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‘We’ve got a date to move in?’ Jen said, hugging the news that the estate agents had informed her of. She dialled Dylan’s number to receive the recorded message that he was unable to take her call. Disappointment felt heavy in her stomach. There was little time to inform everyone and instruct the builders – work needed to be done as soon as possible. Like an excited child Jen opened the cupboard where she kept all the household documents and commenced listing the people who needed to be informed.
***
Ivan Sinclair’s stomach must have been rumbling to bring him home as his mother anticipated.
On hearing his key in the lock she stood and immediately the hooded youngster, with jeans that found difficulty staying up on his skinny waist, entered the sitting room, she slapped him across his face.
Ivan reeled sideways, such was the force. Dragging his headphones over his unkempt, curly mop of hair he tumbled into the wall. ‘What the fuck was that for?’ He frantically rubbed his ear. ‘You can’t do that! I’ll report you to childline’
‘See these people here?’ she said grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. They’re two senior detectives and they want to speak to you.’ She shook her head and hissed through her teeth. ‘What the hell have you done?’
‘Nothing! I swear.’
Mrs Sinclair prodded her son hard in the chest with an extended finger. ‘You're a liar!’ she screeched into his face as she pushed him into the chair. ‘Now sit there and answer their questions. Do you hear?’
Dylan slid to the edge of his seat. He leant towards Ivan. ‘We know you knew Patti Heinz. Have you any idea why we’re here?’
‘No,’ he said sulkily, avoiding eye contact.
‘Did you provide a DNA sample at school?’ continued Dylan.
‘Yeah, course I did. Like everyone else.’
‘Not quite like the others was it?’ Dylan spoke in a hushed tone.
Ivan shrugged his shoulders. ‘You can get DNA from chewing gum, the copper said.’
‘You can. But, there was a slight problem in this instance because the chewing gum wasn’t yours.’
‘It was, I gave it to him.’
‘I’m not denying you gave it to him, but you hadn’t chewed it had you?’
Again Ivan shrugged his shoulders.
A little bit of annoyance crept into Dylan’s voice. ‘Shall we stop messing about? The DNA from the chewing gum was from a female.’
Ivan’s lips turned up at the corners. His freckled face turned an impressive shade of crimson.
‘We’re investigating the rape and brutal murder of a young girl.’ Dylan’s eyes were piercing, like cold steel. ‘Do you think this is a game?’
Ivan’s mood changed as his staring eyes filled with tears. He pressed his lips to gather tightly.
‘In your own time,’ Dylan said softly. ‘Tell us what happened.’
The fear of what she might hear was great, but Mrs Sinclair just wanted it over. With clasped hands, and beseeching eyes she looked at Ivan aghast.
Ivan lifted his head to his mother’s face and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry Mum, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I kissed her for the first time that morning. It was the first time. We’d been seeing each other but she was frightened to tell her parents about us... We arranged to meet later that day, but she never showed up. I was upset. I thought she’d changed her mind.’
Immediately everyone fell silent. Ivan must have felt all eyes on him as he looked from Dylan to Vicky and his eyes rested upon his mother. But it wasn’t me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t hurt her. I promise I wouldn’t. You’ve got to believe me Mum.’
Mrs Sinclair tears were as much from shock, as relief. She dropped to her knees in front of him and took the teenager’s hands in hers.
‘So, you're telling us, you didn’t see her after that kiss?’ said Vicky, her face and voice expressionless.
Ivan vigorously shook his head. ‘It was only the next day at school that I heard she’d been... she was dead. Why would someone want to hurt her mum, Patti was so kind and good...’ His eyes were pleading.
Vicky’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out Ivan. If, what you say is true then explain to us why would you use chewing gum belonging to someone else to try and eliminate yourself from the enquiry?’
Ivan gritted his chattering teeth. ‘Because everyone was saying that the boys were being tested, because the police knew she had been killed by a boy, and I’d kissed her, and I thought you might think it was me because you’d know I kissed her.’ His fears were genuine, there was no doubt.
‘So, you thought because you’d kissed her, your DNA would turn up and we’d think you were the murderer?’ suggested Dylan.
