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Sitting in his office Dylan drummed his fingers on the desk, rhythmically soothing his frustration. Vicky had been gone no more than ten minutes when he heard her feminine throaty laugh emanating from the outer CID office. When he looked sideways at the tapping on his door he could see through the glass that she was carrying something. When she opened his door the smell told him that it was a warm meat pie. He smiled at her appreciatively when she handed him a small, brown, paper bag. Invited, she slid into the chair opposite him and adjusted the position of the remaining bit of sandwich that she held between her fingers, before popping it in her mouth.
‘If the Chief Super saw you eating outside he’d have a dicky fit,’ said Dylan.
‘Yeah, well there’s no fear of that because he’d have to come out of his office. Not all of us have the privileged of a dinner hour, or a secretary to go out to get our lunch. So?’ She looked at him, and continued to look at him, in silence, her eyebrows raised.
‘What?’ he said, catching the warm gravy that ran from the side of his mouth, with the handkerchief he retrieved from his trouser pocket.
‘Who’s the next front runner?’ Vicky pointed to the gravy on Dylan’s chin and he instantly dabbed it with his finger. ‘This enquiry feels like the Grand National – just when we think we’ve a good suspect, the DNA results stop us at the next hurdle.’
‘I agree, I really hoped information from Patti’s laptop and mobile phone would reveal something, anything. A contact we didn’t know about, a secret liaison she’d been having?’ He screwed the empty paper bag up into a ball and threw it across the room, straight into the waste bin. ‘Not only is that not the case, but they tell me she hardly ever used either.’
Vicky eyes were down as she peeled the paper from a bar of chocolate. ‘What no social media?’ she said opening her mouth and placing a square of chocolate on her tongue.
He shook his head. ‘No, absolutely nothing,’ he shrugged his shoulders. ‘I guess she didn’t have time. Has the CCTV enquiries brought anymore actions to be pursued?’ Dylan continued. ‘Is there CCTV that still needs viewing?’
At the shaking of her head Dylan groaned in despair. He ran his hands through his hair, and then cradled his head in exasperation, as he placed his elbows onto the cool surface of the desk. ‘We need to review the house-to-house enquiries in that area. Have all the callbacks been done? If not I want to know why not? Basically,’ he said placing the palm of his hand flat down on the desk before him, ‘I want to know we have cleared the ground beneath our feet, and left no stone unturned before we move on.’
‘Guess we’re lucky we have the DNA because if not the review team would be all over us like flies on a big, steaming, turd loaf.’
‘A what?’
Vicky chuckled. ‘I went out with an American once, that’s what he used to say...’
Dylan slid a piece of paper over the desk towards her and threw her a pen. She caught it with ease, clicked her tongue and winked an eye.
‘I want the house-to-house pro-forma’s reviewed. Any occupant known to us, I want to know about. Did we ask the right questions to get the answers we need?’ Dylan said matter-of-factly.
‘Would it be worth doing house-to-house again? Someone might remember something that they didn’t, when they were initially seen. Maybe some people were in shock at the time they were interviewed? After all, they had just been made aware that a murder had taken place on the street where they live.’
Dylan looked straight passed her to the CID office, through the half glass door.
‘Maybe...’ His eyes found hers. ‘Check we have taken DNA samples from all those who reside on Burford Avenue, or were known to have been in the area at the time. I want to know there are none outstanding. I also want each and every resident to be asked to revisit the day of the murder in their mind and ask themselves, “Was there anything, absolutely anything, that they remember now, that wasn’t passed on to us at the time?” I’m considering a reconstruction of her route she took that day – what do you think?’
Vicky nodded in the affirmative with a blink of the eye and a swift nod of her head. Her pen was still poised.
‘For now we have the mobile police incident unit parked on Burford Avenue and we have a small group of officers staffing it?’
‘We do.’
‘One officer present at all times as a public liaison, and others I want to systematically visit the households again. Ask Sarah Dodsworth to arrange for the Mounted Section to walk the streets in the area. You never know, it’s amazing how many people come out to stroke a police horse and speak to an officer on horseback, but won’t speak to an officer in uniform on the street.’
‘Good plan,’ Vicky said, enthusiastically.
‘High profile, high visibility and a good photo opportunity for the media to keep Patti’s murder headline news.’
