Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘You are superhuman, to me.’ She smiled at him lovingly and stroked his damp face.

  He got out of the bath, coffee cup still in hand, and drained the cup as she dried him. Boy was he pampered. Jen was trained in massage, reflexology, and Indian head massage, as well as being a hairdresser: he’d truly hit the jackpot when he’d found her and he was never going to let her go.

  ‘Right, Jack Dylan, time for bed. I want your undivided attention. No more talk about work. I need you.’ She teased him with a loving kiss.

  He slapped her bum as she turned to hang up the towel. ‘And I need you too,’ he said, kissing her softly on the back of her neck.

  ‘Bed, my boy,’ she ordered jumping on the bed and tapping the space beside her.

  Their lovemaking was always fulfilling. He still hadn’t got over the newness of her and knowing that work could call him out again that night, he turned into her curves, snuggled up and slept.

  He awoke at half past six to the smell of bacon and before his eyes a breakfast tray appeared.

  ‘Morning, sleepyhead, your hair needs cutting,’ Jen said ruffling his hair. ‘You look like Tin Tin in the morning when your hair stands up in the middle like that.’ She laughed, playing with the hair on the top of his head. He smiled at her sleepily. She busied herself around the bedroom, drawing back the curtains and collecting the washing from the laundry basket. His clothes were draped neatly on the wardrobe’s plinth to the side of the bed: dark navy suit, crisp white shirt and striped tie. God, is she organised, he thought as she dropped a kiss on his forehead, and then he tucked into his breakfast.

  He dressed and was ready for another day, wondering what it would bring. Stroking Max at the door he gave Jen a kiss and held her in his arms.

  ‘I do love you, you know,’ he said very aware that when the job was running he abandoned her.

  ‘I know. I just worry about you, that’s all,’ she said stroking his lapel as he held her close. ‘I would like to spend more time with you instead of sitting here waiting for you to come home. I hate watching while they pile more and more work on you. I mean, four murders in as many months. And I can’t even tell anyone we are together. You know I can’t lie. What if someone asks me outright? Oh, I know the reasons why, all the gossip, and you’re only looking out for me, but I’m proud to be on your arm, Jack.’

  ‘I know, love, and I’m proud of you too. If it comes out we’ll deal with it. I know we won’t be able to keep it secret forever, but for now it’s our secret,’ he said kissing the tip of her nose.

  ‘Don’t push yourself, Jack, that’s all I ask,’ she said as she pulled away from the embrace. ‘Remember you’re no good to anybody dead.’

  Chapter Eight

  Dawn was already in the office when Dylan arrived. A phone was ringing and she reached over her desk to pick it up, nodding as he entered. He took his jacket off and swung it over the back of his chair, unlocked his desk and methodically reached for the papers in his in-tray. Dawn was silent, he noticed, as she listened intently to the caller. Closing her eyes she handed the phone to Dylan. ‘I think you’d better take this, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Boss. Just letting you know that Grandma Irene died about two hours ago. We’ve just called the doctor out for Wendy. She’s not good and to be honest Trevor isn’t much better.’

  ‘Flaming hell, Janice, that’s terrible. Do you need any help? I’ll get on to HQ again.’ He looked over at Dawn who held her head in her hands.

  ‘No, I’m fine, honest, boss. It’s just so bloody sad. Can you imagine losing your daughter and your mother in less than twenty-four hours? It’s just surreal.’

  ‘God, I know. Look, I’m being hounded by the Press. I’ve got a conference at eleven. They want me to name Daisy. I need to know if the family have been informed and I suppose the same goes for Grandma. If you could tell them I’d be grateful for confirmation as soon as possible, and explain how it’ll help get the media’s support. Pass on my condolences, will you?’

  ‘No problem, sir. I’ll have to speak to Trevor. Wendy is just out of it. She’s saying her mum has just gone to get Daisy. I’ll get back to you shortly.’

