White Lilies (26 page)

‘I think we need to have a break, Inspector, please,’ Lin Perfect said, holding up her notepad in a shaking hand. She stood at the door like a caged animal hoping to be let out of the room, quickly.

The interview was terminated.

‘Donald Harvey was telling the truth,’ Taylor said thoughtfully as she hurried behind Dylan on the corridor. ‘I think I owe him one hell of an apology.’

That was the last thing on Dylan’s mind as he went over what Stevenson had said – and, more importantly, what he hadn’t said.

Flashing blue lights could be seen and sirens heard as he arrived back in his office. A note was pinned to his desk.
Jen rang, can you ring her back,
it said. Dylan brushed it aside and picked up his mobile phone. There was a message.


Avril Summerfield-Preston left her calling card. I was out walking with Dawn and Violet trying to get little Button to make her appearance. Aren’t I the lucky one
?
Speak soon. X.

‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll catch up with you sooner or later, love,’ he mumbled, as he tucked his phone in his pocket and smiled to himself.

‘Lisa,’ Dylan called. ‘I need a team briefing and I need it ASAP.’ Lisa pattered into the office with a pad and a pen in her hand. ‘We need to discuss the results of the interview with Stevenson and speak about need for the extensive work that will have to be done now, in respect of other elderly women that have died or any that are still alive and on his books, with a view to linking them to him.’

Lisa nodded in agreement as she took the notes in shorthand.

‘I need to identify the owners of the rings – and the only way to do that is if the relatives of the deceased, or his female clients who are lucky enough to still be alive, are able to help us. We’ll need to find out the cause of death of any of his clients that have died.’

‘That’s not going to be easy, sir.’

‘Not impossible though. The easiest way of course would be if he’d speak to us but that’s unlikely based on his present behaviour and responses.’

Dylan stood before his team the next day. He was satisfied that Brian Stevenson had murdered Mildred Sykes after systematically stealing from her. He told them Stevenson had admitted being at her house, stating that he knew she was dead.

‘The fingertip marks inside the silver carriage clock casing along with Mildred’s are his, fingerprints have confirmed it,’ Vicky said.

‘Fantastic. We’ll have another interview with him and then we’ll charge him and get him remanded for Mildred’s murder, which will allow us to continue our enquiries. Find out how his own mother died will you, Dennis?’

‘I’m waiting for you to get stuck into him again, boss,’ said Taylor. ‘Shall I arrange for the solicitor to be ready in half an hour?’ she said looking at her watch.

‘Yeah,’ said Dylan. John had arrived, looking suitably refreshed. Dylan put an arm around his shoulder and led him into his office, closing the door before Taylor could enter behind them.

‘Going well then boss?’ said John. Dylan nodded.

‘At least we’re going to be in a position to charge, whether he continues to speak to us or not. So far so good,’ he sighed. ‘But it would be nice if he bared his soul.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Ten minutes for the solicitor boss, I’m ready when you are,’ Taylor said with a smile.

‘In that case Taylor, any chance of some coffee?’ he asked.

‘I hope that won’t spoil a celebratory drink later, sir,’ she said.

John pored over the notes that Dylan had given him. Updating him as to what needed to be talked about in interview was important at this stage. The time was ticking away on Stevenson’s custody clock and they needed as much information from Stevenson as possible before they charged him.

When she came back with the coffee, Dylan told Taylor that he had fully updated John, who would resume interviewing with her.

‘Oh, okay,’ Taylor said with disdain.

Dylan was trying not to dislike her. Visually the woman was attractive, but unfortunately her personality didn’t match her looks. She was moody, he already knew that, but he didn’t like the way she thought that men couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to resist her. She had a lot to learn if she was going to continue working with Dylan because at the moment she didn’t know him at all.

He texted the only woman in his life.
Things going okay will be charging later so it could be a late one, don’t wait up.

