When a Killer Strikes, page 16
‘It was, I gave it to him.’
‘I’m not denying you gave it to him, but you hadn’t chewed it had you?’
Again Ivan shrugged his shoulders.
A little bit of annoyance crept into Dylan’s voice. ‘Shall we stop messing about? The DNA from the chewing gum was from a female.’
Ivan’s lips turned up at the corners. His freckled face turned an impressive shade of crimson.
‘We’re investigating the rape and brutal murder of a young girl.’ Dylan’s eyes were piercing, like cold steel. ‘Do you think this is a game?’
Ivan’s mood changed as his staring eyes filled with tears. He pressed his lips to gather tightly.
‘In your own time,’ Dylan said softly. ‘Tell us what happened.’
The fear of what she might hear was so great, but Mrs Sinclair just wanted it over. With clasped hands, and beseeching eyes she looked at Ivan aghast.
Ivan lifted his head to his mother’s face and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I kissed her for the first time that morning. It was the first time. We’d been seeing each other but she was frightened to tell her parents about us… We arranged to meet later that day, but she never showed up. I was upset. I thought she’d changed her mind.’
The air around them was so still. It was as if even the room held its breath.
‘But, it wasn’t me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t hurt her. I promise I wouldn’t. You’ve got to believe me, Mum.’
Mrs Sinclair tears were as much from shock as relief as she dropped to her knees in front of him and took the teenager’s hands in hers.
‘So, you’re telling us you didn’t see her after that kiss?’ said Vicky, her face and voice expressionless.
Ivan vigorously shook his head. ‘It was only the next day at school that I heard she’d been… that she was dead. Why would someone want to hurt her, Mum? Patti was so kind and good…’ His eyes were pleading.
Vicky’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, Ivan. If what you say is true then tell us why you would use chewing gum belonging to someone else to try and eliminate yourself from the enquiry?’
Ivan gritted his chattering teeth. ‘Because everyone was saying that the boys were being tested, because the police knew she had been killed by a boy, and I’d kissed her, and I thought you might think it was me because you’d know I kissed her.’ His fears were genuine, there was no doubt.
‘So, you thought because you’d kissed her, your DNA would turn up and we’d think you were the murderer?’ suggested Dylan.
Ivan nodded his head. ‘Yes, I looked it up on Google and it said you could get DNA from saliva. I panicked. I grabbed the chewing gum Lucy Portman stuck under the desk in history when Mr Greaves was threatening anyone chewing got detention. Will I go to prison?’
‘If what you say is true, no. But, wasting police time is a serious offence,’ said Vicky.
Ivan gave her an apologetic shrug and hung his head in shame. ‘I’m sorry. I told Danny Briggs what I’d done. You can ask him how scared I was.’
Vicky reached into her bag and retrieved a DNA testing kit. ‘We will. But what we need to do first is to swab your mouth.’
‘Are you accusing Ivan of lying?’ said Mrs Sinclair.
Dylan smiled slightly. ‘We have seen many a guilty person shed crocodile tears. And there are those not adverse the fabricating the truth for their own purpose. That’s why we deal with the facts, Mrs Sinclair, and hard evidence. If your son is innocent then the evidence will clear him of any wrongdoing. The DNA test is as much for us, as for him.’
Ivan flinched. A flash of panic crossed his wide-open eyes. He turned to his mother.
Vicky broke the seal on the container and took out the swab. She asked Ivan to open his mouth and proceeded to swab the back of his throat. ‘I’m sure your mates will have told you this doesn’t hurt one bit,’ she said.
‘The person who killed Patti had full sex with her,’ said Dylan as Vicky put the swab into Ivan’s mouth. ‘He didn’t just kiss her. And, what he did to her was not with her consent. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Vicky placed the swab in the container and wrote on the label.
‘Yes,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘You mean the person who killed her, raped her, don’t you? I swear on my life, I only kissed her.’
Dylan stood. ‘You do realise that you could have ended up being locked up for what you did, don’t you? Consider yourself very fortunate. Your DNA sample will now be checked against the DNA gleaned from Patti and at the scene. If it’s not a match you won’t hear from us again. Not for this anyway.’