  ‘Thanks. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to give us a call.’ He didn’t replace the phone on its cradle when Janice rang off, but held it to his cheek. Dylan was thoughtful. ‘Can we arrange one of our team to assist Janice with the family liaison, Dawn? I’ll ring HQ and bollock them. What’s the point in having Home Office guidance and force policies if they don’t adhere to them?’ Dawn cringed as she listened to him tell the person on the other end of the phone at HQ in no uncertain terms that they needed another FLO immediately. Meanwhile, she arranged for DC Susan Raynor to back Janice up until further assistance arrived.

  ‘Talk about the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Irene dying will really destroy the Hinds. They seem to be such a close family.’

  ‘Thank god they are,’ said Dawn.

  It was a high profile case, a child dead; the media were in a frenzy, desperate for information. The telephone rang and Dawn answered it. ‘Press Office for you, boss. It’s Rachel,’ she said, as she handed it over the desk.

  He covered the mouthpiece, ‘Coffee,’ he mouthed to Dawn. She made a one-fingered gesture at him. ‘Do it,’ Dylan said firmly.

  ‘Okay, okay I’m going,’ she said getting up. ‘Male chauvinist,’ she called as she blustered out of the door. He smiled. ‘Pig,’ she mimed through the glass.

  ‘Hi. Rachel. Sorry about that. Staff problems. Now, press conference at Harrowfield HQ still on for eleven, if you can confirm it to the media? I’m still not in a position to name the girl to the public until I know family members have been contacted. I’m just waiting for the FLO to confirm. Maybe by eleven we’ll have that confirmation.’

  He told Rachel about Irene’s death.

  ‘Heavens, that’s terrible. And national TV and Sky are chasing you for interviews, obviously its high interest, a child murdered, and now her grandmother dying.’

  ‘Can you get over to Harrowfield a bit before eleven? I need to discuss my approach and what I’ll say at the conference with you.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be with you in about half an hour.’

  He was worried about how the papers would sensationalise it. He could see the headlines now: NAKED BODY OF YOUNG GIRL FOUND, GRANDMA DIES OF SHOCK. He knew he had no control over it, but he felt for the family and the community. Fear would blanket the village and surrounding areas. He made a quick call to Jen. Luckily with a phone on her desk he could ring her whenever he wanted.

  ‘Just to let you know, I’ll be doing the press conference and TV from about eleven so you know where I’ll be. More sad news, Daisy’s gran died this morning.’

  ‘Never. That’s awful. The family won’t be at the conference then?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Janice is with them and they’ve called the doctor out to Daisy’s mum. They’re just devastated. Who wouldn’t be?’

  ‘God, I’m not surprised.’

  ‘So, love, the media won’t be happy, but they’ll just have to put up with my dulcet tones.’

  ‘Nobody better.’

  ‘Not sure about that. Speak to you after. By the way, last night was the best. I love you.’

  ‘You too.’ He could hear her smile. He knew she was sitting wading through her paperwork only a couple of floors away, but it felt like miles at times like these when he just wanted to hold her close. Jen had a handful of friends in admin, which helped her pass the day. She involved herself in voluntary work, organising events for charity outside of work. She said it had helped her cope when he was working. Jen often spoke of feeling lonely while he worked long hours and he didn’t know how to resolve that. She was vocal in telling him she hated the police because of what she saw it doing to him and he had to agree that he would be tossed aside like a worn car tyre, unwanted, unfit for purpose, in time. He’d simply be replaced without a further thought when it came to him retiring
. So why did he do it?

  Dylan had had his boost from hearing her voice and he felt ready to get to grips with the media issue, what he would say and what he wanted to get across to the public. Dawn had handled the team briefing and got the team out and about on enquiries.

  ‘Who you been talking to, to put a smile on your face?’ Dawn asked as she joined him.

  ‘Ah, it was a wrong number. Funny how weird people act when they ring a DI by accident,’ he lied. ‘Coffee and toast for us, Dawn,’ he said standing up from behind his desk. ‘My treat as you made the coffee.’

  ‘I should think so.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Janice to let her know Susan Raynor is sorted to back her up,’ said Dylan as they walked to the canteen.

  ‘And I told the troops in the briefing the evil bastard had caused the death of Daisy’s gran. God knows how Trevor and Wendy are coping.’

