When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 6

  ***

  ‘More bodies?’ said Vicky. ‘You’re never satisfied with just the one are you Dylan?’

  ‘If only! The story of my life. You okay keeping hold of the reins on the Knapton murder for the time being whilst I go with Jon and assess what’s been discovered at Merton?’

  ‘Sure. Before you go though, just so you’re aware, I’ve been informed a call came in yesterday from an irate man complaining about Knapton.’

  ‘Go on,’ he told her as he grabbed his shirt cuff in a fisted hand before putting his arm into his suit jacket.

  ‘Basically, he was claiming Knapton had almost given his mother a heart attack when his dog attacked her Yorkshire terrier. The Yorkie had to be treated at the vets for shock. He ended the call with a threat. Just the norm. If we didn’t do something about Knapton, he would. Control passed it for the attention of the local community officer, no instant response required, and let’s face it with Knapton’s behaviour, calls like that about him are two-a-penny.’

  ‘All the same, make sure someone speaks to the caller as a priority. Anything that comes in that you think I should know about, ring me. I’m on my mobile.’

  He stood quietly for a moment studying the implications of what she had said. ‘That incident, see if you can find out the time it happened, it may be the caller or his mother was the last person to see Freddie Knapton alive.’

  Chapter Six

  The emergency services responded quickly to a three nines call alerting them to the fire at Merton Manor. However, their progress was impeded by the rural locality. The police helicopter had been directed to attend.

  ‘I want aerial photographs. Whose working in the air support team?’ said Dylan.

  ‘PC Rothwell confirmed the helicopter airborne sir and you can speak to her on channel 2.’

  Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Good. ETA?’

  ‘Travelling approximately two miles per minute, as the crow flies. Taking into account the tail wind, which will speed them up, it’ll take them around nine to ten minutes, sir.’

  Flying high and keeping a safe distance, it was deemed by the helicopter crew that the neighbouring properties were not at risk and suggested the country road nearest the manor house was cordoned off accordingly. Because of the quick response, Dylan was told en route that the fire brigade had the blaze under control. The house however, had suffered serious damage. So much so that there were concerns for its structural stability and the safety of the personnel in attendance at the scene. Fire scene investigators were on site, routinely called for fires as severe as this. The initial assessment of the situation by the fire crew suggested an explosion had occurred in the downstairs area of the home but they were satisfied that there was more than one seat of fire, due to the intense burning of areas on the upper floor.

  The only means of access to the upstairs of Merton Manor was by way of the fire brigade’s ladders due to the fact that the staircase had perished. Parts of the upstairs floor were deemed unsafe. Wesley Crutcher, the fire investigator on site, took careful steps throughout the smouldering building. His tour halted by the sight of human remains. A charred skeleton lay amongst the remnants of the bed in what was thought to be the main bedroom because of its position in the house and its size. Wesley glanced around him and considered his route amongst the debris before carefully moving into another room where the remains of another badly charred skeleton, this time bent and twisted in what looked like a foetal position, was found.

  The body, although unrecognisable, had a bullet hole in the skull. In his experience, he was aware that this fire was most probably a deliberate attempt to hide the fact that a person had been killed, and to destroy evidence. His job now was to keep the scene as sterile as possible until the police evidence gatherers arrived.

  Dylan was the first to receive this information via the Control Room operator. Merton Manor was approximately thirty minutes’ drive away from Harrowfield Police Station and while Jon drove, Dylan was occupied issuing instructions over the airways. ‘It’s very important that the details of everyone who’s attended the scene, and where they’ve been within that scene, is recorded,’ he said. ‘I want the time of their arrival, and their departure noted.’ Mentally he prepared himself. He needed a loggist: a running incident log that would record everything in chronological order. He repeated the importance of this to the operator as Merton Manor was a crime scene and it needed to be treated as such, as per Home Office guidelines.

  Jon’s foot was pressed flat down on the accelerator and the car picked up speed as they hit the moorland stretch of open road. The siren’s activated when necessary to alert motorists ahead that they were required to move out of their path.

