Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Dylan’s knock was like thunder. The echo made the sound last. Lights illuminated neighbouring houses. Blinds twitched as occupants looked to see what the noise was about. A glow appeared to the side of number twelve’s bedroom curtains. Dylan impatiently thumped again. A beam of light sprang through the half window of the front door.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, patience, please,’ came a voice from within.

  Dylan could hear the bolt drawn back. The key turned and the door squeaked open.

  The boy-sized frame of Harold Wilkinson-Little stood in front of them, dishevelled, dressed in blue striped pyjamas and old tartan slippers.

  ‘Can I help you? Oh, it’s you Mr Dylan, sir,’ he said politely, pulling his pyjama top together with one hand as he held the door open with the other.

  Dylan stepped forward across the threshold. ‘May we come in?’ He pushed the open door wide with the palm of his hand, not waiting for an answer. Harold took a step back.

  ‘Harold Wilkinson-Little, I am arresting you for the murders of Daisy Charlotte Hind and Christopher Francis Spencer.’ Dylan spoke quietly but with authority, as he cautioned him. Little stood, his face expressionless, as he stared at Dylan and remained silent.

  ‘What’s going on, Harold? Who is it? Harold.’ A woman’s high-pitched voice cracked the tense atmosphere. Dawn silently handcuffed Harold and escorted him to the waiting car, as his wife Pauline appeared at the top of the stairs. Dylan directed the team into the house to start the planned search.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on? Where you taking Harold? He’s not dressed,’ she said, flustered.

  Larry stepped towards her as she came down the stairs. ‘Mrs Wilkinson-Little, your husband has been arrested for the murders of two children. We’ll be searching the house and taking items away,’ Larry said, as sensitively as he knew how. Leading her by her elbow, he took her through the hallway and into the small kitchen. Sitting her down, he found the kettle and filled it with water.

  ‘What? He couldn’t possibly. Tell me this is a dream. This is ridiculous, you’ve got it all wrong he … he … works for the police.’

  She was in need of a cup of strong, sweet tea. Larry knew Pauline would also be a victim, and he wouldn’t find it easy to console her. Not only had Harold killed two children and ruined the lives of those families, he’d also destroyed her life. Neighbours would point fingers at her. That’s her that’s married to the child killer. The house, her home, would more than likely become a target once it became common knowledge. Dylan and the team would do their level best to get support for her. Time would heal, maybe, but Harold had left her with her own life sentence: the tag of being the wife of a child murderer. The question people would always ask would be, did she know?

  Larry sat with Pauline while the team searched. He tried to explain to her what they were doing, but in her dazed state, he could have been reading a shopping list. He knew it would all have to be explained to her again, later.

  Harold’s van was being lifted onto a low loader outside the house, and the orange light of the truck flashed in Pauline’s face as she sat at the kitchen table. Pauline began sobbing, her cries muffled by the tissue she held. She told Larry she had a sister who she’d like to have with her. Pauline would soon learn that the man she’d shared her life with was a stranger; she didn’t actually know him at all. There were so many questions she needed answers to, but only one person could tell her and that was Harold. Would she ever believe a word he said again? Although distraught, she began to realise that the police didn’t go to these lengths for nothing.

  Harold sat in the back seat of the CID car and stared straight ahead, as if a mannequin. They arrived at the custody suite of the station, where the sergeant went through a series of routine questions: name, address, and date of birth. Dylan and Dawn remained quiet, watching Harold’s every movement.

  ‘You will need a solicitor; do you have one in mind?’

  ‘Yes, Brenda Cotton from Sykes and Co,’ he said in a quiet voice, his head bent. His chin nearly touched his chest.

  Dawn looked at Dylan. ‘Have you been expecting us?’ asked Dylan.

  Harold stared straight ahead and spoke to the sergeant as if Dylan wasn’t there. ‘I know my rights. I haven’t had breakfast,’ he said, lifting his head up and speaking clearly.

  ‘Oh, dear, what a shame. Breakfast’s over,’ the sergeant drawled sarcastically as he continued to fill in his paperwork.