  ‘Rachel’s on her way from the Press Office to discuss any issues before the press conference. Do you want to be present for that?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like to be there for the meeting, but you’re on your own with the Press. One singer, one song,’ she laughed.

  ‘It would be good experience for when you’re applying for the next rank.’

  ‘When I have to do it I will, but for now they’re all yours.’

  ‘Okay, no problem, if you’re chickening out,’ he teased.

  ‘They’ll probably focus all their cameras on your mouth anyhow.’ Funny, he’d almost forgotten about that.

  A short while later Rachel arrived and all three sat and discussed how to handle the media side of the enquiry. The phone rang. It was Janice.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, boss, but I’ve just got the green light from Trevor. Poor thing, he’s been on the telephone all morning to family and friends, but at least it’s kept his mind occupied.’

  ‘Is that for both Daisy and Irene?’

  ‘Yeah, both. They’re asking if it’s possible for them to have a joint funeral and burial. Seeing as Daisy adored her gran so much, they’d like them to be buried together. I told them I’d look into it for them. Auntie Sam’s wedding has been postponed and is unlikely to happen this year. She just couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘It’s sad, but you can understand. It’s a really nice thought about them being buried together. We’ll do what we can. Let them know that Daisy’s murder will be headline news in the papers and on the news tonight, will you? And be careful, some of the nationals may try knocking at the door; they seem desperate for an exclusive. Don’t let them near. Any problems, ring us.’

  ‘Will do, boss. Thanks.’

  ‘By the way, Janice, you’re doing a great job,’ Dylan said sincerely.

  ‘Thanks. It’s nice to be appreciated. I’ll get back to it and tell them about your call.’

  It was standing room only in the conference suite. The photographers let loose their flashes. Dylan entered the room and sat behind the desk at the front. It was a lonely job being an SIO. He knew he would have their undivided attention while he spoke, and then the room would erupt, with questions being fired at him from every angle. The clock struck eleven and, as the flashes stopped, Dylan started.

  ‘Daisy Charlotte Hind was a little girl of nine, the only child of Wendy and Trevor. The evening she went missing, she’d simply gone to her grandma’s home a few hundred yards down Rochester Road, onto Rochester Way, to show her the bridesmaid dress she was wearing. She’d never been a bridesmaid before and was overjoyed to have been asked by her Auntie. She didn’t stay at her grandma’s. She was straight in and out as her mum had told her. Grandma watched Daisy as she walked back home until she turned out of her sight into Rochester Road.

  ‘We know little Daisy didn’t make the next few hundred yards to her door. Her naked body was found on wasteland near to Dean Reservoir some twelve hours later at 6.20 a.m. yesterday. She hadn’t been hidden and was about twenty-five yards from the road. She’d been wearing a grey duffle coat, black shoes, and a jade green bridesmaid dress. None of these items of clothing have been recovered. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted and she died from a single blow to her head. Due to the ferocity of the blow, she would have died instantly. This was the brutal and callous killing of a young, defenceless child by a calculating murderer who needs to be caught.

  ‘It’s also with great sadness that I can tell you that her grandma, Irene, having heard that her little princess, as she called her, had been snatched from the street, collapsed with chest pains. She was taken by ambulance to Harrowfield Hospital, where she suffered a fatal heart attack earlier this morning.

  ‘I appeal to anyone who has the slightest suspicion about a partner or family member to contact us. We would also like to hear from anyone who was in Rochester Road or Rochester Way yesterday evening and who saw either Daisy or anyone acting suspiciously. Finally, anyone who was in the area of Dean Reservoir yesterday. Has anyone any questions?’

  A show of hands told Dylan he’d have to curtail the question and answer session otherwise he would be there all day.

  ‘Jim Blake, Daily Mirror, what’s Grandma’s last name?’

  ‘Barker.’

  ‘Harrowfield Times, how many officers are working on the case?’

  ‘Around forty, at this time.’

  ‘Tandem Bridge Echo, how are the parents coping?’

