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Dylan’s eyes snapped open. He looked at his phone to see there were no messages. He breathed a sigh of relief and set his phone down, then laid his head down on the pillow. Dozing until daylight he heard his phone vibrate and it startled him. Jen stirred beside him. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, reassuring her as he would a child. She moaned contentedly. He accepted the call.
‘I’ve a young lad in the front office sir. He’s telling me he hasn’t seen his girlfriend for two days and he thinks she might be the girl who was found yesterday,’ said Dave Cracker Craze.
Dylan gently, so as not to disturb Jen, threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled a pair of socks from the radiator with one hand. ‘Can you inform DS Raj, and tell her I’m on my way.’
Jen’s eyes flew open to see Dylan staring at her, knowing with certainty that she wouldn’t be pleased. ‘No,’ she shook her head repeatedly. ‘Please tell me this is a joke?’
‘Sorry, I have to go.’
***
Dylan and Raj sat in a warm, windowless interview room at Harrowfield Police Station, opposite a giant of a man who had given a birth date, which led them to believe he was twenty-seven years old. He had broad, muscular shoulders, the sturdy hands of a manual worker; grit under his fingernails and calluses on his knuckles. His shoulder-length hair was curly and his jaw line framed by an unruly beard. For five minutes he sat perfectly still, and didn’t speak a word. It was hard to tell if he was scared, drugged, shy, in shock or drunk, although there was no smell of alcohol. He was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that displayed a myriad of small holes to its front.
Raj introduced both herself and Dylan and, although he looked at her briefly when she spoke, it appeared to take him a while to process what she had said. Eventually, he replied eventually with his name.
‘Alan Sanderson.’
There appeared to be a sudden change in his demeanour once she used his name in her questioning and DS Raj grasped the opportunity to move on. ‘And your address?’
‘Flat Four, Wingate Heights.’
DS Raj gave Alan her best reassuring smile when he afforded her a brief glance. ‘We understand the reason for you coming to the police station is that you think the dead girl, found yesterday, may be your girlfriend. What makes you think that?’
Alan tapped his foot rhythmically on the linoleum floor. He held his right hand in a fist that he rested on the table that sat in between him and the detectives, and this is where his concentration lay. ‘Julie and me, we had a row,’ he said raising his dark brown eyes, to meet hers. The emotions he had experienced began creeping back, making it difficult for him to keep his voice from cracking. ‘I think she’s been seeing somebody.’ He wrung his hands. ‘No,’ he said shaking his head briefly. ‘I know she has.’ He looked from Raj to Dylan. ‘I confronted her. She stormed out.’ His voice lowered. ‘And she didn’t come back.’ Unblinking for a moment or two he appeared to hold his breath. He stared passed the officers to the blank wall beyond. He cleared his throat. His face crumpled. Tears sprang into his eyes and his gaze shifted to his hands that were clamped between his legs in a prayer like position. ‘I waited, and waited for her to return. I had hope because she hadn’t taken any of her things. But, her car is gone...’ Emotions overwhelmed him and fighting them only appeared to make it worse.
‘What’s Julie’s surname?’ asked Raj.
He took his time in answering. Fighting tears he swallowed hard. ‘Dixon, Julie Ann Dixon.’
‘And the car, what make is it?’
Alan’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘It’s a Morris, Mini Classic.’
‘Do you know the registration number?’
He closed his eyes briefly, screwed up his face and shook his head slightly. He was hesitant. ‘Fifty six H.A.C.’
‘Can you describe Julie to me Alan?’ said Raj, softly.
The description that followed satisfied Dylan that the dead woman he had seen, was being described through the eyes of someone one who knew her well. Dylan placed the headshot photograph on the table and rotated it to face her boyfriend, Alan flinched and his face looked pained.
‘Is this Julie?’ Dylan asked.
Head down Alan licked his pale, dry lips. As if in slow motion his jaw dropped, his mouth moved but no words came from within. He brought a hand up to his forehead and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind his ear. His eyes didn’t leave the image before him. Eventually, he nodded his head faintly, sighed deeply, lifted his head slightly and briefly shut his eyes so the officers couldn’t see them. Tears tumbled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the flat of his hand. The officers gave him a moment to compose himself.
‘I knew it. I knew she was dead,’ he sobbed. ‘Can you tell if she suffered?’ Alan’s mouth remained open, his face gravely pale, his body braced in anticipation as he stared into Dylan’s eyes.
Dylan’s eyebrows furrowed briefly, then his body relaxed and he hunched over. Looking down at the photograph he rubbed its corner between his finger and thumb. ‘She was hit on the back of her head with something hard,’ he said, ‘I am told that Julie would have died instantly.’
‘Why?’ he said, his words barely a whisper. ‘Why?’
‘That’s our job to find out,’ said Dylan.
Alan threw himself back in the chair. Put his hands up to cover his face. ‘I wish I hadn’t come,’ he said through his sobs. ‘I didn’t want it to be her.’ He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and at last the relief of the exhalation.
‘There is a lot of questions we need to ask you but firstly we need to search the flat.’
Adam’s expression hardened but his eyes were accepting. ‘Of course.’
***
Police search advisor Sergeant Simon Clegg made a primary search of the flat Alan and Julie had shared, and within the hour a full POLSA trained search team were waiting for the instruction to go in.
DI Jack Dylan stepped under the outer cordon crime scene tape. He climbed the littered stairs to the third-floor two at a time, sidestepping the takeaway boxes, waste paper, empty bottles and cans. The stench of urine, stains of which ran down the walls, was overpowering. He rummaged in his pocket, retrieved a mint and popped it into his mouth.
