Deadly Focus (24 page)

‘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.’

‘But he did squirm a bit.’

‘He wasn’t comfy, that’s for sure, but he was right about one thing: you’re a bully,’ she chortled.

The next interview was a non-starter. He offered ‘No reply’ to every question put to him for half an hour. Dylan and Dawn covered all the points of each murder. Harold rhythmically rocked in his chair. His eyes had turned glassy.

‘That’s it for today. You’ll be detained overnight and we’ll continue with the interview in the morning,’ Dylan stated. Harold hadn’t expected to be kept in overnight; Dylan could tell by his face.

‘Early start tomorrow, nine a.m. first interview?’ Dylan confirmed with Brenda Cotton.

Dylan knew only too well that the next interview was crucial. Little would have been in custody for over twenty-four hours. He needed to apply to get a further twelve hours detention from the divisional commander; after that he would have to charge him, release him, or put him before the courts. He needed more: he needed forensics.

Dylan’s head was spinning. Had he jumped too soon? He’d expected Little to fall apart in the interview. How wrong could he have been. Would a night in the cells bring him around?

‘I want every item of property seized from Harold Little’s home gone through with a fine-tooth comb,’ Dylan told the team in the incident room. ‘Nothing, and I mean nothing, is to be left to chance. I want answers now. We haven’t got time. We have a murderer locked up and there is no way I want to let him go. No way at all.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dylan hadn’t slept much. He’d discussed the events of the day and the forthcoming interview with Jen in bed until the early hours of the morning. She had eventually fallen asleep in his arms.

The clock struck nine; and the make or break interview was about to begin. Dylan took a deep breath and paced the corridor, waiting for Harold Wilkinson-Little to be brought to the interview room.

‘I wonder how he’ll be after a night in the cells, Dawn?’ Dylan said, as the door opened and the gaoler let Harold and his solicitor into the corridor leading to the interview rooms. Harold was staring at the floor as he shuffled along and he never looked up.

Apart from the occasional ‘No’, his answer to all the questions they put to him was ‘No reply’. The buzzer on the tape interrupted the interview. Forty-five minutes had passed and the tape was about to end. Dylan was churning inside. He hated being beaten and at this moment he knew he hadn’t sufficient evidence to charge Little. He terminated the interview and left the room. Harold was returned to his cell.

‘Are you releasing my client or charging him?’ enquired Brenda Cotton.

‘I’m just going to make a phone call to forensics, and then I’ll make that decision. If you’ll give me ten minutes?’ Dylan said, leaving Brenda in the custody suite.

‘What a bastard,’ Dawn said running after Dylan, who marched down the corridor.

‘He’s had too much time to think and plan, Dawn. The last thing I want to do is bail him, but I might have to if forensic haven’t come up with anything. Whilst I’m on the phone to the lab, will you get hold of the surveillance team and see if they’re available? I don’t want to lose any more time on Little’s detention clock than we have to.’ Dylan tapped his teeth with the top of his pen. ‘God, it’s like ringing a call centre,’ he said out loud as Dawn’s call was answered before his.

‘Bastards, whose side are they flaming on? They haven’t even looked at the cane yet. Can you believe it?’ Dylan sat with his head in his hands; his fingers grasping a clump of hair.

‘More bad news, boss. The surveillance team are tied up all week watching an armed gang around the clock.’

‘Fucking hell. Okay,’ Dylan sighed. ‘We’ll have to bail the twat for the time being. Can you arrange obs on his home by some of our staff, Dawn? Get a couple to follow him from the nick to make sure he goes straight there.’

‘No problem.’ Dawn walked to the door of Dylan’s office.

‘And Dawn?’

She turned. ‘Yes, boss?’

‘Keep smiling, kid, we’ll get there,’ he said half-heartedly. ‘Once we’ve sorted out his bail, we’ll get the team in and update them. Then we must speak with the family liaison officers.’

‘I know,’ she replied, seeing his pain.

