Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Twenty minutes on the beat and thirty yards ahead there seemed to be an unusually large gathering of people. A few more steps and he could see they were giving a wide berth to a man screaming abuse, his voice blanketing all others. Obviously no one wanted to be near him.

  ‘Fucking bastard. Fucking come on,’ he growled. He had the appearance of a minotaur and was the very last person on earth you’d want to pick a fight with. A giant of a man snorting like a wounded animal. Who’s rattled his cage? Dylan wondered. They obviously weren’t too bright. As Dylan got nearer, it became clear that it was his police uniform that was acting like a red rag to this bull. He was shouting at him. The minotaur thundered towards him. Dylan shouted for assistance over the radio while that giant of a man launched himself at him like a bull at a gate. Dylan was suddenly beneath him, fighting for survival. Fortunately for him help had been just around the corner that time too.

  He was jolted back from his reminiscences by a sharp pain in his lip, which made him wince. A soft hand reached into his and another rested on his arm. The nurse, he thought.

  ‘Sorry, it’ll hurt but I can assure you it’s necessary,’ said a man’s deep voice. It hurt all right and not just a bit. Dylan’s eyes watered like hell. Ten minutes later the doctor had finished and the cloth was removed from his face.

  ‘You’re very lucky there’s no permanent damage. No kissing for a while though,’ he said, writing up his notes. ‘The stitches will dissolve in about a week.’ The doctor was very matter-of-fact, head down as he concentrated on Dylan’s file. The nurse helped Dylan sit upright, and he swung his legs to the side. He didn’t feel very lucky. As he walked from the cubicle, waiting for his painkillers to be prescribed, he saw his reflection in the window opposite. Mick Jagger with tassels on, he thought. He tried to smile. It hurt.

  He was climbing into his car, looking forward to Jen’s warm bed, when his mobile rang.

  ‘Boss? Dawn. Looks like we’ve a nine-year-old girl gone missing. Snatched off the street tonight. I’m at Harrowfield nick.’

  Before she could say any more, he’d interrupted. ‘Be with you in ten minutes.’ He rang to let Jen know he’d be late. Nothing new there. He’d been called out to robberies, suicides and four murders in the last two months. She was on the phone so he left her a message. Only me, gonna be late. Nine-year-old girl missing. Be in touch when I know more – love you. He knew she wouldn’t be pleased, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it.

  ‘Evening, boss. Bloody hell,’ Dawn said as she got close enough to see his lip. ‘You overdosed on the Botox? Or been kissing wasps again?’

  Not many people would have spoken to Dylan like that but Dawn knew him and his sense of humour well. He grimaced.

  ‘Bet you gave as good as you got.’

  ‘No, actually I was decked, went straight down, and didn’t know who or what had hit me. Luckily some officers were nearby,’ he managed to mumble.

  Dawn was a good Detective Sergeant; Dylan knew that it would be a runner if she’d called him out. She reminded him of Dawn French, a larger-than-life fleshy woman, robust, and with a great sense of humour.

  ‘Hope they didn’t bail him,’ Dawn said sarcastically.

  ‘No way.’ He shook his head. She gave him the update on the child. They briefed the uniformed and specialised officers who’d make initial enquiries. It was short and to the point. He needed them out there to find Daisy. He ordered the search of houses in the area, including attics and cellars. If the owners consented it would be easier, but he told the officers from the search team to let him know if anyone refused.

  ‘We have to be a hundred per cent sure she’s not being kept against her will,’ he told the uniform task force of thirty officers. Dylan wanted more. ‘Get me information that we have on people in the area. The creeps, the sex offenders,’ he commanded Dawn. ‘Team leaders, debrief at midnight. Let’s bloody find her,’ he said, raising his voice as officers left to saturate the area of Rochester Road.

  Dylan called the Press Office. He desperately needed a press release to be put on the Press Office news line for the attention of all media: Police are searching for a missing nine-year-old girl, who was last seen in Rochester Way at 6.15 this evening.

  As he got to grips with the teams, Dawn, apart from making coffee, had been scanning the log of events so far. They were both ready to attend the scene.