‘Boss, the blue lights, a short while ago,’ said Vicky. ‘They were speeding off to St Thomas’ – a woman called on three nines about a bloke acting suspiciously in the graveyard. She’d been to put some flowers on her late husband’s grave when she saw him taking flowers from the others.’

‘And,’ Dylan said.

‘He had a knife in his hand.’

‘She obviously got away.’

‘Yes, but the description she gave our boys sounds like Wainstall.’

‘I wonder if the flowers were white lilies?’ said Vicky. ‘God, a goose has just walked over my grave,’ she continued, rubbing her arms. ‘How weird is he, eh? Helicopter has been scrambled; dogs have been called for, but nothing yet.’

‘He’s one of the evil ones, Vicky, who needs to be back behind bars sooner rather than later.’

‘The lady wasn’t wrong; the town centre CCTV control room have informed Control they had sighted a man fitting Wainstall’s description carrying a bunch of flowers and heading towards the subway from Crown Street which leads under the ring road to the Midland Road area. Units have been deployed.’ Vicky said.

‘There are four exits from that one, aren’t there Vicky? One that takes you towards Pellon Lane as well as Gibbet Street, Crown Street and Silver Street?’

‘You’re probably right. I wouldn’t know the street names.’

‘Get us a radio switched on and we’ll listen in to see what’s happening.’

Vicky and Dylan sat quietly together in the CID office listening for developments. All units were in place with each exit covered, helicopter overhead and according to CCTV control he was still in there.’

‘Like a rat in a drainpipe boss. They must have him, they must,’ said Vicky

‘What worries me Vicky is who else might be in there with him. He could have attacked someone or be attacking someone – and we have no way of knowing,’ Dylan said, tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘Come on, come on.’ He picked up the phone. ‘Control room, DI Dylan, regarding the incident in the subway. Can we get double crews to enter each entrance with care at the same time. I’m concerned that our suspect may have cornered someone in there.’

‘Affirmative,’ the officer replied.

‘Vicky, get some car keys and grab that radio; we need to get down there.’

The phone rang. ‘Boss, it’s for you,’ said Dennis covering the mouthpiece.

‘I’m not here,’ he replied.

‘Do you want me with you boss? ’ asked Taylor.

‘No, crack on with Stevenson – we need him sorting. Hopefully it will be over by the time we get there.’ Vicky appeared with a pickaxe handle from behind her desk.

‘What the hell?’ Dylan said.

‘I know we’ve got CS spray and that boss, but I don’t want Edward Scissorhands cutting me, especially across the bloody chest. My stab proof vest doesn’t fit me
anymore.’

Dylan tutted. ‘Come on let’s go.’

‘But boss, Avril Summerfield-Preston wants to speak to you …’ Dennis mouthed the words to him so she couldn’t overhear.

‘If it’s her, I’m long gone,’ Dylan shouted as he strutted towards the door with Vicky in his wake.

Dylan’s r
ight
hand
was placed
expertly
on the
steering wheel
, while
his
left grasped the top of the pickaxe handle. ‘Put that bloody pickaxe handle on the back seat will you before you take my eye out?’ he said. She moaned.

Dylan looked at Vicky and they knew
they shared the same thought. ‘Hold on tight,’ he said.

The nearest access for them was Pellon Lane.

‘Stand off situation, sir,’ said the uniformed officer as they alighted from the car. ‘Our man has a lady at knifepoint and is threatening to slit her throat.

‘I knew it. Don’t take his threats lightly, he’ll do what he says,’ said Dylan, gravely.

As Dylan and Vicky strode down the subway, all Dylan could hear were their own footsteps and the echo of a dog barking which seemed to him as if it was bouncing off the cold, damp, tiled walls.

‘You still got that pickaxe handle, Vicky?’

‘Right here boss, up my sleeve,’ Vicky said.

Dylan smiled despite the dire situation. He could see before him a large black Alsatian straining at the end of a leash held by a dog handler as they turned the corner of the underground tunnel.

