When a Killer Strikes, page 26
‘Our Lucy rang me, she said you were coming,’ she said as they approached. She turned and put one foot over the threshold as if she intended to go inside the house. ‘Kettle’s just boiled – fancy a cuppa?’ Ellen looked pale and tired. When she smiled her teeth were flecked with tobacco. She ran her hand through her short, black, dyed hair, putting the saucer next to the kettle, and stubbed her cigarette out with a degree of brute force. She looked at Raj questioningly, her daughter had her chestnut coloured eyes.
‘That would be lovely, thanks. One with half a sugar and Andy takes two,’ Raj said. Andy stood for a moment outside, taking in the scene at the back: an overgrown garden, divided symbolically, with strands of wire stretched from concrete posts. The boundary at the end of the garden was partly walled, partly open to the open fields beyond.
The two women acknowledged the detective sergeant joining them in the lounge a few moments later. Ellen rolled a cigarette from dried tobacco in an old rust-spotted tin, that sat on the threadbare arm of the comfy old chair she was sat in. She licked the cigarette paper, looked critically at the roll-up she’d prepared, popped it in her mouth, flicked her lighter, inhaled too quickly, and coughed – a thin, smoker’s cough. ‘I hope he’s not in bother, he’s not a bad lad,’ she said, her cough now persistent. Raj’s eyes flew to Reggie’s picture she had noted on the corner of the sideboard. ‘Bad Lad, Bad Lad,’ the frame read. Ellen followed her gaze and sighed. ‘He’s easily led, all us has been, but he’s never been in trouble with the police.’
Raj flicked her shoulder-length hair, her large brown eyes found Andy’s, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
‘I don’t know if Lucy has explained why we need to speak to you, but we are working on the murder investigation of a young woman called Julie Dixon.’
Ellen’s cigarette bobbed up and down with the movement of her lips. Unnoticed, a long section of grey ash fell onto her lap and when she suddenly sat up, it rolled onto the carpet. She rubbed it in with her slippered foot.
‘Julie Dixon was helping Lucy deliver parcels. You did know Lucy delivered parcels?’
Ellen shook her head. ‘Aye, Julie Dixon, poor lass, I remember her when she was younger. She used to come here on a Friday night before her and our Lucy went out on the town.’
‘So, Reggie knew Julie?’
Ellen nodded her head. ‘Yes, he got on with her better than he did our Lucy, until she took up with that Alan man.’ She screwed up her nose.
‘When we found Julie’s vehicle there were some parcels in the back that hadn’t been delivered yet. As a matter of routine, the packages were checked, and it is our job to trace everyone who has had contact with them.’
‘I don’t understand why you should want to see our Reggie?’ Ellen’s eye caught the sight of ash at the side of her leg, on the seat of her chair and she licked her finger and rubbed it in.
‘Lucy has told us that Reggie took them to Julie’s house on her behalf.’
Ellen’s heavily plucked eyebrows moved down and knitted together in a frown. ‘I see.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I don’t. I never know where he is these days.’ Ellen shook her head. ‘I doubt if he does either. His brain is pickled with that stuff he takes.’
‘You mean drugs?’
‘Aye, I mean drugs. What’s this Darknet and Bitcoin? That’s all I hear him talk about on the phone these days.’
Andy knowingly raised his eyebrows at Raj, who smiled at Ellen, who in turn had no intention of waiting for a reply before continuing. ‘He came back from our Lucy’s this morning before I got up, ranting and raving he was. When I got downstairs he’d emptied my purse and cleared off with my car. That’ll teach me to stay sober enough to remember to take my handbag upstairs with me when I go to bed.’ Ellen gave a little chortle before waving a flaying arm. ‘Ah, he’s insured and all that, so don’t worry. He’ll be back when the money runs out. He usually is.’
‘Can you tell us the make, model and registered number of your car? Just in case we come across it?’ Raj asked.
‘It’s a little turquoise Fiat, CHW 431W.’
‘Does Reggie have a mobile phone by any chance?’ Andy asked.
