Deadly Focus

by R. C. Bridgestock

  The press conference the next morning with the Spencers was harrowing. They sat pale-faced, ashen with grief, as their lives were catapulted to the fore for public scrutiny, a topic of conversation in homes, workplaces, and pubs across the county.

  ‘This is an extremely disturbing case. Christopher was hit on the head with some force by an unknown object and then was hanged using a blue nylon rope that was placed around his neck,’ Dylan told the assembled reporters.

  He held up and showed them a similar type of rope.

  ‘I’m satisfied that the murderer or murderers brought this rope with them, suggesting that the hanging may have been premeditated. Christopher was the ideal son, a typical young lad who enjoyed sport and played football for the school, something that he had been doing the day he disappeared. On that day he had scored two goals for his team and was overjoyed. He was a well-liked boy. There is no obvious motive for the brutality of Christopher’s death. It has caused great sadness to the school and the community that a child has died in such disturbing circumstances. The total devastation of his parents and family is beyond doubt.’

  Sarah’s tears were constant, so she couldn’t speak. Her head was bowed and her shoulders were stooped. She dabbed her eyes continually with a tissue while at the same time either smoothing her hair or picking at a piece of cotton on her dress.

  ‘Please help us find who did this to our son,’ Martin said simply, his voice almost inaudible, his lips and lower jaw quivering.

  Dylan concluded the conference, dealt with the interviews, and then spoke to the family.

  ‘Well, that’s the Press sorted for now. We want everyone to know about Christopher’s murder. Somebody out there reading a paper, listening to the radio, or watching the TV might just give us a call. Regarding the funeral arrangements, there will have to be a second independent post mortem, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh no….’ Wendy sighed.

  ‘After that examination, I’ll get onto the coroner about the inquest and the release of Christopher’s body. I can assure you, I am treating this as a priority.’

  The family nodded in unison and remained silent.

  Dylan didn’t personally like press conferences: the cameras, the publicity. Although he was confident, he was always conscious of his dull northern accent. He didn’t need this for his ego, but he knew others relished it. They would go out of their way if they thought they could get on TV. Sad. He was always nervous because he did not want to forget something important or say anything wrong, and it was important nothing detracted from the appeal. Often he spent hours talking to the media only for it to be edited to a few short snippets of news.

  Back at the incident room, Dylan walked into the debrief. Officers told him that the school Christopher attended was doing all it could to help and had allowed them access to classes and to Christopher’s classmates, while offering what support they could to the children. In assembly, the Headmaster had informed the school that the police would be in the building and told those who hadn’t heard the terrible news that Christopher had died. He’d assured the children that they could always talk to one of the teachers if they were not confident about speaking to the police officers.

  Malcolm Meredith, the football teacher, had been seen by an officer and he told the team that the teacher appeared to be genuinely upset. In his statement he said that he had last seen Chris at the entrance, waiting for his dad, and he was sure he had been the last to leave.

  ‘Where did Meredith go after the game?’ Dylan asked the officer.

  ‘The Red Lion to celebrate. It’s his local, sir.’

  ‘And the spectators at the match?’

  ‘Meredith said there were quite a lot of people there, families, friends and local people. He knew a lot of the faces, but not all the names. I have the names of the people he did recognise, sir.’

  ‘Did he find a football sock belonging to Christopher in the changing rooms?’

  ‘No, sir. He said no one left anything. He said he always checked to see if any kit had been left after a match.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The debrief over, it was just after nine. He called Jen then drove home thinking about the two murders, about how they could be linked and about Christopher’s missing sock. Dylan was sure the killer was taking trophies. Bloody hell, with Daisy’s murderer still at large, Dylan would have thought Meredith wouldn’t have left the boy alone. Or did he leave him? Had his officer just spoken to the killer? He made a decision there and then that he would get his team to put Meredith under the microscope and collate all the information he could about him. He knew better than anyone else that murderers came in all shapes, sizes, and professions. Dylan needed to find this killer before another child was murdered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mr Cater, the Coroner, was an experienced man in his mid-sixties, slim of build, smart in appearance, and articulate. Dylan thought he cut the perfect grandfatherly figure as he sat at the front of the court on the morning of the twenty-third of December, listening to evidence regarding how, why, when, and where Daisy Charlotte Hind had died. Mr Cater was always thorough and sincere, and he allowed Daisy’s family to be present to hear for themselves the full circumstances of their daughter’s death. Janice Henderson sat with Wendy and Trevor. Dylan sat alongside the Coroner’s Officer.

  It was a relaxed atmosphere and the Coroner nodded sympathetically towards Mr and Mrs Hind. Numerous reporters representing various papers from local to tabloids filled the seats. The Coroner’s Officer was called to the witness box first to outline the scene surrounding the finding of Daisy’s body and her subsequent identification by her parents. He submitted to the court Daisy’s birth certificate. Mr Cater now had proof of identification. He read out the statements of the paramedics who had pronounced her dead. After he had finished, Dylan was called into the witness box.

  ‘Good morning, Detective Inspector. Sit if you wish,’ the Coroner said in a quiet voice. You could hear a pin drop.

