Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Well, let’s say I was glad when I could leave. I wasn’t very academic.’ His speech was quick, and he fidgeted from one cheek to the other in the chair.

  ‘What weren’t you good at, Harold? Maths? French? I was poor at languages.’

  ‘Most things.’

  ‘What about friends? Didn’t they make it all worthwhile?’

  ‘No. I didn’t have any.’

  Again, his speech was fast; he appeared bored, but his body language and the way he was speaking said otherwise. He was squeezing his hands so hard that his fingernails were going white.

  ‘Can I go to the toilet, please?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Dylan stopped immediately. He spoke to give the time and the reason why the interview was being suspended for the purpose of the tape. When Harold returned, he would have to recommence the formal procedure. Interviews were all about patience and recording everything that occurred, speech was automatically picked up. The camera saw actions such as a ‘V’ sign, but the interviewer also gave commentary. Dylan was tempted to make him wait before letting him go to the toilet, to let him suffer, but he didn’t. It was going to be a long day.

  ‘Is he going to do this every time it gets to a point he doesn’t like?’ Dylan asked Dawn quietly, exasperated, as they waited.

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Least he’s talking. I wonder why he didn’t attack the parents rather than the children if it’s them his argument is with? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What do you always tell us? “Where is the rule book for murderers?”.’

  Minutes later Harold returned, sat down, and thanked Dylan and Dawn politely for being so understanding. What a Jekyll and Hyde character he was turning out to be.

  ‘You okay to continue then?’ Dylan was sympathetic, but his face looked anything but concerned.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Before we had the break we were talking about school, if you remember, Harold. You said you didn’t have many friends. Was it really so bad?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘What’s this got to do with the murders? Look, you’ve arrested me for murders, haven’t you, and I’ve murdered no one. I wouldn’t murder a child. I like children.’

  Dylan ignored his outburst. ‘You went to a school reunion recently, didn’t you? Now if school was so bad, why would you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know the children. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Harold stuttered, as if he hadn’t heard Dylan speak. ‘I work for the police in the property store, but you know that. I work with the police. You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not me. This is terrible, terrible.’

  Dylan nudged Dawn gently to lift an exhibit bag from the floor beside her. Because of his outburst, Dylan had decided to introduce the brown paper bag they’d found in the store.

  ‘You see, Harold, we found this bag on a shelf in the store, your store. As you can see it says on it quite clearly “Wilkinson” in black marker pen. That’s your middle name, isn’t it? Who wrote that on the bag?’ Dawn held up Exhibit JB1 for him to see. ‘Was that you?’ asked Dylan.

  He made no reply and, lips pursed, Little stared blankly straight forward.

  ‘You are meticulous about things in your store, aren’t you, Harold? Your records and accountings are second to none. How many times have I heard people say so?’

  Little smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Dylan, sir.’

  ‘Do you remember booking this in? The name would mean something to you, but not others.’

  He made no reply.

  ‘Okay, then, who else could have put it there?’ asked Dawn.

  Harold remained silent.

  ‘Why the silence? Can’t you explain this bag being there, Harold?’ Dawn continued.

  He coughed. Shuffled in his seat. There was an air of expectancy, but Harold’s breathing remained shallow as he maintained his silence.

  ‘You’ve been reading old murder files in the store, haven’t you?’ asked Dylan.

  Little made no reply.

  ‘Why the silence Harold?’ Dylan asked. ‘If we’ve got it all wrong, tell us why. This is a chance for you to put it right. Speak to us.’

  Still Little made no reply.

  ‘The bag with “Wilkinson” written on it, explain it to us, Harold.’

  Dylan decided it was time to stay quiet and Dawn followed suit. After what seemed like an age, but was probably no more than one or two minutes, Harold broke the silence.

  ‘Mr Dylan, sir, I have nothing to say other than I’m not the person responsible for the murders and I don’t want to answer any more of your questions.’ He spoke in a hushed tone.