Ivan nodded his head. ‘Yes, I looked it up on Google and it said you could get DNA from saliva. I panicked. I grabbed the chewing gum Lucy Portman stuck under the desk in history when Mr Greaves was threatening anyone chewing got detention. Will I go to prison?’
‘If what you say is true, no. But, wasting police time is a serious offence,’ said Vicky.
Ivan gave her an apologetic shrug and hung his head in shame. ‘I’m sorry. I told Danny Briggs what I’d done. You can ask him, he knows how scared I was.’
Vicky reached into her bag and retrieved a DNA testing kit. ‘We will. But what we need to do first is to swab your mouth.’
‘Are you accusing Ivan of lying?’ said Mrs Sinclair.
Dylan smiled slightly. ‘We have seen many guilty person shed crocodile tears. And, there are those who are not averse to fabricating the truth for their own purpose. That’s why we deal with the facts Mrs Sinclair, and hard evidence. If your son is innocent then the evidence will clear him of any wrongdoing. The DNA test is as much for us, as for him.’
Ivan flinched. A flash of panic crossed his wide open eyes. He turned to his mother.
Vicky broke the seal on the container and took out the swab. She asked Ivan to open his mouth, and proceeded to swab the back of his throat. ‘I’m sure your mates will have told you this doesn’t hurt one bit,’ she said.
‘The person who killed Patti had full sex with her,’ said Dylan as Vicky put the swab into Ivan’s mouth. ‘He didn’t just kiss her. And, what he did to her was not with her consent. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Vicky placed the swab in the container and wrote on the label.
‘Yes,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘You mean the person who killed her, raped her don’t you? I swear on my life I only kissed her.’
Dylan stood. ‘You do realise that you could have ended up being locked up for what you did, don’t you? Consider yourself very fortunate. Your DNA sample will now be checked against the DNA gleaned from Patti and at the scene. If it’s not a match you won’t hear from us again – not for this anyway.’
Mrs Sinclair escorted Dylan and Vicky to the door. ‘If he wants to go to the funeral, will it be all right for him to go?’
‘I’m sure it will.’ Vicky put her hand on Mrs Sinclair’s arm. ‘Take care. I hope the move goes well. I’ll be in touch when the sample comes back from Forensic.’
The neighbouring doors along the corridor were open, with their occupants stood in a group, casually smoking and talking, as the detectives left. Their reasons for being there blatantly obvious.
Mrs Sinclair slammed the door shut. She put her back to the closed door and leant heavily against it. The sooner they left this godforsaken place the better.
‘Rozzers!’ The shout went up as the detectives left the building. A swarm of kids on bikes rode round and around them. Some headed for the hills. ‘Been in there a long time mate,’ one young lad called out. ‘Thought we might ’ave to come in an ’elp y’out!’
‘Watched yourself young ’un otherwise I’ll ’ave y’guts for garters!’ Vicky shouted.
The young lad pulled a face. ‘Garters? What’s garters Missus?’
Vicky sat in the passenger seat of the CID car. She secured her belt as Dylan started the engine and steered the car away from the kerb. He took a look in his rear view mirror to see a line of youngsters jeering.
‘Cheeky blighters,’ Vicky said under her breath, wiping a tired hand around her face. She pointed to an insect that had found it’s way onto the inside of the windscreen. ‘God forbid, is that a louse?’
Dylan looked sideways, ‘It’s not a louse, it’s got wings.’
She swatted it promptly with her notebook. ‘Well, whatever it was it’s dead now. Did you know in Shakespeare’s day they’d have called us bluebottles?’
‘The colour of the watchmen’s uniforms, makes perfect sense to me. And, then of course Peeler and Bobby after Sir Robert Peel, the founder of the Metropolitan Police in 1828.’
‘In the eighteenth century, Esclop was in fashion,’ said Vicky.
‘Esclop? I’ve never heard that one before,’ said Dylan, giving her a sideways glance.
‘It’s Police backwards, although it was pronounced as slop.’
‘I can imagine... So, the most mysterious of those and probably the earliest used is Rozzer?’
‘I guess that’s a variation on Robert, again from Sir Robert Peel.’ Vicky appeared thoughtful. ‘I’m confident Ivan Sinclair didn’t kill Patti,’ she said after a while. ‘Can you imagine kissing a girl and then she’s murdered just hours later? I can understand his panic, can’t you?’