  ‘Call the crime scene supervisor and crime scene investigators. I want them to meet me at the scene as soon as possible. The rendezvous point will be the road outside the entrance to the grounds,’ said Dylan.

  Jon was quietly concentrating on the job in hand to get the Senior Investigative Officer to the scene of the incident safely and as soon as humanly possible, because nothing would move now until he was on site.

  ‘To save lives and make the property safe I know it’s unavoidable that the emergency services are all over the scene without giving the contamination issue a second thought. But, in all probability it means vital evidence, that may help us convict the offender is lost forever,’ said Dylan to Jon. He dialled the number for the CID office and waited for the pick-up. The hedges on the country lanes were high and Dylan was tossed from side to side in the passenger seat of the police car.

  ‘Harrowfield CID. DS Rajinder Uppal speaking.’

  ‘Raj, good, they called you in. Get me any intelligence you can on Merton Manor and its owners will you?’

  Dylan grabbed hold of the door handle at the sight of the sharp bend. Jon drove the car into it at speed and narrowly missed hitting an oncoming tractor on the other side. Dylan was thrown towards the console with some force, his seatbelt saved him from hitting the windscreen but he continued issuing orders to Raj, his mind locked into the process of dealing with the initial stages of a major incident.

  As Jon stopped the car outside the entrance of the manor house, Dylan could hear the drone of the helicopter circling above them. Jon had completed the task of getting Dylan to the scene as he did everything else, with his unique ability to make everything look effortless no matter how stressful.

  ‘Overhead,’ said PC Rothwell via Channel 2.

  ‘Are you getting the aerial shots Lisa?’

  ‘Yes, I’m up front doing the camera work sir. Leave it to me.’

  Dylan turned to Jon. ‘Feel free to add your two-penneth if you think I’ve missed anything,’ he said, his brows knitted together.

  ‘No sir,’ Jon said, his mouth turned up at one corner. ‘I think you’ve covered everything and you’ll find I never waste time voicing an opinion unless it’s asked for.’

  The art of being a good supervisor in Dylan’s eyes was knowing the strengths in others, and in Jon Summers he knew he had the mind of an officer who could spot a pattern, and draw accurate conclusions where others would struggle. A characteristic most useful that had helped him obtain a degree in applied maths followed by a PHD and a previous career as a university lecturer at one of the top engineering departments in the UK. ‘Why in God’s name did you decided to jump ship and do this god-forsaken job, I will never know,’ Dylan said as he opened the car door and alighted.

  Jon looked slightly bemused, but followed his boss. He slammed the door behind him as he stepped out onto the grass. ‘Probably for the same reason as you, sir,’ he said. ‘I want to see wrong doer’s punished.’

  The men looked around them as they stood on the grass verge, the house was half a mile up the driveway. ‘Tell me, why did you decide to have the rendezvous point so far away?’ asked Jon.

  ‘I want to survey the scene from here. We’ll need a uniform officer at this entrance. Nothing enters without my say so from now on. Ca
n you get on to control and tell them we’ve arrived and I want this entrance protected as soon as possible? I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said as he walked a few yards towards the stone pillars. He took a three hundred and sixty-degree view as he went. When he reached the pillars he noticed that one was engraved with the word ‘Merton’ and a fallen pillar to the right ‘Manor’. He noted the absence of working gates. There was nothing suggesting that the gated entrance had been fit for purpose for some considerable time.

  A rusty, metal, link chain was hanging precariously from the right pillar ‘Private,’ he read on this weathered sign and ‘No Through Road on another.’ Just below, his eyes were drawn to a dark paint mark that ran down the edge, just above knee height. Dylan bent down to his haunches on seeing debris also scattered at its base. ‘Relevant?’ he thought. ‘What vehicle might have caused that was the question, and although the debris looked recent, how recent?’ he wondered. He made a mental note to check what colour the cars were that belonged to the owners of the house? Or was it possible that it was one of the emergency vehicles in attendance at the scene that had collided with the pillar in their haste?’ His investigative mind questioned the discovery. Purposefully he strode the few yards back to Jon, who he saw was back inside the vehicle, putting his phone away.

