The Yorkshire Dipper Read online

  I frown. “What’s the point in putting up lifebuoys? Once someone is in the river, they’d need someone to throw it for them. It’s no good if a woman is on her own.”

  “Obviously,” Mark replies. “But I do agree with DCI Ingham. Women shouldn’t be walking around on their own in the first place. Especially after a few drinks. Which is why I’m telling you to be careful.”

  “Women have got as much right to walk around, wherever and whenever they want as men have.” I avert my gaze from the TV screen and look at him. “Unless you’re agreeing with me and saying there is more to it than meets the eye? That it is more suspicious than the police seem to be letting on?”

  “Lauren.” Mark slings his arm around my shoulder. “We’re still talking about bloody work. Let’s just spend some time together.”

  Chapter Three

  Becky

  Becky had been looking forward to their meal, which she had booked for her and Seb to celebrate the start of their next chapter. She’d bought a new dress and had gone to the hairdressers to have her hair curled whilst she’d been on her lunch break. She was soon wondering why she had bothered.

  Firstly Seb was late. She was on her second glass of wine by the time he arrived. “I’m sorry, hon,” he said as he lurched towards her. He hadn’t even had a shave. “I had to help Harvey with his car. I know exactly which wires needed connecting to get it going again.”

  “It’s OK.” Despite her annoyance, she was relieved he had turned up. There had been many a time he hadn’t. And tonight they were going to discuss the holiday they were going on together next year.

  Becky watched as Seb pressed the pockets on his jacket. “Shit,” he said, far too loudly. “I’ve gone and left my wallet at Harvey’s.”

  Becky had been starving when she’d clocked off her shift on the ward. She’d managed to get one of the nurses on nights to come in two hours early and had arranged to return the favour the following week. Her appetite was always the first thing to go when she was stressed or miserable. By the time the waitress put their food in front of them, it was non-existent. She ordered another large wine before the waitress disappeared.

  Over the meal, Seb informed Becky that he was going on a lad’s holiday instead of with her. And that he had decided not to move in with her after all. She couldn’t believe it. Just when they’d had the mortgage approved, and the offer accepted on the house. He reckoned it was all too much, too soon, but why had he let things go so far? One minute he was hot, the next he was freezing. And he wondered why Becky was insecure with him.

  The worst thing was that he couldn’t understand why she was so upset. “It’s only a house Bex,” he said, with a nervous-looking smirk. “Can’t you get one of your mates to move in with you?”

  “Of all the insensitive…” Becky began. Then stopped. They had never been on holiday together. He’d always rather go with his stupid friends. When she thought back over their relationship, Becky realised it was always her doing the legwork, the chasing, the organising, whilst he went along for the free ride - when he felt like it, that was.

  Becky could see that Seb was an utter commitment-phobe and was fast becoming aware that she could no longer waste any more of her time or energy on him.

  “Can we have the bill,” she said to the waitress. She was close to tears and just wanted to get away.

  “We’re going already?”

  “I’m going nowhere with you. You’re a waste of space Seb. You and your mates are welcome to each other. I’ll make my own way home, thank you.”

  “I thought you were staying at my place?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. All you ever do is let me down.”

  Of course, he probably thought she was messing about, as when she stormed off, he didn’t even bother going after her. Instead, he waved as she walked past the window at the front of the restaurant. Somehow she resisted the temptation to stride back inside and thump him.

  What have I been doing? She thought to herself as she walked absently away from the restaurant, tugging her hood up against the driving rain. No way can I stay with a man like him anymore. After wandering around for a little while, hoping the rain and fresh air might clear her head, she found herself in the Yorkshire Arms, which was dead for a Saturday night.

  There was a couple snogging each other’s face off by the window. Becky fought the urge to yell get a room. There was another couple who looked as though they were having a row, sat in front of the fire, and a couple of blokes, seemingly drunk, propping up the bar. They looked as though they could have been there all day.

  Becky ordered and quickly downed a glass of wine. She returned to the bar to order another one, starting to feel calmer. That was until one of the bar proppers tried engaging her in conversation. “Look,” she said. “I’ve had a row with my boyfriend. I’m here to get drunk, alright? So back off.”

  “Fair enough,” he had replied, raising the palms of his hands towards her. “I know where I’m not wanted.” God, if that’s the best I can do, she thought as she watched his retreat, then I might as well get drunk. He must have been close to fifty.

  And drunk Becky got. She’d done five shifts in a row and now had two days off. No way could she have faced another shift on the respiratory ward the next day, so her days off had come at a good time. By the time she was on her sixth glass of the evening, she noticed the man staring at her again. He’d obviously decided that she really was on her own. He smiled. She reached into her bag to call her friend, Caroline. She needed to tell someone what had happened with Seb. And also to look busy so the man might stop staring at her.