Dylan picked up the phone, the sign to Vicky that their conversation had finished.
‘Nev,’ she heard him say as she left the room. ‘I’d like a meet today to review where we are with the mass DNA sampling at the school.’
***
‘Hello Charlie, I’m Jen, Dylan’s wife.’ Jen’s hand trembled slightly, whether because of the cold, slight fear of the stranger who was her brother-in-law, or from excitement she was unsure. ‘Thank you for coming to the rescue.’ Charlie’s face held the same effortless smile as his younger brother. Underlying in his warm handshake was the same energy too.
‘I’m so excited to hear you and Dylan have bought the old place. Oh, and to meet you at last, of course.’ He hung his head, and his hair fell over his eyes, giving him a look of boyish vulnerability.
Smiling broadly Jen stood at the peeling front door, with the key in her hand and listened to Dylan’s brother’s tales of their youthful antics. ‘More often than not we spent our childhood outside rather than in,’ he said, and she could understand why.
‘What child would stay indoors with a railway on their doorstep, trees begging to be climbed and all at the gateway to acres of moorland?’ She could barely take her eyes off Charlie as he chatted, so alike her husband in his looks, and mannerisms.
Hearing Jen talk about their plans Charlie was as enthusiastic as if the project was his own, and the love and respect for his younger brother was apparent. Building being his line of work, he shared her vision for the renovation that others, it was apparent, didn’t see. He looked up and down the driveway, out towards the garden to the fields beyond, and turning towards the house from the floor to the roof of the building before them. ‘This house... Tell me, what was my brother thinking when he took it on?’ he said in wonderment before returning his attention to Jen.
Jen’s cheeks flushed. ‘That was sort of my fault...’ she hunched her shoulders and grimaced. ‘He wasn’t sure. Then, someone else put in a bid and if he hadn’t made an instant decisions we would have lost it.’ Jen’s head dropped to one side. ‘He knew how much I loved it. And, as usual he’s working too hard, never at home and well once he has the bit between his teeth, there is no letting go... hence why I need your help.’
‘That sounds like our Dylan. He had two paper rounds a day when he was thirteen, and as small and skinny as he was, he never welched on his turn at digging the garden over for our potatoes and veg. I kept chickens which ensured a bountiful Christmas, and meant we always had eggs.’ He turned his head to look up the path. ‘Is he meeting us here?’
Jen looked at him. ‘I...’
‘He doesn’t know you called me does he?’ he said with a raise of an eyebrow.
She shook her head.
‘May I?’ he said, as he took the key and placed it in the lock.
‘It’s one of those houses that beckons you inside... and hugs you...’ she said following him. The house was cold, dark and smelt of damp.
‘You’re really moving in here tomorrow?’ he said. Jen nodded her head.
Jen watched Charlie’s eyes fill with the wonder of a child on an adventure as he walked around, pointing out the original features, the unusual curve of the stairs, ‘Dad was a dab hand at joinery...’ Dylan’s brother made no mention of the tree growing through the window in one of the bedrooms or the damp rising up the walls from the floor. But, what he did do was write down in his workbook what needed to be done. ‘We worked hard,’ he said, standing for a moment, looking over the overgrown vegetable patch. He rested his hand on the window frame. ‘It was no easy life being one of five children, with dad working shifts or away, and mum trying to do her best by us all. We all slept in a drawer as babes in arms.’
‘Dylan hasn’t any photographs of you as children. I guess men aren’t as sentimental...’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Our Ronnie – have you met our Ronnie?’ Jen shook her head. ‘You will tomorrow. He has Dad’s medals, and his army papers,’ he said with a grin as Jen followed him down the stairs. ‘Joe was a keen photographer you know.’
‘So Dylan said. But, what I can’t understand is why there isn’t more photographs, or a family album? Do you think Ronnie will come and help us?’
Charlie seemed to be thinking about what she had said. ‘We’ll all help,’ he smiled. ‘We might not live in each other’s pockets but we’re there for each other. I want you to remember that.’
Jen gave a sigh of relief. Again, Charlie looked thoughtful. ‘You’re right. None of us, as far as I know, have photographs baring the mandatory school snap.’ He stopped and turned. Jen saw the mark of weariness that resembled Dylan’s. Suddenly he hurried down the remaining steps. His eyes when he turned were wide. ‘That’s it! That’s the room that’s missing – Dad’s darkroom!’
