Consequences (13 page)

The post-mortem was about to commence, and Dylan could see Tracy’s jaw clench and her hands shake as she twisted them in her lap.

‘You can go in the police room behind the glass screen if you want, you know,’ Dylan whispered.

‘No, sir, I’m fine thanks,’ she smiled. Her determination to get through it was written all over her face. She looked around. If the others could cope with a post-mortem, so could she. Who was the victim here? Didn’t she want to help catch a killer?

‘have a mint then, I always find it helps,’ Dylan said, as he searched for the extra strong mints in his suit pocket.’ And if you need to go out to get a breath of air go; it’s okay. Most of us have disappeared in our time.’ He smiled, offering her the packet of mints. ‘John, don’t you forget to call home, you’re gonna be late tonight.’

John nodded as he saw Dylan retrieve his own phone to text Jen.

‘
I’m at the mortuary. How’d it go with traffic? X’

‘
I’m fine – don’t worry x’
Jen texted straight before throwing her phone back in her handbag.

‘Come on Max, I need some fresh air, fella’ she said, as she held his head in her hand and gently removed the sleep from the corner of his eyes with her finger. Max didn’t flinch, nor did he need asking twice. She was sure he smiled at her, and focusing on Max’s needs made her feel less sorry for herself. She didn’t know how Jack coped; it was just one body after another. The last thing he needed was to worry about her.

Sitting quietly and writing quickly, Dylan had only managed to eat a little of his sandwich before Donald Jefferson, the pathologist, arrived. Putting the sandwich back in the paper bag, Dylan started to give him the background regarding the discovery of the body.

Mr Jefferson examined the corpse, ‘Female, 5ft, 4in.’ There was no hesitation.

‘That’s surreal; - it’s just a skeleton, how’d he know that?’ Dylan heard Tracy whisper to Vicky. Dylan shook his head; even he never ceased to be amazed by the professionals with whom he came into contact in his work.

‘There are no signs of broken bones,’ Jefferson dictated into his Dictaphone.

Mr Jefferson took samples, along with the clump of hair. Hopefully the root would give them her DNA. The victim had died by asphyxiation from inhaling smoke and carbon monoxide.

‘I’ll arrange for the orthodontist to get her teeth impressions.’

‘That’ll be great. Then we can start making enquiries with dentists in the area.’ On completion of Mr Jefferson’s examination, there were no other signs of injury. Dylan was more than pleased that they had a line of enquiry to pursue, and he shook the pathologist’s hand.

The incident room was buzzing. Dylan walked in with a purpose; he had the press office to update and an enquiry team to arrange.

‘Earlier today,’
the statement commenced, ‘
emergency services responded to the report of a fire in the lower car park of St Peter’s Park. On arrival they found a vehicle and a female at the side of it. Both were totally engulfed in flames. The fire brigade managed to extinguish the fire but unfortunately the body of the female was burnt beyond recognition. The vehicle is also unidentifiable at this time.’

 
The announcement incorporated an appeal for any possible witnesses in the area at the time of the incident, or anyone whose sister, girlfriend, daughter, partner or wife had gone missing.

Dylan searched for the ringing phone underneath the mountain of paper on his desk that he and John were wading through.

‘Sergeant Delvers, sir, PSU. We’ve found a black balaclava along the route. It’s been photographed in situ, bagged and tagged.’ Dylan raised his eyebrows at John.

‘Sounds interesting; how far from the scene is it?’

‘Er...‘bout quarter of a mile, just off the snicket up to the main road.’

‘Can you tape the route from the car park, and we’ll include it in a more detailed search tomorrow? Thank your team for me and pass on my compliments to Trevor, the dog handler, will you?’

Dylan felt excited; it could be nothing but it was something to work with.

The HOLMES team was established; enquiries at garages for purchases of petrol in canisters were ongoing, arrangements had been made for the balaclava to go to forensics, and the CCTV was being examined. The basics had been done: it was time to go home. A briefing was arranged for eight a.m. the following day.

