When a Killer Strikes, page 12
She couldn’t shake the feeling that her heart was made of stone as she dragged the heavy box towards her and was tempted to push it back and leave it where it was – in the dark place it belonged. Max whimpered down below at her descent. She placed the carrier bag and box against the landing wall. Rain battered against the window – the night was drawing in. She closed the curtains. A quick look at her watch told her it was time to pick Maisy up from Chantal’s. Tempting as it was to discard the packages at the local tip on the way, for one bright second she saw a strand of yellow wool hair sticking out of the bag. She ripped the cardboard away, catching a nail as she did so. She plunged her hand in to find a handful of sea glass and driftwood. Then she pulled Mo the rag doll to her and hugged her tight. A tear unexpectedly ran down her cheek and stalled at her lip. The taste of salt was on her fingers. At that moment she knew there were memories in those boxes that she would be foolish not to keep and she realised that the process of going through them would have to be done – but not now.
* * *
Vicky walked into Dylan’s office to the sounds of the police sirens in the yard outside. ‘I’ve a name for the hunk! He’s Trevor Thomas, twenty-four years old, Flat Sixteen, The Heights. Occupation is prison officer, works shifts and I’ve got a contact number.’
Thomas stood with a box of Yorkshire Tea suspended in the air half an hour later. ‘Sugar’ he said, with a smile on his round, pleasant face.
Dylan knew the floor plan of Trevor Thomas’s house by heart. He had been tasked to organise a dawn raid on the previous tenant. When his team gained entry to make the arrest, the known drugs baron was ready for them, but not as Dylan had imagined. He sat in a chair with a piece of wood pressed against the trigger of a shotgun, its handle to the floor between his feet. The criminal had shot himself in the mouth as they entered. Dylan looked down at his feet to see the blood running through the grout on the floor tiles.
Thomas wore a ring on his little finger. On the kitchen windowsill in a gold-rimmed porcelain tray was a hair bobble, a plastic bracelet, a small purse, and a sampler of perfume. On the worktops were large tubs of vitamins, workout supplements, and a bowl of fruit. Through double doors that connected the kitchen to the dining room area a multi-gym could be seen. On the walls were floor to ceiling mirrors.
Thomas carried hot drinks on a tray past the sun bed in the hallway to a lounge with bare walls and a couple of leather sofas, a large coffee table and a wide screen TV. This was no stereotypical bachelor pad.
Seated, Dylan explained the reason for their visit.
‘But why would you come to see me?’
‘Did you not know Patti?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Thomas was sat on the edge of his seat, his elbow on the chair arm, stroking his chin. ‘I saw her picture on the news. It didn’t ring any bells.’
‘She has a picture of you on her mobile, posing,’ said Vicky.
Thomas’s shoulder length hair partly obscured his eyes until he threw his head back laughing. ‘I’m always posing. There’s no law against that is there?’
‘A young girl was beaten, strangled and then raped. She has a picture of you, in your trunks, posing. Why?’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Okay, I’m sorry. I know this is serious. I’m not being flippant or awkward, promise.’ Thomas shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just don’t know why she should have that picture on her phone that’s all.’ The pause felt like a statement. Dylan and Vicky waited. ‘Look, I’m not trying to be clever.’ Thomas threw his feet up onto the coffee table and laid back into the cushions. ‘I go swimming, I speak to a lot of people, mostly girls I admit, but I honestly don’t recall her. Is there any particular reason that I should?’
‘Perhaps this might help you remember?’ Dylan slid a photograph of Patti’s across the coffee table and turned it round to face him. When he sat and picked it up both officers watched his face for a reaction, but there was none.
His eyes found Dylan’s face, and then moved to rest on Vicky. ‘Sorry, that doesn’t help either. I’m not saying I haven’t spoken to the girl. I could easily have, in passing. But I wouldn’t know her from Adam if I passed her in the street and I definitely don’t know her by name. As for my picture on her phone… I didn’t pose for it for her. She may however have taken it when I was posing for someone else?’