  Dylan’s eyes bored straight into Harold’s. His mind was spinning. You arrogant bastard, he thought. He was sorely tempted to drag Harold across the table and rip his head off. ‘If you’re not responsible, Harold, explain to me how there’s a labelled bag in the store marked “Wilkinson”, your middle name, that doesn’t belong to any other case?’ he said, through gritted teeth.

  Harold smirked. ‘No reply.’

  Dylan was boiling over inside.

  ‘You know the fathers of both the murdered children, don’t you, Harold?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘No reply.’

  ‘Did you know their families?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘No reply.’

  ‘Did you speak to the children’s fathers at the reunion?’

  ‘No reply.’

  Dylan terminated the interview and Little was returned to his cell.

  ‘We’ll resume in an hour. Is that okay with you?’ Dylan asked Brenda Cotton.

  ‘Yeah, sure, I’ve already written the day off.’ Brenda smiled. ‘I’ll just go and grab a coffee in the canteen.’ Dylan nodded.

  ‘Dawn. Office,’ Dylan hollered as he strode in the direction of the incident room. Dawn hurried to keep up with his pace. ‘Arrogant bastard, he’s enjoying this,’ Dylan ranted.

  ‘I thought at one point there that you were gonna climb over the desk and hit him’ Dawn puffed.

  ‘I nearly did,’ Dylan fumed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Just over an hour later Dylan and Dawn were back in the interview room with Harold Little and his solicitor, the camera once more focused on Harold. Dawn again reminded him of the caution and everyone present went through the procedure of saying who he or she was for voice recognition purposes.

  ‘Harold, in the previous interview you became silent or said “no reply”. We are simply trying to establish the truth, and we may be able to do that a lot quicker with your help,’ Dylan said.

  ‘My help, my help. I’ve been handcuffed, dragged from my home in my night attire, accused of murder, and you want my help?’ Harold seethed.

  Brilliant; a response, and one that shows he’s not the quiet little man everybody believes, thought Dylan.

  ‘Okay, Harold, let me explain. We needed to arrest you and you know why. Because of what we found in the store. Your store,’ Dylan said. ‘Also, you have a connection to the children’s fathers.’ Dylan spoke slowly and calmly. His eyes searched Harold Little’s for a reaction.

  Silence ensued. Harold shuffled in his seat before he spoke and he avoided eye contact with Dylan as he did. ‘I can’t be blamed for what’s in the store. I’ve been off sick so … so lots of people will have had access. As for the school reunion, everyone there knew the children’s dads. You didn’t need to arrest me. Why me? I would have answered your questions without this … this humiliation. You’ve probably cost me my job, my life as it was, and you want me to help you?’ he raised his voice once again.

  From Dylan’s point of view, Harold was playing the victim.

  ‘Harold, you know we are searching your home. Your vehicle, clothing, and footwear will be seized and examined forensically along with anything else we feel there’s a need to. You know how thorough that search is going to be, don’t you? Are we going to find anything else that links you to the deaths of these children, Harold?’

  Harold remained silent, although D
ylan felt he was considering what he’d said. ‘You’ve read old cases in the store, Harold, haven’t you? Those murderers all made mistakes. It’s likely you have done, too.’

  ‘No reply.’ Harold spoke clearly and firmly.

  ‘When you don’t like something I say, Harold, you don’t answer me.’ Dylan continued. ‘Have you got a bit of a temper, Harold?’ Harold glared at Dylan, but he remained silent. ‘Tell me about your schooldays, Harold. Were you a model pupil? You are such an organised person now. Some people describe you as meticulous. That would be an asset at school, wouldn’t it?’

  Silence prevailed. ‘Bet you were teacher’s pet,’ Dylan taunted.

  ‘Pet? Pet?’ Harold’s reaction made them all jump. ‘I hated school,’ he spat. ‘It was nothing but a breeding place for arrogant bullies.’ Harold stopped suddenly.

  Dawn spoke softly. ‘Do you want to tell us what happened so we can understand?’

  Harold glowered at her. ‘How dare you even think for a moment you could understand?’