  ‘I’m glad it’s you, Dawn, this isn’t sounding good.’

  ‘No. Do you get the feeling it’s an opportunist or someone watching?’

  ‘Could be either. Let’s go and see what weird and wonderful people live around Rochester Road.’

  They both looked over the short distance that Daisy had walked, a route she should have been safe taking. There were teams of officers checking, searching, and rummaging through houses, cars, and sheds. Anywhere, in fact, where a nine-year-old girl might be. Torch lights flashed everywhere. The search by the officers was organised and as thorough as it could be. Members of the public were offering help and it was gratefully accepted. What Dylan didn’t want was frenzy, hectic panic. A lone shout of Daisy rang out in the night, which in turn started an echo as other people shouted the little girl’s name. The packet of pastilles given to Daisy by her grandma was found on the pavement 150 yards from her own front door. The area around the sweets was taped off for 30 square feet.

  ‘That’s where she was grabbed,’ Dylan muttered to Dawn as he pointed to the pavement.

  Dylan and Dawn arrived to sit with Daisy’s parents, to go over once again what had happened. Trevor held Wendy as she wept. His eyes swam with tears that he brushed away as they fell to his cheeks. They sat huddled on the settee, trembling. Dylan was unsure whether it was with fear, shock, or a chill from the open door. The officers searched their home, a necessary, intrusive routine, but very upsetting for the Hinds. Wendy showed Dylan and Dawn the most recent picture of her daughter.

  ‘She looks so small, doesn’t she? Just like a Victorian doll. Pale skin, red curls,’ she said stroking the picture. ‘She was so, so excited, it’s her first time, you see, being a bridesmaid.’ Wendy sobbed, staring directly at them, her breathing erratic. She took a big gasp. ‘Where is she?’ she pleaded. ‘She isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t wander off. Why, oh why did I let her go?’ she wailed. ‘I watched her go down the road. Mum watched her come back. She’s just literally vanished into thin air. Oh, where’s my baby? Please find my baby,’ she begged as she rocked. Trevor sat perfectly still, speechless, his head in his hands. Suddenly Wendy jumped, startled, as she remembered. ‘Mum? Oh, my god, I’ve forgotten Mum. Is she okay?’

  Dawn contacted the hospital and was told Irene had suffered a mild heart attack but seemed to be doing well. She was responding to treatment and was comfortable.

  ‘Thank you, god. Oh, poor Mum.’ Wendy looked to the ceiling for some divine intervention as if trying to make sense of it all. A short while before they’d been a normal family, taking great pride in their daughter as she tried on her bridesmaid dress, and looking forward to a family wedding. Their lives had gone from sheer happiness to total hell.

  ‘Where’s my baby, my little girl? Please, please find her, she needs me,’ Wendy repeated over and over again, swaying to and fro as Trevor tried to comfort her.

  Dylan and Dawn were draped in the sadness that consumed the room. The couple’s hurt was almost tangible. Both spoke to the Family Liaison Officer (FLO) when she arrived and then introduced her to Daisy’s parents. Janice Henderson, salt of the earth, people said. Dylan knew she was an experienced officer. She needed to be for this one. Although there were supposed to be two FLOs on child abductions, the request that Dylan had made to Force Control had been turned down because there was no one available to take on the role. He’d tutted in disbelief. What was the police force coming to?

  ‘That was bloody awful,’ Dawn said as they left Janice with the Hinds and walked out onto the street.

  ‘Horrendous. It’s not looking good is it?�
�� Dylan said shaking his head. His eyes were downcast, his hands in his coat pockets as they strode out into the freezing night air. ‘Some bastard took a big risk and got away with it. She could be anywhere. We’ll have to be sure she isn’t still round here first. I want every corner of this area searched before we move on.’