‘Ah, ah!’ Dylan wagged a finger at his colleague as he steered the car into the police station yard.
‘I know, never assume.’
‘We eliminate by means of DNA. I agree, it seems very unlikely that it’s him but we can’t be one hundred per cent sure until the sample is checked.’
‘I know, but it’s not him, is it?’
‘Who knows, he managed to come up with a plan to sidestep the sample taking and he also lied to us about his parents not wanting him to have it taken. So, if he was panicking, he was still of sound mind.’
‘So, are you saying that you think it could be him?’
Dylan showed his teeth when he smiled. ‘I’m not saying that at all. What I am saying is, that it is highly unlikely, but you know and I know that this job is full of surprises and that’s why we rely on factual, irrefutable evidence - don’t we?’
‘Do you remember your first kiss?’
‘No.’
‘I do. Me and Timmy Taylor both had braces so my first kiss was more like a bump situation. Awkward... You don’t remember, honestly?’
‘You mean Timmy and I, and no, I don’t remember,’ he said as he turned off the engine and reached into the back of the car for his raincoat. Dylan’s face looked weary, like a defendant in an interview who has answered the same question many times before.
‘Whatever,’ said Vicky with a wink of her eye. ‘It was embarrassing right?’
The incident room was filling up. The debrief soon to begin. Dylan spoke to Acting Detective Sergeant Andy Wormald and Detective Sergeant Nev Duke with regard to updates in his absence, prior to the meeting.
Vicky sat at her desk, picked up a black ballpoint pen and wrote up the results of their enquiries with ease and little effort. The swab was marked up with its unique number and added to the next batch of samples to go to the laboratory. This enabled it to be cross referenced with anything other to do with suspect Ivan Sinclair. Now all they could do was wait. The list of people who had been eliminated from the enquiry was growing, but she didn’t feel despondent – the killer couldn’t hide forever.
***
There had been days of continuous rain and Jen prayed it would stop before the removal men arrived. Max circled the boxes, huffing and a puffing before dropping to the floor in the most unusual of places, wherever there was significant space for him to squeeze his large Retriever frame. ‘Moving home is enough to send even the most laid back of dogs into a spin,’ said Sam, the vet when Jen had called in to update his records.
Dylan was quieter than usual, apart from the few expletives when he banged his head on the bedrooms sloping roof. Methodical, as always, he stacked the next batch of heavy boxes Jen couldn’t lift downstairs into the hallway no matter what time he arrived home at night, what time he left in a morning and how many hours he had worked during the day. ‘It’ll make it easier for the removal men,’ he said, feeling guilty for the little time he could spend helping to achieve their goal but when the job was running he had no alternative but to run with it.
As instructed by the vet to keep Max in as much of his routine as possible, Jen picked up the dog’s lead and set out across the fields in her weatherproof coat and wellington boots. Not only could Max not seem to rest until his body was exhausted but, she too was feeling the angst of moving house.
The sky was a blanket of grey autumnal clouds. Yellow leaves piled high against dry stone walls of field boundaries. Max showed her the way. She stretched her legs over wooden stiles and wandered along wet country lanes as she followed him, the aroma of decay was everywhere. The wind started to pick up as she headed along Burford Avenue. The leaves on the trees fell like confetti around her. And when she neared Colonial House the Acer tree appeared to be shedding its leaves like drops of blood. The fog began to roll in between the hills on either side of the Pennines as she headed home the grim and sombre wind swirled around her in almost a frenzy – the mouth of winter was moaning.
***
‘Force Control Sir, you are shown on our records as the on-call negotiator is that correct?’
Dylan looked from the table he had set for dinner, to the calendar on the kitchen wall, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘Hold on, yes I’d forgotten I said I’d cover until seven o’clock this evening.’
‘Uniform are requesting your attendance at Rayburn House, Brelland. We’ve a man in breach of a court order not to contact his estranged girlfriend, who appears to have grabbed her outside the flats where she is now living. He’s armed with what is described by officers at the scene as a large knife. I am told they have him cornered, and we have a stand-off situation. He’s threatening to kill her if the officers don’t back off.’
‘Get Traffic to pick me up and blue-light me to the scene will you please?’