‘Say’s it was stolen and he can’t afford a new one but I’m not daft. I know he’s just saying that so that I don’t go on at him to give me his number and then I can’t get hold of him. I’ve heard him talking to people when he’s in his room – he’s devious that one.’
Chapter Twenty Four
The briefing room was packed. The updates rolled in from the team. Working staff including Detective Sergeant Vicky Hardacre from the Patti Heinz were present, heads down, taking notes.
‘In respect of the elimination of Lucy’s younger brother, Reggie Hartley, we have secured worn clothing,’ Andy told the group. ‘This will be sent for examination and tested against anything connected with Julie Dixon.’
‘And, if we get a DNA profile, it will be checked immediately against the cloth used to clean up her blood in the hallway of her home, as well as the parcels,’ said Dylan. ‘The information Raj and Andy obtained today also gives us a link between him, Lucy, Julie and the packages.’
‘The mother’s vehicle information has been circulated and flagged up as of interest to us here at the incident room. If the vehicle is subject to a stop and check it is highly likely that the driver will be one Reggie Hartley who needs to be eliminated from the Julie Dixon murder enquiry.’
Vicky raised her hand. ‘Sir, 9 regarding, Union Street, I believe there has been an action raised on the Patti Heinz murder investigation for that address.’
‘Can you check and get back to me?’ Dylan said, his hopes raised.
‘If so that would be an interesting link between both investigations wouldn’t it?’ said Raj.
‘Ah, but not unusual if the address is a delivery distribution address for internet deliveries. In the meantime I’ll speak to Maggie and let her know Hartley’s clothing is en route and if she does get a DNA profile to compare it against the unidentified profile on the Patti Heinz murder.
Dylan was about to walk out into the all but empty car park, looking forward to the night ahead with the family when Vicky called him back. Looking over his shoulder to the far side of the incident room he saw her put down her phone and stand hurriedly from behind her desk. She ran down the walkway in between the desks. ‘The database shows that there is an outstanding enquiry at 9, Union Street regarding a delivery of a parcel to Burford Avenue.’
‘Patti’s home address?’
‘No, across the way. Apparently a note has been left by the officer asking the householder to contact the incident room, but to date no one has been in touch – hence the enquiry remaining open.’
* * *
‘I’m home!’ Dylan called cheerily as he stepped over the threshold. He put his briefcase down, unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, loosened his tie, and took off his jacket. ‘Where is everyone?’ he shouted, as he turned to hang up his coat behind the door.
There was a rush of footsteps on the stairs, the hallway door burst open, a loud cry, and the children led by Maisy ran in screaming, laughing and shrieking. ‘It’s a ghost! It’s a ghost! Frantically dodging each other in an effort to lose the ‘ghost’ they ran rings around Dylan until Maisy ran behind her daddy to catch her breath, clinging to his trouser leg. She held her side as a stitch stabbed her under her ribs and instantly dropped to the floor. The others, red-faced and sweating, flopped down around her giggling. Mabel, the oldest, with a headscarf covering her hair and a bed sheet draped over her shoulders ‘Whoo’d’ one last time before flopping down at Dylan’s feet.
Jen stood in the hallway and beckoned a hesitant Dylan into the lounge. He looked directly into the blazing flames that danced merrily in the big, wide fireplace with two mantle shelves; one high up near the ceiling and one lower down. There were green ceramic tiles on the inner side of the wood columns and on the hearth floor. The hairs on his arms stood up and goosebumps multiplied over his skin. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the dimly lit room. In his mind’s eye he saw the beautiful mahogany sideboard with the oval mirror, the piano, a soft, comfy couch, and two armchairs. The vision, lovely as it was, was gone with the flick of a light switch. He was dazed for an instant as if he had woken from a dream, to see his brothers and sisters smiling back at him. At the foot of the ladder where his youngest sister Dawn stood was a stripped heap of the hideous wallpaper. She had a scraper in one hand and a wet sponge in the other. He could hardly believe his eyes. He held his breath. His heart thudded against his chest as he heard his mother chastising him, ‘Wait till your father gets home,’ she said, as she wagged her finger at him. The drawings he had done as a child were still there, as if they’d been drawn yesterday. ‘That’s surreal,’ he said.