Dylan bailed Harold Wilkinson-Little. He signed for his personal possessions and as Harold left the cell area without a word, he stopped, turned, and smiled. Dylan could feel the muscles twitching in his face as he strained to stop himself from showing any emotion. He felt his stomach do a sickening churn. Dylan was glad he’d taken the chance and had him in. The team needed to feel his collar and he was sure in his own mind that Harold was the murderer. He could have him followed, but he now had to tell the families of the victims his prime suspect was released without charge. They would be thinking that at last Dylan had the killer. He couldn’t tell them he was sure the murderer was Harold. How could he justify to them the reason for his bail if he did? Visions of little Daisy and Christopher laid out on the slab haunted him. He’d stared right through Harold to the image of the corpses.

Back in the office, he spoke to the FLOs to let the families know that enquiries were continuing, but they couldn’t at this moment in time connect the man who’d been arrested with the murders.

Dylan was positive with the enquiry team at the briefing, as he talked through Little’s attitude and responses in each of the interviews.

‘Harold Wilkinson-Little is still our main focus. When we get more evidence, especially from forensic, his feet won’t touch the ground before he’s back inside,’ he said.

‘Are you really sure it’s Harold?’ DS Larry Banks asked in the privacy of the SIO’s office. ‘He seems so meek, he’s got no previous criminal history, and he’s coped with the interviews. I’m not sure.’

‘It’s him, all right,’ snapped Dylan, angry that his judgement was being questioned.

‘Okay, okay, it was just a thought. You’re always telling me not to wear blinkers or make assumptions,’ Larry replied.

‘I know, but I am satisfied with this one.’

‘You’re certain it’s not Meredith, then, boss?’ needled Larry.

‘If he’s of interest to you, Larry, then get me some evidence. We’ve got a lot of links with Harold Little, so let’s keep focusing on him at the moment, eh?’ Larry was aggravating Dylan.

The rest of the day was a slog through paperwork. Dylan’s pride was hurt. He’d had to let a murderer back out onto the streets. He was tired. He needed to re-charge his batteries; he needed a cuddle of reassurance from Jen. Deep down he knew that at the forensic laboratory they had to go through procedures and they couldn’t rush their processes, but patience wasn’t Dylan’s greatest strength.

His mobile phone had been on silent all day because of the interviews. ‘Six missed calls and a voice mail, all from Jen,’ Dylan said, worried.

‘Jack, Mum’s been in a road accident. She’s in hospital and it doesn’t sound good,’ she’d told the machine. ‘I’m at the airport … been trying you since.’ Dylan could see her pushing through crowds as he tuned into the noises in the background. ‘Look, I have to rush off, sorry. Look after Max … speak soon.’ The line went dead.

Dylan grabbed a lager out of the fridge. He broke the seal and the froth foamed over the top of the can. ‘Shit,’ he yelled. Max scurried under the kitchen table. The house felt cold and empty. He sat for a moment on a kitchen stool as Max crawled on his belly from his hiding place to Dylan’s feet.

‘Sorry, mate. What a shit day.’ He sighed as he stroked Max’s head. ‘I wonder how Jen and her mum are.’ Max barked. ‘All right, I’ll get you some tea before I ring her.’ Max responded with a wag of his tail; he knew the word ‘tea’. Dylan hadn’t the stomach or energy to make any food for himself as he mixed Max’s. Placing the dish on the floor with one hand he picked his mobile up with the other to ring Jen.

‘Hello love,’ he said, before he realised her mobile was turned off and it was her answering machine message talking to him. Resigned to the fact that she was probably at the hospital, he typed a text:
Give me a call when u can X.

‘I’m off to the chippy, Max,’ he shouted.
Am I really talking to the dog,
he thought, as he picked up his coat and left. For once his mind was off murders, he was thinking of Jen.
Poor lass, having to go all that way down south on her own; I should have been there for her. The bloody job.

Dylan jumped. The pie and chips repeated, and he belched loudly as he sat up in the chair. A phone was ringing in the distance. He must have fallen asleep.

‘Jen?’ he said, as he picked up the receiver.

‘Jack. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, love. How’re you? How’s your mum?’

‘I’m at the hospital.’

‘I thought you must be. I’ve been ringing, but your phone’s been off.’

‘Oh, Jack, I wish you were here. I don’t know what to do. Mum’s in intensive care. She’s wearing a mask … they’ve got drips and tubes in her … monitors stuck to her. They keep taking her away for tests, but she’s dying, Jack. I just know it.’ Jen sobbed.