‘Detective Inspector Dylan,’ he said, flashing his warrant card at Rachael the uniformed police officer who stood guarding the door. There was something different about the young girl but he couldn’t figure out what – maybe the beaming smile. The door was ajar the handle hanging, limp. His eyes followed the direction of his pointed finger to a room at the end of a dark, narrow hallway.
‘Looks like you’ve had an unwelcome visitor mate,’ said Ned, to Alan. Alan’s face held the makings of a smile. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is how it is.’ The detective at the scene’s role was to watch Alan Sanderson closely. He remained their prime suspect. One of the reasons for this preliminary visit was to see if there was any evidence of a struggle. Had this the marks of a crime scene? If there had been a struggle however, it would have been hard to tell. Dylan looked and listened, as he walked around the flat alone. Alan chatted to Ned about Julie’s family – his earlier reserve apparently forgotten. David Funk stood with Dylan in the lounge, quietly observing all they surveyed.
‘Always time to stand and stare,’ Dylan said to the CSI. David’s eyes were drawn to a dark brown runner that ran the entire length of the room, and the wooden floor it rested upon. He gave Dylan a knowing look, and a nod. Dylan’s eyes followed him as he proceeded to chemically test the floor coverings.
‘Blood?’ Dylan’s voice was a whisper. David nodded his head. Standing perfectly still, taking in all that was around him Dylan noticed a lone bare screw in the wall at head height, which suggested to him that that something had been removed. David busily swabbed the floor. When the runner was lifted there was apparent heavy staining on the floorboards and it appeared that there had been some attempt to clean the area. Again, a swab was taken and the chemicals used to test the sample showed that blood was present. Dylan sneezed heartily as they entered the kitchen. ‘Bleach,’ he said by way of an apology. ‘Can’t do with the stuff.’
The kitchen by contrast to the rest of the house was spotlessly clean.
‘I’m a chef,’ said Alan by was of an explanation for the way the kitchen was presented and Ned’s obvious surprise. He pulled his T-shirt from his torso at the waist, ‘...hence these holes where I am permanently rubbing up against the counter – ask Jamie Oliver, it happens to him all the time.’ He walked away and Ned followed. David opened the cupboard under the sink. Stuffed behind cleaning products he plucked out a wet, dirty, blood stained cloth. David beckoned Dylan.
‘I think I have enough,’ Dylan said gravely as he stepped back into the hallway. Alan and Ned turned on hearing Dylan’s footsteps approach them from behind ‘We’ve found blood on the floor and carpet runner. Underneath the runner there appears to have been an attempt to try to clean it up. A blood-stained cloth has been located under the kitchen sink. A check will be made to see if this is Julie’s blood. Tell me, did your argument with Julie result in her being injured enough to bleed?’
Alan’s face looked shocked. ‘No, no way!’ Dylan could see the whites of his eyes. ‘I’ve never hit a woman in my life.’ He held up his right hand, which was clenched in a tight fist for Dylan to see. ‘If I had she wouldn’t have lived to tell...’
‘Nobody else lives here?’ said Dylan.
Alan swayed, and steadied himself with his hand flat to the wall. ‘I don’t believe this...’ His head bent forward, he made throaty gurgling noises before falling to his knees. ‘This can’t be happening,’ he said, hand to his chest as he fought for his breath.
Dylan reached down and held Alan Sanderson by the scruff of the neck. ‘Alan Sanderson I am arresting you on suspicion of murder...’
‘What? You’ve got it wrong.’ Alan sobbed as he was handcuffed and removed from the flat to the police car, to be transported by a marked police car to Harrowfield Bridewell, to be detained.
‘The flat,’ said Dylan to David and Simon, ‘...it needs going over with a fine tooth comb. Find me evidence to show she was murdered here.’ His head turned this way and that. ‘And I suppose telling you to find me the murder weapon too, is too much to ask?’
Simon gave Dylan a lopsided smile. ‘We’ll do our best.’
Dylan gave David a pat on his back before turning his attention to DS Raj.
‘Can I leave it with you to get the house-to-house team from Ops Support to visit the occupants of the other flats; interview them, see what they can tell us, and circulate the details of her vehicle. If we can find that it’d be helpful.’
Raj nodded towards the door.
‘I’ll have to go. I should’ve been at the mortuary for her post-mortem ten minutes ago,’ Dylan said checking his watch. ‘We’ll meet after to exchange notes,’ were his parting words.
Dylan started the car, turned on the hands free facility and dialled the incident room to ensure that there had been an exhibits officer nominated for the mortuary and another CSI other than David had been booked to attend.
Everyone was present at the mortuary when he arrived. DC Donna Frost was the first to greet him and as he stepped into his coveralls she tugged at his sleeve. ‘They’ve found a donor card at the flat, sir.’
‘Have you informed the Coroner’s Officer?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’ll speak to the Coroner, but sadly I doubt very much considering the length of time, that her organs would be of any use. It’s also vital that this examination goes ahead to ascertain her cause of death... Not only that but she will have to be kept for a future defence examination, even if a suspect isn’t found within the next few weeks or so. Who’s her next of kin, is it known?’
‘I’m told her mother sir. We are trying to trace her.’
At that moment the thin, five foot nine, grey bearded, ex police officer, now Coroner’s Officer walked into the room where Dylan was putting on his theatre gown. Geoff Painter looked gaunt. He slicked back his thick silver hair, which drew more attention to his long, thin face. ‘The Coroner will make reference to her wishes at the inquest. However, the post-mortem is to go ahead.’ He put on his head covering and pulled his mask up to rest on the bridge of his nose as he followed Dylan and Donna into the mortuary theatre.