‘Will do sir, and we’ll update you, as and when, with any developments whilst you’re en route.’
There were spots of rain in the wind and Jen pulled on the drawstring of her hood and held it tight under her chin. Max walked protectively by her side. At last she could see the welcoming lights of home directly ahead and already she felt warmer.
A police car passed her, too fast for her to see who was driving. The lights atop blue, revolving, flashing beacons. Her stomach flipped as it always did on seeing an emergency vehicle proceeding at speed. ‘Whilst others run away from danger the emergency services run to it,’ she signed. ‘I wonder which poor soul will be going into the unknown tonight,’ she thought, to see the car broadside Dylan’s car on the driveway, and Dylan step out of their front door.
With no thought other than being able to say goodbye, Jen ran towards the car. Max barked his excitement as her welly-clad feet moved as quick as they could carry her. Dylan saw her coming, he wound down the window as the car reversed. ‘Urgent negotiating job, I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘I’ve peeled the veg and the meat is in the oven.’ Dylan’s face was red and flushed, his hair still damp from the shower. She turned on her heels to watch them go. The tail lights were already fading into the distance. In a blink of an eye the white Range Rover was gone over the brow of the hill.
Dylan’s hand firmly gripped the door handle.
‘Rayburn House boss I’m told.’ His uniformed driver spoke, his concentration firmly on the road ahead.
Dylan swayed too and fro with the contour of the road. ‘That’s correct.’
The sirens wailed and the blue lights flashed as the vehicle headed down the high street. Traffic lights ahead and his driver slowed the car down to expertly weave the vehicle in between the stopped cars. The vehicles immediately in front of them parted as they approached, but there was always one who either didn’t hear the siren or wouldn’t move. Dylan looked across at his driver and gripped the door handle tighter, bracing himself for what he knew was to come. As if he had read his driver’s mind the car swung to the other side of the road, whilst picking up speed. Dylan wasn’t concerned. He was confident of the driver’s ability. As they continued, the carriageway was clear; the speedometer dial showed Dylan one hundred miles per hour. Someone’s life was in jeopardy and they both knew that the sooner they got to them, the better chance they had to ensure it was saved.
On arrival at their destination the driver pulled their vehicle alongside the beat cars. Dylan had only been in the police vehicle for ten minutes, for what would normally have been for him a forty-minute journey.
‘I’ll hang about boss, just in case I can be of use,’ the driver said, turning off the engine.
Dylan’s mind was focused on a small group of officers near shrubbery at the right side of the toughened glass, steel door of the high-rise flats he knew as Rayburn House.
‘Fucking get back, or she fuckin’ gets it do you hear?’ He heard the shrill cry of a woman.
Dylan climbed out of the car and walked in the direction of the commotion. He spoke with Inspector Stonestreet who was in charge. The older man, at one time Dylan’s mentor, spoke in a lowered voice. ‘I’ve a fast dog car en route.’
‘What’ve we got?’
‘Twenty-eight year old by the name of Kenny Foley, given bail after assaulting his ex girlfriend. His bail conditions are such that he shouldn't be anywhere near here, let alone contact Becky Morris.’
‘And, he’s ignored it?’
Stonestreet nodded. ‘He’s come straight round here from court and waited for her to come home, grabbed her before she entered the building and has now got her at knifepoint.’ Reginald Stonestreet screwed up his face. He’s a bad bastard.
Dylan’ s eyes were fixed on the unfolding incident.
‘He’s got a knife, says he’s going to kill her if we don’t back off. And, I think he would. He’s that type. He wouldn’t worry about the consequences.’
‘It’s the bloke that headbutted Jen in the front office at the nick.’
‘Personal then?’ said Stonestreet, his eyes wide.
Dylan put on his stab-proof vest in silence. ‘I’ll start talking to him. In the meantime, get two officers with full-length riot shields at either side of me. If I can’t get him to release her then we’ll do the old squash routine, hopefully trapping Foley with the weapon, outside the shield. When the dog comes, get the dog man to keep it on the lead. I might need an aggressive dog to use as a distraction if we have to strike.’
‘Will do. Good luck, you’ll need it with this one – he listens to no one.’