  ‘Unless we’ve lost a child ourselves, I don’t think any of us can understand the pain and misery they’re going through. Daisy’s mum has had to receive continued medication to help her cope, and with the news of her mum dying too.’ Dylan shook his head. ‘We can only imagine the trauma this evil killer has caused.’

  Dylan held up an enlarged photograph. ‘We have pictures available of a bridesmaid dress similar to the one that Daisy was wearing.

  ‘As you can imagine, we’ve a vast amount of work to do, so thank you.’

  Dylan continued to be bombarded by questions, although none could be heard clearly with everyone talking at once. He held up his hand in an attempt to halt the noise. The room became less frantic as people began to listen once more.

  ‘I’ll be available for one-to-one interviews later, thanks again,’ he said as he rose from his seat. The TV stations lined up. The local radio and the papers all wanted their own individual photographs or footage to use. Dylan patiently ensured they were all satisfied before he left the arena. It just might help to gather the information that he would need to lead him to the killer, who knew? An hour later he returned to his office, hoarse.

  The incident room was already a hive of industry. The tapping of fingers on keyboards was like rain on a windowpane. Searches were continuing and these had now extended to the reservoir and surrounding areas. Dylan sat quietly in his office, scribbling down notes as he thought about the lines of enquiry. Where are Daisy’s clothes? Soil samples, vegetation samples could link the killer to the area. Possible routes of access to Rochester Road and Rochester Way? CCTV, garages en route? Who are the ‘creeps’ the ‘weirdos’ the strange people in the area? The locals will know who they are. Sensitive searching of Daisy’s room. Enquiries at Daisy’s school - Harrowfield Middle School. Did she know her attacker? Dylan knew people wanted results, not words. His thought process was disturbed by the telephone ringing, and it made him jump.

  ‘Is that DI Dylan?’ asked the sharp-tongued voice at the other end of the phone. ‘This is Avril Summerfield-Preston, the Divisional Administrator.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied absent-mindedly. He’d seen Avril flouncing about the upper floors of the station for as long as he could remember, but he didn’t know her or in fact what she did. She sat on her own in a corner at meetings and never offered her opinion, which he’d thought odd for her position. He’d never seen her talking to anyone socially, probably because everyone thought she was arrogant, abrupt and a joke as part of the senior management team. Avril appeared to be a loner and gave the impression she thought she was above everyone else. She was a strange woma
n. She tried with her appearance, he’d give her that, but even dressing in Chanel wouldn’t have given her style or stature. She was just one of the unfortunates of the world. ‘Beaky’ was her nickname around the station, due to the fact she had an enormous nose. Her ears protruded through mousy, thinning hair that always looked as if it was in need of a good wash. Her overpowering perfume arrived before she did, and Dylan couldn’t decide whether she used it to cover up a rather embarrassing perspiration problem or not.

  ‘My property store is full to capacity because of your murders.’ She broke his reverie, speaking as if Jack Dylan had committed the murders himself. ‘It’s a Health and Safety issue, Inspector, that I want sorting immediately. I don’t want any more exhibits going into the store.’ By this time, he had held the phone away from his ear and promptly hung up. He wasn’t going to be spoken to or dictated to by a jumped up administrator who never went out of her office and had no idea of real police work. The telephone rang, and he’d no doubt it was her trying again, so he ignored it.

  There’d been a rumour about her and Superintendent Walter Hugo-Watkins, he remembered. Allegedly, she’d been seen leaving his office and walking down the corridor to her own office unaware that her dress was tucked in her knickers. He smirked to himself. It takes all sorts, he thought, but what a boring pair they’d make. Then again, perhaps a match made in heaven. He smiled, then shook himself: he’d much more important things to think about. The Hinds wanted to know if they could plan the funerals. It was a fast decision for anyone to make, but then again he knew that everyone dealt with life and death differently and focusing their mind on something positive was a good thing. He spoke to the coroner stating that it may help the Hind family to come to terms, or give some closure to the deaths, if they could be buried as they wished. They had no immediate suspects and so far the enquiries were unyielding.

  The days rolled by, unnoticed due to the pace of work. He worked, he ate, and he slept but not always in that order.