The pathologist was an accomplished middle-aged man by the name of William Townsend, whose demand of military-like discipline, and haughty manner proceeded him from those previously under his command in the army health care team. It was said that the doctor had survived a severe leg wound in Afghanistan, and indeed he walked with a stiff knee. Stood by his side was one of his students from the university where he taught. The student had just failed the spelling of syphilis and Dr Townsend rewarded her with one of his withering glares. A bead of sweat slid from the student’s forehead and down the side of her pretty face. He stood at the far side of the aesthetically pleasing, slim pedestal, stainless steel autopsy table and continued his brutal questioning with what looked like savage glee. Embarrassing the young student was unnecessary in Dylan’s eyes and he tried to detract the doctor’s attention by announcing his presence and offering to introduce his staff, and following that he outlined the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the dead body of the young woman laid out on the table before them. The student threw Dylan a grateful look for his chivalrous attempt to save her further torture. Townsend hobbled around the table. The dead girl’s clothing was removed item by item, each being bagged and tagged by the exhibits officer. Each exhibit numbered and a police exhibit label attached for future reference. Transfer of fibres was likely from outer garments so tapings were taken.
‘We believe the body to be that of a Julie Dixon, although a positive identification needs yet to be made,’ Dylan said. Townsend snuggled alongside the table. As he did so he spoke into a hand-held voice recorder externally examining the naked body with a general description, ethnicity, sex, age, hair colour and length, whilst looking for distinguishing features such as birthmarks, old scar tissue, moles. Bending slightly he could see that the body block had been correctly situated enabling the dead young woman’s arms and neck to fall backwards, whilst stretching and pushing the chest upwards to make it easier for him to cut it open. Photographs of bruising noticed to the left side of her face and arms were taken.
‘We think that we also might have found the murder scene. Within the last hour the boyfriend has been arrested on suspicion of her murder. Although he strenuously denies it and any knowledge of the blood found in their flat,’ said the senior police officer.
He turned to the student. ‘Miss Case, what would I be looking for now?’ he said, collecting several insects, bugs and leaves and placing them in containers. There was no evidence of animals scavenging on the body, although Dylan was aware that smaller animals may have got to some of the soft tissue.
Kate Case’s voice wobbled. ‘Evidence, such as residue, flakes of paint or any other material that could be collected from the external surfaces of the body sir.’
Dr Townsend pursed his lips and nodded his head. ‘If I was to use an ultraviolet light in a post-mortem when would I use it?’ Again his question was directed at his student.
‘Now sir.’
His eyes narrowed and there was a sense he was waiting for more. His nostrils widened on a deep breath.
Kate’s gloved hand went to her chest, and her eye lashes flickered. ‘To search the body surface for any evidence not easily visible to the naked eye. If it was believed that there may be any significant residue on the hands, for instance gunpowder, a separate bag would have been put around each hand and taped around the wrist.’
‘What samples should I take at this time?’
‘Fingernail and under nail scrapings, hair, foreign and pubic in cases of suspected sexual assault.’
‘Good,’ Dr Townsend said. His shoulders visibly relaxed and on turning his head he nodded to the mortuary assistant indicating that he was about to start the internal examination.
Dylan sucked hard on the strong mint that had been resting on the roof of his mouth. As his sinuses cleared he smelt the aroma of a menthol vapour rub and he knew that it was a practice others used around the entrance of their nostrils, as a shield against death’s stench.
The pathologist made a large, deep Y-shaped incision, starting at the top of each shoulder, meeting at the lower part of the sternum and continued down to the pelvic bone making the mandatory diversion to the left side of the naval.
He stopped, once more he spoke directly to Kate Case. ‘Why would I choose this method over a T-shaped incision or a single vertical cut?’
Kate stood straight and spoke with more confidence. ‘Essential in cases of suspected strangulation, sir.’
His eyes opened wide and he continued without comment, peeling back the slab of skin, unveiling the mustard-coloured layer of fat and the pink and purplish viscera underneath. He opened the chest cavity and removed the organs in one block. ‘When would I adopt this method as the norm?’ Dr Townsend asked Kate.
‘During the autopsies of infants this method is used most of the time, sir.’
Townsend nodded. ‘Generally, in an adult where the cause of death is unknown I would remove the organs one by one checking for?’
‘Abnormalities or disease, sir,’ said Kate.
A series of cuts were made, along the vertebral column and the organs were detached and pulled out in one piece. They were weighed and sliced for examination, the pathologist looking all the while for clues suggesting foul play, discolouration of tissue, other bruising and wounds. Tissue samples were collected and retained as the clicking of the CSI’s camera continued to record every action.
The examination of the head injury Julie Dixon had sustained was thorough and included the taking of numerous photographs. Her head was shaved and revealed a large depressed wound, almost twenty-five centimetres square. It was apparent that this injury had shattered her skull.
Townsend stood with his bloodied, gloved hands aloft whilst the body block that was previously used to elevate the chest was moved, to elevate the head and enable the brain to be examined. An incision was made from behind ear to ear, over the crown of the head.
‘You won’t notice that when it’s sewn up and the head is rested on a pillow for the viewing of her body by the family,’ said Townsend. He pulled the scalp away from the skull in two flaps. The front flap going over the face, remaining secured by the tip of the nose. The final act of cutting into the top of the skull with a circular bladed saw created a cap that was pulled off, exposing the brain to be observed in situ. It was covered in blood.
At the end of the post-mortem Dr Townsend lowered his mask. His eyes were red rimmed. Dylan noticed his voice and manner had changed towards Kate Case as his respect for her grew.
‘What makes a good pathologist Case,’ William Townsend said.
‘I think a crucial attribute of a good pathologist is a strong visual memory and a talent for pattern recognition.’
‘Mmm...’
‘And, you’re favourite pathology textbook?’
‘Robbins sir, Kaplan sucks, it focuses too much on detail.’