Mrs Sinclair escorted Dylan and Vicky to the door. ‘If he wants to go to the funeral, will it be all right for him to go?’
‘I’m sure it will.’ Vicky put her hand on Mrs Sinclair’s arm. ‘Take care. I hope the move goes well. I’ll be in touch when the sample comes back from Forensics.’
The neighbouring doors along the corridor were open, their occupants stood in a group, casually smoking and talking, as the detectives left. Their reasons for being there were blatantly obvious.
Mrs Sinclair slammed the door shut. She put her back to the closed door and leaned heavily against it. The sooner they left this godforsaken place the better.
‘Rozzers!’ The shout went up as the detectives left the building. A swarm of kids on bikes rode round and around them. Some headed for the hills. ‘Been in there a long time, mate,’ one young lad called out. ‘Thought we might %’ave to come in an %’elp ya escape!’
‘Watched yourself, young %’un, otherwise I’ll %’ave yer guts for garters!’ Vicky called back.
The young lad pulled a face. ‘Garters? What’s garters, missus?’
Vicky sat in the passenger seat of the CID car. She secured her belt as Dylan started the engine and steered the car away from the kerb. He took a look in his rear-view mirror to see a line of youngsters jeering.
‘Cheeky blighter’s,’ Vicky said under her breath, wiping a tired hand around her face. ‘Did you know in Shakespeare’s day they’d have called us bluebottles?’
‘The colour of the watchmen’s uniforms, makes perfect sense to me. And, then of course Peeler and Bobby after Sir Robert Peel, the founder of the Metropolitan Police in 1828.’
‘In the eighteenth century, Esclop was in fashion,’ said Vicky.
‘Esclop? I haven’t heard that one before,’ said Dylan, giving her a sideways glance.
‘It’s police backwards, although it was pronounced as slop.’
‘I can imagine… So, the most mysterious of those and probably the earliest used is Rozzer?’
‘I guess that’s a variation on Robert, again from Sir Robert Peel.’ Vicky appeared thoughtful. ‘I’m confident Ivan Sinclair didn’t kill Patti,’ she said after a while. ‘Can you imagine kissing a girl and then she’s murdered just hours later? I can understand his panic, can’t you?’
‘Ah, ah!’ Dylan wagged a finger at his colleague as he steered the car into the police station yard.
‘I know, never assume.’
‘We eliminate by means of DNA. I agree, it seems very unlikely that it’s him but we can’t be one hundred per cent sure until the sample is checked.’
‘I know, but it’s not him, is it?’
‘Who knows? He managed to come up with a plan to sidestep the sample taking and he also lied to us about his parents not wanting him to have it taken. So, if he was panicking, he was still of sound mind.’
‘So, are you saying that you think it could be him?’
Dylan showed his teeth when he smiled. ‘I’m not saying that at all. What I am saying is, it’s highly unlikely, but you know and I know that this job is full of surprises and that’s why we rely on factual, irrefutable evidence.’
‘Do you remember your first kiss?’
‘No.’
‘I do. We both had braces and we were smiling so much that our teeth clanged together. Awkward… You don’t remember, honestly?’
‘No, I don’t remember,’ he said as he turned off the engine and reached into the back of the car for his raincoat. Dylan’s face looked weary, like a defendant in an interview who has answered the same question many times before.
‘Whatever,’ said Vicky with a wink of her eye.
The incident room was filling up. The debrief was about to begin. Dylan spoke to Acting Detective Sergeant Andy Wormald and Detective Sergeant Nev Duke with regard to updates in his absence, prior to the meeting.
Vicky sat at her desk, picked up a black ball point pen and wrote up the results of their enquiries with ease and little effort. The swab was marked up with its unique number and added to the next batch of samples to go to the laboratory. This enabled it to be cross referenced with anything other to do with suspect Ivan Sinclair. Now all they could do was wait. The list of people who had been eliminated from the enquiry was growing, but she didn’t feel despondent. The killer couldn’t hide forever.