‘Aye, and we all took the belt for that,’ said Ronnie. ‘Do you remember?’
Dylan nodded his head.
‘Most importantly, do you remember what happened next?’ Charlie’s grin was wide.
‘We locked ourselves in the cellar…’ Dylan said hesitantly, his voiced lowered ‘…so he couldn’t find us.’
Dylan hurried back to the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up as he went, his brothers on his heels and the remainder of the family in tow. He tossed fish and chip paper from the work surface and picked up the sledgehammer he knew to be there. Raising it above his head and with adrenaline-fuelled force, he closed his eyes and lifted his left arm to shield his face. An almightily thud followed, then a crash and a rain of fragments of plasterboard, broken bits of bricks and mortar flew in his direction. Dylan stepped back before subjecting the wood to hastily delivered repeat hammer blows, tripping and sliding on the uneven floor covering, at each blow. Charlie and Ronnie coughed and spluttered at his side as they broke his fall, and the rest of the family watched the dust settle around them in silence. At last the hole was big enough for him to step inside. His heart raced, and when his feet hit the floor, he reached back with his open hand. ‘Torch?’
A set of voices echoed his words in the distance, he could hear the pitter-patter of footsteps running up the stairs that he knew to be Jen’s. He stood as if glued to the spot, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
‘There are objects stacked against the wall…’ he said into the abyss, squinting his eyes. ‘I can see silhouettes, but I can’t quite see what they are. It smells like musty cardboard and paraffin.’ Dylan shivered.
With the aid of torchlight a set of steps leading down into the basement opened up to him. Dylan’s heart raced as he was forced to tip toe down the narrow stone steps.
‘What can you see,’ came a call from above a couple of minutes later.
‘A dolly tub, not where Dad used to mend out shoes,’ he said. ‘But at Mum’s mangle end.’
Chapter Twenty Five
‘Bloody frustrating Ellen Hartley’s vehicle hasn’t been located,’ said Vicky, pulling her chair closer to her desk.
Raj sitting opposite her played around with her computer mouse, waiting for a response. ‘We can’t do anymore.’ Clicking a button on the mouse a few times brought up the briefing screen. ‘See,’ she said turning her screen around for the younger DS to see. ‘His details have been flagged up again to every officer.’
Vicky yawned so hard it brought tears to her eyes. ‘Do you know if there is any priority stuff back from Forensics this morning?’
The next sound told the office the systems had gone down.
‘Bloody computers,’ Ned said, throwing his pen down on the desk from a great height. He picked up his mug, stretched and headed towards the kitchen to refill it.
Raj walked towards the printer in the centre of the room and gathered the printed papers. She frowned at him as he passed.
‘Well, I for one was quite happy with my pocketbook.’
Vicky lifted her empty mug in Ned’s direction. ‘I suppose that had nothing to do with an impressionable young typist doing your work for you? Mine’s two sugars,’ she smiled sweetly.
Ned raised his eyebrows as he took it from her hand. ‘How come you’re so happy this morning?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Got laid last night, did you?’
Vicky waved him on. ‘Act your age, not your shoe size just for once, can’t you?’ She turned to hide the little blush that she felt on her cheeks.
‘How old do you think I am, seriously?’ he said preening himself in front of the mirrored, glass partition.
Suddenly Dylan’s door burst open which was enough to make Ned jump a foot high. ‘Call all officers and civilian personnel from both investigations back to Harrowfield incident room for an urgent briefing at twelve noon,’ he said, then promptly retreated back into his office. Adrenalin pumping through his body he could barely contain his excitement. He knew they were on the verge of solving both murders. The phone rang and Gary Warner was on the line.
‘Sir, we’ve got intelligence that Malcolm Reynolds is due to board a flight back to Spain within the hour. I thought you’d like to know. He’s under surveillance.’
Dylan’s ears caught the words, but his mind found it hard to accept them. ‘After all this time? I’m going to feel his collar, for the murder of Larry Banks and all the other people who have died because of the drugs empire he created.’