Thomas showed them his diary when asked about his whereabouts on the date of Patti’s murder. ‘I was working at the prison on that day.’ He pointed to the entry. ‘And as you can see from this I was down for a twelve-hour shift.’
‘It would make our life easier if we could just do a DNA swab rule you out.’ Dylan said.
‘But on that date I was behind bars, literally. Surely that rules me out? You’re way off the mark if you think it’s me that killed her!’
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know and I know, even people serving a sentence behind bars go out on day release. Some clock in and out daily. Some “lifers” have supervised trips to the seaside.’
‘And even have driving lessons at a cost to us… Check with the prison, they’ll tell you I was there all day.’
‘Wherever you work it doesn’t mean to say you couldn’t nip out for half an hour, we need you to take the test, please.’
‘Look, it wasn’t me. I’ve told you where I was and you’re going to have to accept my word for it.’
‘We are eliminating all males from this enquiry by means of their DNA, and we can eliminate you very quickly which will save us, and yourself, time in the long run. Let’s face it, the last thing you want is us making enquiries at the prison and people knowing that a dead young girl has a picture of you, in your trunks, on her mobile phone. We all know what the rumour squad is like in the job.’ Vicky stood and opened the seal on the swab test kit.
‘But it isn’t me!’
‘Good, then let’s take the swab so we can all get on with our day.’ Vicky raised an eyebrow invitingly.
His demeanour softened. ‘Okay, okay. Take the test if you must.’ Thomas’s mouth opened wide, but his eyes were not completely shut. Vicky brushed up against his shoulder to be met by his sour-smelling breath that made her gag. She stepped back involuntary, hitting her head on the wall light. A dry rattle from Dylan’s throat told her he was laughing, and as she swabbed the inside of one cheek then the other as quickly as she could. When she had finished he rewarded her with a flash of his pearly white teeth.
Minutes later, at the door Trevor Thomas pressed his card into her hand. ‘My phone number. Call me,’ he said. ‘We’ll go for a drink. I’d like to get to know you better.’ His eyes were closed completely now.
‘So, what do you think about Mr Adonis now?’ Dylan opened the car doors ahead of her. Vicky threw her bag on the back seat and sat in the passenger side. He saw the disappointment on her face.
‘Please,’ she said, tearing up the card and throwing it in the ash tray. A wide grin spread across her face as she turned to look at Dylan. ‘He obviously has taste, though.’
Dylan frowned. ‘Did you get the vibe he might be our man?’
Vicky’s smile quickly fell from her face. ‘No, although if he’s taking steroids in his bid to have a superhuman body, who knows what he’s capable of?’
‘Perhaps you should take him up on that one day.’
‘Not on your nelly!’ she said.
* * *
By the time Dylan and Vicky got back to the police station, the rainwater sat in puddles in the back yard. Darkness had fallen like a curtain and the bright lights of the incident room shone like beacons to show them the way.
Vicky’s slamming of the incident room door behind her made heads turn. She giggled. ‘Ha ha! That woke you lot up, didn’t it?’ Ned Granger’s face showed her he was not impressed. The room was warm, she took off her coat and popped it behind her chair. Ned put his hand towards the ceiling and stretched, moaning as he did so. He yawned, his mouth opening so wide it looked like a chasm.
‘What’ve you got for me?’ said Dylan.
Nev Duke walked towards them. ‘I’ve got Patti for you, walking past the Esso garage on the pavement beyond the small brick boundary wall.’ He had everyone’s attention.
‘Alone?’ said Dylan.
‘There are people walking in front of her, but no one with, or immediately behind her.’
‘Can we see what she’s wearing?’
‘Yes, it shows her clearly in her shorts and T-shirt, and she’s carrying a bag.’
‘Have we got a time?’
‘According to the recording the time is ten past one.’