Charlie’s steps were long as he strode out of the front door. From the hallway she saw him pass each window as he paced the outside. When he returned his face held a puzzled expression. ‘I remember the room as plain as day, but for the life in me I can’t remember where it was in the house... and there isn’t floor space for it to be hidden.’
‘Could there be a cellar?’ Jen frowned. ‘But if so, where’s the steps or the door?’
Charlie banged on the walls of each room from left to right.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked as he reached the utility room, which housed the butler sink with the skirted, checked curtain below on a wire. He had his ear turned to the wall. The sound his knocking made wasn’t like the noise on the other walls.
‘It's a timber stud wall,’ he said.
Jen’s heart missed a beat. ‘What are you saying?’
‘It’s a stud wall, covered in plasterboard, therefore it isn’t load-bearing.’ Their eyes met.
‘I think I might have found it.’
***
The mobile police incident unit was paying dividends. The team had already been informed that on the afternoon of Patti’s murder was the day the local Brelland and surrounding homeless charity were collecting the bags that had been left out on the kerb edge. Surprisingly this hadn’t been mentioned by any person who they had interviewed previously.
The BASH team member could be an important witness, and if the driver on that day were a male then a DNA sample would be required; enquiries were made a priority. Two others had come forward to say that on the afternoon of the murder they had received deliveries of orders from Internet purchases – again this information hadn’t been shared previously as it was thought irrelevant. Enquiries to trace the delivery people were a priority.
The incident room office door opened and shut, and moments later Dylan could hear Vicky taking her frustrations out on Ned. ‘I don’t know why we bother?’
‘With what?’
‘All that media attention! Not one of those bloody drivers came forward to say they were on Burford Avenue on that day. It’s a bastard murder enquiry for Christ sake!’ She slammed the lid down on the Xerox machine and the regular hum of the copier machine drowned out Ned’s reply.
‘They’d know they’d been on Burford Avenue, and if they weren’t sure of the date you’d think they’d check their diary wouldn’t you?’ Vicky eyed him from where she sat.
Ned shrugged his shoulders.
‘I want them finding and interviewing,’ she said as she turned her head and typed the action required into the computer.’
Ned yawned.
‘You still here?’ she snapped, when she looked up a few minutes later.
Ned grunted and groaned as he stood, put on his coat and collected his keys from his drawer. Two minutes later he was out of the door.
Tracing the driver of a vehicle belonging to a charity never proved easy. In most instances drivers were volunteers and the working hours ad hoc due to availability. In total there were four volunteers who did the collecting and to be seen. Luckily, David Funk, the CSI was a fundraiser for the charity and therefore he had contact details of those involved.
In respect of the two deliveries from items purchased via the Internet, with the assistance of the householder and the providing companies, two local distributors were identified. The buzz had returned to the incident room with potential witness to see who the officers knew had been in the immediate area at the time.
‘I want them seen today,’ Dylan told Vicky. ‘Jen and I are moving house tomorrow.’
Vicky’s expression told him he’d be lucky, but Dylan’s stance was adamant. ‘It’s achievable,’ he said in away that she knew was non negotiable.
Dylan waited patiently. The news from David Funk that there were no hits on the latest batch of DNA samples submitted to Forensic, including that from Ivan Sinclair was a blow, but not unexpected.
‘I’ll break the news to everyone at the debrief,’ said Dylan.
At debrief four charity volunteer drivers had been seen. Two retired men, and two middle-aged women. The men had willing given DNA samples to the officers who spoke to them and the volunteer coordinator had confirmed that Brenda and Grace had been doing the collections that day which had resulted in a visit to Burford Avenue. But as there was nothing deemed as out of the ordinary at nine o’clock in the morning neither woman thought about speaking to the police.
‘At least we’ve cleared more ground beneath our feet,’ said Acting Detective Sergeant Andy Wormald who sat next to Dylan. Detective Sergeant Nev Duke was keen to report his team’s update.
‘We’ve seen two distribution service providers. Luckily for us at the first the owner, manager and his drivers were in for a meeting when we called, all the males in attendance gave us DNA samples a couple more have been seen at home and we’ve now got theirs too.’