‘You better get the handle out. It might give the dog something to chew on,’ Dylan grimaced.

‘Thought you liked dogs?’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she let the wood slip down the sleeve of her coat and into her hand.

‘I do, but not attached to my leg.’

A group of officers stood in their line of sight. Shouting could be heard.

‘Let her go now. Do it now. Let her go!’

Dylan could see the backs of the uniformed personnel who wore stab-proof vests and slash-proof gloves. They were standing in an arch, each about ten yards from Wainstall. A couple of the officers brandished their batons were holding CS spray in their outstretched hands, but Dylan’s attention was drawn to the terrified look on the lady’s face.

It was apparent that Wainstall was holding her up by her hair in his left hand and Dylan could see he had a large bladed knife in his right hand, pointed at her throat. His eyes were dark and dead, like a shark’s eyes. He towered over his hostage who was ashen-faced and gasping for breath. Wainstall didn’t look like a man who had an ounce of compassion in him as he taunted the police with all the arrogance of the victor.

‘Come on,’ he growled, brandishing his muscles. His lips curled tightly over his clenched teeth. ‘Come on then. Come near me copper and I’ll cut her fucking throat.’

‘My God,’ Vicky said, her lip trembling and her voice shaking. The reality of the situation hit home with a force she hadn’t felt before.

Dylan realised at that moment that he was the most senior police officer present and therefore in charge of the scene. The officers in attendance would expect him to take control.

‘I need a firearms unit immediately,’ he told a uniformed officer.

‘At least then there’ll be an option of taking him out if he makes a move to use the weapon on her,’ he whispered to Vicky. ‘Get me an ambulance on standby. The poor woman will already be in shock – and who knows who else will need it yet,’ he said. Vicky nodded her head.

‘Step further away and to try silence that dog will you,’ Dylan told the dog handler in a hushed tone. ‘Take a few paces back, lower your batons and put your CS gas away,’ he told the officers with a calm, controlled and quiet voice.

‘Give me two full-length riot shields,’ he ordered. Now everything was urgent and Dylan was pleased his commands were being obeyed immediately and without question. Wainstall, Dylan knew, enjoyed using the knife and Dylan was aware that he could do so again, at any moment.

Fortunately, the shields were in the police transit van at the mouth of the subway. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the officer carrying them down the tunnel towards him. He didn’t know how long he could hold Wainstall’s attention.

Taking the two officers with the shields to one side, he told them of his plan, which he tried to keep as near to a well-rehearsed public order training exercise as he could.

‘Flatten the armed man against the wall with the shields,’ he said. ‘Ensure the arm holding the weapon is outside the shields so he can be disarmed.’ 

‘Vicky, I want you to look after the victim once we’ve got her released. I’m going to try to negotiate the release of the lady, then you’ll have a chance with the shields to try and contain him – and if that doesn’t work, well we’ll have to use the firearms,’ he said. ‘It’s a life and death situation. Try to stay calm at all times.’

Dylan moved forward, between the two shielded officers, to within a couple of yards of Wainstall and his captive and with his outstretched hand he grabbed the wooden pickaxe handle Vicky was holding.

‘How the hell do you negotiate with someone hell-bent on killing?’ he mumbled giving her a fleeting look. He needed to try, quickly, for the sake of the poor hostage.

‘Frederick, Frederick Wainstall what’re you doing? Let her go immediately,’ Dylan shouted with an authority that he believed Wainstall would be used to responding to.

Wainstall had a fixed smile upon his face as he looked towards Dylan.

‘What’re you doing? You don’t know this lady, do you? Let go of her now,’ Dylan continued. Wainstall didn’t move, just  gripped the knife tighter and raised his arm as though to stab, as opposed to slash, his prey. There was  an intake of breath and the woman appeared to moan and flop to the floor. Wainstall’s arm jolted – and if he hadn’t been holding her up by the hair before, he definitely was now.