  Dawn carried on talking calmly, quietly, cleverly repeating the word ‘school’ in almost every question she asked. Dylan watched closely as Harold Little started to fidget once more in his chair. He could see sweat beads appear on the man’s forehead. Harold was wringing his hands again and Dylan knew that Dawn’s questions were getting to him. Without warning, Harold stood up and banged the desk with clenched fists. ‘Stop this. Stop it now,’ he snarled.

  ‘Sit down,’ Dylan said.

  ‘And you’re gonna make me?’ Harold sneered through clenched teeth. If only he knew how tempting it was to Dylan.

  ‘Do it,’ Dylan said, towering over him with authority.

  Harold sat. His solicitor seemed shaken by Harold’s outburst but said nothing.

  ‘Mr Dylan, you’re no different from the others. I don’t want to speak to either of you anymore.’ Harold turned around and faced the wall like a sulking child.

  ‘ “The others”, Harold, who are “the others”? What were they like?’

  Harold remained silent.

  Dylan and Dawn repeated the question to give him the opportunity to answer.

  ‘Didn’t you expect to be caught yet, Harold? Is that what’s really annoying you? Have you unfinished business you hoped to have dealt with by now? More children to kill?’

  ‘That’s unacceptable, Inspector Dylan,’ Brenda Cotton said.

  ‘Whatever,’ Dylan replied as he terminated the interview. It was lunchtime and he was hungry.

  Harold didn’t take his eyes off Dylan as the gaoler took him by the arm and led him out of the interview room. Arrangements were made with Brenda Cotton to return at four o'clock.

  ‘Don’t think he likes us much, boss.’

  ‘What makes you think that, Dawn?’ Dylan smiled as they queued for their lunch.

  Harold’s house was still being searched. While they ate their sandwiches, Dylan and Dawn spent the next twenty minutes on the phone in the office trying to get updates from the search team, forensic, and the incident room. They needed something else to get stuck into Mr Little with, to really put him under pressure and get him to speak to them.

  ‘Make sure the vehicle goes on a low loader. I want soil samples from the wheel arches.’ Dylan told Inspector Baggs.

  ‘Sure. Just about to get an update on the van; I’ll call you back,’ he replied.

  Dylan looked at Dawn. ‘Nobody said it was going to be easy. It’s early days. I know it’s him, though. We just need a bloody motive, and then we can hopefully start to open him up.’

  Dylan’s phone rang. ‘Boss. Vicky, just ringing to let you know that inside Mr Little’s van, wrapped in a black bin liner and wedged above the side door, we have found what appears to be a cane, similar to the ones in the store.’

  ‘Right. That’s really interesting. Get it off to forensic as a priority will you? Tell them I want it to go to the top of the list.’

  ‘Will do,’ Dylan heard her say as he put the phone down.

  ‘That’s looking a bit tasty, Dawn. They’ve found a cane secreted in his van.’

  ‘Why’s he kept it?’

  ‘Maybe he was going to use it again, or return it back to the property store.’

  Dylan walked to the gents before going back into interview. He texted Jen. It was just about the only time he’d been alone lately. It’s gonna be a long haul – he’s not bending. Love you Speak ASAP x. He didn’t wait for a reply; his mind was set ready for the mind games with Harold Little.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The interview room stank of sweat, and Dylan could feel the oppression in the atmosphere as Dawn went through the caution and voice recognition for the tape.

  ‘Okay, Harold, we mentioned your time at school in the previous interview and you got annoyed. Let’s talk about the reunion. You went to that, didn’t you? You’re on photographs that were taken on the night,’ Dylan said.

  Harold’s expression was blank. ‘You know I did, so why are you asking me?’

  ‘Because I’m trying to understand, Harold, if school had been such a nightmare, then why would you go to a reunion?’

  There was no response.

  ‘I just don’t understand why you’d go.’ Dylan repeated.

  ‘I wanted to see if people had changed,’ he replied, which surprised Dylan. He hadn’t expected Harold to speak so early in the interview.

  ‘And?’

  ‘ “And” what?’ answered Harold.

  ‘Had they changed? Anyone in particular?’

  ‘No. It’s not a crime to go to a school reunion now, is it? I didn’t even stay that long.’

