Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘But why can’t I go in the front like you?’

  ‘Just do it,’ Becky hissed, as she escorted him by the elbow towards the doors. If he showed her up, she’d kill him when she got him home. Pete and Gary went to buy the cigarettes. Carly waited for Becky by the entrance.

  ‘Wait there,’ Becky demanded as she shoved Troy in the porch of the fire door.

  ‘Come on, Becky, there’s a queue. We won’t get in at this rate,’ Carly shouted from the corner of the building.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she shouted back. ‘Don’t move, and listen for us to shout you,’ she told Troy before running off to join the others.

  Did she think he was stupid? He waited as he was told. Five minutes, ten minutes … he impatiently kicked the door. They were taking forever. Where were they?

  ‘Troy. Troy,’ came the voice and Troy turned and saw him. ‘Hiya, mate. What’re you doin’ there?’

  The fire exit door scraped open, making a scratching sound on the flagstones beneath.

  ‘Troy, get over here. Quick,’ Becky whispered as loud as she dared. There was no response. ‘Troy, stop messing about. I’ll flaming well kill you if you don’t come here now,’ she hissed. Still there was no reply. Becky peeped out of the open door as best she could without setting off the alarm. Troy wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  ‘Here, let me look,’ Carly said, pulling Becky back by the sleeve of her coat.

  ‘I can’t see him, either. What we gonna do now, Becky?’

  ‘Where’s he bloody gone? I told him to wait. We’ll have to go back out and find him,’ Becky said in a huff, as she carefully closed the door and ran to the main entrance. Waiting to get the backs of their hands stamped, Becky was fuming. ‘Did you see that Helen Tracy sniffing around Pete? The tart, if her zip gets any lower her tits will knock him out,’ she said.

  ‘And if Sharon’s skirt gets any shorter, you’ll be able to see her belly button,’ Carly remarked. ‘I just knew she was after Gary.’

  ‘I’ll kill our Troy if he’s lost me a chance with Pete. How long have I fancied Pete for, eh? I tell you Carly, I’ll fucking have him.’

  ‘Yeah, and they’ve probably smoked the fags too. I’ll kill him for you.’

  Outside, they ran round the building. Troy was nowhere to be seen. They screamed his name. It was no good. He wasn’t there.

  ‘Mum is going to skin me alive if I’ve lost him,’ panicked Becky, out of breath. ‘Carly, what am I gonna do? I’m dead meat.’ Becky’s voice shook, she was worried. ‘Troy never does this. He always does what I tell him. Well nearly always,’ she conceded.

  ‘Call the police, Becky, they’re good at finding people, aren’t they? I would.’

  ‘I’m gonna ‘ave to, aren’t I? He’s gone,’ said Becky, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Carly hugged her friend. ‘Yeah, it’s probably best to let them do it from t’rink. Police’ll listen to them,’ Carly said.

  ‘Where’s me little bruv, Carly? Where is he? Do you think somebody’s got ‘im?’ Becky cried.

  ‘I don’t know. Becky. I don’t know what to say.’ Carly stood shaking.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dylan crawled into bed. He could smell Jen’s shampoo on her pillow. It smelled like bubblegum. Resting there, he felt close to her and as his eyes closed, he fell into a deep, fitful sleep.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ A woman’s voice calling from downstairs broke into his dream.

  ‘What the hell?’ Dylan sat up and immediately lay down again. ‘Argh,’ he moaned as he held his head in his hands. He could hear Max running up and down the hallway. His eyes ached in their sockets, his neck was stiff and his stomach was sore. He’d forgotten Penny was coming to take Max out. In the hope that she wouldn’t know he was in bed, he stayed as still as he could until the door slammed shut and he heard her feet trip up the path, Max in tow, barking playfully.

  ‘Come on, pull yourself together,’ he growled as he dragged his feet to the side of the bed and slowly sat up. His head spun. Standing under the shower normally refreshed him, but this morning his stomach churned. He felt nauseous and his legs felt like jelly, then they went from under him. Sitting on the floor of the shower cubicle with water gushing over his head, he heard his mobile ringing in the distance. Dylan crawled on his hands and knees, grabbed a towel from the radiator, and dried off as best he could. Pulling himself up using the hand-basin, he poured himself a glass of water and sat back down on the floor, sipping it slowly until he began to recover.

