The Yorkshire Dipper Read online

  Despite mounting local concern, DCI Ingham remained steadfast in his view that despite the similarities in the cases, foul play is unlikely, though he said they weren’t ruling it out. All the women, he said, have entered the water from the steep and slippery riverbank after being impeded by alcohol.

  Post-mortem examinations have established the deaths, in each of the cases, as having occurred after the women have entered the water; additionally, there has been no evidence of any prior injury. DCI Ingham went on to highlight the importance of women staying in their groups or pairs when out for the evening, and taking care to avoid excessive amounts of alcohol.

  Anyone falling into that stretch of water, he added, particularly at this time of year, faces little chance of being able to climb back out. At any time of year, the River Alder experiences strong undercurrents, and this, coupled with the fact the river is frequently used as a dumping ground for items like shopping trollies and household furniture, all add to the risk of becoming trapped within them, under the water.

  “Blimey,” Sara smiles as I walk into the café. “You’re early. What’s got into you?”

  “I’m hungry,” I laugh. “Plus, I haven’t seen my best friend for nearly three weeks.” It smells divine in here. Mince pies and mulled wine.

  “Has it been that long?” She laughs, pushing the menu towards me. “I’ll order us a brew, you get choosing what you want for lunch – I know how long it takes for you to make your mind up.”

  “Before that,” I say, “we have chief bridesmaid duties to discuss. Namely your dress and then there’s the small matter of the hen do.”

  “The hen do is all in hand.” Sara tucks her hair behind her ears as she follows my gaze down to where I am opening up the photos app on my phone. “Just give me a list of who you want inviting and the rest is top secret.”

  “Oh gosh.” I raise my voice so she can hear me above the buzz of the packed café, and the piped Christmas music. “As if I’m letting you plan my hen do! What will you do to me?”

  “You’re going to have to let the control freak within you go.” She waves to get the attention of one of the waitresses. “And you’ve got twenty seconds to decide what you want to eat.”

  I put my phone down and scan the menu.

  Lunch does wonders for my hangover and Sara’s company does wonders for my fractious state of mind, which has been obsessed with work and the river deaths. It is great to think about the wedding for a change. Sara and I have one of those friendships where it does not matter if we haven’t seen each other for three days, three weeks or three months. We slot straight back into wherever we left off.

  When one of us is feeling under par, a few hours spent together leaves us feeling positive and invigorated. As I’ve got older, I have learnt to trust the energies of people around me. There are those in life who utterly drain us, and those whose energy compliments our own, and whose company rejuvenates.

  Luckily, I’ve found this in Mark too. Despite our professional differences, his presence still calms and reassures me. Getting into my thirties has equipped me to trust my gut, which is why I feel so strongly about the river deaths. I absolutely know there’s more to it all than meets the eye. If only Mark was leading the investigation rather than DCI Ingham. It sounds as though he has got very little say in anything. Ingham is definitely calling the shots with this one and Mark has said himself that his personal problems are hampering his efficiency. Mark will eventually be a Detective Inspector, then hopefully a Detective Chief Inspector. I’m sure when he is, he will listen to his sergeant’s opinions and use him or her to delegate more than Ingham seems to have done. He says he’s got it all under control, but has he?

  Sara nudges me. “You’ve got a very serious face!”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about work.”

  “We’re supposed to be thinking about the wedding. Right. Show me these dress pictures.”

  After eating, as we continue scrolling through pictures of bridesmaid dresses and flower ideas, I am suddenly alerted to a sense of being watched. I look up. All around us, everyone in the café is minding their own business and enjoying time spent with one another. I rub at the steamed up window.

  It looks quiet in the street outside, but in the distance, I see what looks like someone crouched behind a wheelie bin. They stay crouched as they dodge behind a fence beside the bin.

  “What’s the matter?” Sara follows my gaze and wipes the window at her side of the table too.

  “Have you ever felt as though you’re being watched?” I stare at the bin. “Someone was hiding behind that bin. Now they’ve gone behind the fence.”

  “I suppose I have a few times when we’ve been out clubbing.” She laughs. “By some weirdo or other. Oh Lauren. You’ve been watching far too many of those crime dramas. Or listening to that husband-to-be of yours too much.” She looks back towards me. “There’s no one there!”

  “There was someone hanging around near me last night.” I shiver despite the warmth in here. “When I was out with Mark. It’s these river deaths. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “I think it’s given everyone the willies to be fair,” Sara agrees. “I wouldn’t be anyway near that river at night. Especially on my own. At least the police sound like they’re now doing something.”

  “About time. The Yorkshire Arms has taken quite a hit too. I was in there last night with Mark. It wasn’t as packed as it used to be.” I don’t tell her about going outside on my own. She would have a fit.

  “I can’t understand why you’d want to go in there. Not with what’s been going on. Anyway, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” She drops her purse into her handbag. “I need to be making tracks. I’m at work soon.” And with a sly-looking grin, she says, “and I’ve got a hen party to organise.”

