When a Killer Strikes, page 18
‘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 frontrunner?’ 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 in our tracks.’
‘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. Have the CCTV enquiries brought any more 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, why not? Basically,’ he said placing his palms 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 proformas reviewed. Any occupant known to us, I want to know. Did we ask the right questions to get the answers we need?’ Dylan said.
‘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 past her to the CID office, through the half glass door. ‘Maybe…’ His eyes found hers. ‘Check we have 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. 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 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.
‘Do we still 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 nearby. 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, the 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, 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’s 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 in the mind of my brother to take this 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 about it at first. Then someone else put in a bid and if he hadn’t made an instant decision 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 through her lashes. ‘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 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 and 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 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. ‘Dad was a keen photographer, you know.’
‘So Dylan said. But what I can’t understand is why there is no more photographs, or a family album? Do you think Ronnie will come and help?’
Charlie seemed to think 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, barring 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 Brighouse 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 was 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’s 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 hours were ad-hoc due to availability. In total there were four volunteers who did the collections. 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 companies involved, 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 a way that she knew was not negotiable.
Dylan waited patiently. The news from David Funk that there were no hits on the latest batch of DNA samples submitted to Forensics, 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 co-ordinator had confirmed that Brenda and Grace had been doing the collections that day that 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 the first 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 small flat in Union Street. She’s only recently took 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 of 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 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 Dylan was en route which had left the ground sodden.
He flashed his warrant card at the uniformed police officer who logged him in at the outer cordon and lifted the police tape to allow Dylan to go under, onto 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 and 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 was pulled up under her arms and revealed a red, lacy bra; the lower part of her breast was visible. Her shoulder length, brown hair was strewn across her face and matted with blood. Dried, blood-streaked fluid traces were evident from both ear and nose. A closer inspection revealed part of her skull had sunk inward from the trauma which suggested she had been hit with a heavy object.
