‘Come on, sit down,’ Trevor said leading her to the settee where she collapsed, head in her hands. Trevor sat beside her, holding her tight and rubbing her back.
‘This can’t be happening. She can’t just ’ave vanished.’
Somehow Wendy managed to find the words to blurt out to the police what had happened. Repeating it over and over again.
‘What can I do?’ Trevor begged the officers. ‘Some bastard’s got her. She can’t be far away.’
The evening sky changed colour with the arrival of each additional police car’s lights. The search between Daisy’s home and her Grandma’s was chaotic. Every house in the street was lit. People banged on their neighbours’ doors and shouted through their letter boxes to ask for help to find Daisy. Rochester Road had houses to one side only. On the other side was a slope topped with a ten-foot wall, and beyond was a railway line. There was no way she could have got over that, although people crawled with torches up the embankment. Cries for Daisy
rang out in the darkness.
A young PC brought a distraught Irene up to Wendy and Trevor’s house so that they could comfort each other. As far as anyone knew, Daisy had vanished into thin air. Every minute that passed caused the family more anxiety, more concern, more panic. Their eyes clung to the hands on the clock. When would it end?
‘She’s a good girl. She would never run away. She was so happy. I gave her sweets and watched her turn the corner from my door. She was skipping. It’s so, so cold,’ Irene panicked. The police officer tried to reassure her as Irene twisted her hands together in worry. All of a sudden she clasped her chest and grimaced in pain as she struggled to breathe, rubbing her arm furiously. Her face turned grey, clammy to the touch, and the quick-thinking officer who sat at her side didn’t hesitate to ring for an ambulance. Wendy rushed to her mother’s side and cradled her in her arms.
‘Trevor, get Mum some water, could you?’ she asked anxiously. The paramedics were quick with the tests, and before anyone knew what was happening Irene’s face was covered with an oxygen mask and she was being carried on a stretcher into the waiting ambulance. Wendy grasped her mother’s hand tightly for a second as she was taken past. The doors were closed. Sirens amongst the flashing blue lights ensured a clear path was made for the ambulance to get through the crowds that were gathering.
‘I should go with her,’ Wendy wailed as she watched her mother being taken away. ‘Where’s my baby?’ she sobbed at the police officers. ‘I want my mum.’
Chapter Two
He pulled up his collar and fastened the buttons on his black leather coat as he stepped out into a cool evening in the village of Tandem Bridge. The rain had stopped but the streetlight’s reflection in the surface water glimmered. It had only been a few days since bonfire weekend. The aroma of burning wood and spent fireworks still filled the air. Jack Dylan took a few paces towards the kerb. There was a light tap on his left shoulder. Instinctively he turned. A sudden, almighty blow to his face sent him reeling into darkness.
The bittersweet taste of blood filled his mouth, tears sprang to his eyes, and the excruciating pain made him stumble to his knees. Stunned and semi-conscious, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Blood sprayed in what seemed like slow-motion across the front of his coat and the paving slabs. He could hear shouting as he attempted to pull his broad frame upright. His vision and senses slowly returned and the pavement felt cold and wet to his touch. Reaching up to his aching face, blood covered his hands. Through watery eyes he saw the outline of a man being grappled to the street by two uniformed officers. He blacked out.
Dylan woke in hospital, stretched out on a bed covered by a blanket. A muslin cloth covered the lower part of his face. He tried to comprehend what had happened. The attack was vivid yet over in a flash. If his attacker hadn’t been stopped, Dylan might not have survived. Who the fuck had done it and why? God, his mouth hurt.
What the hell do I look like?
he wondered, groaning as he reached up to touch his face.
‘We’ll give you something for the pain, love. I’m afraid you’re going to need a few stitches, though,’ the nurse said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm as she adjusted the cloth to cover his eyes. He was in no rush; it was comforting to be still for a while. The quietness around him and the cloth over his face lulled his eyes shut. The darkness made him sleepy and he let his mind drift. It reminded him of being a child when he’d hidden under the stairs with his mum, brothers, and sisters. They’d covered their heads with the coats that hung there to shut out the flashes of lightning and muffle the sound of thunder, or they’d hid there from the rent man who’d banged on the door for the overdue rent on the estate, which he did regularly.
Dylan was a stocky man who commanded presence by his stature, hard on the exterior and relentless in pursuit of right, but underneath he was a kind-hearted person who longed for a home life. His nickname in his younger years as a police officer had been ‘Basher’. In those days he always seemed to be fighting. At the age of thirty-five and with fifteen years of service he’d had a few close calls locking up criminals, but this twat had totally surprised him. Thirteen years as a detective and now a Detective Inspector, he was annoyed he’d been caught out. He recalled his first night on the beat and that damned uniform. Razor sharp creases, a helmet that rubbed his forehead. Detachable starched collars; none of that stretch fabric of today. Studs held them on and had pressed into the nape of his neck, painful and annoying, but he was so proud of wearing that uniform. His parents would have been, too, if they’d been alive.
Dylan’s first shift started at 22.00 hours. He was walking alone, new boots gleaming, identifying him as a rookie even if nothing else did. Harrowfield town’s main street bustled with life on a night; overspills from the pubs, laughing and shouting filling the air spasmodically. He remembered he’d been told to try to walk with the authority that the uniform gave him, shoulders back. He’d checked to see how he looked in the shop windows as he passed. His reflection looked grand.
The two parts of the Pye radio were kept in his breast pockets. The left hand held the receiver to the ear while the right hand used the transmitter. Fortunate if both worked and a sitting duck if anyone tried to attack him as both hands were occupied. He tried to remember everything he’d been taught back in training school, but what would he do if anything happened, he’d wondered? His nervous mind had mixed up all the rules and regulations, trying to put them in some kind of order.
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?