Consequences Read online

  ‘Now that’s a voice I’m always pleased to hear. How’s it going? Managed to speak to Susan Sharpe yet?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m just telephoning to update you on what she’s been saying in interview.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Charlie had just been diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Jason only came to live with her a couple of months ago, when he was released from prison. He’s into drugs. She never had any money for food, as he took all her allowance money from her. He bought food when he wanted it, but more often than not he nicked it. Susan told us that he was going out robbing regularly but she doesn’t know where. She daren’t ask, but the job he was on bail for was an attack on a garage kiosk, when he threatened an attendant with an imitation firearm before attacking her. He was expecting to go down, which is why he didn’t turn up in court.’

  Dylan listened intently. ‘The job Larry went to when I was away might’ve been him too?’

  ‘Possibly, yes. Seemingly, Jason and Chubby shared a room in a ‘young offenders’ some years ago apparently, and when Chubby became homeless after the Stan Bridge episode, Jason invited him to come and live with them.’

  ‘Interesting. So what about Charlie’s injuries? How did they come about? Does she know?’

  ‘She told me that Charlie was naughty, which made Jason mad and so he hit him, sometimes really hard.’

  ‘What about her, Dawn? Did she admit to hitting him?’

  ‘She admits to smacking him when he was naughty to stop Jason hitting him. When he didn’t cry, Jason accused her of not hitting him hard enough. She told me Jason hit him once with a piece of wood, to show her how to make him cry, but she said she thought it hadn’t hurt him because he didn’t cry he just went to sleep.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Dylan sighed, feeling sick to his stomach.

  ‘She says if she didn’t hit Charlie when he was naughty, then she got a beating and Jason hit him harder still. So she started locking Charlie in his room to keep him out of Jason’s way.’

  ‘So, why didn’t she tell anyone?’

  ‘Petrified, boss, she was petrified of him.’

  ‘So what happened when Chubby Connor moved in then?’

  ‘She says she was chuffed when Jason asked Conner to move in, because she thought things would change and she didn’t think Jason would want him to know that he hit Charlie. But it actually got worse because he showed off in front of Conner and played the hard man. He shouted at Charlie to make him do as he said, when he didn’t, he hit him and dragged him around like a dog on a lead. She said she begged him to stop but Jason punched her in the face.’

  ‘When did Jason disappear?’

  ‘The morning she found Charlie. The night before he died, Jason and Chubby Conner had been throwing him to each other, having a competition to see who could catch him or who dropped him first. Susan says Charlie and she had been sat on the settee when the men injected, and Jason had started thrashing around with a pool cue. She remembers getting hit with it so she moved to the floor, but Charlie got hit.’

  ‘And what did she do?’

  ‘She doesn’t remember, but she does remember Jason bragging to Chubby how hard his son was, because he could hit him and no matter how hard he hit him he didn’t cry. She does have a bruise on her arm where she says Jason beat her, which is consistent with being hit with a stick of some kind.’

  ‘Does she have any idea where the men are now?’

  ‘No, no idea. Jason’s usual lays low at a mate’s house in Blackpool if he’s been up to no good, she tells me. Do you know, she can’t recall the last time Charlie ate. She says she put food in front of him but he wouldn’t eat it and Jason wouldn’t let her feed him because he said Charlie wasn’t a baby.’

  ‘Oh God, he wouldn’t have been able to, his arms were broken. Did you …?’

  ‘We’ve videoed the interview but she ultimately pushes the blame onto Jason and Chubby, and doesn’t think she has done anything wrong at all.’

  ‘Why didn’t she take Charlie to the doctors if he wouldn’t eat and he had obvious injuries?’ said Dylan.

  ‘She knew asking for medical help would’ve created problems for them, she says, and Jason ruled the house. Chubby just did as Jason told him, like she did, because he was frightened of him too, she thought. Jason shaved Charlie’s head when he was drugged up one night and thought it was funny. She thought the cuts would just heal by themselves. To be fair to her, she’s not the brightest button, sir.’

  Dylan tutted, ‘Pathetic. How’re you feeling Dawn?’