  Dylan read the oath out loud and then sat as he told the court how Daisy had disappeared and how she had been found some twelve hours later. ‘Sir,’ he concluded, ’Two independent post mortems have been carried out and neither party requires Daisy’s body to be retained. Therefore there is no objection from either prosecution or future defence to Daisy’s body being released for funeral purposes.’

  ‘No known suspect is being sought?’ asked the Coroner.

  ‘Not at the moment, sir. An investigation was started when Daisy went missing. Her naked body was found on wasteland near to Dean Reservoir. Cause of death was a massive single blow to the head.’ Dylan went on to explain her other injuries.

  ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector. I have the relevant paperwork and letters from Professors Cockroft and Rutherford before me.’ Mr Cater adjourned the inquest until such time as the offender had been traced and prosecuted. Finally, he told Wendy and Trevor that he would release Daisy’s body to them for burial and offered his sincere condolences. Their plans for Daisy and Irene’s funeral could now move forward.

  Dylan returned to the Christopher Spencer incident room. His focus had to be on the latest murder. Larry was working on some papers at his desk as Dylan walked through to his own office.

  ‘I want to know about Malcolm Meredith. Check we’ve searched his car. Ask him if Christopher has ever been in it. Get SOCO to fingerprint the interior.’

  Larry followed Dylan and stood at his office door, leaning on the door jamb. ‘Meredith says he drove his car through the car wash on his way home from the pub the night Christopher went missing.’

  ‘Great.’ Dylan put his head in his hands. ‘Did he valet it?’

  ‘No, he says not.’

  ‘Did he teach Daisy, do you know?’

  ‘Probably,’ Larry replied, yawning.

  ‘ “Probably” won’t do. He either did or he didn’t. We need to be sure. Come on, Larry, we need to put him in or out of this enquiry. Get his car searched and his house as
well.’

  Larry walked into Dylan’s office and sat down.

  ‘Have we got cell site analysis back for Christopher’s phone? Recent numbers dialled?’

  ‘No, sir, nothing yet, but they’re on with it.’

  Dylan studied the piece of paper in front of him for a moment. ‘What about Martin Spencer’s car tyre? There was a puncture mark on the wall of the tyre, but we don’t know the cause. It’s a quarter of an inch in diameter, it says here. What do you think? Nail? Screw?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Because it’s on the tyre wall, it’s not repairable. Keep it anyway, just to be on the safe side.’

  Martin Spencer ran a small tile shop in the town, a one-man business, which was why he’d had to work on the day of his son’s big football match. He’d not had the opportunity to see Christopher play football and now never would. Other dads would’ve been there, he thought. He blamed himself: if I hadn’t started my own business, if I’d only closed the shop.

  Sarah was on anti-depressants to help her cope. She blamed herself, too, since she and Jane could have gone to watch him play. It hadn’t been such a bad afternoon, weather-wise. Why didn’t she think about it? She had never thought about going to his games. Her son played for the school; he must have been good. She should have supported him. She always went shopping on a Friday afternoon, god knew why. She didn’t have to. She just always had.

  Dylan knew all too well that their lives had been engulfed by Christopher’s murder. He had seen it before too many times. The Spencers would be told over and over that hindsight was a wonderful thing, and they could spend the remainder of their lives beating themselves up about it, but it would not bring Christopher back.

  He’d been satisfied from early on in the enquiry that neither the mum nor the dad was involved in the killing and that Christopher had not been ill-treated. Dylan wished he could give the Spencers some good news, some positive development. Unfortunately, all the lines of enquiry were unyielding, if not on occasions damn demoralising, so far. But Dylan hadn’t been beaten yet by a murder investigation, and he wasn’t going to be beaten now. No matter how long it took, he would find those responsible.

  In the office, he spoke to both Dawn and Larry, who listened and took notes.

  ‘The murders should really be run separately, according to Home Office guidelines. Both should have a different SIO. Hold on. I’ll telephone ACC operations to see what he wants me to do.’

  ‘Ideally that would be the case, Jack,’ the voice at the other end of the phone said, sounding laid back and smooth over the loud speaker. ‘But we haven’t a spare SIO who can take this on and neither do we have an ACC who can oversee it. See how you go and we’ll see if anyone frees up. You could always detect them,’ he laughed sarcastically.

  Dylan put the phone down, downhearted. ‘Old, old story. As long as someone is dealing with it …,’’ Dylan said. He was a realist and knew that no one would ever be freed up, or oversee it.

  Dylan would not merge the enquiries, although he would look at comparisons. Should evidence link them, they would be merged immediately. If it didn’t, then neither investigation had been derailed and each could remain focused. Was the murderer one person who knew both Christopher and Daisy? he wondered.

  ‘Right, I need to know that the teachers at Harrowfield Middle School have all been checked out thoroughly, Larry. Also the caretaker, supply teachers, classroom assistants, and dinner ladies, absolutely anyone who has been at the school. Michael Meredith, the football teacher, was the last to see Christopher alive. That we know, but did he also know Daisy? Did he teach her? I want him interviewed again. I want to know where he was the day Daisy went missing. Dawn, who else would know these two children by sight? Doctors? Dentists? Did they both attend the local church? There has to be a connection.’