‘Good. Anything Ned?’ said Dylan
‘I spoke to the other identified distributor. A single working mum who is otherwise employed to distribute Internet stock from her place in Union Street. She’s only recently taken on the extra work to make ends meet. She is out and about most days in the local area. A signature is required for each parcel delivered. Oddly, she doesn’t recall going to Burford Avenue recently, but she definitely didn’t rule it out.’
‘No wonder you were ages! So, basically she couldn’t help?’ said Vicky.
‘No, but she seemed shocked and apologetic.’ Ned grinned broadly. ‘There’s more...’
‘I should bloody hope so!’
‘Following the route she uses all the time, Burford Avenue would have been one of the first drop offs of the day, so it would have been around nine o’clock if she had been dropping parcels off in that area on that day, hours before Patti returned home.’
‘Before we close the meeting,’ Dylan looked left and right at his Detective Sergeants, all whom sat facing the incident team personnel. ‘I am taking a few days off. We’re moving house...’ As the words left his mouth there was a knock at the door. David Funk stood and opened the door. Rachael, the young police officer who had protected the Patti Heinz murder scene stood in the doorway. The pair shared a knowing look and she a shy smile before she continued to speak. ‘Sir, sorry to interrupt. There’s an urgent telephone call for you in the incident room – from headquarters control. They want to speak to you immediately.’
Dylan looked to the sea of tired, expectant faces before him. They all knew what that meant... as did he. Did he, have the staff from the existing enquiry available to deal with another major incident? No, but he needed a few to assist with the basics, and get whatever incident it was off the ground.
‘Vicky, come with me, Ned, Donna, Emily, David don’t go anywhere until you hear from me.’
***
The bin store at Shroggs Grove housing complex was cordoned off with police tape. Rain, sleet, snow and hail that had fallen while he was en route had left the ground sodden.
Dylan flashed his warrant card at the uniformed police officer who logged him in at the outer cordon. Immediately after he lifted the police tape to allow Dylan to go under, and up the churned-up grass verge where the rest of them stood. It was dark but the fact it was icy cold didn’t deter the locals, dressed for the weather, gathering.
The senior officer on site beckoned Dylan out of earshot. ‘A female, sir, stuffed behind the bins. Paramedics have attended and pronounced life extinct. Is there anything else you want me to do?’ Lee Ambler was an ex detective and Dylan was glad to see him on site.
‘I understand the waste collectors found the body, have you got their details? We’ll need statements.’
‘Done sir.’
‘And the nearby bins, they’ve not been emptied?
‘No, they’re still in situ. I’ve ensured that the inner cordon has secured the immediate area around the body for you, and the outer as you can see won’t allow even prying eyes. CSI and supervisor are en route and they have been informed that we need screening and possibly an inflatable tent.’
‘What else can you tell me?’ said Dylan who busied himself by pulling on his protective clothing.
‘The deceased is a young woman, possibly mid twenties. Waste collectors saw the body behind the bins and immediately contacted us and the ambulance. Paramedics attended shortly after us and confirmed her dead, left their details and told us they will prepare the necessary statements. Apart from pronouncing her dead the paramedics also tell us that she has a severe injury to the back of her head.’
‘Once CSI are fit we’ll take a look. Well, done with the cordon by the way,’ Dylan said over his shoulder as he headed towards the inner cordon.
‘Thanks sir.’
The lifeless corpse was dressed in dark coloured leggings that were arranged in such a way they showed the left cheek of her bottom. There was a deep graze to her exposed hip that was covered in a mixture of dried blood, grit and dirt. Her upper body clothing that was pulled up under her arms revealed a red, lacy bra; the lower part of her breast visible. Her shoulder-length, brown hair strewn across her face was matted with blood. Dried, blood-streaked fluid traces showed signs of travelling from both ear and nose. A closer inspection revealed part of her skull sunk inward from the trauma, which suggested she had been hit with a heavy object.
Senior CSI Sarah Jarvis hung over the body taking photographs. The 360 degree angle camera was working away on the tripod, being monitored by CSI Karen Ebdon. What was apparent was the different shutter speed noises. David Funk stood back for a moment and let the younger CSIs, covered from top to toe in white paper suits do the necessary.