  ‘I’m okay. We’re doing fine,’ she said, patting her stomach, ‘but I’d like an hour with Jason and Chubby, I must admit.’

  ‘You and me both, but you, my girl, are only going to watch from a distance. Otherwise, you’ll be off home.’

  ‘But Jack …’

  ‘No buts Dawn. You’re my primary concern and I won’t hear anymore on the subject, you hear?’ Dylan barked. ‘I’m thinking of charging her with wounding and child neglect at the moment, as a holding charge, but ultimately it’s likely to be murder. We need to confirm who the father is. If she’s not sure, DNA samples are going to be necessary and probably the best way of proving it.’

  ‘I’ll ask her again about the paternity of Charlie,’ Dawn said. Dylan’s mobile rang. ’Catch up with me later, will you? Finchy is on the other line.’ He replaced one phone for his other one.

  ‘Hello boss, just touching base. Jason and Chubby are both obviously on their toes. There’s no sign of them, but we’re still looking.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Dawn. We need evidence to connect them both to the house; fingerprints and witnesses, or to a pool cue that she says was used on Charlie. Though, just her say so isn’t enough. She told Dawn that Jason Todd likes Blackpool and usually lies low there. Can you circulate their photos over there, please? You never know, it’s worth a shot.’

  ‘Fingers crossed, I’ve put the pictures out across the force area too. Sooner or later their heads will pop up somewhere.’

  ‘Thanks for that Pat. Hopefully Chubby hasn’t gone over a bridge somewhere, or maybe that would be poetic justice.’

  ‘I’d rather you call me Patrick, sir...’ Patrick Finch said into the phone, before he noticed Dylan had rung off.

  Dylan contemplated his next move. ‘Hello love,’ he texted Jen. ‘No news as yet. Will speak to you later when I know what time I’ll be home. ’His head was buzzing as he got out the policy book for both enquiries and updated them. The DSs had enough on their plate.

  ‘Boss.’ Half an hour later John stuck his head round Dylan’s office door. Dylan looked up and saw his smiling face. ‘Liz’s dentist has been spoken to and officers are on their way to get her dental records.

  ‘Fantastic. Get them to take them straight to the dental laboratory in Sheffield, to the odontologist. Hopefully we’ll get an identification.’

  ‘Already sorted boss. I haven’t jumped the gun have I? I just thought the sooner …?’

  ‘Gosh no, you’re right. Excellent. Fingers crossed.’ Dylan beamed.

  ‘The prison visit’s arranged for tomorrow. We’ll get some background from Malcolm Reynolds and let him know about his wife. Hopefully, before we go, we’ll have confirmation that the body is Liz. Being the SIO, John, is all about being the bearer of bad news.’

  ‘Yeah, well someone has to do it sir, don’t they? I’ve told the team the debrief is at 6 pm if that’s okay with you?’

  ‘That’s great. I’m doing little Charlie’s debrief at five downstairs then I’ll be with you.’ Dylan realised at that moment he’d been referring to the job as ‘little Charlie’s’ from the outset, not the Sharpe murder or the incident name; this one had touched him. Maybe he should have let Chubby jump that day.

  ‘Susan Sharpe is charged,’ Dawn informed the group at the debrief. ‘She’ll be up before the court tomorrow and hopefully remanded. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Priority enquiries are to vi
sit anyone who’s had the slightest connection with Alan ‘Chubby’ Connor and Jason Todd, tomorrow. You all have your targets,’ Patrick told them. ’Search the homes, don’t accept people’s word. They should consent to you looking around, if not, let me know straight away.’

  ‘I want you Pat, and the SOCO supervisor at the meeting I’ve arranged with forensics, to discuss their approach to the exhibits,’ said Dylan.

  ‘The Charlie Sharpe enquiry is ticking over nicely,’ thought Dylan, as he walked up the staircase to the Reynolds’ debrief. He dialled the press office to give them a brief update. ’Michelle can you put this out on the news line:

  ‘A 21 year old woman will be appearing before Harrowfield Magistrates Court tomorrow, charged with wounding and neglect in connection with the death of a three, year old boy. Two men are also being sought in connection with the boy’s murder.’