  ‘Harold, we’ll get you breakfast. Is tea and toast all right?’ Dawn asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whimpered. His lip quivered like a child as he turned to look at her. Perhaps the soft approach will work, thought Dylan.

  Dawn was playing games, keeping him sweet until he was interviewed. Thereafter he would be the evil child-murdering bastard she knew he was. She managed to smile at him with this thought in mind.

  ‘Your solicitor will be contacted and asked to attend at the police station as soon as possible. In the meantime, we need you to change out of those clothes into one of our overalls, until someone brings you alternative clothing. You’ll go into a cell until some food can be arranged,’ said the sergeant as he marched him down the corridor to the dedicated chamber that awaited him.

  The cell had no natural light; it was dimly lit and furnished with a low, wooden, fixed bed base with a thin, blue plastic mattress on top. A metal toilet stared at Harold from where he sat on his bedstead; it had no seat. Although the cell was dismal, claustrophobic and bare, it was still too good for a murderer. It would remain a mystery to Dylan why criminals were looked after so well, even after conviction in prison.

  Harold would be under constant supervision, which meant the cell door would be open and a uniformed officer would sit outside on a chair. It was known as ‘suicide watch’ and was in place because nobody knew what Little’s reaction would be to his arrest. The officer would be under instruction to record any comments the prisoner made: they might be useful in interview. However, the police officer could not reply, or the defence could claim it was oppressive and an actual interview.

  ‘Sarge, don’t upset him before we’ve interviewed him, please,’ said Dawn, in an attempt to appeal to the custody sergeant’s better nature now Harold was in a cell.

  ‘I won’t.’ He tutted and rolled his eyes.

  ‘We’re serious, sarge,’ Dylan growled.

  ‘I know, I know … kid gloves,’ he reluctantly replied.

  ‘One double murderer in the cells.’ Outside in the corridor, Dawn dramatically punched the air.

  ‘Just got to prove it now,’ replied Dylan.

  ‘He must have planned to have Brenda Cotton from Sykes and Co when he was arrested. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Was he expecting us? Who knows. Bacon butty?’ Dylan asked licking his lips at the thought. He could smile now he had a prisoner.

  ‘Maybe.’ she said thoughtfully. Then, ‘Oh god, yeah, dipped in tomato juice, please.’ Dawn dabbed her mouth with her hanky while picking up the phone to ring Harold’s solicitor.

  ‘Brenda Cotton speaking, can I help you?’ A loud, clear, crisp voice came over the phone.

  ‘Brenda, Detective Sergeant Dawn Farren here, how’re you?’

  ‘Busy.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to either ruin your morning or make it. We’ve arrested a man this morning in connection with the murders of Daisy Charlotte Hind and Christopher Francis Spencer. I think you may be aware of the cases?’

  ‘I’ve seen it in the papers and on the news.’

  ‘He’s asked for you as his legal representative.’

  ‘Right, who is he? Someone I’ve represented before?’

  ‘Don’t know, but he obviously knows of you. He came straight out with your name. It’s a Harold Wilkinson-Little.’

  ‘Name doesn’t ring any bells,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you want me as soon as possible?’

  ‘Yes, please, and could you contact the cell area to let them kno
w you’re aware of the request?’

  ‘I’ll have to re-arrange a few appointments, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Should I ask for you? Are you going to be interviewing?’

  ‘DI Dylan and myself, yes, but if you want to speak to your client first, ask the desk sergeant to ring me when you’re done and I’ll come down to meet you.’

  In Dylan’s experience Brenda Cotton was sound; in fact, he would go so far as to say he liked her, she was fair.

  ‘What do you think of our man?’ Dylan asked Dawn as he tucked into his sandwich.

  ‘Um, very cool. Fancy complaining he’d had no breakfast. How does his mind work? Forty-five, but he looked like a little old man stood there in his pyjamas this morning. It was weird. Wasn’t it like he was waiting, knowing he was going to be arrested?’

  ‘Did you see any signs of his twisted ankle?’ Dylan was curious.

  ‘No, did you?’