  ‘What’s the ETA for the extra uniform?’ Dylan asked, sitting in the seat beside him.

  ‘Looks like they’re here.’ Jon’s eyes upturned to fix on the rear view mirror. Dylan eyes flew sideways to the wing mirror to see a marked police car heading towards them. He opened his car door and alighted. Jon joined him to greet the two officers.

  PC Shelagh MacPhee and PC Tracy Petterson were out of the car swiftly. There were no pleasantries at their meeting with the men but an acknowledging nod of the heads. Dylan took no time in explaining to the officers exactly what he wanted them to do, which he would reiterate to their supervision Inspector Peter Reginald Stonestreet once he was located on site, to ensure compliance with Dylan’s specific instruction.

  ‘Most importantly we need a log of every person entering or leaving the scene. Nobody enters without my permission and their vehicle details, make, model, colour and registration number etcetera must be recorded. The right hand pillar,’ he said turning his head to point to the offending stone, has damage. It looks to me like it’s recent. There may be chance for us to collect a paint sample. There’s debris at the base. Can you put police cones around it for now to protect it until scenes of crime have examined it? I’ll ensure CSI do it as a priority.’

  The uniformed officers spoke sharply, in unison, ‘Yes sir.’

  The police officers leaned into the car and busily collected what they required to complete the task they had been given.

  Jon walked alongside Dylan to their vehicle. It was now apparent to him what his boss had been doing at the entrance. Without Jack Dylan’s investigative experience it may have been overlooked by others who would have travelled directly up the driveway to the scene of the fire.

  ‘I’ll drive slowly. We don’t want to miss anything.’

  Dylan smiled. This quiet and gentle talking man, Dylan began to feel, would be an asset to his team, not just this enquiry; he learned fast.

  They had driven but a few feet beyond the gate when Dylan slammed his hand on the dashboard. ‘Stop!’ He got out of the car and Jon went to stand by his side.

  ‘See those recent tyre tracks on the lawn?’

  Jon nodded.

  ‘We need castings and soil samples taken.’

  Jon drew a notebook from inside his jacket pocket and scribbled the action down.

  ‘See that Jon,’ said Dylan now pointing his finger to a patch of earth where something, until very recently, had obviously stood. ‘Another staddlestone, do you think?’ he said observing the others.

  ‘Whatever it was, it was heavy, but it must be worth something for someone to go to the trouble of stealing it. Maybe all will be apparent when we see photographs of the house.’

  The two men’s looked directly up towards the house. ‘I don’t think we’ll be lucky to find anything intact in there, do you?’

  ‘Maybe they’ve staff who might tell us?’

  ‘Good point, it’s not an opportunist job this, you can guarantee that looking at the location,’ he told Jon. ‘I think we’ll walk from here to be on the safe side.’ Dylan paused at more upturned turf. ‘If I were a guessing man I’d say someone’s either a crap driver, or under the influence.’ Dylan stopped at several more points to examine the skid marks that had chewed up more of the beautiful lawned garden. ‘Sacrilege,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Let’s have those tyre marks checked too, to see if they belong to the same vehicle?’

  Again Jon noted his request for the action in his notebook. ‘And the dead rabbit, do you want that too?’ said Jon, pointing to the dead animal at his feet.

  ‘Yes, make a note; blood samples, DNA and soil samples. There is no doubt in my mind it’s recently been mowed down. It might help us place a particular vehicle here, you never know, stranger things have happened.’

  The men moved forward their senses heightened. ‘Would you mind talking me through your approach to the scene sir?’ said Jon.