  ‘Can we name the boy yet?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, DS Finch and DS Farren are still trying to see if they can confirm paternity of the child at the moment, before the young lad can be named I’m afraid’.

  Sitting with DS John Benjamin and the team from the Reynolds’ enquiry, he soon realised that they would be in the debrief for some time. The information was coming in thick and fast. Luckily for them, in the Reynolds’ morning post they had got details of Liz’s bank account, showing that she had withdrawn five hundred thousand pounds the day before her murder. There was no sign of cash at the house, so it was an obvious priority enquiry. Her mobile phone was also the subject of one too. Fingerprints had been lifted off the wine glasses, and also such items as her hairbrush, make-up and jewellery boxes, and they were hoping to match up and identify Liz via the partial fingerprint lifted at the scene of the fire, the DNA from the hair root taken at the post-mortem and her dental records. Fingerprints had also been lifted from the beer cans. Early indications using ultra violet light suggested semen staining on bedding taken from her bed, and on clothing recovered from the laundry basket. It was a positive start; a lot to go on, to unravel the background. Was the motive money, sex or both? Only time would tell.

  ‘Nice one team,’ said Dylan as he thanked them for their hard work. Another long day, but progress is being made with positive lines of enquiry.’ The meeting had lifted him. He took out his mobile as he strolled into the back yard of the police station and he could see his breath in the night air. The sky was clear and in the darkness the brighter stars were lost amongst the myriads visible. He leaned on his car as he called the press office. For once Dylan noticed that the stars twinkled, but the nearer planets didn’t.

  ‘Michelle,’ Dylan turned to unlock his car door. ‘Another update for you.’

  ‘Go ahead, I’ve got my pen poised.’

  ‘In respect of the burnt body at St Peter’s Park; Police are making some positive progress and believe they may have identified the woman who if confirmed, they’ll be able to name in the next forty eight-hours, when relatives have been informed. Thanks. You on the graveyard shift?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a bummer, I hate late shift,’ she groaned. ‘But this will keep me busy for a while,’ she said.

  ‘I hope it’s a quiet one for you then. I’m off home to a nice meal and a warm bed.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Michelle moaned. ’It’ll be another six hours before I see my pit.’

  ‘But at least once you’re in it you won’t be called out.’

  ‘Too right I won’t.’ she said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jen walked out of the front door after Dylan. The glimpses of early morning sun were bright through the black clouds. Max barked around Dylan’s feet.

  ‘No boy, I’m off to work. Your mum’s taking you walking on her own today mate,’ he said, patting Max’s golden coloured, silky head. ‘Although I must admit, the last thing I want to do is go on a prison visit.’

  ‘Never mind. One day, when you whisk me off to the Isle of Wight, we won’t be going to the park but the beach for walkies,’ Jen said, laughing. Max barked furiously. ‘Come on you, before you wake the neighbours,’ she said, lassoing Max with his lead. ’Bye love, have a nice day,’ she called to Jack, as he put his brief case in the boot and slammed it shut.

  ‘Will do. I’ll keep in touch.’ Dylan shouted. He watched Jen and Max walk up the road in his rear view mirror. What he’d give to be going with them. To be inconvenienced by Max’s persistence to go out in the freezing cold this morning, would be a treat. The car felt chilly and he shivered as he turned the heater on full.

  Dawn had left for court by the time Dylan arrived at the office. He wondered if today would be the day they’d positively identify the father of Charlie Sharpe or find Chubby Connor and Jason Todd.

  Dylan was pleased with Patrick Finch so far; he could tell he was enjoying being in a detective role again on a high profile case too. He was a good replacement for Larry, precise to the point of annoying though sometimes. He had an eye for detail and was as keen as mustard. He wondered briefly what Larry was doing, and how Fred White was; but as no one had updated him, he presumed Fred was stable, and as for Larry...God only knew.

  ‘Behave at court you. I hope you’ve remembered to switch your phone off, otherwise this will get you into bother,’ read the text message he sent to Dawn. He smiled as his mobile bleeped send.

  ‘I’ll remember, don’t worry, my names not Jack Dylan,’ she texted back.

  The morning meetings were over at last.