  ‘No, but I did wonder if he’d hurt himself when he was up on the moors dumping Daisy’s body and not in the property store.’

  ‘Have we heard from Larry?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘No, but I don’t expect to for a while. It’s going to be hard for his missus to take it all in. Actually, I’ll ring him now,’ Dylan said, reaching for the phone. ‘We need to make sure the contents of the van are seized before it’s taken away to the lab.’

  Dawn mimed coffee as she stood in the office doorway. He nodded positively as he keyed in Larry’s number.

  ‘Hello, boss. It’s been like telling the woman her husband’s dead. She’s in denial, but her sister should be here before long.’

  ‘I know I’m teaching you to suck eggs, but can you make sure that the van is searched before it goes to the lab?’ Dylan instructed.

  ‘It’s already on its way to the nick prior to the lab, so it can be searched and property seized there if you can catch them. The neighbours are already showing an interest. I’ve suggested to Pauline that she goes to stay at her sister’s for a few days to let things settle down.’

  ‘Good idea. It would also give us time to put an intruder alarm in.’

  ‘She isn’t in a fit state to give us a statement right now, but I’ve noted her comments and told her we will need to speak to her again. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too long now before I’m back, once the sister’s arrived.’

  ‘Do you know how the search is going?’

  ‘It’s well on its way. Inspector Baggs is here, so I’ll be able to leave them to it.’

  ‘Could you let me know once you’ve told the families?’ Dawn asked the FLOs on her return. ’Then we can release it to the Press. I’m sure we’ll be getting a call soon from one of the papers asking questions. The neighbours are bound to ring the media about the police activity.’

  Dylan and Dawn sat drinking their coffee quietly, both deep in thought. Dylan couldn’t sit still for long, though. He enjoyed the interviews, and the team were all energized and sitting in anticipation now the word had gone round that Little was in.

  ‘Can I be cheeky, boss?’ Lisa said, as she walked into the office to empty the ‘out’ trays.

  ‘You usually are,’ Dylan said light-heartedly as he smiled at her.

  She blushed. ‘Does he look like his photograph we’ve been given from his personal file?’

  ‘Yeah, he does Lisa, he’s not changed much, but I’ll get you a more recent one. Do you not know him from the property stores?’

  ‘No, I’ve got no reason to go in there and the station is such a big place. I’m still finding my feet to be honest. I’d only just started when the first murder broke, so it’s my first big case. It’s so exciting,’ she said as she left the office, a grin on her face.

  Like Lisa, a lot of the team had been involved for the duration and they wanted to know more about the man who could do this kind of thing. Who could blame them?

  Dylan’s thoughts were all over the place and he couldn’t concentrate. He was itching to get the interviews started and he could sense Dawn felt the same. He wondered if Harold would talk, and if so what would he say? The telephone rang, and they both reached out for it. Dylan was the quickest, or was it just he was the nearest?

  ‘Michelle from the Press Office. I’ve had a few calls wanting to know what all the police activity is about in your area. What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I knew this was coming. There has been an arrest. The families are being informed. Give it thirty minutes and then you can release the agreed statement. There’ll be nothing else from here for a long while, so when I’ve anything to tell, I’ll call you,’ said Dylan.

  Brenda Cotton had just asked the desk sergeant to contact Dawn; she’d spoken to her client.

  ‘No wonder we get indigestion,’ Dawn said, choking on the remainder of her sandwich and gulping the dregs of her coffee. Larry walked in.

  ‘Pauline’s sister is the spitting image of her. They asked over and over again if they could see him. Neither of them could believe he would do such a thing. He’d always vehemently abhorred violence, they said.’ Dylan listened with interest. ‘They’re in shock. They were sitting with their arms wrapped around each other, sobbing, when I left. I told them we would update them when we could.’

  ‘Fine, Larry. Is she going to stay at her sister’s?’

  ‘Yeah, they were just going to pack a few things before leaving.’

  It was eleven o’clock. In the first instance they’d only twenty-four hours to interview Harold. If they needed more time, it would have to be authorised by the divisional commander.

