White Lilies (25 page)

‘Sure,’ Sergeant Wilson smiled at Vicky.

‘That okay with you?’ asked Dylan.

‘Is it ever.’ she said grabbing her bag and rushing after Sergeant Wilson as he headed for the door with the CCTV footage in his hand.

‘And see if you can persuade her to take her bloody Sergeant's exams while you’re at it.’ Dylan called after them.

Sergeant Wilson raised his hand as he looked over his shoulder at Dylan.

Within the hour Dylan had viewed the CCT seized from the town centre precinct. It showed a man running around the corner onto the precinct. He stops, looks around. James Drinkwater emerges from the florist with a bunch of flowers in his hand. Suddenly, for no apparent reason the man begins to run after him, pulling two knives out of his coat pockets. He stabs James in the back with one, turns, and runs away.

‘He’s wearing a wool hat,’ said Dennis.

‘The witnesses got that right. But look at his footwear,’ Dylan said pointing to the brilliant white training shoes the man was wearing on the screen.

They let the tape run, but it didn’t show the attacker’s face. With fumbling hands Dennis quickly swapped the tape for the CCTV tape recovered from Union Street where the knife had been found.

‘It doesn’t get much better than that,’ Dylan said, with a smile, as they viewed a clear picture of a man dropping a knife in the bin from where the officer had recovered it. He looked up directly into the camera. The man didn’t quite have a goatee beard but what looked like a bad case of acne and unshaven hair on his chin.

‘It’s Wainstall.’ came the chorus of voices.

‘That’s for sure,’ said Dennis.

‘Let’s get his picture printed off and get him found. Remind people he’s dangerous and is likely to be in possession of a knife that he won’t hesitate to use. We don’t want any more stabbings’

The incident room telephone rang. Lisa answered it and listened intently. She put the phone down as if in slow motion.

‘Yes?’ said Dylan.

‘The hospital, sir,’ she said. All eyes were on Lisa’s grave face. ‘Billy Greenwood lost his fight for life a few minutes ago’.

Dylan hadn’t heard from Jen. His phone charged enough to have a signal, he turned it back on. It beeped a message. He didn’t recognise the number. Taylor stumbled into Dylan’s office door and dropped the evidence bags she’d been carrying.

‘Shit.’ Dylan heard her cry.

‘More haste, less speed, don’t they say?’ said Dylan as he rose from his chair behind the desk. John opened the door and guided an unsteady Taylor inside.

‘You okay? Come in,’ he said.

‘Flaming heels, they’ll be the death of me,’ she said, standing on one leg as she removed the offending broken shoe. Her concern only fuelled the cruel
sting
of
embarrassment
.

‘Am I glad to see you two,’ Dylan said, with a sigh of relief as he looked at his dirty and exhausted DSs. Taylor dumped the bags of property seized from Brian Stevenson’s hotel room on Dylan’s desk, then fell unceremoniously into a chair.

‘You look just about all in.’

‘Nothing that a strong cup of coffee won’t put right,’ said John. ‘You should have seen the hotel room, boss. It was like a haul from a jeweller’s, plus sixty grand we reckon, in cash.’

‘How do you two feel about going into interview?’ Dylan asked tentatively.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I can’t wait to see what Stevenson’s got to say for himself,’ said Taylor.
Her face was
flushed
and
her eyes
lit up with anticipation
.

‘Me too, there’s a lot for him to explain away,’ added John. Dylan saw the bags that had formed under his eyes in the past few weeks and he knew he was feeling the strain of the enquiry.

‘I’m told it’s Lin Perfect from Perfect and Best that’s awaiting your call to attend to represent her client – so let’s get cracking, shall we? Remember keep an open mind and don’t accept the first thing that he tells you.’

Dylan intently watched the live stream footage of the interview on the monitor in his office. He could hear his heart beating with anticipation but as a higher tier trained interviewer he missed the face-to-face confrontation and psychological battle on a regular basis.

The two detective sergeants appeared before him on the screen and Dylan shuffled in his seat. He leaned closer to the screen. He saw Brian Stevenson sitting alongside his solicitor.

‘For the purpose of the tape,’ John said. ‘Please can you give me your name?’

In unfaltering, clear voices, the financial advisor and solicitor spoke their names clearly. The interview commenced. Dylan shook his head; he would never understand the reason for the caution. Why would anyone but the British put a suspect in an interview room, wanting them to admit to an offence and then spend time telling them that they don’t have to say anything?

Firstly, John went over Brian Stevenson’s background before asking him to explain where he was going when they had found him in his hotel room and account for the large amount of money he had with him along with the numerous bejewelled rings.