  In each house searched, the officers would have to look into every possible place a young girl could hide or be hidden. This would include suitcases, cupboards, drawers, and boxes. There were thirty-five houses to search in the immediate area, Dylan was told. Nothing would be left to chance. As well as the searches, direct enquiries were being carried out of the registered sex offenders living in and around Tandem Bridge. There were sixteen. Each and every one would be subjected to interrogation and their flats, houses, or wherever they lived would be searched. This would hopefully be by consent, but if not, then there would be a warrant requested. Nothing would stand in the way of this little girl being found. Daisy’s friends would be contacted to see if she’d spoken to them. It was a priority line of enquiry for Dylan. Daisy went to Tandem Bridge Middle School, as did the majority of children in the area.

  It was now the early hours of the morning. Wendy and Trevor looked pale, numb with shock, their faces etched in pain. They kept asking if they could do something, anything, to help. All they knew was that their little girl, their only child, was gone. A few hours before excitement had filled the very room they were in. Trying on that bridesmaid dress was a long-awaited dream come true for Daisy.

  ‘Where is she? I need to know where she is. Daisy has never been out at this time of night before. She’ll be so frightened. She’ll need me.’ It was going to be a very long, painful night for them, and they wouldn’t sleep, they couldn’t. The search team would continue through the night. There was now a large police presence in the area, which would remain sealed. Although Dylan and Dawn were now going home for a few hours, they would be back at first light, when the briefing of more officers would take place. Daisy needed to be found, and quickly.

  Dylan didn’t even remember the drive to Jen’s house. Unlocking the door as quietly as he could, he found Jen’s golden retriever, Max, was waiting in the hallway. Dylan mumbled a hello to him through his swollen lips and Max’s tail swished the walls. The dog was always pleased to see him. Sanctuary, thought Dylan, as he slipped into bed next to Jen’s warm body. She stirred.

  ‘I’m knackered. Love you, Miss Jones,’ he said sleepily as he rested his head on the pillow next to Jen as gently as he could so as not to wake her. He drifted into a deep sleep, waking intermittently either due to the pain from his lip or thoughts of Daisy and whatever evil bastard had taken her.

  Chapter Three

  At 6.20 a.m., just over twelve hours after Daisy had been reported missing, the police received a 999 call from a distressed lady who had been walking her dog on wasteland near to Dean Reservoir, approximately seven miles from Daisy’s home.

  ‘Please help. I’ve just seen what looks like a child’s body. I’m sorry I can’t go any nearer, could you send someone please? Quickly.’

  A police car arrived at the location within six minutes. There was a biting wind. Mrs Day stood on the open moorland, bewildered, pale and shaken, with her mobile phone still in her hand. She was a smart lady of about forty years, dressed for the weather in boots, jeans, and an anorak. Nearby was her red Mini Cooper. Inside the car was her liver and white Springer spaniel.

  ‘I had to put Belle in the car. She wouldn’t stop barking, that’s why I walked towards … it,’ she told the officers. ‘But …I … couldn’t. I’m sorry. It made me feel sick.’ She held her hand to her throat, a hankie grasped firmly in her hand. She was visibly shaking. The older officer placed an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Mrs Day, you’ve done really well just ringing in. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need a doctor?’

  ‘No, no thank you, love. It’s, it’s just such a shock, you know?’ She shivered.

  The officer guided her to her vehicle where he sat her in the driver’s side, then he retreated to the passenger seat. Speaking to her gently he took notes in his pocket book as he asked her where she had walked and where she had seen what she thought was a body.

  She pointed. ‘Just over there. If you walk straight forward you’ll see it for yourself.’

  The younger officer followed the route Mrs Day indicated. Some twenty-five yards ahead, away from the road, he saw it.

  The body was face down and had a blue plastic bag secured over its head. He immediately contacted the control room and then checked the body for a pulse. There were no signs of life. Using his radio he requested the attendance of paramedics on the off chance anything could be done, but deep down he knew it was futile. They could at least make the pronouncement of life extinct. He called for the attendance of senior CID and uniform supervision. Using blue and white crime scene tape, he started to create a line from the roadway to the body, indicating the pathway Mrs Day had taken. He wrapped the tape around trees to begin sealing off the area, preserving it for a later search.

