| |
The autumnal sun was shining through the window. It was as warm and as comforting as a blanket thrown around her shoulders. Jen didn’t notice her feet were as cold as ice but read on, reading about the history of the Queensbury railway lines.
***
It was debrief time and the team had all gathered to hear the good news that the vaginal swab taken at Patti’s post-mortem had indeed given the detectives a full DNA profile of her killer, and the results that had been put through the national database were in. Dylan broke the following news quickly to the momentarily euphoric team.
‘This is indeed the news we could have only wished for. However, I can confirm that our offender is not on the system,’ said Dylan. ‘It is therefore imperative that any male coming into this enquiry be subjected to a DNA test, to eliminate them as soon as possible. No matter what our thoughts about Elliot Black, he is not our man.’
It was apparent from the look of the sea of faces in front of him how many had believed him to be responsible. There was a wave of whispers that continued to ebb and flow for a couple of minutes, then silence ensued with Dylan’s raised voice. ‘We will come across what appear to us good suspects during the course of any enquiry, and this is no different. There will be people who we think are capable of rape, even murder and ultimately to be responsible for Patti’s death. If we do not leave our personal thoughts behind, and deal with the evidence put before us, then we will continue to be bitterly disappointed, and our hopes dashed time and time again. Our strength is in our persistence, which will ultimately lead us to her killer. This DNA profile is a gift, and we must treat it as such, as this allows us to eliminate people very quickly and easily.’
Detective Sergeant Hardacre told those present about the arrest of Stuart Sykes. There were a few titters, and elbow nudges. Her theatrical performance regarding the details of his arrest had the team laughing. She closed on a more sombre note by telling them that his DNA was on its way to the forensic lab.
Because of Dylan’s experience he knew that investigations had their peaks and troughs. It was the worst, and the best, roller coaster ride you’d ever wish to travel; even more so if you were the person in charge. Keeping morale up was important, and there was nothing better than laughter to lift the spirit, other than locating and arresting the perpetrator.
‘I’ve briefly met Patti’s gym teacher Bale at the gym,’ said Ned. All eyes turned to see his bright red face and sweat sitting like bubbles on his brow. He has an abscess and was on his way to an emergency dental appointment when I caught up with him just now. A low moan of a mumble echoed around the room. Followed by a gale of laughter as he described his attempt to keep up with him on the running machine.
‘First impressions?’ said Dylan.
‘Unmarried. Loves himself. Muscles on muscles. But,’ he said, tilting his head one way and then the other, ‘we all know looks can be deceiving. I’ve made another appointment to see him tomorrow, and get his DNA sample.’
‘I’ll join you,’ said Donna, laying an arm around Ned’s shoulder and squeezing him tight.
‘I’ll join you Donna,’ said Vicky, with mischief in abundance on her face. ‘Privilege of rank Ned.’
‘And Patti’s Coach is also being swabbed tomorrow,’ said Dylan, shaking his head at the girls.
‘Ned, that’s yours?’ said Vicky. She looked down at her notes that lay in her lap. ‘I thought the action to see Patti’s Coach was down to be carried out today?’
‘Apparently, due to the train strike, his return from London was delayed. In his absence however I’ve also been able to show he was out of the area at the time of her death. I’ll still be taking his DNA though,’ said Ned.
All eyes were back on Dylan. The troops were getting restless. ‘Any more information on the two lads that were seen dropping leaflets in the area?’
There was the unanimous show of bowed, slow shaking heads.
‘Okay, Nev what have you got for us in respect of enquiries at Patti’s school?’
‘Presently compiling a list of all boys in Patti’s year sir, the year below, and above, as a starting point. The number is likely to take us over a hundred, so we will prioritise those closest to her before moving onto the others.’
‘This investigation is still in its infancy and we’re making great progress. Remember we are still awaiting numerous results from Forensic and with regard to Patti’s mobile, and laptop. I’m confident we’ll find her killer.’
Back in the office Vicky stared intently at Dylan across his desk.
‘If I had been a gambler I’d have lost money betting that Black was responsible,’ she said.
‘Understandable, a lot of things pointed to him but now we have to look forward, the good thing is we know we can positively eliminate people.’
‘So Stuart Sykes becomes the front runner?’ suggested Vicky.
‘Him, and the rest...’
Vicky stood. ‘A few of us are wandering over the road to the Red Lion if you fancy a drink?’
Dylan was otherwise distracted as he scanned the computer for emails that might update him on the enquiry. ‘I’ll take a rain check. I’ve a house to go and look around with Jen and Maisy.’ Creases were visible at the corners of his eyes, such was his smile.
‘And tomorrow I’ll go and see Sandra Heinz and Elliot Black and let them know we have eliminated him.’ Vicky smacked her lips together and leant forward on seeing DC Granger approach Dylan’s office door. ‘You coming for a pint mucker?’
Ned stopped at the opening, rummaged in his pocket for his phone. ‘Give me a minute.’
Dylan saw him put the handset to his ear and heard the one-sided conversation that subsequently followed, which was one he had heard many times before. ‘Sorry sweetheart, yes, it’s gonna be a late one; again, yeah.’ Ned turned away from Vicky’s mocking. She raised her eyebrow at Dylan and pretended to put her fingers down her throat. ‘He needs to grow some balls.’
‘Vicky,’ Dylan growled in a warning tone as she walked up behind Ned, her hands threatening to grab his rear end. She turned to look at Dylan over her shoulder, mischief written all over her face. ‘Behave, and don’t encourage him. You’ll both need all your wits about you tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry about me sir,’ she said with a wave of her hand. ‘I’ll be here all bright eyed and bushy tailed.’
‘It’s not you I’m worried about.’