Becky dared to look sideways, only to be drawn tighter into Foley’s hold. He smelt of booze and sweat, his face scabby and unshaven. His focus was on the small group of officers stood yards from the hostage taker and his hostage. Her vision blurred and panic grew in her throat as she started to breathe in rapid, shallow gasps. She pulled away from Foley as his hands moved up from her waist to her breasts. She gave a cry at the roughness of his grip, twisted her head round when he relaxed the knife from her neck, and sunk her teeth into his upper arm. The jarring impact against the stone wall took her breath and deprived her of that instance where she could have run to the safety of the waiting officers. Dylan watched from the periphery. He spoke quietly to an officer preparing for him to keep a step behind, to pass information to Inspector Stonestreet should any action be required. Foley’s wail of fury allowed Dylan to take two large steps forward, approximately ten feet from the hostage taker and his hostage.
Dylan stood where he had stopped, confidently relaxed. He looked Kenny Foley straight in the eyes without blinking. ‘Kenny, I’m DI Jack Dylan,’ he said in an amiable tone. ‘I’m here to help sort out this mess. Becky,’ he called, ‘you okay?’
Foley’s eyes sent the message of violence, rage, defiance. ‘She fucking won’t be if you come any nearer, and neither will you. Fuck off!’
The hostage taker had the pale, trembling Becky by the hair. Her head pulled back as far as her exposed neck would stretch. The blade of the knife to her jugular, her spindly legs shaking so that she occasionally lost balance.
Dylan held his gaze without moving, without tensing, without flinching. ‘Kenny you know the routine. We aren’t going anywhere. So, why not just put the knife down and let her go. We can sort this out.’ The detective was conscious of Bite, the police dog, straining on his leash behind him. Bite barked, snarled, pulling frantically to be set free.
Foley appeared agitated, nervous. He looked about him as if he was about to run, but there was no escaping from Bite.
‘What, so you bastards can spray me? I’m not stupid. You’ve got near enough once, you’re not getting close enough again. You can watch me kill her... Or you can leave us to talk – your call?’
Becky shrank back from the venom in his voice. Foley’s snarl was as menacing as the dogs. His gums red, his teeth grinding. ‘Your call!’ he yelled again.
‘Why do you need the knife to talk to Becky?’
‘To make sure she listens.’ He took the blade from her neck, and waved it in the air.
Dylan gave the nod for the two officers with the riot shields to come stand by his side. ‘Just put the knife down Kenny, let’s try and sort this out.’
Foley shook his head. ‘She’s coming with me, dead or alive.’
Becky, without the restraint of the blade to her neck gave a little cry at his tugging of her hair. The point of the knife went instantly back at her throat. His breaths became deeper and louder and she squirmed as his wet lips brushed her cheek. Becky’s looked directly at Dylan, her lips parted in her bloodless face. Foley drew his lips back on his long front teeth in a fixed snarl and growled like a dog.
‘But don’t you see Kenny, the decision to be with you has got to be hers? If she doesn’t come to you of her own free will, she’ll run away every chance she gets.’
Foley’s eyes were round and staring. He appeared to be thinking. Then he raised his stubbly chin at Dylan. ‘What’s them toy soldiers doing with them shields? Tell ‘em to back off.’
‘They’re here for my protection.’
‘Yeah, well, if any of you step any closer she’ll get it. If I’m going to prison, I might as well make it for something worthwhile.’
The German Shepherd snarled, growled, his lips vibrating as he barked incessantly at the hostage takers words as if he understood.
Dylan remained calm. ‘Don’t talk like that Kenny. We can sort it out. Nobody needs to get hurt.’
‘Get that fucking dog away from me.’ Foley started to hop from foot to foot, but at least the knife was away from Becky’s throat. ‘I’m losing my fucking patience,’ he raged. The veins on his neck were ugly and bulging.
‘If I do, will you talk to me? See if we can find a way out of this?’
Bite was up on his hind legs, barking, snarling, sniffing the air for his prey.
‘I’ll kill her.’ The blade was back at Becky’s throat. Foley’s eyes on the dog and its handler allowed Dylan and the two officers to take a step closer to him.
‘Are you all right Becky?’ Dylan called. Becky had presence of mind to blink her eyelids twice in quick succession.