Dylan could hear the sound of running footsteps behind him, which he knew would be the instant response firearms team. He knew Vicky would brief them and they would get themselves into a position to be able to fire, if required.

It wasn’t long before Dylan saw the red dot of the laser sight from a firearm on Wainstall’s forehead. Dylan exhaled  – that reassured him. They were not only in position, but he and the other two officers were not blocking their view.

‘Wainstall.’ Dylan shouted again, with vigour. ‘Stop this at once. Can I call you Frederick, or would you rather I call you Fred?’ he tried a different approach. At least while he was listening to Dylan, he wasn’t using the knife.

‘You can call me Mr Fred,’ he said, to Dylan’s surprise.

‘Mr Fred, could you please let the lady go? You don’t need to hurt her. Look how frightened she is. The poor woman has fainted,’ Dylan said.

‘No way. You’ll beat me. When I’ve got a knife nobody beats me or makes fun of me. Nobody,’ he shouted, his voice rising into a scream.

‘But the lady hasn’t made fun of you or beat you, has she?’

‘No, but she looks like my aunt – and she did,’ he snarled, pulling her head back so he could see her face. ‘She always beat me, till I got a knife.’

‘What about the boy in the street, Mr Fred? He didn’t.’

‘Kids do. All kids. They make fun of me, but not when I have a knife,’ he snarled.

‘I’m worried. He’s agitated. Be ready to react,’ Dylan whispered to the officers by his side. 'Pass it back to the firearms team to keep flashing the red dot in his eye. Here goes.’

‘Do I make you angry Frederick?’ Dylan said. Purposely, he didn’t call him Mr Fred, the name he had elected to be called. He could see the red laser dot flashing across Wainstall’s eye and he knew it was annoying him, much to Dylan’s delight.

‘It’s Mr Fred to you,’ Wainstall screeched.

‘But, I don’t want to call you Mr Fred,’ Dylan said.

‘You’re fucking annoying me,’ Wainstall shouted, lifting his right arm with the knife above his head once more in a threatening manner.

‘I don’t make you angry, you’re just an angry man,’ Dylan shouted back.

Wainstall’s hair fell over his face and he tossed his head back. He let go of his victim’s hair momentarily to rub his left eye and she fell on her knees to the floor. Wainstall went to grab her.

‘Now.’ shouted Dylan at the top of his voice as he surged forward with the two officers who held the shields. Vicky threw herself across the tiled floor to snatch the old lady, dragging her sideways and shielding her as best she could with her body.

Wainstall was squashed against the subway wall with the shields like a pressed flower. Dylan’s reach with the pickaxe handle landed straight on top of Wainstall’s head. The knife fell from his hand. The push behind the front three officers made their advance feel like Dylan was in a rugby scrum. Wainstall had been well and truly taken by surprise.

The knife was picked up off the floor, out of Wainstall’s reach. Dylan stepped back to take a breath as the officers with the riot shields grappled with him on the floor. Wainstall kicked out like a mule, but he was outnumbered. His wrists were handcuffed and his legs bound. He wriggled with all the strength he could muster, trying to bite the officers who carried him out of the subway.

His piercing, sadistic laughter echoed through the tunnel and up and out of each exit with the breeze that emanated from the underground. As he was carried up the steps and into the sunlight Dylan could hear his voice and that of the officer shouting at him fading away.

All that was left in the tunnel were the whimpering sounds of the poor soul he had petrified. Dylan saw the elderly lady sat with her head bent as far as she could between her knees. Tears streamed down her face and she gasped silent sobs. Her back was safely against the subway wall, the contents of the handbag strewn across the floor.

‘Are you okay?’ Dylan said gently as he bent down to her. She shook her head and her moan filled the air as she leaned her head back against the cold tiled wall. Vicky sat alongside her and held her tightly.

