mean.”

  “I know we’ve been through this before Sofie, but did you actually see her leave the pub?”

  She looks down at the floor. “No, I was busy talking to someone.”

  “She could have been followed out then? Or even have been persuaded to leave?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

  “You should have stayed together,” snaps Mr Knowles.

  Chris jumps in quickly with another question. “How long was she on her own?”

  “Just a few minutes.”

  The tension in the room is palpable.

  “What about the baby’s father?”

  “Luke?” Mr Knowles’s voice is sharp. “We haven’t heard from that one since the funeral.”

  “We haven’t been able to understand it,” Mrs Knowles adds.

  “They weren’t all that serious.” Sofie’s voice sounds loud beside me.

  “Did Luke know she was pregnant?” Chris asks. “Before she died, I mean?”

  “No,” Sofie replies. “I don’t think he’d have been interested. He’s a bit of a player if you ask me.”

  “A player?” Mrs Knowles looks at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone who likes to play the field.” Chris offers an explanation. I frown at him.

  “Was he in touch with Charlotte that night?” I ask, once again forgetting that I’m supposed to be keeping quiet and leaving the questions to Hutton and Chris. I always kept in touch with Lauren when one of us was out. We couldn’t let a whole evening go without a text, even if it was one just to blow a kiss with an emoji.

  “No. I think she was feeling down about it. Some lads there were giving us some attention, but she didn’t want to know. She only had eyes for Luke.”

  “You’ve already checked the CCTV to make sure no one followed her out, haven’t you?” Mr Knowles takes a sip from a mug beside him.

  “We’ve seen the CCTV both inside and outside the pub, but there was none on the entrance itself. As you know the cameras outside didn’t offer much coverage either.”

  “Heads should roll for the lack of surveillance that’s installed around there.” Mr Knowles is looking at me as he speaks. “One, even two deaths are too many, but seven? Why wasn’t something done earlier?”

  “It has now.” I hope my calm tone will placate his anger. “It’s too late, I know, but we honestly felt, at least in the beginning, that the drownings were tragic accidents.” As I speak, my eyes rest on a large graduation photograph of Charlotte. She reminds me of Kate Middleton.

  “The investigation is now being headed by DI Jones.” Chris seems to follow my gaze to the photograph. “He’s very thorough and will follow every line of inquiry.”

  “Why wasn’t that the case in the first place? I just don’t get it.”

  “I can assure you sir,” Hutton says. “That everything is being examined.”

  “How long,” asks Chris, “was it before you noticed Charlotte hadn’t come back into the pub?”

  “To be fair…” Sofie’s eyes are still fixed on the floor. “I didn’t notice she had gone. I think I just assumed she was in the loo or something. After all, she had complained of feeling unwell earlier.”

  “Did you not think to check on her?” Mr Knowle’s voice is sharp again.

  Sofie stretches her legs in front of her and raises her gaze to meet his. “I know. I feel terrible. I was talking to someone. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “I think we can establish,” says Hutton. “That all these women have been alone, some slipping out totally unnoticed.”

  “Whilst others,” adds Chris, “have left the pub with people knowing they were leaving, but their safe arrival home has not been followed up on.”

  “With all respect,” Mr Knowles sits forwards as though he’s going to stand up. “I’m not interested in these other women. I want to know what happened to my daughter.”

  “Stay sat down love.” Mrs Knowles tugs at his arm. “But you’re definitely now saying, my Charlotte’s death was no drunken accident. Someone had definitely planned to hurt her?”

  Mr Knowles drops back into his seat. “Look – I know I’m being abrupt, but I can’t believe that so many women have died before this line of investigation is being taken.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Hutton says gently. “My colleague DI Jones is examining every shred of evidence and we are going to keep you informed each step of the way.”

  “One thing I’ve noticed,” Sofie says. “There was something in the paper recently. When around seven women had died. I thought all of their faces looked really similar. Even with the age differences. They all had long dark hair too.”

  The mention of the paper makes me sag inside. She’s probably referring to
an article Lauren wrote. But I recall Lauren also saying something about appearances. In fact, it was on the list she wrote. Something, again, overlooked by the police in the beginning.

  “It sounds to me.” Mrs Knowles sits forwards in her seat. “As though no woman or girl is safe being out and about in the city centre right now. Not until he’s caught.”

  “So you lot…” Mr Knowles looks at us like we’re insects. “Should be out there, trying to catch this man rather than coming around here with pointless questions that you’ve already asked us.” He stands this time. It’s our cue to leave.

  Chapter Forty

  Gemma’s Family

  I look into the agonised eyes of Darren Hopkinson who lost his wife only hours before I lost Lauren. We’re both having to survive without the women we love. I wonder if he can see the same pain in my face as I see in his.

  “Can we come in?” I step forward.

  “Have you got him?” His eyes harden like marbles as he opens the door wider. “You’d better be here to say you’ve got him.”

  “I wish we had. But we’ve got new leads that we’re following up on.” Chris’s voice sounds from behind me.

  “And that’s it? It’s been a week since she was thrown into that river. You should be out there finding him, not here, bothering me.”

  “We’ve just got one or two questions to ask you,” Hutton breathes. “Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Come through,” he says, his anger seemingly subsiding somewhat. “Sorry for the mess. I’m not coping very well.” He sinks onto a chair at his kitchen table and drops his head into his hands. I hope he’s got a sister like mine looking after him. But with pots everywhere and an empty whiskey bottle in the middle of the table, I suspect not.

  Hutton comes up behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder. “We’re doing absolutely everything we can. I promise we’ll catch whoever is responsible.”