‘It’s not an easy one,’ Dylan said later that night as he nuzzled into Jen’s neck, hugging her tight. ‘Are you okay? Tell me all about your day; the accident?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she yawned. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m so tired,’ she said. ’There’s glass all over the seat and footwell of my car. The wing mirror flew straight past me, luckily.’

‘What was the twat doing?’

‘God knows. He was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere; he went around a line of traffic at one hell of a speed.’

‘Where were you?’

The phone rang, ‘Dad, how lovely to hear from you, lovely.’ Jen smiled at Dylan as she took the phone into the lounge and settled on the settee. ‘Later,’
she mouthed to Dylan, who followed her. Dylan lay down and rested his head on her lap. Closing his eyes, he listened to her soothing tone and fell asleep.

Jen could smell a hint of mortuary on his hair as she stroked his brow and listened to what her dad had been doing throughout the day.

The day started dry and cold, but by mid-morning the blue skies had become grey and the rain fell like stair rods. It was as if day had suddenly become night. Dylan briefed the team and made sure items prioritised for examination were taken to forensics. Sitting at his desk, he was engrossed in establishing the priority lines of the enquiry. Once the female or the car was identified, he knew things would move at a pace; but for now he had to be focussed and patient taking one small step at a time. He undid his tie and released the top button of his shirt. God, the weather was so depressing, he thought as he looked out of the window at the tall, dark puffy cumulonimbus clouds.

The ringing phone broke his concentration. The message from personnel didn’t do much for his heavy mood; Larry was to lose his job, there was now no doubt. After all the good work he had done in the past, the drink had been his ruin. Dylan felt sad. It was true what they said, you were only as good as your last job, and in Larry’s case it couldn’t be worse. There had been no response from Larry to Dylan’s repeated phone calls, so he decided to visit his apartment as soon as he could, to discuss the future with him. Dylan rose from the desk, and stretching his back, he stood staring out of the window at the copious amount of rain that was being swept by the strong westerly wind, across the back yard. The next minute hail hammered at the window snowflakes stuck to the sill and ribbon lightning lit the sky. The weather was more like winter than spring, even for West Yorkshire. Could Dylan have done something to help Larry? Could he have done anything at all? He’d not even managed to see or speak to Larry since it had happened. Had he let him down as his boss and friend? He sighed heavily. Perhaps saying he was going away for a few days to personnel had just been Larry’s way of saying he didn’t want visitors. He should have at least gone and knocked on his door. Whatever, Larry must surely be back now and the least Dylan could do was make the effort to go and see him. Find out what had caused him to start drinking heavily again, and what he planned to do now.

Acting Detective Sergeant John Benjamin shifted from cheek to cheek on his chair. He played with his tie and pulled his jacket around his ample body, unfastening and fastening the buttons on his jacket as he sat beside Dylan, preparing himself for his first press conference. The pressure he felt at the hands of the media, being the deputy on a major investigation, was apparent. He listened and looked at Dylan for guidance, watching how he controlled them. Dylan’s sole objective for the conference was an appeal. It was a chance available to him to glean any information at all about the car, the woman or the motive for the murder. He spoke directly to anyone whose daughter, girlfriend, wife or mother hadn’t arrived home last night, or anyone who was in the area at the time.

The one-to-one television appeals were eventually over and a live radio appeal was planned from the phone in his office, after which he could return to the normality of the incident room. Vicky and Tracy had left for forensics when he arrived. Tracy had been so excited at the opportunity to see the laboratory and the work that they did. Dylan was like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for information from them. Would forensics be able to identify the car, engine or chassis number, which would then lead them to a registration number? God, he hoped so. It hadn’t been possible at the scene and his patience was waning. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face with vigour. He remembered the poor woman’s body; burnt, distorted, blackened, her mouth wide open. He stood up, shook his head and took his jacket from behind his chair, as he walked towards the door. He needed some fresh air. It was time to visit Larry.

Fifteen minutes later Dylan parked his car in the car park next to the electric substation, by the riverside development where Larry lived. He rang the doorbell and pounded on the door of Larry’s flat but there was no reply. He went back to his car. He couldn’t believe the weather; the sun was now shining and the water remaining on the pavement glistened, mesmerizing him. He wondered momentarily if there was a rainbow. He called Jen to cheer himself up, but she wasn’t answering either.