‘As the photographer, it is not up to us to determine the relevance of the injury, or item, but to document it,’ said David who stood at Dylan’s side. ‘We must remain impartial and non-judgemental in order to maintain the highest level of service and photograph the scene in order to show the body prior to it being moved. I wonder how many irrelevant images we collect in a year?’
‘And a tiny fragment of something you preserve, or an image you take can be the very piece that proves a case for us,’ said Dylan.
David looked pleased. ‘Looking at her clothing and the grazing it suggests to me she was dragged into her present position behind the wheelie bin. She’s received one hell of a blow to her head which would have had immediate effect, so what we have here may just be the dump-site.’
Vicky, suited and booted walked in to the inner cordon. ‘Good grief, I can see my breath,’ she said pulling her mask over her nose and mouth. ‘Her eyes looked dull and sad. Not only as the poor kid ended her days at the hands of a killer, but to be dumped like garbage is shit.’
‘Satisfied you guys have done everything you need to do?’ said Dylan to David. David nodded.
A plastic body sheet was laid on the ground next to the body, and the victim was rolled very slowly onto it.
The girl’s eyes were closed. Her cheek was badly grazed, smeared with blood and there was a mixture of grit, mud and the slime found from the remnants of decayed, rotting food.
‘Rigor, rigid. Mortis, dead,’ Vicky mumbled. The girl wore no jewellery that could be seen, except for a small metallic stud in her left nostril, and in her ear. ‘No, ID, no coat and her clothing’s dry. How far, and from where has she travelled?’
‘With some luck we may find out sooner rather than later. My initial thoughts are that we remove her to the mortuary and keep this immediate area protected, including the bins and their contents. I want you to arrange to have them fingerprinted in case our attacker moved them to get her in that position. A search will tell us if the murderer has done us a favour and dumped the weapon in one of these bins.’ Dylan looked around. ‘We won’t know that until we get in touch with Operational Support to ask for a POLSA search team. I also want a house-to-house on Shroggs Grove before we cast our net wider. David, can we get a head shot of the girls face, she looks asleep doesn’t she? We may have to consider using that to identify her.’
The clicking noise from the camera shutter was immediate. ‘Not a problem boss,’ he said.
‘Also we need the CCTV database checking. See if this location is covered, and any routes to the area. Call Raj. She’ll deputise; we’ll run on HOLMES. Tell her to set up the incident room next to Patti’s, and that way I can keep a foot in both camps. Anyone got anything else before we move on?’
‘Who’s exhibits boss?’
Dylan turned to Donna. ‘Can you pick this one up?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Okay, phase one, arrange for the young woman to be moved to the mortuary and I’ll request two teams from ops support. Check the Mispers, it could be we have someone reported missing from home that fits her description. I’ll speak to the Coroner’s Officer see when we can get a Home Office pathologist to carry out the PM.’
When he did so the response was quick. Arrangements were made for eight o’clock. A press appeal was drafted, maybe someone would come forward and report her missing.
Limited details were used:-
‘A murder enquiry is underway after the discovery of a body behind wheelie bins in Shroggs Grove earlier today. The person was fully clothed and had suffered a severe head injury. She is slim, white, has shoulder-length light brown hair and is dressed in black leggings and a pale blue, knitted jumper. She also has a small silver coloured ball nose stud in her left nostril, and likewise in her ear. A post-mortem will be carried out tomorrow to ascertain the exact cause of her death. DI Jack Dylan leading the investigation said, “I am not convinced that this young lady was killed in the location she was found. I appeal to anyone who may know her, or may have seen a person fitting her description recently to please contact us. Anyone with any information shouldn’t hesitate to contact us in confidence.”’
Dylan eyes looked skyward. ‘Oh god, we’re moving house tomorrow,’ he said out loud.
Vicky looked at her watch. ‘Correction sir, you’re moving house today...’