  She felt better after talking to Caroline, who’d had to cut the call shorter than Becky would have liked; she was away for the night with her partner. Caroline had then sent her a text. Sorry I couldn’t talk longer. I’ll give you a ring when I get back tomorrow. Chin up. I’m thinking of you. Xx

  Staring at her phone’s blank screen, wondering what to do next, it lost its signal. Turning it off and on again didn’t work. An initial spurt of anger at the inconvenience turned to relief, as she wouldn’t know, whether Seb should try getting in touch with her, or not. Did she even care anymore? The wine she’d drunk said she didn’t.

  However, she couldn’t ring a taxi either. Did she even want a taxi? Did she want to go home? Might Seb have turned up there, trying to win her round? She had wanted that house they’d put the offer on so much. And she had been excitedly looking forward to their holiday with every fibre of her being. Yet it was time for Becky to accept that she would never have been able to count on Seb for anything. Despite that, she was gutted. Why do I always go after the no-hoper time-wasters? It wasn’t as if she was getting any younger. She felt like wailing to the pub, what’s wrong with me?

  She ordered another wine, then decided to walk home, despite the fact that the weather looked to be even worse than it had been when she arrived. The barman might have called her a taxi, but she wasn’t sure that she would be able to coherently string the words together to ask him. It was about forty minutes, but the walk might sober her up and straighten out her thinking. She could not go on like she had been doing.

  Without looking at the man who had been gawking at her all night, she did the walk of shame to the exit of the pub, attempting to walk in a reasonably straight line.

  Chapter Four

  Lauren

  Each morning I tell myself that I’ll get more organised. The house looks like a bomb has dropped and I’ve got so much work to do today. Mark is on shift at eight and Alysha has to be dropped off by one of us at breakfast club. I’m freelance, but on some tight deadlines.

  Every day, there’s the madness of clean shirts for Mark, bookbags and uniform for Alysha and files for me. I always say I’ll get things ready the night before, but I never do. They’re long days for all of us, particularly at this time of year. The clocks have gone back and I’m struggling to adjust to darker nights and the loom of winter.

  “You look tired, Ma
rk.” I smile as he walks across the kitchen.

  “I’ve been at work far too much and I didn’t sleep well last night.” He pauses at my side and kisses my cheek.

  “I know. You kept waking me up.”

  “I was thinking.” Mark slots bread into the toaster. “In fact, it was what kept me awake last night. Two women dying in the same stretch of the river as the women last year. You’re right. It’s shit.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I just hope DCI Ingham does what’s needed, and quickly. We can’t have any more falling in. But he’s become haphazard since his wife left him. I feel sorry for him but he has taken his eye off the ball. I’m not the only officer who has noticed.”

  “Separating from his wife is not an excuse. Not when he’s dealing with life and death stuff.”

  “You know what we blokes are like. We go to pieces without you!” He grins.

  “I don’t think there’s much to joke about Mark. Especially when the two are added to the women last year.”

  “I’m not convinced there’s a connection between the recent two and the ones from last year.” He butters his toast. “The only thing they’ve got in common is they’re all women and had been drinking.”

  “What about their ages?” I suggest. “They’ve all been fairly young.”

  “Nah. They’ve been all sorts of ages. From early twenties to mid-forties.”

  I wrap Alysha’s sandwich in foil. “That’s not old. Anyway, change the subject.” I nod towards Alysha as she skips into the kitchen.

  “How old are you, Mummy?” She holds her cup towards me. “Can I have more juice?”

  “What’s the magic word?” Mark takes the cup from her.

  “Pleeese!”

  “You know how old I am,” I laugh. “Not nearly as old as Daddy.”

  “Will I still be five when I’m a flower girl?”

  “No, you’ll be six.”

  “Aww, that’s ages away.” She puts her cup next to the sink.

  “It will be here before we know it.” I wish it could be. “Anyway, go and clean your teeth.”

  “I’ll have a word with DCI Ingham,” Mark continues as Alysha leaves the kitchen. “See if he might be willing to pass the case to me. Or let me take more of it on. Especially with what he’s going through in his own life right now.”

  “Is there anything similar about the womens’ appearances?” I make a mental note to do some research myself. “They’ve all drowned late at night too. Surely that should be a red flag?”

  “Maybe. And as I say, I’ll try and get more involved. That’s if DCI Ingham will let me. It’s his baby.”

  “That’s a strange way to describe it.” I swipe a slice of toast from his plate and laugh when he lightly taps the back of my hand. “A case investigating deaths of local women. A baby! Anyway, keep me posted.”

  “Handy for you, isn’t it?” Mark ruffles my hair as he passes me. “Being married to a sergeant. You hear it first.”

  “Nearly married. And no, I don’t hear it first. You’re far too cagey.” I feel a flash of guilt, recalling how close I’ve been once or twice to looking at his pocketbook. But I do get a sense he’s not telling me everything he knows.

  I call into the press association office to see if there’s any new assignments for me. There isn’t, thankfully, as I’m already over committed.

  It’s all trivial stuff that I’ve got on right now; an alleged infight between the directors at the local football club, a B-list celebrity break-up and a local sporting name returning to the area for her wedding. I’m always on the prowl for something meatier. Something that will get my name out there.

