Consequences Read online

Chapter Twenty

  Dylan whistled as he walked into work the next morning. It wasn’t quite daylight, because of the rain.

  ‘Someone’s in a good mood. Good night was it boss?’ called Vicky from her workstation. Temporarily blinded by the glaring light in the incident room, he couldn’t see anyone immediately, but Dylan felt himself go hot under the collar at her suggestive comment.

  ‘I do believe you’re going a lovely shade of red, sir,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Me? You must be joking. I don’t think I’ve got a blush left in me,’ he laughed. ’D’ya know something, Vicky, the last time I remember being embarrassed and I mean embarrassed, was when I was a young detective and went to a burglary with a very old detective sergeant,’ he said, sitting on the corner of her desk. ‘He seemed ancient to me; just like I probably do to you,’ he said chuckling. ’As I took down the details of the break-in, he asked the old couple if he could use their toilet. The strange noises that came from upstairs were enough, but when he walked back into the lounge with his jacket over his arm, and still pulling up his braces, I tell thee I nearly died.’ Dylan mockingly put on his best, deep, Yorkshire accent. ‘By heck ba it makes tha wonder what thee heck tha puts in curries? Sithee later.’

  Vicky fell about in a fit of giggles.

  ‘Fortunately we were about to leave, as the smell started to filter down the stairs, it was gut-wrenching. Now that was what you call embarrassing,’ he said, as he walked towards his office door.

  ‘Urgh, you’ve put me right off my breakfast.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry ’til I start wearing tha braces,’ said Dylan, as he opened his office door. In the darkness it felt like his cell, and he turned on the florescent light that buzzed the place into life. Two bananas toppled from his briefcase when he opened it, and he picked them off the desktop and put them in his drawer. As he did so he noticed a note. Jen had drawn a smiley face and a kiss. He grinned from ear to ear as he placed it in his suit pocket, where he found another piece of paper that read, ‘I love you. x.’ Dylan was still smiling as he answered the telephone.

  ‘Hello sir, it’s Neil Thornton from the fingerprint department.’

  ‘Morning Neil. And how can I help you?’

  ‘Well Sir, it’s more like how I can help you.’

  ‘Ah, that sounds like good news.’

  ‘Well, yes and no …’

  ‘We’ve identified some fingerprints on a wine glass and the beer cans at the Reynolds’ house. It’s a bit sensitive; DS Larry Banks needs to keep his hands in his pockets, or make sure he wears gloves next time.’

  ‘Neil, Larry Banks isn’t on the investigation and he hasn’t been to the scene with us.’ Dylan’s smile faded quickly.

  ‘Well sir, I have to tell you they’re positive identification marks, and we’ve quite a few of his elsewhere in the house, too. The other significant marks are the marks of one person and they haven’t been identified as yet, but I would think it’s highly likely that they’re going to be Liz Reynolds.’

  ‘Thanks Neil. Will you keep this information close to your chest at the moment?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll send the report out to you in confidence.’

  ‘What had Larry got himself into?’ Dylan wondered, as he replaced the receiver. Dylan had never seen Larry Banks blind drunk, but he was beginning to think he might never have seen him completely sober either. He’d been drinking at Liz Reynolds’; now she was dead. But what was Larry doing at Liz Reynolds’ house? It didn’t make sense, any of it. This evidence put Larry forward as a suspect or the suspect for her murder. Was he capable of such a thing? What did Dylan actually know about Larry Banks? Not a lot, he conceded. He had knocked an old man over and left him for dead. So like Jen said, who knew what he was capable of?

  John came in his office carrying a coffee, and both were a welcome sight. Dylan was saddened to think somebody who had worked alongside him closely for the last few years could be involved in something so bad. He shared all the new information with John, and ultimately they both knew they would have to share it with the team.

  ‘Larry will be dealt with like any other suspect; it’ll be no different for him because he’s a police officer,’ Dylan told John. ‘I’ll be given the task of tracing him and have yet to confide in the force hierarchy, which I’m not looking forward to, I can tell you. The re arrest of a senior police officer is certainly going to be an embarrassment for them, but I’ll do whatever I have to, to find Liz’s murderer.’