Stevenson didn’t answer any of the questions put to him. He stared at them, never blinking, never taking his eyes off them, never showing an ounce of emotion.

Taylor was to play the
friendly cop
to encourage cooperation by Stevenson in building his trust in her as opposed to John, the aggressor. John pushed the issue of the murder of Mildred Sykes and the silver carriage clock.

It was obvious to Dylan that Stevenson didn’t like the way John put things to him in a manner that he was made to face the facts. The response was still the same. The two detectives now knew that Lin Perfect had advised Stevenson not to answer questions put to him as he ‘no commented’ repeatedly. They were prepared however to ask everything that Dylan had planned for them to ask, giving him the opportunity to answer. If not, at a later stage, the solicitor could argue that her client would have replied if the questions had been put to him.

They meticulously asked every question. Dylan was pleased. Some questions that were put to Stevenson provoked a flicker of something in his eyes. Every now and then Stevenson ran his hand distractedly through his hair.

For the forty-five minutes duration of the tape, Stevenson managed to remain silent while under extreme pressure, which Dylan knew wasn’t an easy thing to do. He didn’t appear unduly fazed. They would take a thirty-minute break.

From the confines of his office, Dylan saw Sergeant Wilson arrive in the incident room. He knocked at the door, Dylan bid him entry and he took a seat after placing the paperwork and exhibits from the hospital on Dylan's desk. Within seconds, Vicky entered with coffee for the men.

‘He deserves this, boss. He’s been working ever so hard,’ she said. Dylan smiled. Sergeant Wilson blushed.

‘Oh, have you got it bad girl?’ Dylan laughed when Sergeant Wilson excused himself to go to the rest room.

In typical Vicky fashion, she brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulders with a flick of her hand and looked at Dylan through her fringe, smiling. On his return, Dylan gave them the update on Wainstall and a copy of his mugshot.

‘I’ll get his description circulated on a bulletin on the intranet to all relevant areas for PCs and PCSOs to look out for him, boss. He shouldn’t be that difficult to find if he’s still out and about,’ said Sergeant Wilson, looking at Vicky and smiling as he spoke.

‘We haven’t found him yet though,’ Dylan said.

‘Do you know, I think that CCTV footage is one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen,’ said Vicky, emotionally charged. ‘How could anyone stab a kid like that for nothing?’ she said.

‘Looking at the tape, it’s apparent he had two knives. One we’ve recovered, but the other? The likelihood is that he still has one with him, so be sure to remind everyone how bloody dangerous he is,’ Dylan said.

Sergeant Wilson got up to leave. ‘I’m on with it sir.’

‘Be seeing you soon, Sarge,’ said Vicky. Sergeant Wilson nodded at Dylan and smiled fondly at Vicky.

‘Bit too obvious, mate,’ whispered Dylan.

‘You think so?’ she cringed, as she sat on the chair facing Dylan, swinging her legs. She sprung up, smiled and glided out of the office.

Dylan shook his head.

To give John a break and allow him to nip home and see the family, Dylan agreed to stand in for him on the second interview with Stevenson. A different face might get a different response from him, occasionally he knew it did. On impulse, Dylan grabbed the crucial exhibits recovered from the hotel room to take in with him.

Taylor opened up the interviews after the usual caution. Stevenson once again sat staring at the detectives and didn’t respond to the change of personnel.

Dylan sat quietly watching every twitch on Stevenson’s face.

‘You were the last person to see Mildred Sykes alive according to her neighbours and on your own admission.

You took her a bunch of white lilies, didn’t you?’ said Taylor.

Stevenson didn’t respond.

‘Mr Stevenson, the purpose of an interview is to ascertain the truth. If you have nothing to hide, I can’t understand why you refuse to answer our questions,’ she continued.

Two blank faces looked at Dylan and Taylor from the other side of the table. Lin Perfect made a note in her book. ‘Inspector, it is my client's right to remain silent if he so wishes,’ she said, raising her eyes to look at him.

Dylan cleared his throat. ‘I understand that, and you will understand that it is my duty to put the allegations in order to him to give him the opportunity to respond,’ he said. He turned his head to address Stevenson. ‘So, do you agree you saw Mildred Sykes?’ said Dylan. Stevenson stared  directly into his eyes. ‘Well?’ said Dylan, raising his voice. The pair jumped. Taylor suppressed a smile.

‘You know I did,’ said Stevenson, quietly hanging his head. Dylan was pleased he’d spoke, but hoped he would continue to do so.

‘According to reports handed to your solicitor,’ Dylan said nodding in Lin Perfect’s direction. ‘It was about that time that she died. We know of no other visitors after you left. Your fingerprints are all over the house. Can you tell me why?’ Dylan said eagerly. Brian Stevenson brought his hands up to his face and rubbed it vigorously.