A smile escaped his lips. ‘Well done!’ he said, ‘Well done indeed.’
Kate Case’s eyes were wide. Townsend turned to face Dylan. ‘I’ve taken all the relevant samples you will require. Cause of death, blunt instrument trauma to the skull causing massive damage. She would have been rendered unconscious immediately, and died shortly after. Something the size of a lump hammer would be of the right size and weight, in my opinion.’
‘Not an injury she could have sustained from a fall?’ said Dylan.
‘Certainly not.’
‘Then I thank you. Once her mum has been traced we can go ahead with a formal identification.’
William Townsend walked down the corridor. Kate Case hurriedly followed him. ‘Sir, sir, sir,’ Dylan heard her say. Eventually he stopped at the office door and turned. ‘The mark on her right breast, do you think that it could have possibly been a bite?’ Townsend dismissed her question with a wave of his hand as he turned and walked through the office door, letting it shut on his student. She took a step backwards, squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyelids. Dylan shrugged his shoulders, and smiled at her face that looked skywards, her muttering not audible. When she heard Dylan’s tittering down the corridor she looked and saw him point in the direction Townsend had gone. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You don’t seem to be the type to give up that easy.’
The searches and examination at Julie Dixon’s flat that she had shared with her boyfriend Alan Sanderson continued Dylan was told on his return to Harrowfield Police Station; as were the examination in and around the wheelie bins where her body had been found, and the location of her vehicle was still outstanding.
DS’s Raj and Andy Wormald had completed the first interview with Alan Sanderson for the murder of his girlfriend, on his arrival at the station. Dylan was told Sanderson’s solicitor was Janet Munroe who had listened intently to what the officers had to say and made notes throughout the interview. Not once did she interrupt them. To allow Ms Munroe further consultation with her client the officers joined Dylan in his office. The Detective Inspector’s stern face greeted the two rather grim and pensive-faced detectives.
‘The results of the post-mortem confirmed to us that Julie Dixon died from a blow to her head. We are looking for some object the size and weight of a lump hammer,’ Dylan said. ‘What’s he saying?’
‘He tells us that he last saw his girlfriend around six o’clock on the morning she went missing. He admits they argued. He thought she’d been seeing someone behind his back and was fearful she was about to leave him,’ said Raj.
‘But, he denied that he knew about the blood in the flat or any knowledge of the bloodied cloth that was found under the sink,’ said Andy firmly.
‘When she didn’t come home that night he says, he thought she might have gone to stay at her mother’s,’ said Raj.
Dylan leant a little forward. ‘Had she done that before?’
Raj frowned. She shook her head slightly. ‘No, he said not.’
‘When he watched the news, he said he just knew instinctively it was his girlfriend who had been found dead.’
‘Which is when he came to the police station.’
‘Yes, the last thing he expected was to be locked up.’
‘Any previous convictions?’
‘No, he’s of good character; works twelve hour shifts, seven till seven at the dye works.’
‘So, what’s your initial thoughts now you’ve spoken to him?’
Raj raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, there’s no doubt he’s genuinely very upset.’ She stopped and grimaced. ‘But, we’ve seen it all before and they could be crocodile tears. It’s too soon to tell.’
‘What do you think Andy?’
‘We haven’t got under his ribs yet. Once we start asking searching questions, who knows, we might see another side of him.’
Dylan sighed. ‘You’re going into a second interview shortly and I’m considering the storage of the exhibits.’ He raised a pointed finger. ‘One, we have to consider the items seized from the area where she was found as the dump site and two, other items seized from the house. We must avoid any chance of contamination, thereby negating the inference at a future Court case.
The phone was ringing in the outside office, as if someone was refusing to accept that there was nobody there to take the call. Raj stood, opened the office door and headed towards it. ‘I’ll put whoever it is out of their misery shall I?’ she said to Ned who, headphones removed at her hurried appearance from the bosses office, threw his arms in the air.
‘Do I have to do everything?’ he cried.
Raj scowled at him as she proceeded to pick up. ‘Make yourself useful and put the kettle on,’ she snapped. Ned slid off his chair and dragged his feet across the floor, hoisting his baggy trousers up by the belt. He mumbled through his teeth. ‘I’m supposed to be listening to the transcript... Put a broom up my arse and I’ll sweep up on my way...’
Raj was sat back in Dylan’s office when Ned brought in the coffee. ‘Julie Dixon’s car has been located at Ogden I’ve just been told,’ he said. ‘To all intents and purpose it appears to have been driven nose first into the reservoir. But, as luck would have it, it’s only two-thirds submerged and the rear end of the car, is visible. If it was someone’s intention to sink it fully, they’ve failed miserably.’
Dylan stood and whipped a cup from the tray Ned was holding. He took a mouthful of the hot beverage and grimaced at its bitterness. ‘Ned, get your coat,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘We’re off fishing.’
Ned pulled a face but unquestioningly he put the tray down on Dylan’s desk, and left the room.
Dylan turned to Raj and Andy. ‘At least the vehicle isn’t a burnt out shell. Are uniform in attendance?’
Raj nodded. ‘Stoneywood Motors have been called to recover it, and officers from the Marine Unit are on en route.’
Dylan put on his suit jacket and shrugged an arm into his all weather overcoat. ‘Ned,’ he shouted, seeing him talking to the typist. ‘Get a move on!’ Dylan scowled as he walked past Ned’s desk in the CID office, where the DC was now exchanging arrangements for a drink after work.
‘You’ll need your weatherproofs,’ Dylan said, his face like stone. ‘I’ll see you at the car.’