‘Of course she’s fucking all right. I haven’t fucking touched her yet ’ave I?’ Foley lunged forward with the knife. ‘But, I’m gonna kill you bastards.’ Foley’s biting of his bottom lip was so hard that it drew blood.
‘We aren’t moving Kenny so you might as well let her go,’ said Dylan.
With no warning other than Foley seeing the blood from his mouth drip on his forearm, he violently pushed Becky to the floor, and raised the knife above his shoulders throwing his head back. A guttural howl emanated from the depths of his lungs. Becky was on her hands and knees.
‘Now!’ shouted Dylan. The officers armed with shields pushed forward at speed, trapping Foley against the wall. Dylan felt the spittle from Foley’s mouth hit his face, his reflexes made him blink at the sudden feeling of droplets falling onto his skin.
As anticipated by Dylan, the hostage taker wasn’t fully covered by the armour. In a blind rage accompanied by an energy surge, Foley’s anger, pent-up emotions, fear, erupted as one and he kicked out hard. It was so hard his shoe came off. Becky screamed for Foley to stop. The sound of grunts and groans assaulting her ears.
‘If I can’t have her nobody else is gonna,’ he hissed, spitting blood, pulling, kicking at the officers, until Dylan with equal determination screwed his hand into a tight fist, drew his arm back, reached over the safeguards and punched Foley as hard as he could on the nose. The bone crunched. Foley flew backwards into the glass with an almighty thud. Immediately, his grip loosened on the knife, which dropped with a clatter onto the stone flags. Dylan kicked it with the tip of his shoe and it skidded across the bloodied floor. Winded, the officers squashed Foley hard against the wall and brought him down to the ground. But the hostage taker was not giving up his face swelling, blood oozing from his nose and mouth he squirmed beneath the transparent buffer and pushed back at the officers with the strength of a caged animal fighting to be free.
Once down, back-up ran forward to assist in his restraint. Becky held her hands to her ears, to drown out the noise from Foley’s abusive mouth. He was handcuffed, his legs fastened around his jogging bottoms to stop him kicking out. Becky sat on the small wall to the side, her head in her hands whimpering; her heart pounded. She leant forward, dropping to the floor in a faint – bruising evident in her face that was fast becoming the size of a balloon.
‘We need help, here!’ came a cry from the officer attending to her.
The knife was collected and Kenny, his face a red ruin, with dark sheets of blood flowing steadily from his split lip and rubbled nose was carried to the waiting Police van screaming at the officers. The prisoner was tossed into the transit van for transportation to the cells.
‘They’ll throw the book at him this time. Kidnap, threats to kill, assault for starters,’ said Stonestreet.
Dylan splayed his fingers, his knuckles cracked, red and swollen, Foley’s blood splattered on the white cuff of his shirt.
‘You better get that seen to,’ said Stonestreet.
***
‘Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘Back a dog into a corner...?’ said the traffic officer when Dylan climbed in beside him. ‘I’ll call in A&E en route. They’ll check that over.’ His face held a frown.
Dylan could feel his hand stiffening. He grimaced. ‘You’re probably right.’
The clean-shaven traffic officers looked young, fresh, smart.
‘I’ve not seen a negotiator at work that close before, sir. A few words, and smack. You showed him whose boss.’ He smacked a fist in the palm of his hand. A look of respect crossed his face.
‘Well, it’s supposed to be about listening and talking, and nobody is supposed to get hurt.’ Dylan pulled a face.
‘I prefer it the way you did it Basher.’ He cocked his head in Dylan’s direction as he started the vehicle.
‘Now where did you hear that nickname?’ said Dylan, genuinely interested.
‘My dad, Barry “Razor” Sharpe? You got a cold case of his cleared up, long after he retired. It nearly saw him off, the Tina Walker murder?’
Dylan nodded.
‘I was at uni at the time but I was inspired. Made me want to be a police officer, and here I am.’
‘Really?’ A surprised smile crossed his face. ‘Why Traffic instead of CID?’
‘Boys and cars eh? There’s time for me to jump ship yet.’
‘From Traffic to CID?’ Dylan raised an eyebrow and with a fleeting glance at his epaulettes, noted his collar number. ‘I’ll look out for you then PC 4038,’ he said.
‘Bob to my friends,’ he said lifting his hand off the steering wheel to acknowledge the uniformed police officer waving them on.