‘Just shocked, I think boss,’ she said reassuringly. ‘That was a close call.’ Vicky let out a huge sigh and moved her hand to rub the lady’s back reassuringly as she leaned forward once more. The paramedics arrived and lifted her to her feet. Slowly and reassuringly they walked her to the waiting ambulance. Around them, officers scurried quietly and efficiently collecting the contents of the lady’s shopping bag.

‘Could someone go with her?’ Dylan asked. ‘Ensure her family are contacted will you and arrange to take a statement from her,’ he said.

A paramedic lifted Dylan’s hand. Blood dripped from his fingers.

‘Ouch,’ he said as he pulled it away.

‘Nothing broke,’ she smiled as she wiggled his fingers, ‘but it’s a nasty cut …’ she said. ‘If it still hurts when the swelling's gone down,’ she told him, ‘then it might need an x-ray.’

‘You’ll never hear the end of it from Dennis, boss,’ Vicky said with a relieved laugh.

‘You’ve obviously recovered from the shock of it all,’ Dylan said wincing as the paramedic tied on the bandage.

The local press had been at the subway’s mouth taking pictures of Wainstall as he was carried out. They waited patiently to speak to Dylan.

‘He’s an extremely violent man who didn’t want to be arrested. I’ll update you later,’ he said. ‘Yes, before you go to print,’ he promised.

Dylan walked towards the team who were gathered beside the marked cars. ‘Thank you,’ he said, to the staff who had held the shields for him, and the firearms team.

There was a female stood at the fore that looked too young to be a police officer, let alone carrying a firearm. He was getting old, he conceded for the umpteenth time lately. He had nothing but respect for them. The intense training they did, their individual and team restraint they showed in life threatening situations such as this was admirable.

Dylan considered himself quite a calm individual but with a firearm in his hand he could think of many occasions in his career when he would have used it.

‘Vicky,’ he shouted. She looked toward him as she stood at the open ambulance doors. ‘Back to the nick please. I think we deserve a strong cup of coffee,’ Dylan said as he climbed into his car.

‘If he’d gone to stab her, boss, do you think firearms would have shot him?’ asked Vicky as she unceremoniously hurled herself into the passenger seat. ‘Hey, you okay to drive?’ she continued, without waiting for an answer.

Dylan shook his head. ‘Of course. That’s what they’re there for Vicky, and I wouldn’t have expected much of his head left if they have done.’

‘Urgh,’ she shuddered. ‘That’s gross. Can’t you just take me on a nice quiet enquiry next time,’ she asked.

‘In this job?’ he said raising his voice. He was quiet as they drove into the station yard.

‘Tell you what,’ Vicky said. Dylan looked across at his passenger with a raised eyebrow. ‘It’s gonna be fun interviewing him though in’t it?’ she said.

‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ said Dylan.

‘Well you better have. He’s like Mr Evil, never mind Mr Fred,’ she said. ‘He puts the willies up me.’

Dylan looked at her with both eyebrows raised this time as he put the car into reverse and negotiated his way into his parking space.

‘You know what I mean,’ she chuckled, slapping his arm playfully.

‘Hey, look out – I’m injured,’ he wailed.

‘Serves you right.’

‘What? I never said anything?’ he said.

‘Maybe not, but all you blokes are all alike. I know what you’re thinking.’

‘We’re not all the same – far from it? Look at Mr Fred’.

‘Yeah, but he’s sorted now.’

‘Not quite, but think how many lives as he’s ruined in his life, so far? And fortunately the subway arrest worked out well, otherwise we could have had more bodies to deal with,’ Dylan said.

‘Not with you in charge, boss,’ she smiled.

‘It doesn’t matter who’s in charge, Vicky. When the negotiation technique works everything is fine, however when it doesn’t the proverbial shit hits the fan, no matter what.’

‘I can think of some bosses who would still be considering whether or not to send anyone into the subway. Believe me, there’s nothing worse than being stood around in a group waiting for a decision to be made,’ said Vicky.