  ‘If, Larry Banks was the last person to see her alive . . .’ John said, looking as if he was finding it hard to take in.

  ‘At this moment in time he is the prime suspect,’ interrupted Dylan.

  ‘Flaming hell.’

  ‘Once I’ve informed HQ and the Command Team, then we’ll tell the investigation team.’ Dylan heaved a sigh. ‘And at the moment I don’t have a clue where to start looking.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Not only that, have you heard the news? A Frank Miller’s been shot by the Greater Manchester police.’

  ‘No,’ replied John, startled by a further revelation.

  ‘What I’m going to tell you this morning, will remain within the team. If I find anyone has been idly gossiping or speaking out of turn, they’ll be off the enquiry and never again work on another major investigation. Do I make myself clear?’ Dylan told the Liz Reynolds investigation team. There were one or two mumblings and then the room fell silent. The group knew from the look on his face that DI Dylan meant business. He explained to his team about the finding of the fingerprints, plus the positive identification of Detective Sergeant Larry Banks.

  ‘Larry obviously knew Liz Reynolds. There may be some innocent explanation. If any of you know of one, or know where he is at this moment in time, then please share that information with me or DS Benjamin. It will be kept in the strictest of confidences, but until we talk to him and eliminate him, he’s a suspect, he has to be,’ Dylan told them. ‘Priority enquiries will now commence, focusing on Larry. I will be prioritising actions for enquiries at his flat, his telephone; anything that will locate him. He’s the prime suspect in this investigation and will be treated as such.’

  There was an unsettled atmosphere in the room, which was most unusual. Did someone know something, anything? Did everyone know something he and John didn’t? Or was it just unease at the thought of one of their own being a murderer.

  ‘Moving on. On last night’s news there was a bulletin about a Frank Miller being shot in Manchester.

  ‘Is this the same Frankie Miller that was banged up with Malcolm Reynolds? Natalie, get onto it at once, will you?’ Natalie, the researcher, nodded in the affirmative. ‘I want you to liaise with Manchester police and start establishing if this is the case.’

  Once again there was no movement and silence ensued. ‘Is there anything anyone wants to share with the team, with us?’ Dylan asked. There was a pause.

  ‘No? Okay, forensics have just informed me that they’re positive they’ll have further updates for us today, boss,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Thank you. If there is nothing else then pick up your actions and let’s get the show on the road.’

  Dylan sat back in his chair in the SIO’s office, alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t believe what was happening. If Larry was guilty, then why hadn’t he attempted to clear up after himself? If Larry had murdered Liz, Dylan would have expected him to at least make an attempt to cover his tracks. His mind was being bombarded with all sorts of possibilities; one minute defending Larry, the next finding him guilty.

  The day progressed with police liaison confirming that Malcolm Reynolds’ mum Janet had been contacted by him. Now Dylan was satisfied that all of Liz’s family had been made aware of her death, he could give her details and photographs to the press. He’d be asking for help from anyone who had seen or been in contact with her recently. The press release would be sent to all the media. Maybe - just maybe - someone would come forward with info
rmation that would move the investigation forward. Had anyone seen Liz with Larry? How did Larry know her? Maybe they had got to know each other when Malcolm Reynolds got himself locked up; Dylan knew Larry had been on the enquiry.

  The morning had flown by.

  He texted Jen. ’The day’s gone into free fall. All sorts happening – catch up with you when I get a min x’

  ‘Don’t worry about me just don’t overdo it. X.’ was Jen’s reply.

  Vicky knocked at the door. ‘An update already from forensics, boss. They’ve got a full DNA from the balaclava and it’s going to be checked on the national DNA database. ‘Dylan raised his eyebrows. ‘And wait for it,’ she said smiling. ‘There are enough semen stains found on the bed sheets taken from ‘The Grange’ to get a profile from, and the burnt suitcase contained books; law textbooks.’

  Dylan was so surprised by the revelation that he was lost for words.

  ‘And there’s more. Inside the burnt car, they’ve found the remnants of a mobile phone and are doing tests on the SIM card. They seem hopeful it’s not totally destroyed. They’re going to ring me back with their findings, ASAP. All good news, eh?’