  Max was in the kitchen eating his food when Dylan opened the kitchen door. He’d not heard Penny return or leave. Even though he didn’t feel like eating, he put two slices of bread in the toaster. His mobile rang again, and he reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

  ‘How you feeling?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘Rough.’

  ‘Well don’t come back and give whatever germs you’ve got to me,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve got some news that might make you feel better though. Forensics ‘ave just called and they tell me that they’ve found a trace of human blood on the wooden shaft of the cane recovered from our Mr Little’s van. And wait for this; it’s enough to do a DNA profile.’ Dylan listened intently. His heart raced. ‘The blood group is ”O positive”, so it’s common, but it’s the same as Christopher’s. They’ve also found traces of skin and blood on the van’s door, so they’re doing the necessary tests on those.’

  ‘Good, yeah. That is good,’ Dylan said absent-mindedly as his toast popped up out of the toaster. He picked the spots of mould off the crust. ‘Keep me updated, will you? I’m going to stay here today.’

  ‘Will do. And get yourself right. We may be interviewing again sooner than you think,’ she said cheerfully.

  Dylan should have been elated as he stood there buttering his toast, but no way could he raise his game. He walked into the lounge, turned on the television, and flopped on the sofa. Wearing his big woolly jumper and sheepskin slippers, he figured he’d be warm, but it felt like ‘a goose walked over his grave’, as his old mum would have said, and he shivered. Sky’s twenty-four hour news channel droned on in the background and, oddly enough, he found himself enjoying his breakfast. He pulled the dark-brown, fur throw from the back of the settee and covered himself up with it. No sooner had he shut his eyes than his phone rang.

  ‘Boss, the obs team have lost Little somewhere in Harrowfield town centre,’ Larry told him. ‘And I’ve had to divert staff to the ice rink; a seven-year-old lad’s gone missing. It fits the pattern. Shit.’ Dylan heard a car horn sounding. ‘Get out of the bastard way. Police. It’s an emergency,’ he heard Larry shout.

  ‘You’re fucking joking.’ Dylan sat bolt upright, discarding his cover.’

  ‘Not only that, but his name is Troy Sanderson.’

  ‘Fucking hell. His dad’s name?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Well, fucking find out. I’m on my way,’ said Dylan.

  Dylan’s mobile rang en route. ‘Damn.’ He hadn’t got his hands-free set up. It would have to wait.’

  Larry’s screeched his car to a halt. He ran towards the uniformed officers who were in deep discussion with two young girls in the foyer of the ice rink. The girls were tightly grasping each other’s hands, tears trickling down their puffy faces.

  ‘Has Troy’s description been circulated inside?’ asked Larry.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied a uniformed officer.

  Above them the loud speaker buzzed and a lady coughed then spoke. ‘The police are here because a little boy who goes by the name of Troy Sanderson has gone missing. He’s got blonde hair and is wearing a blue tracksuit. He was last seen outside the ice rink about forty minutes ago. Anybody with any information about his whereabouts, please come to the reception desk.’ The tannoy screeched a piercing wail, fingernails down a blackboard, and Larry cringed.

  Dylan’s car drew up behind a marked police vehicle with its light still flashing. Getting out, he walked as fast as he could towar
ds the huge glass doors that led from the street to the foyer of the ice rink. He could see Larry leaning on the sweet counter taking notes.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Barry.’

  ‘Jesus wept. No sign of Troy yet?’ Dylan asked, as he introduced himself to Becky and Carly. Dylan’s mobile rang. He pressed the red button to cancel the call.

  ‘No, sir, not yet,’ said Larry.

  ‘Try not to worry,’ Dylan told the two frightened girls. ‘We’re doing our best to find him quickly.’

  ‘I ‘ope so. My mum’s at work and I’m supposed to be looking after him. She’s going to skin me, isn’t she Carly?’ Becky’s lip quivered.

  ‘Do you come here often?’ Larry asked. Dylan cringed. ‘Er, I mean ….’