As Ned leant in to whisper in the typist’s ear he turned towards Dylan, and lifted his chin by way of acknowledgement. A few minutes later the DC emerged from the CID office door smiling broadly and carrying a lightweight jacket stuffed under his arm. Dylan shook his head, started the car engine and rolled the vehicle alongside Ned who had stopped to answer his mobile phone. ‘Get in,’ he said abruptly. The detective constable did as he was told and pocketed his phone. With a nod of his head Dylan pointed at his cotton jacket. ‘What the hell’s that, and where’s your boots?’
‘It’ll be reet,’ Ned said with a lopsided grin. ‘I’m from Yorkshire!’
Dylan’s jaw muscles tightened. ‘You’ll catch your bloody death,’ he said.
***
Ogden Water car park was positioned high above the beauty spot, from where the public were rewarded with magnificent views of the woodland trails and waterside paths. From the confines of the car Dylan could see the wind ruffling the water in the thirty-four acre reservoir that was enclosed by woodland, with open moor beyond. He was unusually quiet, appearing to Ned to be in a world of his own. The detective constable was grateful for Dylan’s distraction, and respected his silence knowing police protocol would be running through his head. Should anything go wrong with this procedure there was only one place the blame would fall, and that was at the senior detective’s feet. Dylan was instantly aware of the grouping of the police recovery personnel. As Dylan and Ned simultaneously opened the car doors to alight their car the noise of the recovery vehicle’s engine in the distance, roared to life. Its distinctive sound at the positioning of the lorry loader crane being guided into place, for the recovery of the casualty vehicle could be heard very loud and clear. The two detectives crossed the shingled car park, their footwear making a crunching sound on the gravel-sized stones. The blue and white ‘do not cross’ crime scene tape signified the nature reserve’s entrance and exit to the locality could be seen happily flapping this way and that, in the cool breeze that came off the water. A blur of movement on the sun kissed water drew Dylan’s attention to the Marine Unit. The rear transit van doors were wide open and their personnel unloaded their equipment at the water’s edge expediently. From the shingled ridged car park the two detectives ambled downwards, over tree stumps and fallen branches in their path through the dense part of the wood. The sight of a woodpecker drilling the damp ground for worms caught Dylan’s keen eye. Two grey squirrels ran across his path and directly up a tree, at which point he had an overwhelming urge to voice what he’d seen, as he would if he’d been with Jen and Maisy. Instead he kept his head down and navigated the damp, dark, woodchip path that was surrounded by tall trees that filtered the light. A drip of cold water dropped on his head and ran down his neck making him shiver. He took his gloves out of his pocket and pulling them on his cold hands and he continued to walk briskly in front of a cursing Ned as he stumbled and slid his way towards the reservoir. The temperature dropped noticeably as they descended nearer to the water’s edge. The woodland birds could be heard long before they were seen. Twigs snapped and drier leaves crackled under foot. Once through the woods that surrounded the large body of water the detectives came across a wooden stile. The ground surrounding it was wet and boggy. Dylan trudged through the mud and over the stile knowing there had been shoes, socks and dignity lost here before. He knew Ogden Water and its surrounding moorland well. From child-to-man it had been a regular haunt of his, and his siblings. A place of peace and quiet as he grew; a haven to visit, to think and reflect. As a youngster he recalled trudging over the moors from The Station House in ill-fitting wellington boots that chaffed his legs, for he never wore socks. He tapped his pocket as he walked towards the circus and half expected a bottle of water and a jam sandwich to be there, as it was in those days.
Dylan found CSI David Funk at the top of the slipway suited and booted for the job in hand, and the elements. Here it was all shadow and light – the result of the cold wind that blew off the water, through the surrounding trees. This cordoned-off scene was a hive of activity. Everyone working as one in a well-rehearsed recovery in a timely fashion. He was aware, as were the others that they were losing light fast. Three police officers stood in the shallow, murky waters talking to a colleague who was submerged to his shoulders. The diver had his face mask firmly in place, looking to all intent and purpose like a seal, due to his professional attire. Quickly he confirmed to all those present that he could see no one inside the vehicle.
All eyes were diverted as a shout went up, and a hand of another diver flayed near to the vehicle. ‘No airbags required,’ he called. Dylan looked down to the yellow lift bags that would remain on dry land.
The winch line from the recovery vehicle was attached to the casualty vehicle. Slowly it was winched back to shore. On doing so water spewed from every gap, hole, vent, crack, cavity and groove. CSI David Funk took picture, after picture as the vehicle slowly approached dry land. Once placed upon the slide bed, the four wheels were strapped down. A diver tried to open the rear van doors, which he found to be unlocked. He opened them wide. Inside were two packages both wrapped in a grey plastic bags. The driver continued to traverse the outside of the vehicle. He opened the driver’s door, and then the passenger’s. Again, he confirmed that it was beyond doubt that anyone had been trapped inside the vehicle when it had been driven into the water. What Dylan did see, and was of interest to him as he looked through the windows of the van was an engineer’s lump hammer, with a hardwood handle, in the passenger side footwell.
It appeared to Dylan that David Funk saw the tool at the same time as he. Their eyes met. ‘Photograph and seize the hammer and the parcels.’ Dylan said without hesitation. ‘I’ll see you with them back at the nick.’
David nodded. ‘Yes sir.’
The six foot six recovery vehicle driver dressed in navy blue overalls stomped through the mud towards Dylan. The squelching sound of his heavy, steel toe-capped boots became louder and louder the nearer he approached them on the concrete slipway.
‘Good job George,’ said Dylan raising his voice over the sound of the vehicle’s engine.
George looked over his shoulder as the blue tarpaulin was placed over the van. The number plates were covered with black tape.
George stood directly in front of Dylan. ‘Aye and a bit quicker than last time. A submerged car, in five metres of water, fingertip search; took us two days to recover the vehicle. Do you remember?’