‘Verify that the timer on the CCTV camera is accurate and get me stills of the people around her. We’ll appeal for them to come forward as potential witnesses.’
* * *
In socked feet Dylan crept into the bedroom. With a thump, his shoes fell to the floor slamming against the skirting board. His shoulders rose and he stopped, waiting for some sign of Jen waking up – there was none. He threw his clothes over the wicker chair. Ten minutes later he had turned on the shower. The steam encased him for a moment or two. His mood was jubilant at the turn of events and his mind would not cease asking questions.
What about Patti’s computer? Had the technical team managed to get any information from it and, if, so what did it tell them about her?
He had put in a call to the tech team but had to leave a message requesting an update. He could feel his impatience rising. The window of time during which physical evidence was usually found at the beginning of an enquiry was growing smaller by the day – and he knew it.
Chapter Twelve
Six o’clock the next morning Dylan snuck out of the bedroom onto the landing, and as he walked past Jen’s boxes, for the first time he felt a real longing for corroboration of his own childhood memories. Carrying his footwear and with light-footed steps he made his way down the stairs. No one stirred, other than Max who greeted him at the bottom with a raising of a sleepy eye and a slow wag of his tail. When Dylan passed the Golden Retriever and walked down the corridor the dog rose slowly and with a little moan stretched out his arthritic back leg, giving away his age. However, once up on his feet he sprightly padded across the kitchen towards the back door. Dylan let him outside into the garden whilst he hurriedly collected his briefcase and coat. He opened a cupboard; the shelves were bare apart from two mugs and Maisy’s cup, three dinner plates, bowls and side plates. He opened the drawer to find three knives, forks and spoons. He turned to the table and underneath he saw the sealed boxes underneath. He afforded his morning face a smile. Jen was organised as always.
Dylan put his arm in the sleeve of his overcoat as the front door slammed behind him. He lifted his gloves to his lips, held one between his teeth and put his fingers one by one in the other glove, on his way to the car. He could see his breath before him. It was still dark. Winter was coming there was no doubt – he shivered, as he turned the fan of the heater on full.
* * *
In his office he stood at the window under which folders were lined up on the floor, his hands on the radiator, thinking. The shutters were open to the outside world, one that was awakening with speed as the clock struck seven-thirty. He suddenly felt very warm, so undid his coat. Vicky appeared at the door, two mugs in hand. She smiled and yawned at the same time.
‘We need to check the sex offenders’ register and make sure all those registered have had their DNA checked against our profile,’ Dylan said briskly, as he slipped into his chair behind the desk.
‘It should have already been done,’ she replied.
‘I know that, but I want to be absolutely sure. We don’t want anyone slipping under, over, or through the net.’ He picked up the mug she had placed on his desk and took a gulp of strong, hot, coffee. ‘Are there any recent, recorded incidents at the swimming baths that are a cause for concern?’
Vicky sat opposite him with her mug nestled in her lap. ‘Just one that’s been brought to our attention.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘On more than one occasion there have been verbal complaints about a man making inappropriate suggestive comments to girls in the pool, which appears to have progressed to him touching others. He’s been spoken to by the management who have a record of this happening and action taken, apparently. The fact that they felt the need to advise him about his behaviour concerns me.’
‘Why haven’t they banned him, or at the very least reported it to us?’
‘He denies it.’
‘Do we have a name?’
‘A Malcolm Roberts, he’s thirty years old.’
‘Any pre-cons?’
Vicky shook her head, ‘Nope.’
‘Do we know if he knows Patti?’
‘There’s a suggestion he may do, but that’s all it is: a suggestion.’
‘He’s a prime target for a DNA swab.’
‘Absolutely, I’ll get Andy and Ned on it today.’
Dylan drained his mug and handed it over to Vicky as she stood.
‘Swimming baths always seem to attract %’em, don’t they?’