  The interview room was rectangular and held a table that was fastened to the wall and chairs that were bolted to the floor. There would be no throwing about of tables and chairs in this interview. Microphones were fastened to the wall above the table. They would pick up the slightest noise. In the corner of the room was the tape machine, a twin cassette deck perched on a custom-built shelf. The seals on new tapes would be broken at the beginning of every interview in the presence of the prisoner and his solicitor. At the end, they would be signed and dated by all present. A long, fluorescent ceiling light illuminated the room; there were no windows and only one door. The only natural light came through a small peep-hole at eye level in the door, which faced into a sunlit corridor. Around the centre of the wall was an alarm strip, the panic button should any officer need urgent assistance.

  The first interview was about to commence.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dylan stood waiting in the interview room, the air of anticipation making adrenaline course through his veins. The sudden creaking of the un-oiled hinges attached to the heavy interview room door interrupted his thinking. Harold Wilkinson-Little, dressed in a white paper suit, shuffled into the room with Brenda Cotton closely behind, and then Dawn, who closed the door.

  ‘Harold, sit in that chair furthest from the door, please,’ pointed Dawn. The usual place for a suspect. Brenda sat alongside and Dylan and Dawn took their seats opposite the pair. This positioning of the four allowed the video camera to be focused on Harold.

  Little looked almost child-like in the coverall. Dylan thought the description of him as the size of a jockey quite apt. He appeared to be such a timid individual, but they knew otherwise. How looks could deceive.

  The formality of breaking the tape seals and placing them in the machine began. Everyone present in turn identified themselves.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Dawn Farren. It is eleven-twenty a.m. on Wednesday the eighth of March, 2006, and I am in the cell area interview room at Harrowfield Police Station. Also present are ….’ Dawn nodded and each person present spoke their name for the purpose of voice recognition.

  ‘Detective Inspector Jack Dylan.’

  ‘Brenda Cotton, solicitor.’

  ‘Harold Little.’ He spoke so quietly he could hardly be heard, his head bowed once more to his chest.

  ‘Could you speak up, Mr Little, for the purpose of the tape, please?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘Sorry, Inspe
ctor Dylan,’ he said clearing his throat. ‘Harold Little,’ he said once more, in a somewhat stronger voice and with his head raised, eyes forward.

  ‘Is that your full name?’ Dylan enquired.

  ‘Harold Wilkinson-Little,’ he corrected.

  Dawn then spoke the caution, informing Little of his right to remain silent should he so wish. They went on to confirm his date of birth, his home address, and the details of his vehicle. They also confirmed that he resided with his wife, Pauline at the address he had given. Dawn had spoken briefly to Brenda prior to the interview to inform her of the arrest and disclose the findings of items from the two murdered children. She intimated that Harold had said very little at all, other than stating that it wasn’t his fault.

  It had been decided that Dylan would talk and Dawn would sit quietly. Gone were the days of pressure in interviews when two people talked at once. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act had seen to that. It was now classed as oppressive and unfair to the prisoner. No more ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine. Dylan started by simply going over Harold’s background, letting him speak as he wished. Although Little was talking softly and calmly, his face remained expressionless. Dylan noted Harold’s hands tightly clasped together. He could see Dawn biting her lip and he knew she was chomping at the bit to get stuck into Harold’s ribs. Dylan knew that feeling all too well, but discipline in interview technique was a must.

  ‘Which school did you go to, Harold?’ Dylan asked in a friendly manner.

  ‘Harrowfield,’ he said. He was talking, responding, although his head was still down and he was not looking at Dylan, therefore avoiding any eye contact.

  ‘Most people do that live around here, don’t they?’ Dylan continued.

  ‘Yes’, Harold replied with a nod, still looking down at his clasped hands on his lap.

  ‘I never really liked school, how about you, Harold?’

  Little lifted his head, just slightly and stared at Dylan and Dawn. Did I strike a nerve, Dylan wondered, as he observed Harold’s body language. The way he was repeating certain twinges and movements indicated to Dylan that he was either lying or very uncomfortable.