  ‘I’ll be ready to set off for the prison in five minutes, John,’ Dylan shouted across the incident room.

  ‘Okay.’ he shouted back, from the computer station he was working at. Dylan saw him pick up the phone as it rang. He listened, put the phone down and walked over to stand at Dylan’s door.

  ‘It’s Sheffield sir, confirming a positive ident on the dental records.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s Liz Reynolds.’

  Dylan breathed in deeply. Malcolm Reynolds would be getting the worst news he could possibly hear today, and Dylan had to give it to him.

  The prison car park was heaving.

  ‘Spare one over there, boss.’ John pointed to a parking space.

  ‘You’ve got to have eyes like a hawk. It’s worst than bloody B&Q on pensioner’s day,’ Dylan muttered to himself, rummaging on the back seat for his suit jacket. John opened his door and stood outside. Rolling down his shirtsleeves, he checked his tie was straight before collecting his paperwork from his seat. Slamming the door, Dylan turned and looked at the austere Victorian architectural style building. Built with local quarried stone, it used to be a fortress; a castle where the brave used to fight to save the hamlet. Now criminals were sent there to protect the community.

  ‘How bizarre,’ he thought. Walking up to the stone flagged entrance they stopped between two turrets. John pointed up to holes in the wall.

  ‘At one time they used to pour boiling oil down from them, to keep people out,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps they should pour it on the people within now’ Dylan replied.

  ‘Did you know they still used to execute and hang prisoners here until 1961?’

  ‘No, but I hear it has its own healthcare facility.’

  ‘I suppose they need it with 550 cells full of prisoners; all Cat. B prisoners at that,’ said John.

  ‘Yeah, they need to make it difficult for this calibre of prisoner to escape and a trip to the hospital is all it takes for some. Not the friendliest of places to be eh?’ Dylan laughed half-heartedly.

  A uniformed guard came towards them, offering his hand. ‘DI Dylan?’

  ‘Yes and DS Benjamin. You’ve got our visiting orders here I understand?’

  ‘You’ve just hit visiting time, unfortunately. It’s a ‘Special’ if I’m right? Come straight through,’ said the guard as he motioned them to follow him into the new gate complex. As they turned the corner, the queue of people lining the walls reminded Dylan of a shop at the start of a sale. Men, women, old, young, children
and babes in arms; you name it, they were there. Dylan knew some would be putting themselves at risk, trying to smuggle things into the prison, and he also knew some would succeed. This prison was named as having the highest recorded drug use amongst prisoners and the second highest suicide rates of prisoners in England and Wales.

  ‘We need to speak to the Duty Officer or the Wing Officer if that’s at all possible,’ John shouted above the noise.

  They entered a vestibule and with the closing of the door, the noise suddenly cut dead.

  ‘That’s me. What’s up?’ The duty officer seemed genuinely concerned.

  ‘We’ve just found out the burnt body in St Peter’s Park, that’s been in the papers recently, is Malcolm Reynolds’ wife,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Blimey.’

  The duty officer opened the door to the waiting room and they strode through with a purpose. There were so many young girls dressed in their posh dresses, wearing make-up. Mothers and fathers stood quietly; sombre, subdued. Why oh, why in God’s name had the men inside risked getting themselves locked up, when they had people outside who clearly cared about them so much? Dylan would never understand.

  ‘We believe it may be murder,’ Dylan said, as he turned out his pockets into a shell like container to be checked.

  ‘Poor bloke, he’s a model prisoner,’ said the guard, as he frisked him and moved on to John.

  The meeting rooms were always cold and sparsely furnished painted with a pale grey gloss. They reminded Dylan of hospital waiting rooms. Windows at the ceiling were fitted with thick steel bars. Malcolm Reynolds was slouching in his chair, as they approached the table where he was sat with his feet up. His white t-shirt showed off his ample muscles, which no doubt had been toned in the prison gym. He chewed gum. The guard closed the door behind them and stood, centurion-like, indicating a seat for Dylan and John opposite the prisoner. John’s eyes were fixed on Malcolm’s trainers, his eyes dancing around the red snake like pattern that was carved into the soles, so he could avoid looking at Malcolm’s face.