  ‘Can I just ask, Inspector, where you’re going with this? My client doesn’t deny going to the reunion. I fail to see the relevance of your questioning,’ Brenda Cotton said.

  Dylan rounded on her quickly. ‘Well, if you allow me to continue, it’ll become clear.’

  Brenda frantically scribbled something on her notepad. Dylan smiled, it probably said arrogant bastard, he thought.

  ‘Why didn’t you stay?’

  ‘My wife’s not well.’

  ‘Did you see Trevor Hinds and Martin Spencer there?’

  Harold remained silent.

  ‘It’s a simple enough question, Harold,’ provoked Dylan.

  ‘I’m thinking. I believe I did.’

  ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘Why? Should I ‘ave?’

  ‘’I don’t know. I’m just asking,’ Dylan responded.

  Awkwardly he answered. ‘Look, I went, didn’t stop, and came home. My wife’s ill. I wasn’t going to enjoy myself, was I?’

  ‘I fail to see why you even went. You hated school; your wife’s ill … why even bother?’ Dawn piped up.

  Harold glared at her. If he thought it bothered her, he was wrong.

  ‘Well?’ Dawn pushed.

  ‘I’ve told you. Don’t you listen, lady?’ Harold turned, trying to put Dawn in her place. His breathing became more pronounced.

  Dylan shifted in his seat and took over.

  ‘Harold, let’s move on. Your van’s been searched and it will be examined by forensics. However, inside, secreted above the door, we’ve found a cane, wrapped in a bin liner. Where’s it come from, and what is it doing there?’ Dylan stopped and waited.

  Harold bit his lip.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ Dylan said.

  ‘It actually belongs in the police store. I just borrowed it, took it home, because I found a rat in the garden that keeps getting into my shed. I thought it would be ideal to hit the rat with. I didn’t use it.’ He looked straight into Dylan’s eyes. ‘Ask Pauline, if you don’t believe me,’ he shouted. His words were deliberate and laced with menace.

  ‘Why wrap it in a bin liner and wedge it above the door?’ Dylan came back.

  ‘Out of sight. I was going to return it, but then I hurt my ankle. No one uses them anyhow. They’ve been in the store for years.’

  ‘You have an answer for everyt
hing, don’t you Harold?’ Dylan backed off slightly, knowing he would bring him back to the subject.

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘It’s absolute rubbish and you know it. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed two young children. Was that the murder weapon?’ pushed Dylan. Harold stayed silent, but Dylan could see from his hands, his sweating and the glare in his eyes that he was angry.

  ‘An innocent little girl, Harold. Tell me, had you been watching the house?’

  ‘What house? No,’ he shouted at Dylan.

  ‘Did you kill her, Harold?’ Dylan growled.

  ‘No,’ he shouted back.

  ‘Why did you take her clothes off, Harold? Do you like young girls?’ probed Dylan.

  ‘No, no,’ he shouted.

  Dylan thought he was about to explode.

  ‘I want to object to the way you are questioning my client,’ Brenda Cotton butted in.

  ‘Noted,’ Dylan said, as he quickly moved on to the next question. He leaned across the desk. ‘Did you keep part of her dress as a trophy, Harold, so you could relive the event over and over again when you were alone in your storeroom? Is it all about sex, Harold?’ Harold Little jumped to his feet and slammed his fists on the table. Dylan had wound him up. The heat in the room was overwhelming. Sweat stood on his brow and upper lip.

  ‘You, you’re no better than the others … you’re a bully. None of this is my fault … none of it. I would like to go home now.’

  ‘That’s not possible at the moment and you know why, Harold,’ Dawn spoke quietly. ‘So please sit down.’

  Harold gave her his usual stare, but sat down as she requested.

  ‘Can we take a break please?’ Brenda Cotton asked.

  ‘We’ll start again in thirty minutes,’ Dylan said as he leaned over to switch the tape recorder off.

  Dylan sat with Dawn in the office going over and over the interview. ‘I wanted him to boil over,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, in between the evil eye he kept throwing at me,’ laughed Dawn. ‘He’d an answer for the cane being in the van, but to kill a rat with? That’s rubbish, we know it, and so does he.’