Dylan’s heart was in his mouth. He looked out into the CID office in a trance-like state, to the seat where the deceased Detective Sergeant Larry Banks had once sat.
Vicky turned around, saw him looking at her, got up and walked to wards his door. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ she said. For some reason he was filled with emotion, his reply laboured. He shook his head slowly.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You sure? I think I might be able to find some chocolate biscuits?’
‘No, no.’ Dylan turned away and opened his desk drawer. He slid his hand to the back and retrieved an envelope. Putting it on the desk directly in front of him he stared at it, in silence, for a moment or two, as if contemplatively whether he should open it, again.
It was Vicky’s turn to shake her head as she closed Dylan’s office door quietly behind her. ‘There’s something up,’ she said to Raj and Ned. ‘I’ve only seen that look once before.’
Dylan slowly slid his finger beneath the flap that was yellowed at its curled-up corners. As he did so he took a deep breath before he pulled out the unfolded papers. Dylan hated loose ends, unfinished business. He accepted that Liz Reynolds had been murdered as a consequence of greed, but greed by his one-time colleague and friend was still hard to stomach. How could he have been so naive to have taken DS Banks’ words at face value? Most probably, he decided, because at times a police officer has to rely on his colleagues in life and death situation. ‘The DNA’s confirmed the body is that of Detective Sergeant Larry Banks of Harrowfield CID,’ he read.
‘And that’s not all,’ he heard his colleague John Benjamin say at the time as he handed him the letter from Larry’s solicitor.
Dear Jack,
I crossed the line, and knowing the kind of person you are, I can’t expect you to understand.
I’m writing this because if I know Malcolm Reynolds, he’ll be intent on revenge and won’t be satisfied until he knows I have taken my last breath. Who can blame him? The drink was my downfall, I don’t need to tell you that, but I do want you to know the truth.
Liz was being blackmailed and needed my help. I let her down by taking the money but believe me I honestly never thought the blackmailer would kill her.
I also let you and the team down, Jack. Forgive me.
Larry
P.S You work too hard. Don’t let the job ruin your life. You should work to live, not live to work.
Never again would a colleague call him Jack. From then on it was Dylan.
* * *
The personnel from both murder enquiries filed past Dylan’s office. He heard their speculations of what might have occurred to require the urgent meeting and smiled faintly. The assembled voices grew in volume, intensity and excitement.
At twelve noon Dylan stood at the front of the team, with his detective sergeants Vicky Hardacre, Rajinder Uppal, Nev Duke and Andy Wormald sat alongside. Turning slowly in a semi-circle he faced each one, seated or stood. Some wore sceptical looks. They quietened, sat back, folded their arms and leaned against the wall, or filing cabinets – wherever there was space. There remained a little bustling and muffled chatter as late arrivers squeezed in on the fringes. Dylan waited patiently for a few moments for silence.
‘Thank you for coming in at such short notice.’ Dylan’s voice was serious as he spoke. ‘A short time ago I had an update from Forensics.’ He nodded towards David Funk who he’d identified at the back, by the door next to Rachael, the young policewoman who had been at the scene of the Patti Heinz murder. Heads turned in his direction and he appeared shy. ‘Due to their excellent work they have identified the person responsible for the murder of Julie Dixon.’
There was a wave of muttering, and many exchanged glances.
‘Also this person has been identified by DNA as a match to the Patti Heinz murder.’ An audible gasp sprung from some. ‘For now, the information I am about to share with you must remain within these four walls. We can’t risk the media hearing about this just yet.’ He paused. ‘When the time is right I’ll release a statement through Connie Seabourne in the press office.’ Dylan looked around the room. It wasn’t hard to find Connie in the crowd because of her light blonde hair. She smiled at his acknowledgement, felt the colour rising in her cheeks and shook a little as her stomach did a little flip-flop with excitement and nerves.
‘Julie Dixon’s blood was found on front of Hartley’s left sock, therefore it could be suggested that he had a hole in his footwear he was wearing at the time.’ said Dylan.