‘I remember it well. Hence why I came prepared this time,’ Dylan said pulling his thick wool coat around him and glancing down at his boots.
George nodded his head towards Ned who was limping towards them in his bare feet, carrying his sodden shoes. ‘You could have warned him. He’ll catch his bloody death.’
‘I told him. And if he rings in sick tomorrow I’ll be dragging him into work by his ears.’
Ned’s feet were covered in mud. His trousers rolled up to the knee. His cheeks were white in an unshaven face; his nose red, his eyes watering. He shook his head in seeming confusion about how to form the words. ‘Everyone knows you can’t catch a cold by being cold.’ His tut was followed by one sneeze, two, three.
George shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Sneezing three times amounts to pneumonia in my gran’s book,’ he teased, with the wink of an eye.
Dylan chuckled. ‘Can you take the vehicle to the Collision Investigation Unit? I need it drying out so we can get it forensically examined as soon as possible.’
At the calling of him by his aide George shook Dylan’s hand, turned quickly on his heels and walked away at a pace. ‘Will do. Give me a shout if you need anything else,’ he shouted.
Ned’s attention was on the neatly tarpaulin wrapped car. He had a puzzled look upon his cold-worn face – as if he were finding it hard to think straight. ‘Highly likely it was used to transport Julie Dixon’s body, don’t you think?’ Dylan could hear the detective’s teeth chattering.
There was a lot of banging and slamming of doors. The men turned to see the Unit’s transit van being reloaded with their equipment.
‘Highly likely, as you well know DC Granger is not good enough, we need hard evidence,’ said Dylan lifting his hand in acknowledgement of those leaving the scene.
Ned stumbled putting one cold foot in front of the other precariously as they ambled back into the woods. At the woodland side of the stile he replaced his socks and shoes and climbed upwards behind Dylan, towards the car park. Several times Dylan caught him rubbing his hands together, snivelling or wiping his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. ‘If you ask me I think she was killed in the flat, transported to the dump site by her killer in the van, and then the killer attempted to get rid of it so we’ve no evidence to prove what took place.’
‘Maybe, but what puzzles me is why the killer didn’t leave her in the vehicle if the plan was to drive it in the reservoir in the first place?’ said Dylan when they reached the car.
‘It’s obvious!’ said Ned with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘Something happened to make him panic. Wouldn’t we all if we had a corpse in the back of our vehicle?’
***
The removal van stuttered at the steepness of the driveway that led from The Station House, just as the sun was going down. The driver tooted its horn, and him and his crew smiled and waved at the children happily playing on the tree swing that Uncle Charlie had made. Dylan’s youngest sister Dawn, always the tomboy, stood at the front door and whistled a high pitched whistle through her teeth, beckoning the children to return to the house. Ronnie nudged Charlie who in an attempt to secure a new pane of glass to the front window had kneaded the putty into a pliable lump and was presently rolling it into precise pencil-sized strips, when the children ran past.
‘Remind you of anyone?’ he said with a smile on his ruddy face at the two eldest elbowed each other for prime position.
Jen tottered down the stair steps, squinting up into the singular light bulb that hung from an old knotted flex in the middle of the hallway ceiling. She dropped the empty box she was carrying onto the floor and proceeded to flatten it with a determined foot. Wiping her brow with the back of her hand she stopped on hearing the thudding of footsteps running down the ginnel, which led between The Station House and the outbuildings. Maisy was the first of the girls to rushed through the front door giggling as if she was fit to burst. Her wellington boots covered in mud, she carried a rusty, red bucket and spade in her hand. Her trousers were ripped at the knee, her arms open wide to her mother. Max in tow was wagging his tail with such excitement that his entire rear end was gyrating. Oval eyed, ears down he stared at the little girl as he jumped around, making short high-pitched little barks. The collective noise grew to a crescendo, and then whimpered out to a silence as the three girls stopped, breathless, arms secured tightly around Jen’s legs and waist. Max not to be left out nudged and muzzled instead. Jen put her hand on her daughter’s head and picked from her hair a white feather – tears sprung to her eyes. She held it tightly between her finger and thumb. ‘Mum,’ she said softly. Maisy looked up, her eyes bright, her chubby hands and smiling face smudged with dirt.
Ronnie followed the leaner Charlie out of the lounge. He held a putty knife high in his hand. ‘All secure for now,’ he said with a smile. He stood perfectly still, sighed and with eyes staring he looked up to the ceiling and surveyed all around him. ‘By ’eck lass,’ he said his eyes settling upon her face. ‘I never thought I’d see the day that we’d be together again in this house.’ His arms swept the line of the next generations of the Dylan clan who continued to fuss around the youngest, Maisy who was sat in the middle of the floor.
Kirsty appeared at the door of the dining room. In full make-up, a mop cap covering her shiny chestnut hair. She held the handle of a broom looking as if she had just stepped off the set of Upstairs Downstairs. In contrast, curly-haired Dawn was make-up free, wore khaki trousers, her shirt sleeves rolled up at the elbows and she had a scarf tired around her head, like a land girl.
‘Well, most people would have fussed about the damp and baulked over the roof, never mind about the decay. I’ve got to hand it to you for tackling the old place Jen. When’s our Dylan due home?’ she said.
Jen shrugged her shoulders, a tired, accepting smile upon her face. ‘Your guess is as good as mine but there’s one thing for sure he’s going to be shocked to see you guys,’ she grinned.
Kirsty nodded towards the white feather still in Jen’s hand. ‘You believe in angels,’ she said matter-of-fact.
Jen smiled ‘I do,’ she said, her face assuming a dreamy expression. She looked at her sister-in-law closely.
‘I collected them in a jam jar when I was a child.’ She smiled with a faraway look in her eyes.