  Within the next year or two, I want to be writing for the nationals. My surname’s going to change when I get married, so if I start getting known as a journalist before then, I’ll have to start all over again. Perhaps I should change my name on reports prior to the wedding, but that somehow feels like tempting fate.

  I ask my supervisor, Lindy, about the river situation. I wouldn’t mind getting in on the coverage. It’s literally all happening on our doorstep, and with what happened last year, it’s bound to get picked up by the nationals.

  “We only know what’s been put out in the media so far,” she says, without even looking at me. She’s so busy and preoccupied. And always doing four different jobs at once. Right now she’s talking to me, listening in to one of the copy takers, drafting an email and reading a news article. “Keep your ear to the ground though, Lauren. You’re better connected than any of my other reporters.” She gives me a knowing look and I know she means Mark.

  He’s uber professional though. I’m not sure he’ll tell me anything off the record. Especially since he’s only recently been promoted. I think he’d tell me more if I wasn’t a journalist. I’ve given up trying to browbeat information from him, but I’ll admit to eavesdropping occasionally when he’s on the phone. We’re both career driven and sometimes we just have to let the I want to know - I can’t tell you conversation play out. Luckily, we have never let this dynamic cause any resentment within our relationship. It’s how we met. Through work. When we were both on work’s nights out.

  The copy takers are all bashing away on their desktops as I walk back through the call centre towards the exit. It must be exciting doing their jobs, not knowing what news story might come in next. Some copy takers are rubbish, though. I get tired of having to spell words or explain terminology which they should already know. Sometimes it’s easier to type the articles myself, unless I’m out and about, and it’s a piece that needs running the next morning. But I love the work I do and never tire of seeing my name beside an article in the newspaper. Particularly if it’s in one of the nationals. That’s happened a few times now.

  I leave my car at the office, deciding to take the route along the river for some fresh air. It’s only a short distance to the town centre that way. There’s a cosy coffee shop which I like to work in. They’ve got to know me in there and don’t mind me hogging a table as long as I periodically buy a coffee. I’m useless at working from home. I get distracted too easily and end up cleaning the house or drinking coffee with neighbours. When it’s me and my laptop in a café, I’ve no choice other than to get words on the page or do some research.

  I tug my hat over my ears as I approach the spot where the latest woman must have fallen in. The temperature has dropped hugely. A row of flowers has been laid and police tape has sealed off a section of the footpath. About two hundred yards further on I see the pub she was drinking in before she fell to her death - The Yorkshire Arms. She was only thirty-two, the same age as me. I pause at the cordon to look at the flowers. They’ve been rained on overnight, and the ink has run on some of the message cards, but they’re still legible.

  My beautiful friend Becky. I will miss you forever. Martha. xxxxx

  Rebecca. Sister. Daughter. Friend. Gone too soon. xxx

  Sorry. X This one puzzles me. What for?

  From all your friends on Ward 34. We are gutted. Xxx

  “You’re Mark’s wife, aren’t you?” A voice cuts into my thoughts. I look up to see Chris, a constable new to the area. I met him recently at someone’s leaving party. It must be his job to guard the cordon.

  “Not quite.” I look up from the flowers. “We get married next summer.”

  “I’ll await my invitation them.” He laughs.

  I rise from the spot where I’ve been crouched. “Erm, we’re going to the Maldives to do it.”

  “I was only joking. I don’t know Mark all that well, anyway.”

  “Is he around?” I look at the bridge in the distance where a couple of police cars are parked up.

  “He was earlier,” he replies. “I’m not sure where he’s gone.”

  “Are they still saying the latest woman just fell in?” I look at the river with autumn sunshine dancing on its surface, disguising the menace that lies beneath it. It’s so calm here, almost inviting. A pl
ace to walk, hand in hand, or to sit beside with a flask of coffee, or perhaps to do a bit of writing when the weather is warmer. It’s not a place to die. Yet this town centre stretch of river has snatched so many lives.

  “We’re still making enquiries. There are slip marks where the cordon is - it’s apparently steep there. I wouldn’t fancy anyones’ chances of being able to clamber back out, especially in the winter.” Chris follows my gaze to the river. “Other than that, I don’t know much. I’d be the last to find out. You’d have to ask Mark. I’ve just been told to stand here.” He sounds almost resentful.

  I think of Mark when he was a constable, and myself when I used to take copy. We’ve all got to start somewhere. I stop myself from these thoughts.

  “At least it’s finally stopped raining; it seems to have rained all weekend. In fact it looks like it’s turning into a nice day.” Yes Lauren. When you don’t know how to reply, talk about the weather. “I’d best be off anyway.” I smile at him before setting off on the remainder of my walk to the café.

  Chapter Five

  Veronica

  Tricia broke her conversation off with her friend, Hazel. “How are you doing, Mum?” She’d possibly noticed that Veronica had been quiet for a while. Veronica felt guilty at the concern in her daughter’s face. The last thing she wanted was to put a dampener on their night out.

  “It feels odd being out, to be honest. A few of these have helped though.” Veronica raised her glass in Tricia’s and Hazel’s direction. “Thanks for inviting me girls.”