***
Dylan put his briefcase down at the kitchen door. Exhausted he shook off his jacket, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and loosened his tie. He switched on the light, dropped his newspaper-clad fish and chips onto the kitchen table and as if on autopilot walked to the sink and filled the kettle. Opening the cupboard door only showed him they were bare. Dylan looked around him at the moving boxes taped up and labelled ‘KITCHEN’ in big, bold, black lettering. He noticed a lone glass on the draining board, rinsed it out and filled it with ice cold water from the tap. The window bereft of curtains, meant he stared directly out onto the back garden but it stared back at him like hollow eyes. He put the glass to his lips, his head back and he drank heartily before reaching out to the cutlery drawer to find it empty also; all the homely comforts packed away. He left the glass next to the fish and chip paper and turned to the fridge, but there was no can of beer that he sought, only half a pint of milk and a bottle of wine. His hand hovered over the milk, he looked over his shoulder, attempting to locate a jar of coffee. There was none to be seen. So, he grabbed the wine bottle by the neck and collecting his supper en route he carried them both into the lounge. There was one chair in the living room that was devoid of clutter – obvious to him the seat Jen had been using earlier as Maisy’s bedtime story book still sat on its arm. The answering phone blinked next to a pile of papers and mail, he didn’t touch them but left them lying in wait for tomorrow, today, this morning, when Jen woke, the removal men would arrive and Dylan would have left for work. He stood from the chair sometime later, his stomach full, his head reeling, nearly pitching himself onto the floor. He grabbed at the coffee table, upset the empty bottle and it fell with a thud to the carpet. He made his way unsteadily to the door and grabbing hold of the foot of the banister pulled himself up the stair steps.
Jen rolled over and spoke in a hushed tone when Dylan slid into bed next to her. ‘I heard the news... Are they trying to see you off?’
Dylan’s head facing the ceiling sank into the soft, cool pillow. Immediately his eyes closed. The breath that emerged from his body was by way of a long, low sigh.
Jen propped herself up on one elbow. Overwhelmed to see his dark, sunken eyes and the tautness of his face, highlighted by the moon that shone through the window, she frowned down at him. ‘How much more are you going to let them dump on you before you collapse? Are you trying to kill yourself?’ she said in a hushed tone, through gritted teeth.
His droopy eyelids flew open at a noise outside and he watched the shadows from a car’s headlights dance on the ceiling. ‘I don’t think that’s in the role profile,’ he said after a moment or two.
‘I bet it isn’t. Because, they don’t want it to be public knowledge how few of you are holding the fort.’ Jen sat up, punched her pillow, and turned to face him, her cheek and ear sinking into her pillow.
‘Maybe so.’ Dylan closed his eyes and for a moment he slept to be woken when he stretched and his leg cramped. He sat up with a jolt, threw his legs out of bed and bent down to rub his thigh vigorously.
‘The likes of Hugo Watkins... They sit in their bloody ivory towers and let others do the work for them. He was telling someone in the office today he had never been to a mortuary or given evidence in a Crown Court! How can it be right for a Chief Superintendent to say that?’
‘There are some good bosses Jen, you know that, they’re not all like him.’
‘But you can count them on one bloody hand.’
Jen rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Dylan opened his eyes and turned his head to face her. ‘Apart from that what’s annoying you?’ He said when she returned.
‘Avril Summerfield-Preston had the great pleasure announcing today that she’s heard the government are planning to tax the lump sum, therefore reducing the police pension by a substantial amount. She says it’s a plan to make officers retire sooner than they intended.’
‘Really? Well, Beaky will know.’ Dylan smiled a wry smile. ‘I had heard a rumour. But I’m told we won’t lose out over time.’
‘Sadly time is something that no one is guaranteed...’
‘I guess sleeping with the boss means she finds out a lot more than the hierarchy intend. Pity she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.’ Dylan put his hand up to his face and stifled a yawn.
‘You know what they say. Give them enough rope...’
‘Well, at least you wouldn’t be called out to that.’
Dylan’s frown was visible.
‘Sorry.’ Jen’s apology was hardly heartfelt. ‘Will you be able to take time off for the move now?
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, his eyebrows knotted together. ‘The others can hold it together for one day.’
‘Good,’ she said, a contented smile on her face. ‘Because I have a surprise for you.’
‘You have?’ he said snuggling up behind her.
Dylan’s sleep was fitful and he felt drowsy on waking when night turned to day. He vividly remembered waking and writing down a thought or two and he turned his head on the pillow to see the luminous Post-it notes he kept by the side of the bed littering the floor. Jen was snoring softly at his side. Tentatively, he rose, bending over to pick up his notes on his way to the bathroom. Some notes were readable others not, just as some were obvious procedure, others made no sense at all.