* * *
There had been days of continuous rain and Jen prayed it would stop before the removal men arrived. Max circled the boxes, huffing and a puffing before dropping to the floor in the most unusual of places, wherever there was significant space for him to squeeze his large Retriever frame. ‘Moving home is enough to send even the most laid back of dogs into a spin,’ said Sam the vet when Jen had called in to update his records.
Dylan was quieter than usual, apart from the few expletives when he banged his head on the bedroom’s sloping roof. Methodical, as always, he stacked the heavy boxes Jen couldn’t lift downstairs into the hallway no matter what time he arrived home at night, what time he left in a morning and no matter how many hours he had worked during the day. ‘It’ll make it easier for the removal men,’ he said, feeling guilty for the little time he could spend helping to achieve their move but when the job was running he had no alternative but to run with it.
As instructed by the vet to keep Max’s routine as unchanged as possible, Jen picked up the dogs lead and set out across the fields in her weatherproof coat and wellington boots. Not only could Max not seem to rest until his body was exhausted but she, too, was feeling the angst of moving house.
The sky was a blanket of grey autumnal clouds, yellow leaves piled high against dry stone walls of field boundaries. Max showed her the way. She stretched her legs over wooden stiles and wandered along wet country lanes as she followed him, the aroma of decay evident everywhere. The wind started to pick up as she headed along Burford Avenue. The leaves on the trees fell like confetti around her. And when she neared Colonial House the acer tree appeared to be shedding its leaves like drops of blood. The fog began to roll in between the hills on either side of the Pennines as she headed home the grim and sombre wind swirled around her in almost a frenzy – the mouth of winter was moaning.
* * *
‘Force Control, sir, you are shown on our records as the on-call negotiator, is that correct?’
Dylan looked from the table he had set for dinner, to the calendar on the kitchen wall, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Hold on, yes, I’d forgotten I said I’d cover until seven o’clock tonight.’
‘Uniform are requesting your attendance at Rayburn House, Brelland. We’ve a man in breach of a court order not to contact his estranged girlfriend, and he appears to have grabbed her outside the flats where she is now living. He’s armed with what is described by officers at the scene as a large knife. I am told they have him cornered, and we have a stand-off situation. He’s threading to kill her if the officers don’t back off.’
‘I’m supposed to be on a day off. Can you get Traffic to pick me up and blue-light me to the scene?’
‘Will do, sir, and we’ll update you as and when with any developments whilst you’re en route.’
There were spots of rain in the wind and Jen pulled on the drawstring of her hood and held it tight under her chin. Max walked protectively by her side. At last she could see the welcoming lights of home directly ahead and already she felt warmer.
A police car passed her, too fast to see who was driving. The lights were revolving, flashing beacons. Her stomach flipped as it always did on seeing an emergency vehicle proceeding at speed. ‘Whilst others run away from danger the emergency services run to it…’ she sighed. ‘I wonder which poor soul will be going into the unknown tonight,’ she thought, to see the car broadside Dylan’s car on the driveway, and Dylan step out of their front door.
With no thought other than being able to say goodbye, Jen ran towards the car. Max barked his excitement as her wellie-clad feet moved as quick as they could. Dylan saw her coming and wound the window down to her as the car reversed. ‘Urgent negotiating job, I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘I’ve peeled the veg and the meat is in the oven.’ Dylan’s face was red and flushed, his hair still damp from the shower. As she turned on her heels to watch them go, the taillights were already fading into the distance. In a blink of an eye the white Range Rover was gone over the brow of the hill.
Dylan’s hand firmly gripped the door handle.
‘Rayburn House, boss, I’m told,’ the uniformed driver said, his concentration firmly on the road ahead.
Dylan swayed to and fro with the contour of the road. ‘That’s correct.’
The siren’s wailed and the blue lights flashed as the vehicle headed down the high street. Traffic lights came up ahead and the driver slowed down to expertly weave the vehicle in between the stopped cars. The vehicles immediately in front of them parted as they approached, but there was always one who either didn’t hear the siren or wouldn’t move. Dylan looked across at his driver and gripped the door handle tighter, bracing himself for what he knew was to come. As if he had read his driver’s mind the car swung to the other side of the road, without any reduction in speed. Dylan wasn’t concerned. He was confident of the driver’s ability. As they continued, the carriageway was clear; the speedometer dial showed Dylan one hundred miles an hour. Someone’s life was in jeopardy and they both knew that the sooner they got to them, the better chance they had to ensure it was saved.