  ‘Mr Meredith gets school discount for us, so lots of us come every Saturday morning. I need to tell you something, Mister,’ Becky said shyly.

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘We were gonna save Troy’s money to get in by sneaking him in the back door,’ she admitted sheepishly.

  ‘For sweets?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Cigarettes,’ Carly said quietly. Becky started to cry, sobbing on her best mate’s shoulder.

  ‘Get Dawn to collect Becky’s mum from work,’ Dylan ordered Larry. ‘Do you know where Mr Meredith is now?’

  ‘I’ve been told he left for today, sir,’ the uniformed officer said, as he walked in on the conversation.

  ‘Send a car to Meredith’s house,’ Dylan instructed the officer. ‘Now.’

  Becky ran into her mum’s arms.

  ‘Mrs Sanderson, can we get Mr Sanderson for you?’ Dylan asked as he reached to shake her hand.

  ‘Penny, please. No, no. We’re divorced,’ she replied.

  As Dylan retreated from the group to answer his ringing mobile, he could see Penny gently comforting her daughter while talking to Dawn. There were three missed calls from Jen. Dylan could hear Larry talking on his radio as he approached him. His head was spinning and he swayed, grabbing Larry’s arm to steady himself. ‘Where the fuck is Little? What happened to the obs?’ he asked.

  ‘But Meredith …?’ asked Larry confused.

  ‘Larry, enough is enough.’ Dylan held up his hands. ‘Listen to me. You’re jumping to conclusions.’ Larry looked stunned. ‘Number one priority: find the young lad. Let’s have an organised search. Number two: find me Harold Little. Circulate him again and start from where he was lost. I want a street by street. Shop by shop. Number three: put Meredith’s car details out over the radio. If anyone sees it, tell him or her to stop it and search it for occupants. Number four: find Barry Sanderson.’

  A lady came towards the pair offering warm drinks from a tray.

  ‘You’re a lifesaver, love, I truly mean that,’ Dylan said, sipping the hot sweet tea. She smiled before moving on to offer some to the rest of the group. Dylan looked at Larry. ‘What street was Little on when you lost him? Has anyone thought about trying to contact him? He may be at home by now.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Town centre CCTV. Have we anyone looking at the tapes?’ Larry stood, pen poised, a blank expression on his face. ‘Any problem with that Larry?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Boss, you all right?’ Larry asked, as if seeing him for the first time.

  Dylan was pale, his eyes sunken and rimmed with grey circles. His legs shook, but a sniff of smelling salts from his inside pocket made him throw his head back and his eyes water. ‘Hell fire,’ he stuttered as he shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. Just find me the boy, Little, Meredith, and Sanderson,’ he said.

  A uniformed officer approached Dylan and Larry. ‘Meredith’s not home. We’ve a unit at his house, sir,’ he said.

  Dylan drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. Does Meredith know Little?’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Pete and Gary strolled down the road, pushing each other in fun. Troy followed. Penny ran towards them and scooped Troy up in her arms.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘We’ve been out of our bloody minds.’ She kissed her son and cradled his head.

  ‘We’ve even got the police,’ Becky said.

  ‘I saw Dad and he gave me the money to get in, legal like. We thought you two had gone t’toilet to do your hair and stuff, so Pete and Gary let me hang round with them. Look, I got my hand stamped.’

  Becky yanked him into her arms and held him tight. ‘You scared the death out of me. I thought some creep had got you like the others and I’d lost you for good.’

  ‘Where’s your dad now, Troy? Do you know where he was going when he left you?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Probably to the nearest pub, he said he needed a drink. He’s always pissed.’

  ‘Hey, watch that language, young man,’ his mother said, clipping Troy’s ear. ‘I might be glad to see you safe and well but I won’t stand for that.’

  No longer needed, Dylan spoke with Larry and Dawn. ‘Make sure there’s no possibility of foul play and then leave it to uniform to deal with. I’ll see you back at the office.’

  ‘Boss, just go home. You look shocking.’ Dawn stroked his arm.

  ‘Actually, yeah … yeah, you’re right. But keep me updated regarding Little, Meredith and Sanderson. I’m on my mobile.’

  ‘Sure,’ Dawn called as she walked over to Troy and the rest of the happy group.