  Dylan looked at the officer and nodded. ‘A good investigator will always consider the approach to a crime scene; that of the emergency services already in attendance and their subsequent path,’ he said. ‘Never, ever leave anything to chance. Don’t always take the obvious route. That’ll give you another opportunity to secure uncontaminated evidence.’ Dylan stopped and looked up towards the smouldering building whose black smoke and scattering embers blighted a view of the beautiful countryside ahead of them. ‘I know what you’re thinking Jon.’ Dylan took a few steps to the left and carried on. ‘Those tyre tracks, the paint and the debris on the stone pillar, they could belong to any vehicle friend or foe, but as investigator’s we can never take the liberty of assuming. Everything that we see as “out of the norm” at a scene has to be questioned and acted upon to be sure it isn’t connected or, if eventually the evidence proves to us that it is, and helps us in some way. It’s all part of the incident jigsaw puzzle which usually starts with the SIO being handed a rogue piece of blue sky.’ He stopped and once more did a scan of the scene from the location.’

  As they got closer the scene looked busier and was noisier. Jon was very quiet. ‘You okay?’ said Dylan.

  ‘Actually, I was just thinking about the rabbit. There’s another one. My boys used to have rabbits. Salt and Pepper.’

  Dylan looked down at the ground. Jon Summers was known for adopting trousers that were too short for his legs and, when off duty, shirts with vivid and flowery patterns. It made Dylan smile. ‘I’d like a son.’

  Striding over the rabbit and onto the final hundred meters to the house, Dylan discreetly took stock of the new detective sergeant on his team, and he liked what he saw and heard. At just over six feet tall, he had a smooth face with small, deeply set hazel green eyes and mole bumps on his cheeks. His fine hair was thinning on top. He’d first met Jon briefly when he had unintentionally landed in CID on a job, where his skill of making bad news sound palatable, combined with a flair for negotiation between waring fractions in uniform, was required. He was commended for finding common ground, highlighting benefits and keeping the communication lines open at the time. Dylan was told by his peers that Jon would make an excellent negotiator and they wanted him to be his mentor. That was some months ago now and he recalled at that time Jon had sported a beard which, to all intent and purpose, had disguised his double chin. The facial hair had made him look younger, in contrast to most other beard wearers. Dylan had dabbled with growing a beard himself once. It made him look like his father.

  Jon had a fractured turned up nose that somehow gave him an incongruous, nasty look, on an otherwise harmless looking face. He had a scar above his lip. His first job when he’d left school had been a baker. He told Dylan that he wished he could have claimed that
his scar and fractured nose had been from duelling but they had been achieved whilst cycling home on the first of many night shifts in the bakery. He was still a keen cyclist however, an indication to Dylan that this man was no quitter.

  ‘I remember one of my colleagues getting up in the middle of the night because his son’s rabbit was making so much noise in the hutch, that it was keeping him and his wife awake. The fool didn’t bother to put on any clothes.’ Dylan chuckled. ‘Walked outside bollock naked, to shout at the animal but he got more than he bargained for when his neighbour’s daughter, arriving home from a night out clubbing, walked down the adjoining path with all her mates.’ Dylan glanced across at the older man as they walked, and saw his features crinkle into a wry little smile. What the two of them were about to witness in the following hours, they both knew, was going to give them nothing to smile about, but they had much in common, and their camaraderie was to be more closely cemented that day because of it.

  ‘Well, from wild rabbits to wild fires Jon. Let’s see what amount of damage the fire has done,’ he said climbing flagged steps that would take them to what would soon be known as the inner police cordon. Their eyes lowered to scan the ground beneath their feet.

  At the front of the house, Dylan counted three fire engines, turntable ladders aloft, a gas van and a marked police vehicle. Black, yellow and red hoses of different sizes littered the ground. Sporadically they slithered, as if they had a life of their own, making a crunching sound on the saturated gravel as they did so. Puddles of water of various sizes and depths were dotted amongst the little stones. A number of fire officers sat on a long, low brick wall, most in the process of shedding items of outer protective clothing and breathing apparatus. The image of the exhausted looking, soot lathered emergency service workers before him, who had risked life and limb to put out the flames, reminded Dylan of scenes on a spent battlefield. It was time to find out where those in charge were and where possible evidence could be preserved. ‘Where are Uniform?’ wondered Dylan as, at that very moment, he caught sight of Inspector Stonestreet standing talking to a member of the fire crew under the arched entrance of the property’s walled garden.