On arrival at their destination the driver pulled their vehicle alongside the beat cars. Dylan had only been in the police vehicle for ten minutes for what would normally have been for him a forty-minute journey.
‘I’ll hang about, boss, just in case I can be of use,’ the driver said, turning off the engine.
Dylan’s mind was focused on a small group of officers near shrubbery at the right side of the toughened glass and steel door of the high-rise flats he knew as Rayburn House.
‘Fucking get back, or she fuckin’ gets it, do you hear?’
He then heard the shrill cry of a woman.
Dylan got out of the car and walked in the direction of the commotion. He spoke with Inspector Stonestreet who was in charge. The older man, at one time Dylan’s mentor, spoke in a lowered voice. ‘I’ve a fast dog car en-route.’
‘What’ve we got?’
‘Twenty-eight-year-old by the name of Kenny Foley, given bail after assaulting his ex-girlfriend. His bail conditions are such that he shouldn’t be anywhere near here, let alone contact Becky Morris.’
‘And, he’s ignored it?’
Stonestreet nodded. ‘He’s come straight round here from court and waited for her to come home, grabbed her and now has her at knifepoint.’ Reginald Stonestreet screwed up his face. ‘He’s a bad bastard. Have you ever come across him?’
Dylan, still with his eyes on the scene, shook his head.
‘He’s always scrapping in the town. He’s got a knife, he says he’s going to kill her if we don’t back off. And, I think he would. He’s that type. He wouldn’t worry about the consequences.’
‘It’s the bloke that head-butted Jen in the front office at the nick recently.’
‘Personal then?’ said Stonestreet his eyes wide.
Dylan put on his stabproof vest in silence. ‘I’ll start talking to him. In the meantime, get two officers with full length riot shields at my side. If I can’t get him to release her then we’ll do the old squash routine, hopefully trapping Foley with the weapon, outside the shield. When the dog comes, get the handler to keep it on the lead. I might need an aggressive dog to use as a distraction if we have to strike.’
‘Will do. Good luck, you’ll need it with this one – he listens to no one.’
Becky dared to look sideways, only to be drawn tighter into Foley’s hold. He smelt of booze and sweat, his face scabby and unshaven. His focus was on the small group of officers stood yards away. Her vision blurred and panic grew in her throat as she started to breathe in rapid, shallow gasps. She pulled away from Foley as his hands moved up from her waist to her breasts. She gave a cry at the roughness of his grip, twisted her head round when he relaxed the knife from her neck, and sunk her teeth into his arm. The jarring impact against the stone wall took her breath and deprived her of the instant where she could have run to the safety of the waiting officers. Dylan watched from the periphery. He spoke quietly to an officer preparing for him to keep a step behind, to pass information to Inspector Stonestreet should any action be required. Foley’s wail of fury allowed Dylan to take two large steps forward, approximately ten feet from them.
Dylan stood still, confidently relaxed. He looked Kenny Foley straight in the eyes without blinking. ‘Kenny, I’m DI Jack Dylan,’ he said in an amiable tone. ‘I’m here to help sort out this mess. Becky,’ he called, ‘are you okay?’
Foley’s eyes sent a message of violence, rage and defiance. ‘She fucking won’t be if you come any nearer, and neither will you. Fuck off!’
The hostage taker had pale, trembling Becky by the hair, her head pulled back as far as her exposed neck would stretch. The blade of the knife to her jugular, her spindly legs shook so much that she occasionally lost balance.
Dylan held his eyes without moving, without tensing, without flinching. ‘Kenny, you know the routine. We aren’t going anywhere. So, why not just put the knife down and let her go? We can sort this out.’ The detective was conscious of Bite, the police dog, straining on his leash behind him. Bite barked, snarled, pulling frantically to be set free.