‘Oh, Jen. I’m so sorry I can’t come. With the arrest and that ….’

‘I know.’ Jack heard Jen’s grief, and he felt as though someone had just squeezed his heart. His stomach flipped. ‘And Dad’s … just crying … he’s clinging to her. They’ve had to prise his hand from hers … and he wails …. I think they may have to give him something to sedate him. What am I going to do, Jack?’ Her sobbing became more intense and as he closed his eyes he could see her standing in the hospital, biting her lip and trying not to cry, tears spilling from her eyes and cascading down her face.

‘I’m sorry, Jen, I’m so sorry,’ Jack said, as he replaced the receiver. He cried like a baby, for Jen, for her mum and dad, for Daisy and her parents, for Christopher and his, and for feeling so inadequate.

Chapter Thirty-Three

A white frost had blanketed the park overnight, but was beginning to melt as Dylan walked Max the next morning. He could see his breath steaming before him, even though the sky was pea soup from a foggy mist. The ground was muddy and wet underfoot, so he stayed on the path around the playing fields.

What the hell am I doing here at half past five in the morning?
he thought, and shivered, as Max jumped and barked excitedly at his feet. Dylan threw him a ball and Max ran through the grass, sliding dramatically in the mud to catch it. Dylan couldn’t help but smile as Max ran back to him, his coat wet and his eyes shining as he offered Dylan the slimy ball.

‘We should be with Jen,’ Dylan told Max.

Breakfast was a cup of strong coffee to warm him as he fed Max and put the washing in the machine. God knew how it worked; Dylan certainly didn’t, but when he got a day off he’d work it out. Until then he’d at least a dozen clean shirts in the wardrobe. He threw Max a chew. ‘I’ll try to get back soon, mate,’ he said as he left the house for work.

‘It’s got to be him,’ Dylan said out loud as he pored over the previous day’s interview transcripts and checked the lists of items removed from Little’s house, his van, and the property store.
There has got to be something,
he thought. The bastard made no attempt to hide the bodies, but if he wanted people to know what he’d done why not come clean in the interviews? He’d had plenty of opportunity. Was Dylan wearing blinkers? Had Larry been right to challenge him about Little’s innocence?

Jen rang; he got up from behind his desk and pushed the office door shut. He noticed people’s heads turn at the sound of the door closing; it wasn’t something Dylan did often.

‘I thought I’d just try and catch you. I’m at the hospital with Dad. There’s no change.’

‘It’s so good to hear your voice,’ Dylan said. ‘I just wish I could do something.’

‘There’s nothing anyone can do. The nurses are lovely, and we just sit and pray for a miracle.’ She laughed a hollow, tired laugh that told Dylan she was trying so hard to be brave. ‘You eating?’

‘Of course.’ Typical Jen, worrying about him at a time like this. ‘I’m fine and so is Max. You just take care.’

‘Look, I’ve rang my friend Penny. You know, the lady who works at Tesco? She’s going to come and take Max out and feed him whilst I’m away. You’ve got enough on your plate.’

‘But I can look after him,’ Dylan protested.

‘Yeah. Sure. I never know if you’ll get home, never mind having poor Max crossing his legs. No, honestly I’ve made my mind up and rang her. Max is used to her, and she has a key so there is nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure. I love you.’

‘I love you more, but I must get back to Mum and Dad.’ And with that she hung up.

Two o’clock and Dylan realised he hadn’t had anything to eat all day. He felt light-headed and his temples had begun to throb.
Too much caffeine,
he guessed. Jen was right. He could hardly look after himself, never mind the dog; and it was a weight off his mind.

‘You look pale, boss,’ Dawn said. ‘You okay?’

‘Just a headache. You haven’t got any paracetamol, have you?’

‘Sure,’ she said heading off to her desk. ‘I’ve just had a call from the obs team. Little hasn’t left the house,’ she called. ‘They tried to ring you, but you were engaged.’ Dylan swallowed the tablets she gave him with the remains of some cold coffee. ‘I noticed you’d shut your door. Anything important?’ she enquired.

‘No. Actually, I think I’ll head home.’

‘In the middle of the afternoon? You’ve either got a secret lover or you’re really not well,’ she exclaimed. Realising it was the latter, she said, ‘Do you want me to drive you?’