  “Don’t I know it. Just remember, no strippers! I would die of embarrassment.” I tug my laptop from my bag. “I’m going to have an hour or two in here, then I’ll pick Alysha up. I’ve got one or two pieces to draft and you know me, I always write well in a café.”

  When it is time to walk back to the car park, I take a detour over the river bridge. I feel nervous walking this way now. But it’s still daylight, and there are plenty of people around. No one seems to be watching or following me and I’m beyond relieved to see work has begun. Whether the delay was the fault of the police, the council, or Yorkshire Water, at least they have finally got on with it.

  A section of fencing has been put up and though I haven’t got time to investigate fully, I also see a lifebuoy and a security camera have been put at either side of the water. The CCTV cameras look as though they have been hung on long poles overlooking the river from both sides. It’s a start. They are supposed to be stepping up the police presence too. Hopefully Jennifer Fairburn was the last woman to lose her life in this way. Her poor children. It’s only nine days until Christmas.

  Chapter Twelve

  Olivia

  Olivia watched Rick as he waited at the bar. He looked marginally better from behind. In her inebriated state, he had looked more passable from the front as the night had gone on, but there was no way she was going home with him, as Rick had suggested. She imagined that in the cold light of day, he would look very bad indeed. And she would regret it. She’d behaved in that way as a teenager; going home with just about anyone once she was wearing her beer goggles. And once upon a time, she’d had quite a reputation for it.

  There was a disco on in the Yorkshire Arms that night. Olivia got up to dance on the fringe of a circle of slightly younger women. Yes, she was an idiot. She’d managed to hook up with Rick, a former work colleague. She didn’t particularly like him, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get a few freebie drinks as she was absolutely broke, and had wanted to go out. And now she was passing the time, dancing with a group of girls she didn’t even know, not wanting to sit with Rick when he returned from the bar. The girls didn’t appear to mind though. They all seemed well oiled too.<
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  Really, she knew she should call it a night. But it had been a shit Christmas and New Year. Since she’d lost the baby in September and then broken up with Ben, staying out in town and getting wasted was preferable to going back to her dark and empty house. Olivia hated January at the best of times and was convinced she suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder. She’d heard about light box treatment but could barely afford the rent, let alone to shell out for something like that. She was even toying with the idea of moving back in with her mother. Just temporarily, whilst she got back on her feet. That would be a last resort though. Once you’ve left home, you can’t go back. Her mother had never really liked Ben either so would probably have a few I told you so’s to impart. Olivia had never told her mum she was pregnant; in fact, she hadn’t told anyone apart from Ben. Right now, she longed to ring him. Tell him how much she missed him. See if they could make another go of it. But she knew his answer would make her feel even worse.

  She smelt the raw stench of Rick’s sweat as he came up behind her and threaded his arms under hers. Olivia quickly turned around to face him. “I’m boiling,” she said. “I’m just going to have a sip of my drink. Did you get me another one?”

  “Yep. It’s on the table. So…” He was slurring his words too. “How are you going to thank me? I’ve bought you quite a few tonight.”

  Olivia caught the sourness of his breath as he leaned in to kiss her. Yuck, she thought. I really do need to get away from him. At least he didn’t know where she lived. Only where she worked. “Just nipping for a wee.” She ducked under his arm and headed towards her drink to take with her to the loo. Her mother had always told her to be careful with her drinks. Especially in this day and age, when people were known to spike them. Rick didn’t seem the sort though. A bit whiffy and lecherous, but not the drug ‘n’ rape type but she was taking no chances.

  Olivia wound her way through the gathered group of girls in the toilets. It was reasonably busy for the first weekend of January. She had meant to do dry-January to save money and give her liver a rest, but she had felt so miserable that she had caved in on New Year’s Day itself. Not that she felt any happier when she was drinking. It just helped to mask things.

  There was no sign of Rick when she emerged from the toilets. He was either lost in the throng of people bobbing around to the too-loud crap they were playing, or he’d gone to the loo himself. She necked the remainder of her wine and placed the empty glass on the bar near the exit and glanced at her watch. She had missed the last bus and couldn’t afford a taxi. Perhaps she could try to get hold of her mother. Ask for a loan or a lift. Nah, it was too late. And she would never hear the end of it, even if she managed to wake her mother at this time of night.

  She walked from the pub, grateful for the slap of winter-night air and refreshing rain, after the thick sweat-laden heat of the Yorkshire Arms. She sat on a bench in the shadows so Rick wouldn’t see her if he came out looking whilst she decided what she was going to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lauren

  Good morning. This is the BBC news on Monday 6th January. Firstly, we bring you a breaking story about a fifth fatality in the River Alder at Alderton in Yorkshire.

  Following identification late last night, the victim has been named as Olivia Yates, aged twenty-eight.

  CCTV footage shows her walking into the Yorkshire Arms pub with a tall, well-built man at 11:05pm and leaving at 12:35am alone.