Dylan’s mind was elsewhere – appreciating all that was around him. The way the sky seemed more blue, the grass greener, the way he always did after a negotiating incident. He never took things for granted, he never had since becoming a police officer.
The police radio gave the officers constant updates on divisional incidents and when the traffic officer heard that the dual carriageway was blocked due to a road traffic accident, and his colleagues were dealing Bob located a narrow meandering lane through waist-high dry stone walls, that led them directly to the hospital’s door.
‘Dad died, soon after it was solved,’ Bob said, as he pulled up outside the hospital entrance. ‘Mum always said that job would see him off and in essence it did.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dylan, and he meant it.
Bob’s melancholy was short lived. He held in his hands a large pot of tea that had been instantly brought to him the moment he arrived, and he flirted with the hospital staff unashamedly as ice packs were wrapped around Dylan’s hand.
Dylan winced.
‘It might be painful to begin with but it reduces the swelling and inflammation,’ said the nurse. With little fuss she elevated his hand above the level of his heart.
Dylan’s X-rays showed a fracture to the knuckle bone. The nurse produced some painkillers. ‘You can’t drive.’ She bound the injured site to the adjacent finger. ‘That’ll keep the knuckles straight,’ she said in a satisfied way.
‘How long will it take to heel?’
‘About two to three weeks.’
‘Can you still work?’ said Bob as he drove Dylan to work.
‘Not much choice with a murderer to catch, but my worry is that we’re also moving house.’
Dylan walked through the incident room and as he did so the noise in the office changed. The computer keyboards started to clatter more and desk draws banged louder. Voices came and went in wave the nearer he got to his office door. The sound of laughter from the kitchenette was raucous. He put his hand to his forehead.
‘Hey, I thought you were day-off?’ Vicky said with a quizzical stare as he passed her desk. She slid back her chair, rose and followed him into his office. ‘I heard you were called out. Stuck for words were you?’ Her voice was loud. He screwed up his eyes as he turned on his heels to face her.
Dylan’s legs felt weak, he looked helplessly boyish. ‘I think I’d better take you home,’ she said.
***
Hand trembling, Dylan let himself into the house with his front door key. The curtains had not been drawn and through the lounge window he could see Jen laid asleep, Max at her side. The television created shafts of brilliance in the otherwise darkened room. The dog’s tail tapped slowly and gently against the sofa, his eyes and ears raised but he didn’t get up. An empty wine glass stood on the edge of the coffee table next to an empty glass. There was a HOME magazine on the chair. Dylan paused at the door considering her reaction to his bandages. He put his finger to his lips. ‘Best let her sleep,’ he whispered to the dog.
Dylan sat quietly at the dining room table. It was laid just as he had left it, with the exception of the bottle of wine that had then been unopened in the cooler, and a glass.
Jen’s hair framed her pale face. She rubbed her eye with a fisted hand. Her clothes were crumpled.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
Her eyes widened. ‘More’s the point, are you?’
‘I am now. I will be.’ Dylan looked deadbeat. This was no time to give him a hard time, remind him that his health came first so, instead she walked towards him, knelt down at his feet and put her hand to his arm. ‘Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?’
Jen stood listening to the sound of a quick splash wash, and his opening of drawers. She cleared the table swiftly and prepared him a tray; warmed him some soup and a bread roll. Whatever had happened he needed fuel in his belly.
***
‘What on earth?’ said Jen when Dylan walked into the kitchen early the next morning. He carried his tie, and looked at her questioningly. No words were spoken as he stood before her, bent his head and proceeded to lift his collar with one hand. His eyes looked up to the ceiling while Jen knotted his tie. She put the palm of her hand to his chest when she had finished, tapped it gently, and looked up into his white face. He planted a kiss on the end of her nose.
‘I guess there is no point in me asking you to take the day off?’ Dylan gave her a wane smile. Just then there was a tap at the door. Maisy burst into the room and straight into Jen’s arms, squealing at the top of her voice. Chantall followed close behind carrying Maisy’s overnight bag. At that moment Dylan’s mobile phone rang, he turned and walked briskly into the dining room to take the call. The women exchanged glances both watching Dylan through the half glass doors. Chantall lifted an eyebrow at Jen. ‘Good night?’ she said with a little smile on her lips. The expression on Chantall's face changed on seeing Dylan’s bandaged hand as he opened the doors and re-entered the kitchen. He picked up his briefcase. Jen shook her head gently at Chantall, her face gave nothing away. He walked towards Jen, kissed her on the cheek and tasting the salt from her tears, he drew back – his face pained. He kissed Maisy, thanked Chantall for looking after their daughter, said goodbye and was gone.