  The officers would record what they had done and why: they had no doubt it was a murder. CID arrived and a detective swapped places with the uniform officer to sit with Mrs Day. He told her that an ambulance was en route.

  ‘I’d only been parked about two or three minutes when Belle started barking continually at one spot, which is so out of character for her. I looked to the place where she was yapping, saw it, and dialled 999,’ Mrs Day told him.

  Seated in the security and quietness of Mrs Day’s car, the two watched the paramedics arrive. They saw the negative nods of their heads and they watched as the paramedics retreated from the scene.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive?’ asked the detective. ‘We’ll visit you later at home to take a statement if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine. Thank you. You’ve enough to do here. I’ll see you later,’ Mrs Day said.

  Dylan’s mobile and pager awoke him as they danced a duet on his bedside table. His face ached. As he yawned his lips cracked and flaked like old paint on dead wood. He picked up his phone. A bright, sharp, wide-awake voice on the other end spoke.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Dawn Farren asked me to contact you, sir. I’ll ring you back in a few minutes to give you chance to come round, shall I?’ Before he could speak, the caller hung up. Jen had gone into autopilot, so accustomed to the routine when he got called out and their sleep was disturbed. He smiled inwardly as he got a glimpse of her naked body before she covered it with her dressing gown. She turned as she switched on the big light, looked at him, froze, and then said, ‘Oh my god, Jack, what’s happened?’ She burst into tears as she rushed to his side of the bed. ‘Just tell me that one day you’ll walk away from it all,’ she begged, holding him so tight her knuckles were white.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, nothing will ever come between us. Definitely not the job. I love you, Miss Jones,’ he slurred, trying to stretch his mouth open as he reassuringly stroked her hair.

  Jennifer Jones worked at Harrowfield HQ in the admin department, which is where their eyes had first met. Their hands had accidentally touched putting the post in their pigeonholes. Passing the coffee cups had brought about electricity that he couldn’t ignore. He was like a lovesick teenager and he knew it when he began changing his routine just to catch a glimpse of her. He’d asked about her discreetly, but no one seemed to know much about Miss Jones other than that she lived alone. What he did know was that she was a stunner, and he wanted to know more. No one had guessed about the relationship so far, which was a miracle in the police force, but that’s the way he liked it. Let’s face it, Dylan thought, my life is sweet F.A. to do with anyone else. Dylan told Jen he wanted to protect her. To be honest he didn’t know if that was his real reason, but he did know that he stood on a lot of toes in both the criminal world and at the police station, and he didn’t want her to bear the brunt of any backlash he may have coming to him. There’d been
a few close calls, but for now their secret was safe. His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill of the phone.

  ‘Don’t think you’re going anywhere without telling me what’s happened,’ she said, waving a finger at him now the initial shock was over. Jen moved swiftly. As he watched, his suit, shirt and tie come out of the wardrobe in double quick time. Reaching for the pen and paper he always kept by the bed for occasions such as these, he caught sight of the digital clock. It was 06.50 a.m. He yawned and licked his swollen lips before speaking, but a sharp pain with a burning sensation caused him to gasp.

  ‘Hello, boss. Body found at Dean Reservoir a short time ago.’ Dylan listened and took notes. ‘DS Farren wants you to meet her at Harrowfield nick.’

  Jen placed a steaming cup quietly beside him on the bedside table and planted a kiss on the top of his head. He took a sip of the coffee. ‘Shit,’ he squealed as the cup stuck to his lip.

  ‘Pardon sir?’

  ‘Yeah, tell her I’ll be there ASAP.’

  He dressed quickly. Dylan had basically moved in with Jen although he’d kept his flat on at HQ Training Centre for appearances’ sake.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, the idiot who did it is locked up,’ he said as he picked up his briefcase. ‘I’ll ring you when I know what’s happening.’ With that he gave her a hug as he flew out of the door. She watched the lights on his car as he reversed out of the driveway. She sighed. It depressed her to see what the job did to him. No sleep, a busted lip and not knowing what horrendous sight was awaiting him: that was just for starters today.