A shuffle of boots and six foot, balding Ronnie put his dusty hand around Jen’s shoulder and gave it a hearty squeeze. ‘We might not be a family who lives in each other’s pockets lass but we’re alas here for each other, just you remember that.’
Jen swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat. She looked across at Charlie. ‘And I can’t thank you enough,’ she said softly. ‘If it hadn’t been for you... Well, I don’t know what we’d have done. How’re you doing with that stud wall?’ she said quickly in an attempt to rein in her emotions.
Ronnie looked across at his brother, who in turn looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen door. ‘We’re ready to break through.’
Jen’s eyes were wide. ‘Can we wait for Dylan?’
***
DS Raj walked into the interview room behind Janet Munroe, Alan Sanderson and A/DS Andy Wormald. With some persuasion the heavy fire door closed slowly behind her, and she secured it shut. Andy sat down next to the recording machine and looked up to check the video camera was working. Raj positioned herself next to him, opposite the prisoner and his solicitor. The small, soundproofed room was quiet, its occupants silent and still, critical for the recording quality but challenging to obtain due to the proximity of other rooms in the police station. The force issue, abuse-resisting furniture was adequate but not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. After relevant formalities were concluded, including everyone introducing themselves for the requirement of voice recognition, the interview commenced.
‘You are probably aware that enquiries are continuing whilst you are in custody.’
The wide-set eyes of the prisoner were round and staring and showed no expression, and the skin on his face looked to be stretched tight, and without emotion.
‘I can confirm to you that Julie died from a single blow to the back of her head. We also know that where she was found, is not where she was killed,’ said Raj.
The prisoner’s eyes were wide open, transfixed – cold and dead.
‘You are aware that we found blood on the floor in the hallway of your flat, and on a cloth, in a cupboard beneath the sink in the kitchen of your home? Further examination of the flat shows blood splashings on the hallway wall. Tests on that blood are being carried out, and your flat that you shared with Julie is now under intense scrutiny. We are told that it is highly likely this is where Julie was attacked. Is there something you’re not sharing with us Alan?’
Alan Sanderson’s face was a white mask. His eyes were on Raj’s lips.
‘Do you understand what Detective Sergeant Rajinder Uppal is saying to you?’ said Andy.
Sanderson cast a bewildered look at Andy. ‘I told you,’ he said in his low, hypnotic monotone voice. ‘She was absolutely fine when I last saw her. I would never, ever hurt her, I couldn’t. I told you we argued. I was sure she was seeing someone else.’ He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, put his head down and shook it from side to side. ‘She denied it, but she was.’ His head dropped lower and he stared at his hands. ‘She had this bite,’ his eyes looked upwards. ‘On her left... her left breast.’ He swallowed. ‘And, I know I didn’t do it.’
Andy looked at Sanderson with renewed interest. ‘So, you were angry, really angry, that’s understandable. Did you lose your temper?’
Sanderson closed his eyes and shook his lowered head again. His voice petered out to a whisper. ‘No, no, I didn’t hurt her. I loved her.’
Andy readjusted his relaxed seating position to sit up right. He leant forward and duly rested his forearms on the table. ‘Just you and Julie live at the flat don’t you?’ said Andy, his lips forming a straight line.
Sanderson looked up, his staring eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve already told you that.’
Andy put his hands flat on the table. ‘Okay, we deal in facts. And the facts tell us that someone has attempted to clean blood up from the floor in the hallway of your flat; where we believe your girlfriend was attacked. She was found dead elsewhere but there is no sign of a break in. What do you expect us to think?’
Sanderson’s face crumpled. ‘It wasn’t me. I swear on my mother’s life, it wasn’t me,’ he cried.
‘My problem is believing that if it was a stranger who had killed Julie, creating such a blood bath in your house why would they bother cleaning up afterwards and removing her body?’ Andy pushed.
Sanderson threw his arms up in the air. ‘How am I suppose to know? You’re the bloody detective!’
‘We know Julie wasn’t killed where she was found, but that’s what someone may have been trying to have us believe,’ said Raj.
‘How many times do I have to say it? It wasn’t me. Why don’t you believe me?’
Raj cleared her throat. Her arms were crossed loosely on her lap. ‘Alan, do you know the area around Shroggs Grove?’
Sanderson signed deeply. ‘Yes, one of my schoolmates lived there. We played football most Saturdays in Shroggs Park.’
Andy’s eyes narrowed, watching for any indications in his body language that he was lying. Raj continued the line of questioning.
‘Do you know Ogden Reservoir?’
Sanderson’s face was sombre. ‘Yeah, of course I do. If you’ve been to the flat you’ll have seen pictures of me and Julie walking over Pendle Hill from Driver Height. We’d always stop at the kissing gate...’ Emotion got the better of him and he swallowed as a lone tear fell onto his cheek. He wiped it away with the cuff of his sleeve.
‘You see, Julie’s vehicle has been pulled out of the reservoir today.’
Sanderson’s eyes showed more than a hint of disbelief. ‘No, no way!’ He looked confused. ‘And you think I would do that? Why would I?’ His hysterical laugh turned into uncontrollable crying. Janet Munroe raised a hand.
‘I think its time for a break,’ she said with a look of concern for her client on her face. She offered him a tissue.