Maisy wound her arms around her mother’s neck. ‘Don’t ask,’ Jen said over her daughter’s shoulder. She sat Maisy at the table with her crayons and colouring book and sat down next to Chantall. Feeling a lump in her throat, tears sprang into her eyes but she didn’t wipe them away immediately, half hoping that Chantall would not see them as she responded to the little girl’s pleas for her to help. Chantall got up, filled the kettle and got two cups out of the cupboard. Jen was thankful for her friend’s intuition. She stared round at the empty shelves and walls and back at the packing boxes as Chantall busily prepared the drinks. She brought the hot beverages over and handed a mug to Jen who in turn looked up into her friend’s face that was full of concern.
‘There is no way on God’s earth that Dylan is going to be fit to help with the move. I’ve got to do something.’
Chantall’s smile was reassuring, as was her warm hand on hers. ‘I’ll help.’
Jen looked her up and down, from top to toe. Chantall was always dressed immaculately, groomed and made up. Then she looked down at herself and despaired. ‘I doubt us two will be much use lugging furniture around, do you?’ Max’s ears shot up at that very moment, and he ran to the front door growling, to be met by leaflets being thrust into the letter box with force. The dog barked frantically, leaping up and down incessantly at the door handle. Jen frowned, ‘Must be someone new,’ she said. ‘He’s not usually like this.’ Jen shouted at him to cease but his abnormal behaviour didn’t stop. There was a thud as he backed into the waist high set of drawers that was just big enough to house at its top, the telephone. Calling repeatedly at Max, Jen hurried down the hallway, dragged Max away, picked up the post, put the table back in its place and stood the phone on top, scolding the dog all the while for his bad behaviour. Fallen from one of the drawers was a small book and as it lay opened on the floor she could see it had Dylan’s handwriting inside. A sparkle appeared in her eyes as she looked up from reading the words.
‘That look, I’ve seen it before Jennifer Jones,’ Chantall said as she walked back in the kitchen. ‘What is it?’
‘I have a plan.’
‘I knew it.’
‘Tell me more,’ she said eagerly.
***
Dylan scanned his computer – one particular prisoner’s information he read, over again. Surprisingly, he felt rather calm.
‘Good job you’ve got another to pick up a coffee cup,’ said Vicky nodding in the direction of his bandages, ‘otherwise you’d be buggered.’
Dylan nodded but didn’t take his eyes off the screen. When he spoke a few moments later it was in a slow drawl, ‘Yeah, I can sympathise with David now. But...’ He turned the computer screen to face her and lay back in his chair, an audible sigh coming from his lips, ‘it was worth it to lay one on that bastard.’
‘Has Foley made a complaint of assault against you yet?’
Dylan afforded himself a chuckle as he sat up. ‘I don’t deny I hit him. I hit him as hard as I bloody could.’ His tone changed. ‘But, in my defence, your Honour, I only used as much force as was necessary to disarm him.’
‘The twat deserved it,’ she said raising her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders.
The morning briefing was interspersed with sarcastic comments from the jovial team.
‘Boss, is it true you’ve had your ACAB tattoos removed?’ said Ned.
‘Not all coppers are bastards,’ Vicky said clipping him around the head. ‘Just some...’
‘We’ll call you Mr Punch from now on, shall we sir?’ said Nev.
Dylan chuckled at their reaction, put his chin to his chest and shook his head. When the tormenting ceased, he stood tall. ‘If you lot worked half as hard as you did at taking the mick, this murder would be solved,’ he growled, but his lips were still turned upwards at the corners, and the smile reached his eyes.
The assembled walked out of the briefing room in single file, each with a fisted hand above their heads. Some had handkerchiefs wrapped around their hands, others with paper tissues. Ned held a tea towel. ‘The police force really is a job like no other,’ he said.