  ‘You can remove the tape and clear the scene now,’ Larry called out to the officers on site.

  Dylan stopped his car en route to get some money out of the cash machine in the high street. His bank was on the opposite side of the road to where he’d parked and he got out of the car gingerly. The traffic flashed past him and he pressed his body back against the car. His head felt woozy and his vision was blurred. A gap in the traffic would have allowed him to make a dash across the road, but he was rooted to the spot. He told his legs to move, but they wouldn’t; it was as if his feet had been glued to the ground. There was no more than fifteen feet to walk, but he couldn’t. He felt himself growing hot under his shirt collar and his face burned. He broke out in a sweat. His heart started pounding and he felt dizzy and sick. Oh, my god, I’m going to pass out, he thought.

  He swayed, but managed to turn and grab the door handle and, pulling the door open, he collapsed into the driver’s seat. Shaking, but in the safety of the car, he began to feel silly. Pull yourself together, Dylan told himself. But it didn’t work. He sat quietly for a moment to see if it passed. His ears rang, his body shook, and he was sweating profusely. He undid his tie and the top button of his shirt. Luckily Jen always kept a bottle of water in the glove compartment and he fumbled for it. Sipping it slowly, he felt the cold liquid trickle down his throat. He tried desperately to control his breathing. Breathe in to the count of six and breathe out to the count of six, he told himself.

  Finally, he admitted defeat; there was no way he could get to the cash machine. Dylan decided he would try to get home instead. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He felt drained, exhausted. He drove slowly, but felt as if the car was going round a permanent corner. He leaned toward the middle of the vehicle to try to counter the effect. He tried to steer towards the pavement so he’d a line to follow, then almost drove into the kerb. At that moment his stomach churned as if someone had punched him. The adrenaline flowed. What the fuck is happening to me? He finally made it to Jen’s house and staggered out of the car. Pushing open the front door, he stumbled inside. His phone bleeped a message as he took it out of his pocket, intending to ring for a doctor.

  Mum’s, he read as he collapsed face first onto the floor.

  ‘Have you got any pain? Do you need me to call the doctor or an ambulance?’ Penny asked as she stooped over Dylan’s prone body.

  ‘No, no,’ Dylan protested, his hand in the air. ‘I just want to go to sleep. I’m tired,’ he mumbled, as he closed his eyes. Max barked excitedly and jumped around his head. Dylan could hear Penny on the phone.

  ‘Ambulance, please, I�
��ve found a man collapsed in his home,’ she said. ‘Hello, hello, what’s your name?’ she asked Dylan as she stroked his head. ‘I only know him as Jack,’ she told the emergency operator. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not responding.’

  Dylan kept hearing her voice as he drifted in and out of consciousness, it sounded as if she was talking to him down a hollow tube. As Penny rolled him onto his side, trying to put him into the recovery position, she realised the man she was helping was DI Dylan, who had helped find her son Troy. What on earth was he doing at Jen’s?

  The doctor was a tall man with greying hair, delicate hands, and an air of quiet authority. He did the necessary tests, checked Dylan’s blood pressure, took a blood sample, looked in his eyes and ears, and performed an electrocardiogram (ECG).

  ‘I’m fine now,’ Dylan protested, trying to get up off the trolley.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ the doctor said, as he pushed him back down. ‘Blood pressure is a little low, temperature’s a little high, but there’s nothing untoward.’

  ‘You don’t understand, I’ve got a murderer to catch.’

  ‘Your father died of a burst heart when he was sixty, is that right?’ the doctor asked, reading from Dylan’s notes.

  What was he saying? That Dylan was going the same way, so young? He felt numb. His head hammered. His heart raced. There were wires and electrodes fastened to his chest.

  The doctor hummed to himself as he waited for the printout from the ECG machine. ‘Due to the fact that you’ve a family history of heart problems,’ he told Dylan, ‘I want you to have an ultrasound scan.’ He was already picking up the phone to get Dylan transferred to the X-ray department. Dr Roebuck was a neurologist. He wasn’t a person who pulled punches, he gave the facts as they were. ‘This sounds like a slight stroke. Let’s get a scan done.’