***
The darkness was so total it was disorientating. The route around the house nothing more than a cinder path surrounded by dandelions and thistles that flourished in the fissures. The sound of his footwear instantly took him back to his youth. He stood at the foot of the cast iron drainpipe and looked skywards. A titter escaped his lips as he recalled shimmying up the soot-covered wall to the broken window above; the one the tree branch poked through. Headlights from the passing vehicles on the main road cast a web of flickering light and shadow onto the roof tiles above and the puddles below. It would take a team of men working around the clock for the next year to restore the place to its original beauty, but they had all the time in the world if it was to be their forever home.
He sheltered under the front porch his dad had built, when the rain started to fall. As if his arm was lifted by an unseen hand his outstretched finger found the spot on the wooden joists where Joe had carved his initials besides Jack’s mothers, in a heart with an arrow going through. Young and childless, him just back from the war they’d enjoyed his coming home in this house. On turning with his back to the door Dylan felt strangely at peace, until slipping on the moss covered paving slab he stumbled. The loud crack that followed announced his unceremonious entering of the house. A deep base rumbling followed by a BOOM and for a few minutes the sound of gushing water; then by silence, an eerie, cavernous silence punctuated only by an echoing drip, drip and the whistling of the wind.
Dylan put his hand to the wall searching for a light switch he knew should be there. With relief he found it – but no light appeared as if by magic, as he had hoped. His eyes becoming accustomed to the dark enabled him to move tentatively forward into the kitchen area. The crunch of his footsteps on entering was followed by scurrying, which ceased so abruptly when he stood still that he wondered if he had imagined it. He expected at the very least puddles, but at the shuffling of his feet the floor appeared dry.
A shivering of apprehension flowed through his body as he recalled his older brother’s haunting words, and the stories of the grey figure with blurred features that followed them around Siding No. 4. His heart beat faster. Panic grabbed at his legs and threatened to pull him down. His head turned at the rumble in the distance and ghosts of the past swirled at his feet.
In front of him suddenly a chipped and dirty butler sink could be seen lurking beneath rusty taps. The wire hung curtain below the sink promised behind it a cupboard, or at least shelves. He blinked continually for a moment or two to try focus in the darkness, familiarise himself with his surroundings and he meanwhile wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.
A lonely breeze wandered in through the open door to the living room. The floorboards bare, as were the walls. There was dirt in every corner of the room. Rotted fragments of old paper and faded veneer of paint thereon. Dust lay thick on the windowsills where a little light was welcomed. There was no furniture in the room for him to see but the old wooden fireplace stood bold as brass opposite the door, a mass of ash still in the hearth. The door to the stairs swung open at his touch, presenting him with the staircase every bit as abandoned. He didn’t dare lean on the banister, which looked as though it would snap off at his touch. Every stair step he trod upon protesting his weight, yet he climbed them anyway. At the top he reached a landing, and the three rooms that he knew to be there opened up to him. Each door had the same cast-iron lock, each with rusted hinges. The first two bedrooms were empty but not the third. The third had been the brothers’ room and looked out onto the railway line. Here the built in cupboard where their clothes, toys and drawers, in which the youngest of the Dylan children had slept, still stood rooted to the floor. The built-in wardrobe door’s hinges were unforgiving and refused to budge, no matter how hard he tried the pulling of the small wooden knobs. At which point he admitted to himself the house was all but derelict he didn’t know. What the hell was he thinking when he had agreed to the asking price to seal the deal?
The pitter-patter of footsteps brought him the much-coveted blanket of light. He walked quickly to the window at the shrieking to see the most welcome sight of his wife and daughter heading towards the front door. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ Maisy squealed, as he crept quicker up the stairs than he had come. He welcomed her all encompassing arms around his neck. Her McDonald’s Happy Meal bag wafted the aroma of fries under his nose.
‘How’d you get in here?’ said Jen, dangling the keys on a cardboard fob in front of him. ‘Natalie couldn’t make it, I had to call in the office for the keys.’ He saw a scowl on her face as she switched on the light.
‘And what are you doing in the dark?’
***
Maisy didn’t need rocking that night. Downstairs Max lay in front of a roaring fire and Jen was lighting the candles on the hearth when Dylan joined them. He carried two glasses of wine and placing them on the coffee table in front of the settee he sat beside Jen on the sofa, her laptop on her knee.
The crackling of the fire and the dancing of the flames was the only distraction as Dylan reread the particulars that the estate agent had provided about The Station House. ‘I’d forgotten about the attic.’ He chuckled.
Jen smiled softly, reading quietly the information she had come across about the house on the Internet. ‘It must be surreal to be returning to live in the house where you spent your childhood.’
‘Mmm...’ Dylan looked thoughtful. ‘In all honesty Jen, do you think we may be taking on too much?’
Jen’s look was determined.
Dylan looked at the pictures and took a gulp of his wine. Jen’s eyes flew up from her computer, her eyes wide, her mouth hung open.
‘What?’ he said.
‘It’s the station,’ she said. ‘Did you know it was haunted?’
Dylan smiled. ‘So they say,’ he said, leaning back, his head on the cushion. He raised his feet onto the footstool and closed his eyes. The smile remained on his face – the deal was done.
‘You knew?’ Jen pulled herself up to sit on the edge of her seat. She turned to face him. Her voice rose. ‘You knew and you never told me?’
‘I know the ghost stories our Ronnie and Charlie used to tell me.’ His eyes were now open and full of laughter.
‘Well, this newspaper article says the last owner had to call in someone to get rid of a ghost who didn’t realise he was dead! It goes on to say...’ Jen scrolled down the piece muttering through the text as she did so. ‘She believed it was the ghost of a train driver who she claimed walked amongst the sheds, specifically around the Siding No.4. Apparently he was killed when a water boiler exploded...’
Dylan pulled the computer from her lap – it was his turn to question his experience at the house that night.