‘They do.’ Dylan sighed. ‘When I were a lad, I remember Brelland baths had changing rooms around the edge of the pool. The saloon doors were hardly private. Kids used to run around pushing the doors open and then diving back into the water.’ A chuckle escaped from Dylan’s lips.
Vicky cocked an eyebrow at Dylan. ‘Sounds like someone’s speaking from experience?’
‘You’re joking. I was too busy keeping away from the cockroaches that had fallen in the water.’
‘Really? There were cockroaches at the swimming baths?’
Dylan nodded his head. ‘There were.’
* * *
It was lunchtime and Dylan watched as his officers sat at their desks eating their meal. Detective Sergeant Nev Duke was no different, eating and working at the same time. He was a thinker, not a joker, and never tried to be anything other than serious when he talked about the enquiry, in contrast to Ned Granger sitting opposite him. To be fair to Ned, he was totally committed to finding the killer, but he also made it known that he liked the overtime because it paid for next year’s holiday, a new car, or some other treat. The job also allowed Ned to live the life of a single man in some respects – using the excuse of the enquiry to work late or go to the pub. Whilst they all enjoyed the extra money – something that the rank of Inspector or above didn’t get – it wasn’t always good for their health and wellbeing.
As a matter of routine Dylan had arranged for Sergeant Toft in the incident room to monitor the hours that officers worked along with their individual workloads. Any concerns he had highlighted and sent to Dylan so he could speak directly with the officer, and suggest to them that they take some time off. If they didn’t do it voluntarily Dylan would instruct them to do so.
Dylan saw a strand of hair fall across Vicky’s face, she tucked it behind her ear as she and Andy updated him later that afternoon, it softened her face. She looked tired.
‘Roberts hasn’t been to the swimming baths since Patti’s murder,’ said Andy. ‘We do have his address which was recorded at the baths on the application form for his annual subscription: Flat 4, The Elms.’
Vicky yawned.
‘Keeping you up, are we?’
‘No,’ Vicky’s eyes snapped open. She smoothed her hair back. ‘According to Si the house-to-house team have done enquiries at this address but failed to get a response. However, one of the neighbours did appear because of the loudness of the knocking and she told them that she believed Roberts had gone away, and that he was expected back at the weekend. His council flat overlooks the entrance to Bartlett’s Academy for Girls would you believe?’
Pen in hand Dylan doodled on the corner of his blotting pad – the face of another stick character. ‘You’ve obviously marked his card on the strength of the incidents at the swimming pool. He’s no convictions so there can be no objections about where he lives as far as the council are concerned.’
There was a brief pause in which time Dylan had given his stick character arms and legs. ‘You’re right, as usual. There’s no other intelligence on him.’
‘On the positive, by the weekend he should be back and then we’ll set about eliminating him,’ said Andy.
Dylan’s eyes were flat. ‘Thank God we have a DNA profile, otherwise we’d be struggling to eliminate some of these suspects quickly and easily.’
‘Before I joined the police, I honestly didn’t realise there were so many weird and wonderful people out there.’
‘You don’t have to look far, Vicky, there are a few that work here.’
‘Who are we to judge,’ said Andy.
Dylan slapped the palms of his hands on his desk. ‘Exactly!’
As if a bell was needed to end the meeting Dylan’s phone rang. He snapped it up.
‘Dylan.’
‘Force Control sir, Sergeant Paul from the Road Incident Investigation Team has asked me to inform you that one of your incident room vehicles have been in collision with another vehicle, a short time ago.’
‘Anyone hurt?’ Dylan interrupted, his eyes finding Vicky’s.
‘No, damage only. The driver of the offending vehicle, a Skoda, apparently pulled straight out of a junction and ran into the side of the police vehicle. It’s believed the driver was using his mobile phone at the time, and he’s also failed a breathalyser. He’s under arrest.’
‘And the officer driving the CID car?’
‘Detective Sergeant Toft who has also been subjected to a breath test and failed. He’s also been arrested. Both are en-route to Harrowfield cells.’