  ‘Leave it with us, sir,’ Dawn said as she and Larry left the room. Dylan doodled on a pad, listing the comparisons between the murders.

  Boy – 10 yrs

  Girl – 9 yrs

  Harrowfield Middle School

  Harrowfield Middle School

  Snatched

  Snatched

  Hit on the head 2” diameter wound

  Hit on the head 2”diameter wound

  Cause of death: hanging

  Cause of death: head injury

  Not only child

  Only child

  Body clothed

  Body naked

  Dog excrement in mouth

  Eyebrows shaved/cigarette burns to buttocks.

  Brace removed

  Fingertip removed

  Daytime

  Evening

  There were similarities; Dylan couldn’t deny it. They were staring at him in black and white. He believed that the murders had to be connected, although he would still not officially link them at this time. He needed tangible evidence. Both murders were disjointed in that neither followed a pattern that could suggest a motive. The naked body, the burns on the buttocks, the bag on Daisy’s head and the missing fingertip, while for Christopher, the dog dirt and the hanging. Why? The murderer was no doubt organised and calm, but what message was he leaving for them? It would be interesting to hear what the offender profiler had to say now. Would he be able to shed further light on the enquiry? Would he connect the murders? If it were one person, would there be any more deaths? Dylan needed to know how the killer chose his victims, if the killer was a lone individual. He didn’t believe these murders were random. Both victims went to the same school. Why taunt Daisy’s parents?

  Dylan found he had been left numerous messages about the property store, but one concerned him. Harold had gone off sick, but Dylan didn’t want anyone else touching the murder exhibits. Just then he saw Detective Constable John Benjamin pass his door.

  ‘John.’

  ‘Did you shout boss?’

  ‘Yeah, just saw you at the last minute, mate. Are you and Vicky going to be at Harrowfield nick today?’

  ‘I think Vicky has some bits and bobs to drop off at Tandem Bridge. Something you need doing?’

  ‘Apparently the property stores are bursting at the seams, so the divisional administrator tells me, and the property clerk has gone off sick with a twisted ankle. Would you just have a look at the stores for me? I know there’s a cage within the void area that has the cold case murder files and exhibits in. I thought it might be possible to house our latest two murder exhibits in there and catalogue them at the same time. I want to keep them under the same roof. It’d be so much easier than the attic at Tandem Bridge.’

  ‘No problems boss. I’ll get it done this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s great, John, thanks. How’s the family?’

  ‘Brilliant. Emma’s six now and Jake’s four. Just don’t get enough time with them. You know what it’s like when the job’s running.’ Dylan had heard that before, many times.

  ‘Make sure you make time. There’s nothing worse than setting off on a morning before they get up and getting home after they’ve gone to bed. You miss so much and before you know it they’re married and have children of their own.’

  ‘Easier said than done though sometimes, boss,’ John sighed.

  ‘Yeah I know. Don’t let that nosy administrator know what you’re doing. We’ll tell her when we’ve made a decision. It’ll be easier that way.’

  ‘Consider it done; I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Cheers, John, and remember, family comes first.’

  Dylan left a message for Dawn and Larry to meet up with him the next day after the briefings. He wanted to discuss with them the approach to the families. There was something bugging him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, what he was missing. Experience told him it would be something simple and obvious that he wasn’t seeing.

  There was nothing forthcoming from any line of enquiry. The headmaster of the school couldn’t think why anyone would want to hurt Daisy or Christopher. There was no connection between teachers, f
ootball, school friends; they didn’t even think Christopher and Daisy knew each other. They’d drawn a blank with Meredith, who had a watertight alibi.

  Dylan wondered if Boscombe, the offender profiler, could tell him more. He was trying to keep focused. He wanted answers. He needed answers. The pressure was building all the time, and he hoped and prayed there wasn’t another child killed. The phone rang.

  ‘Hey you, how ya doing? Home for tea?’

  ‘Hiya, love.’ He leaned back in his chair. His shoulders visibly dropped as he relaxed and stretched.

  ‘Should be, nothing new here, but not for the want of trying.’

  ‘It’ll break, don’t worry. You’ll do it. You’ll get there. Come on, Jack. This isn’t like you. Pick yourself up. You need to keep that team bubbling.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’s just so damn frustrating. I want to find that link. What the hell am I missing?’

  ‘Apart from me?’ He could hear the teasing in her voice, and he smiled.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘I’m just worried another child’ll be killed.’ Is it me, he wondered.

  Although Dylan was sifting through evidence, his team was out searching, interviewing, and statement-taking. The volume of paperwork in the incident room was mounting daily. Dylan needed to be aware of every piece of information that came in. Ultimately each action would form the basis of the prosecution file. He kept a check on the workload of each individual officer, which was easily done using information from the computer. There was no way he could afford to have anyone slacking. If he’d marked the lines of enquiry ‘priority,’ he expected them to be treated as such. His team had energy, just no suspect.

  The phone rang and it was Janice. ‘Sir, Daisy’s funeral has been confirmed for the December the twenty-eighth. Will you be there?’