  ‘Brilliant Vicky,’ Dylan said, forcing a smile.

  The enquiry was buzzing but Dylan still couldn’t help kicking himself. If he had done things differently over the past few weeks, could some of the incidents have been prevented? If he hadn’t been so keen to help Chubby Connor, would Charlie still be alive? Boy, he thought, picking up the post-mortem photographs from their place upon his desk, had that little lad suffered. Why hadn’t they managed to trace the twats yet? What if he’d spoken to Larry; tackled the addiction Dylan believed he had. Told him to go home and not come back till he had sorted out his problems, or even got him help? Would Fred White have been in hospital now? Would Liz still be alive? It niggled him like a thorn in his side. Was he off the boil?

  ‘Shortbread, sir?’ Lisa said, from the doorway. Dylan smiled weakly.

  ‘Thank you; that would be lovely.’ Dylan beckoned her into the office.

  ‘We’re worried about you. You’re not usually so quiet,’ she said as he picked a triangle from the box.

  ‘I just don’t like it when coppers are involved; it leaves a nasty taste.’

  ‘Coppers and kids, boss, the worst to deal with, I remember you once told me. But we strive to get justice for the victims and their families, and we will never give up, you said.’ She was right; he needed to think positive.

  He stared out of his office window long after she’d gone, thinking about what she’d said. Leaning on his desk with both elbows he absentmindedly nibbled at his biscuit. He heard a tittering from the general office and looked over. The girls were mimicking him, and he laughed with them. He got up from his chair and stood at his door. ’Come on, let’s get all this shit flushed away and get back to normal.’ said Dylan. ’Quitters never win and winners never quit.’ he said, dramatically slamming the door shut. His phone rang.

  ‘Sir, PC Jordan. We’re at the home address of Larry Banks, after a bad smell was reported by a neighbour. We’ve forced entry.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Dylan whispered under his breath, as he put his hand to his forehead.

  ‘We’ve found the body of a man. Face down on the bed. Paramedics were called and pronounced him dead, so we’ve come out of the scene to call you.’

  Dylan sat down. ’Do you...Is it …?’

  ‘Sir… I didn’t want to disturb anything until you’re satisfied it’s not suspicious. I can’t see the person’s face.’

  ‘Yes, err...right...good. I’m on my way.’ Dylan faltered. His stomach lurched, and fear crept through his veins. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Twenty minutes later, he had spoken to the uniformed officers outside, before stepping into Larry’s apartment. Booted and suited he saw the body of the man was face down as PC Jordan had said. His face totally swallowed up in a feather pillow. Dylan’s pulse quickened. He could only liken the atmosphere to that of a funeral of a personal friend or family member; quiet and penetrating. There was a note visible on the bedside table. The envelope read; ‘To Whom It May Concern. ‘Was it Larry’s handwriting? He couldn’t tell. It was printed in capital letters. ‘Should he look at it first?’ he thought. He took a deep breath and knelt at the side of the bed, so he could get a closer look at what could be seen of the front part of the man’s head and sides of his face. He had to know.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dylan couldn’t have been more than a foot away from the head. He rested his hand on the pillow and pushed, ever so slightly with his gloved hand, to reveal more of the man’s face and let out a huge unsteady gasp. The relief he felt was enormous; it wasn’t Larry, but who was he, and what was he doing in Larry’s flat? He stood, and with shaking hands and a heart that would not be still, he picked up the envelope and carefully extracted the contents.

  ‘Dear Mum & Dad

  Sorry, I know you only wanted the best for me by sending me away to Uni. I really did try… but I’m so lonely and my life feels so hopeless. I know you won’t understand, but maybe you will forgive me for being weak. I’m not as tough as you, Dad. I only wish I was. Now I’ve admitted it to you I can find peace.

  Yours forever,

  Gordon’

  Dylan lifted his eyes from the letter and scanned the bedroom. A brief search found a rental agreement from Harrowfield Estate Agents, which revealed the body was that of Gordon Blake.