‘Good news and bad news Jen,’ PC Dale said, as he stood at her desk.

‘Go on. Give me the good news first.’

‘We’ve identified the car that hit you.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘The bad news is that it was reported stolen and yet to be recovered.’

‘Mmm. So now it’s a CID job, then?’

‘No, we’re on with it. You can tell Dylan we’ll get there; it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Thanks, anyway.’ Jen was savvy enough with the criminal fraternity’s way of thinking that if it was a stolen car and had not yet been recovered, it would probably be burnt out somewhere by now.

It was the end of the day before the first call from forensics came through to Dylan.

‘The balaclava, although slightly singed by the fire, actually did contain remnants of saliva and hair. It’s very hopeful that a DNA profile can be obtained over the next few days,’ said the official voice at the other end of the phone.

Dylan grinned. ‘But that’s great, and the vehicle?’

‘It’s a Renault. The chassis plate is being treated at the moment but it’ll be this evening at the earliest, most likely tomorrow, before we will have a full number for you.’

‘That’s excellent. I’ll await your call, thank you,’ Dylan said. It was a great start and something positive he could give to the team in the debrief.

His phone rang and as he picked it up the smile must have been apparent in his voice. ’Dylan.’ he said, chirpily.

‘Sir,’ the PC at the help desk said morosely.’ I’ve a lady in the front office wanting to report her daughter missing.’

‘Start taking the details, will you. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Dylan marched along the corridor to the front office. Tracy was heading towards him. ‘Now then, how’s it going?’

‘Oh, gosh, it’s so busy. I’m sorry, sir I haven’t even had the chance to check up on Chubby for you yet. But there’s no intelligence come in about him to LIO, since he attempted to jump off the bridge, so that must be positive,’ she said grinning.

‘No, I haven’t heard his name mentioned either. Listen, don’t worry; remember you can only do one job at once. He’ll wait, he’s alive and he can thank you for that.’ He smiled as he continued on his way.

‘No, she called after him. You saved him, sir. I just stood and watched.’

‘DI Dylan, I think the woman, the woman you’ve found, might be my daughter.’ This was the shocked confession of the middle-aged lady who stood with a child at the counter. ‘My daughter, Gemma’s mum,’ she said, picking up the girl, placing her on her hip and kissing the top of her head. ‘She’s not answering her phone and she’s not rung to speak to her daughter, my grand-daughter. Something’s wrong. I just know it is.’

‘What’s your daughter’s name?’ asked Dylan, smiling kindly at the little girl, who was trying to hide her face behind her hands.

‘Elizabeth. Liz Reynolds.’

‘And when did you last see her?’

‘The day before yesterday, but she should have been back by now. She didn’t ring...she always rings, always.’

‘The body we’ve found can’t be identified by normal means due to the damage by the fire. Neither can the car. It might not be your daughter. I don’t want you to worry unnecessarily. We are doing everything we can to identify the person we found at the scene.’

‘She isn’t at home. I’ve been there,’ she continued. Her voice faltered. ’I’ve a horrible feeling inside, that’s why I’m here.’

‘I know how hard this is for you, Mrs. . .’

‘Platt.’

‘Platt. But if you could continue to help the police constable at the help desk fill in the necessary Misper forms that we have to complete when a person is reported missing, then I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I promise. We are checking all reports of missing females and your daughter will now be included. Thank you for coming in. If in the meantime your daughter makes contact with you, can you please let us know immediately?’

‘Of course,’ Mrs Platt said, turning to leave.

‘Before you go. You do know who Liz’s dentist is don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Platt replied.

On the way back to his office Dylan’s shoulders stooped and he could feel his feet dragging. His head ached and he knew it was time to go home. ‘Elizabeth...Liz.’ Her name was going round and round his head in a whirr. It was the only misper report to come in during the last twenty-four hours. Could this be her? He’d get the team on this line of enquiry, as a priority.