***
The incident room was buzzing with police personnel offering their theories. Everyone was under pressure to complete their personal task in hand, to achieve the shared goal – the conviction of a murderer. CSI Sarah Jarvis, senior at Flat 4, Wingate Heights, the home of the deceased Julie Dixon and her boyfriend Alan Sanderson opened the debrief. ‘Based on our findings sir, I am confident that Flat 4 is where Julie was attacked. The samples of blood we took from hallway floor were sufficient to have soaked through the rug. I am confident that this will also match Julie’s DNA profile. On the ceiling, and on the walls, we have not only found splashes of blood but also minute bits of flesh. The pattern of the evidence follows the action of the attacker striking the victim and then pulling the weapon back above his, or her head intending to strike again. In this case, there was no need to render a second blow. One blow had been sufficient to kill her. We have found traces of blood on a damp cloth, secreted in the cupboard beneath kitchen sink, and further traces of blood have been found in the U-bend of the same. I have no doubt someone has attempted to clean up after the event, but not sufficiently to conceal what took place.’
Dylan thanked the CSI. ‘And I believe the scene is still sealed should we need to revisit?’
Jarv nodded her head.
Dylan turned to Raj and Andy. ‘What’s Alan Sanderson saying in interview?’
Raj took the lead, ‘Well he’s talking to us, which is a step in the right direction. Whether he’s telling us the truth, only time will tell. He tells us he works long hours, twelve-hour shifts, and although the money’s good Julie didn’t like being home alone. In recent weeks she’s been helping a friend out, which apparently she enjoyed, and this meant she has become less needy. He swears he has no knowledge of the blood in the flat and denies the cleaning up. He is adamant that the last time he saw Julie was on the morning of the day she was murdered at approximately half past six, before he went to work. He claims that they argued due to the fact he believed she was seeing someone else.’
‘And has he any evidence to substantiate that?’ said Dylan.
‘No, and she denied it. But, he says he saw a bite mark on her left breast.’ Raj raised her eyebrows.
‘And he hadn’t done that to her?’
Raj shook her head. ‘He says not sir.’
Dylan turned a few pages over in his notebook, scribbled a few words and when he looked up. He was still frowning. ‘That’s interesting because no bite mark to her breast was recorded in the pathologist’s report. We’ll have her body re-examined as a matter of urgency.’
‘Sanderson admits knowing his way around Shroggs. Ogden Water was a place of interest to him and her.’
Dylan sighed and turned towards Andy. ‘Your thoughts?’
‘In all the interviews he hasn’t changed his story and, you know what, I actually believe him sir. But I’d be interested to see if we found her blood on his clothing... He has a valid excuse for it being on the soles of his shoes because he admits walking over the rug after she went missing.’
Dylan was thoughtful. ‘What’s your take on him Raj?’
‘Honestly? I’m not sure. If he did kill her in anger, carry her body from the flat to her vehicle, dump her behind the wheelie bins then go onto drive her vehicle in the reservoir, wouldn’t we expect to find wet shoes, damp clothes etcetera in his possession?’ Raj screwed up her face. ‘And, would he come and report her missing so quickly after the event?’
‘Why would he not leave her in her vehicle?’ said Donna.
‘Exactly! And whilst all the evidence we have available to us points to him, some things just don’t add up,’ said Raj.
David Funk put his head around the door, ‘Can I come in sir?’ he said.
Dylan eagerly beckoned him. ‘Have you got an update?’
‘I do, yes sir,’ he said. ‘The parcels in the back of Julie’s vehicle contained drugs. In one we found two blue Tesla pills, a new blend of dangerously strong MDMA tablets that’s so potent Gary Warner tells me I’d need a self-driving car to get me home safely after taking a hit, assuming that nothing worse happens to me first. The other, hash disguised as tea. Regional Crime are getting the necessary tests done on both, but his initial reaction considering the packaging is that they are linked to their target dealer.’
Dylan sat back in his chair. ‘Dealing on the Darknet?’
‘Drugs in the post – bought with Bitcoin, the latest way to pay cash over the Internet. Yes, I believe that’s what RCS are looking at.’
‘Okay, so in the first instance we need to get a twelve hour extension for Sanderson’s detention. Second, I want us to look into both Julie and Alan’s backgrounds, relations and friends. Thirdly, we need to visit his place of work. Fourthly, some of you may not be aware but in the footwell, on the passenger side of Julie’s van we also found a lump hammer. This could be our murder weapon and as you just heard David also took possession of a couple of undelivered packages that were in the back of vehicle.’
‘Where’s the vehicle now sir?’ said Donna.
Dylan lifted his arm, pulled his shirt sleeve back and squinted at his watch. ‘Right now, it should be on a vehicle skate at CIU so that it can be moved around easier once the recovery guys have left.’
Donna nodded. ‘And once it’s dried out we can examine it properly.’
‘Yes.’ Dylan turned his attention to Raj. ‘I hear what you’re saying about there being no wet clothing to be found at the flat...’
‘And, if the murderer drove the vehicle into the reservoir, and the lump hammer is the murder weapon wouldn’t you think that he, or she would have thrown it into the middle of the reservoir knowing the sinking van had failed to submerge?’ Raj frowned.
‘Valid point. But, we’re sat here with a relatively clear mind, trying to make sense of the actions of a person who might have been in a blind panic, attempting to get rid of evidence as quickly as possible, and maybe worried about being caught. Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ said Jarv.
‘Although he has given himself a motive, if he did believe like he said that she had been seeing someone. Do you think he knew about the drugs?’
Dylan slapped the palm of his hand down on his desk. ‘Okay, it’s late. I’m certain Gary will be in touch re the RCS drugs enquiry as soon as he has anything to discuss with me. In the meantime continue with priority enquiries, and I’ll call the Coroner’s Officer to get the pathologist to revisit Julie’s body to confirm or negate what Sanderson is saying about the bite.’
‘If there are marks on her breast then presumably it reinforces his motive,’ said Donna.
‘Mmm... Leave off interviewing him further until we have more to put to him.’ A shrewd light entered Dylan’s tired eyes. ‘Raj, just out of interest see if the automatic number plate recognition system picked up her vehicle on the day she went missing.’