  The man in his mid-thirties, has been helping police with their enquiries and is thought to have been ruled out from any involvement in her death.

  Olivia was recorded on CCTV sitting alone on a bench near to the Yorkshire Arms. She was seen getting up from the bench and walking downriver, beyond the fencing which has recently been installed. The CCTV coverage is limited there, and only captures Olivia’s movements to the bend of the river.

  The area has been cordoned off and is being forensically examined for footprints. It is acknowledged, however, that the area attracts heavy footfall, therefore it will be difficult to produce results that can be treated as evidence.

  Despite recent local police efforts to step up security in the area, it seems people are still failing to adhere to the safety advice, which is not to be in the area alone at night. Investigations into this death and the potential links between this and other recent accidents, including five from last year, are ongoing.

  Bloody hell. I rattle off four texts to Mark.

  I had no idea that your stupid boss only had fencing installed to where the bend is.

  And why are there only two cameras? Where are the rest of them?

  What the hell is going on?

  Never mind a CCTV camera, it’s Ingham’s head that should be on a pole after this.

  And I’ll be saying so when I write an article later. I think better of sending this last one and delete it. Mark replies almost straight away.

  It’s the council, not DCI Ingham, who are doing the fencing. You’re blaming the wrong person.

  He’s in charge, isn’t he?

  It’s all down to resources love. There is more work planned. They haven’t finished yet.

  You can’t put a price on someone’s life.

  I’m not suggesting you can.

  I really think you should have been in charge of the investigation. Not Ingham. He’s messed it up.

  It’s not really an investigation. It’s more a spate of accidents. We all have slight doubts, but officially, that’s what we’re treating it as for the moment.

  Wake up Mark. I’ll stake the place out myself if I have to. You lot are useless.

  No, you will not. But I’m sure you’ll write a piece about it x

  Too right!

  See you at home xx

  I won’t be back till later. I’m meeting Sara. My dress has come in so I’m trying it on x

  OK. Love you loads xx

  You too xx

  Before I meet Sara, I park up near the Yorkshire Arms. I want to get a few photographs of these preventative measures that have been taken. I’m incensed by the whole thing. Now I can see them up close, the measures look even more ineffective than I first thought. They haven’t advanced since I walked here in December. Yes, there is the section of fencing I previously saw, but it literally only covers twenty metres, if that, and I can now see for myself, that it stops before the bend in the river and where the bank is at its steepest. It’s ridiculous. Surely the police have more clout with the council than this.

  Only one extra life-ring and one extra CCTV camera have been installed on both sides of the river. But the news reports were right. The river bends and the CCTV can only cover the length of the fencing. Given that all the bodies so far have been pulled out further downriver, these so-called safety measures are an insult to the memory of the women who have died here. I take several photographs then head back to my car, to meet Sara.

  Mark was talking some crap the other night, saying that the stretch of river is no different to an accident black spot on the M1. People know the risks and if they continue to take them, i.e. walking on a steep, slippery riverbank at night, when drunk, then they only have themselves to blame. “You sound like your bloody boss,” I had said.

  As always, Sara is already there. I don’t think I’ve ever known her to be late. Not like me. “Oooh, it’s times like this, I wish I was getting married.” She brushes her hand over the fabric of a dress on a mannequin. “They’re all so gorgeous.”

  “Your turn will come.” I know as soon as I say it, that’s not what she wants to hear.

  “Let’s not go there.” She frowns. She’s done well mustering so much enthusiasm for my wedding, given that she ended up being ghosted by the man she was supposed to be marrying last year.

  I got involved and poked my journalistic nose in when she had voiced her suspicions to me. It didn’t take long, and after a bit of digging around, it turned out he was already married. It was awful telling her what I had found out, but it was better that
she’d found out before going through with a sham wedding ceremony.

  There was no actual proof of their engagement to have him prosecuted for it, only the photograph of her ring, which he could have explained away as a friendship ring or something else.

  In the midst of all this, he had turned up at my house just after Mark had left for a night shift and had threatened me, saying that if I didn’t butt out of his business, and caused him any more hassle, he’d make me pay, one way or another. He was so menacing that I asked Eva and Heidi to come and stay with me and Alysha for the night. Will brought them and had a look around. At his insistence, they did not leave until Mark got back. I guess that is one of the times I have seen Will’s other side. I left it alone after that, as much as I’d wanted to tell the man’s wife about his intention to marry Sara.

  When Mark and I set a date to get married, I felt wretched telling Sara, but I couldn’t have asked anyone else to be my chief bridesmaid. She and I have been best friends since school.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve tried this dress on that I wonder if it’s still going to fit me.” I feel panicky as I step into it. “What if I’ve put tons of weight on?”

  “It’ll need taking in a bit,” the seamstress says after buttoning me up. “And taking up so just the toes of your shoes can be seen. They’re fabulous by the way.”