  ‘Another sad one for the coroner’s officer; how tragic. Bright enough to go to university but not wise enough to value his life,’ he whispered. Although he was relieved it wasn’t Larry, he felt saddened that anyone could take their own life over something that could have easily have been sorted. If only he’d talked to his parents and told them how he’d felt. He stared hopelessly at the small white tablets and plastic container near the body.

  A lot of information was exchanged in the evening briefing and the team looked tired and hungry. It was late. Mr Ian Beckwith from Barclays Bank had come forward to say that Liz had withdrawn money; and a member of his staff had told him he had put it directly into a suitcase for her, the day before the murder.

  ‘Vicky, go and see Mr Beckwith tomorrow will you. We need a statement from anyone who saw or spoke to Liz,’ said Dylan.

  ‘It’s been confirmed that the Frank Miller shot in Manchester was the same Frankie Miller who’d been locked up with Malcolm Reynolds,’ said Natalie. ‘Seemingly, he walked into the bank with a shotgun and demanded cash. The panic alarm was activated and the shutters sprung up. He fired at the armed response team as he left the bank. They didn’t hesitate. Frankie died instantly, from rapid fire from trained firearms officers who aimed at Frankie’s philtrum, the point under his nose, which rendered Frankie incapable of pulling the trigger, or any other action, so they tell me.’

  ‘And,’ said John, ‘I can now confirm, Larry had been involved in Malcolm Reynolds’ arrest and conviction. Also, enquires at the Harrowfield Estate Agency revealed that Larry had commenced an agreement with Gordon Blake, via them, after he’d left the area.’

  ‘So, where’s the money? Did Larry have it?’ said Dylan.

  ‘It’s not in his flat.’

  ‘There are still a lot of questions to be answered. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll move things forward again. I’ll be speaking with the chief constable and command team, letting them know, that on the evidence available at this time, we have no alternative but to arrest Larry Banks on suspicion of murder. And it seems likely that Interpol will have to be involved. Thank you everyone for your efforts today. I’ll see you here again tomorrow morning. ’There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ said Jen, hesitantly. ‘I’ve brought jam doughnuts; they’re still warm,’ she grinned, as she handed them around to the team.

  ‘Thank you,’ Dylan mouthed to her, as he watched his team, licking the sugar off their fingers. They were smiling again; her gesture lifting their spirits.

&n
bsp; Dylan’s head ached; it was late. ‘Time for home, my good woman,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulder and squeezing her tight, as everyone filed out, thanking Jen for her kind thought. She smiled, and looking up at Dylan thought how well he’d sleep tonight. He looked all in.

  ‘I’ll just finish up here and I’ll be home shortly,’ he said yawning.

  ‘I’ll see you in bed then,’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s past ten now.’

  Dylan had spent his entire working life thinking himself a good judge of character, but now he had to admit to himself, in Larry and Chubby’s case, that tried and tested ability, had let him down badly. The only thing he could do now was make sure they were both caught and put before the courts.

  The house was almost in darkness, apart from the light from the lamp in the hallway that Jen had left on for him. Max lay at the foot of the stairs. His tail flapped in acknowledgement of Dylan’s arrival but he didn’t bother raising his head.

  ‘Good boy.’ Dylan knelt down to pat him. have you bin looking after your mam again for me mate?’ he whispered.

  Jen was fast asleep. Curled up under the duvet, she looked so content he didn’t want to wake her, but he knew he would as soon as he put the light on. He touched her face and she stirred.

  ‘Let’s rewind the clock to last night, eh love?’ he whispered.

  ‘You want me to get up and make you a warm drink?’ she murmured, sleepily without opening her eyes.

  ‘Nah, I’ll just crawl into bed next to you. I’m knackered,’ he said before he went into the bathroom to undress.

  Jen lay awake, waiting for him to get into bed, rolling to his side to warm it, best she could. Ah, it was freezing. She shivered. She wished he’d put in for a transfer to detective training; he’d work nine-to-five days, get every weekend off, never be on call. Jack had such a lot of experience to share with would-be detectives. The CID aides seemed to like him. He’d do a good job. She smiled to herself; a plan in the making she thought as she drifted off to sleep.