‘What were you looking for?’

It was now or never.

‘We have paper evidence that tells us you’d already taken large amounts of money from her. Does the jewellery that’s been recovered – for the purpose of the tape, DS Spiers is showing Brian Stevenson the rings they recovered from the hotel room Mr Stevenson was arrested in earlier today –  belong to her?’

Stevenson glanced at the rings on the desk in the plastic bags.

‘Well, does it?’ Dylan said impatiently.

‘Multiple questions, Inspector,’ Lin Perfect interrupted.

‘Feel free to answer any of them, Mr Stevenson,’ Dylan fired back. ‘Start with your prints on her bedside drawers, eh?’

‘I helped her look for things,’ Stevenson stammered.

‘What things?’

‘All sorts of things,’ he said obviously agitated.

‘Like what?’

‘Look, I was just about her only visitor, her only friend, so if she needed anything, I’d help.’ Stevenson said.

‘Friend? Is that what you call yourself?’ Dylan stopped and checked himself before resuming the mask of the hardened detective. ‘So, how did she get her head injury?’ Dylan said in a quieter fashion.

Brian Stevenson shrugged his shoulders.

‘Don’t you see that’s why you’re sitting where you are? I think you should think very carefull about your situation, Brian.’

The room went silent. Dylan knew that neither Taylor nor he would break that silence. A minute passed. Dylan could almost see Brian Stevenson’s brain working, considering his options. Stevenson looked sideways at Lin Perfect. She stared at him long and hard. It was the look of a parent to a child to behave, or else. She opened her mouth to speak and Dylan held his hand up to stop her. Stevenson turned to Dylan.

‘When I called to see her, she had already fallen and hurt her head. She refused to let me get any medical attention for her. She was a stubborn old thing, just like my mother used to be,’ he said with tears in his eyes. ‘I went back to see her the next day to make sure she was alright and took her the flowers to cheer her up but she was already dead. I was shocked, shaken,’ he swallowed, ‘afraid I would get the blame. That’s why I haven’t said anything before. I was frightened, old people die in their homes all the time don’t they? So I thought it was best to let her be found by someone else other than me.’ Stevenson said. He stopped talking momentarily. ‘There was nothing I could have done for her.’

Dylan and DS Taylor Spiers remained silent. The tape purred on. By remaining quiet and listening, Dylan hoped Stevenson would continue.

‘She was undeniably dead. I was sure she was, otherwise I would have called for an ambulance,’ he said, tears now rolling down his cheeks.

‘Do you know where she’d fallen?’ asked Dylan.

‘I think she had fallen down the stairs,’ he said, thinking aloud as he looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. ‘Yes,’ he sniffed. ‘I think that’s what she said.’

‘And you didn’t push her?’ Dylan said.

‘No,’ Stevenson said. ‘No, I didn’t push her.’

‘You understand we’ve got to ask the question.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t,’ Stevenson got a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his tearstained face.

‘Okay, then. Now, do you remember the silver carriage clock that we asked you about earlier?’ For a minute Brian Stevenson looked bewildered by the question. He physically shook himself. ‘Yes, yes I do. It was stolen from my house. That clock was the reason I knew my house had been burgled.’

‘If that’s the case, why do we have a photograph of Mildred Sykes with that same clock behind her on her mantlepiece?’

Stevenson stared once more through the detectives and made no reply.

‘And can you explain why Mildred Sykes’s fingerprints are on that clock?’

Stevenson’s face blanched, but he made no reply.

‘Well?’

Dylan waited for a reply that never came. ‘You robbed an old lady of her savings, her personal belongings and when you had bled her dry you battered her to death, didn’t you? Her injuries were not as a result of a fall, as you would have us believe, but as a direct result of being hit over the head with a ferocious blow by you. It was the same system you’d used on Grace Harvey and I wonder how many more old people? It was unfortunate for you, wasn't it, that Grace’s death was around the same time that Mildred was found, so you had to think of getting away and had obtained another name.’

Brian Stevenson fidgeted for a moment, swivelled round on his chair and turned to face the other way.

‘You can turn your back. You can remain silent. What you can’t do is change the facts, which are that you befriended, robbed and beat to death a defenceless old lady. You’re nothing but a greedy, evil man,’ Dylan spat.

Suddenly Stevenson turned and opened his mouth, his eyes wide, his face contorted. Lin Perfect jumped up from her seat and moved quickly to DS Spiers’ side. Stevenson threw his arms in the air. ‘You know, nothing. They were nasty, bossy women, just like my mother and they expected everything from me, everything. Do you hear me?’ His outburst stopped as suddenly as it had started and he sat down once, more facing the wall.