‘Just to let you know, I’ll be doing the press conference and TV from about eleven so you know where I’ll be. More sad news, Daisy’s gran died this morning.’
‘Never. That’s awful. The family won’t be at the conference then?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Janice is with them and they’ve called the doctor out to Daisy’s mum. They’re just devastated. Who wouldn’t be?’
‘God, I’m not surprised.’
‘So, love, the media won’t be happy, but they’ll just have to put up with my dulcet tones.’
‘Nobody better.’
‘Not sure about that. Speak to you after. By the way, last night was the best. I love you.’
‘You too.’ He could hear her smile. He knew she was sitting wading through her paperwork only a couple of floors away, but it felt like miles at times like these when he just wanted to hold her close. Jen had a handful of friends in admin, which helped her pass the day. She involved herself in voluntary work, organising events for charity outside of work. She said it had helped her cope when he was working. Jen often spoke of feeling lonely while he worked long hours and he didn’t know how to resolve that. She was vocal in telling him she hated the police because of what she saw it doing to him and he had to agree that he would be tossed aside like a worn car tyre, unwanted, unfit for purpose, in time. He’d simply be replaced without a further thought when it came to him retiring. So why did he do it?
Dylan had had his boost from hearing her voice and he felt ready to get to grips with the media issue, what he would say and what he wanted to get across to the public. Dawn had handled the team briefing and got the team out and about on enquiries.
‘Who you been talking to, to put a smile on your face?’ Dawn asked as she joined him.
‘Ah, it was a wrong number. Funny how weird people act when they ring a DI by accident,’ he lied. ‘Coffee and toast for us, Dawn,’ he said standing up from behind his desk. ‘My treat as you made the coffee.’
‘I should think so.’
‘I’ve just spoken to Janice to let her know Susan Raynor is sorted to back her up,’ said Dylan as they walked to the canteen.
‘And I told the troops in the briefing the evil bastard had caused the death of Daisy’s gran. God knows how Trevor and Wendy are coping.’
‘Rachel’s on her way from the Press Office to discuss any issues before the press conference. Do you want to be present for that?’ he asked.
‘I’d like to be there for the meeting, but you’re on your own with the Press. One singer, one song,’ she laughed.
‘It would be good experience for when you’re applying for the next rank.’
‘When I have to do it I will, but for now they’re all yours.’
‘Okay, no problem, if you’re chickening out,’ he teased.
‘They’ll probably focus all their cameras on your mouth anyhow.’ Funny, he’d almost forgotten about that.
A short while later Rachel arrived and all three sat and discussed how to handle the media side of the enquiry. The phone rang. It was Janice.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, boss, but I’ve just got the green light from Trevor. Poor thing, he’s been on the telephone all morning to family and friends, but at least it’s kept his mind occupied.’
‘Is that for both Daisy and Irene?’
‘Yeah, both. They’re asking if it’s possible for them to have a joint funeral and burial. Seeing as Daisy adored her gran so much, they’d like them to be buried together. I told them I’d look into it for them. Auntie Sam’s wedding has been postponed and is unlikely to happen this year. She just couldn’t go through with it.’
‘It’s sad, but you can understand. It’s a really nice thought about them being buried together. We’ll do what we can. Let them know that Daisy’s murder will be headline news in the papers and on the news tonight, will you? And be careful, some of the nationals may try knocking at the door; they seem desperate for an exclusive. Don’t let them near. Any problems, ring us.’
‘Will do, boss. Thanks.’
‘By the way, Janice, you’re doing a great job,’ Dylan said sincerely.
‘Thanks. It’s nice to be appreciated. I’ll get back to it and tell them about your call.’
It was standing room only in the conference suite. The photographers let loose their flashes. Dylan entered the room and sat behind the desk at the front. It was a lonely job being an SIO. He knew he would have their undivided attention while he spoke, and then the room would erupt, with questions being fired at him from every angle. The clock struck eleven and, as the flashes stopped, Dylan started.
‘Daisy Charlotte Hind was a little girl of nine, the only child of Wendy and Trevor. The evening she went missing, she’d simply gone to her grandma’s home a few hundred yards down Rochester Road, onto Rochester Way, to show her the bridesmaid dress she was wearing. She’d never been a bridesmaid before and was overjoyed to have been asked by her Auntie. She didn’t stay at her grandma’s. She was straight in and out as her mum had told her. Grandma watched Daisy as she walked back home until she turned out of her sight into Rochester Road.
‘We know little Daisy didn’t make the next few hundred yards to her door. Her naked body was found on wasteland near to Dean Reservoir some twelve hours later at 6.20 a.m. yesterday. She hadn’t been hidden and was about twenty-five yards from the road. She’d been wearing a grey duffle coat, black shoes, and a jade green bridesmaid dress. None of these items of clothing have been recovered. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted and she died from a single blow to her head. Due to the ferocity of the blow, she would have died instantly. This was the brutal and callous killing of a young, defenceless child by a calculating murderer who needs to be caught.
‘It’s also with great sadness that I can tell you that her grandma, Irene, having heard that her little princess, as she called her, had been snatched from the street, collapsed with chest pains. She was taken by ambulance to Harrowfield Hospital, where she suffered a fatal heart attack earlier this morning.
‘I appeal to anyone who has the slightest suspicion about a partner or family member to contact us. We would also like to hear from anyone who was in Rochester Road or Rochester Way yesterday evening and who saw either Daisy or anyone acting suspiciously. Finally, anyone who was in the area of Dean Reservoir yesterday. Has anyone any questions?’
A show of hands told Dylan he’d have to curtail the question and answer session otherwise he would be there all day.
‘Jim Blake,
Daily
Mirror
, what’s Grandma’s last name?’
‘Barker.’
‘
Harrowfield Times
, how many officers are working on the case?’
‘Around forty, at this time.’
‘
Tandem Bridge Echo
, how are the parents coping?’
‘Unless we’ve lost a child ourselves, I don’t think any of us can understand the pain and misery they’re going through. Daisy’s mum has had to receive continued medication to help her cope, and with the news of her mum dying too.’ Dylan shook his head. ‘We can only imagine the trauma this evil killer has caused.’
Dylan held up an enlarged photograph. ‘We have pictures available of a bridesmaid dress similar to the one that Daisy was wearing.
‘As you can imagine, we’ve a vast amount of work to do, so thank you.’
Dylan continued to be bombarded by questions, although none could be heard clearly with everyone talking at once. He held up his hand in an attempt to halt the noise. The room became less frantic as people began to listen once more.
‘I’ll be available for one-to-one interviews later, thanks again,’ he said as he rose from his seat. The TV stations lined up. The local radio and the papers all wanted their own individual photographs or footage to use. Dylan patiently ensured they were all satisfied before he left the arena. It just might help to gather the information that he would need to lead him to the killer, who knew? An hour later he returned to his office, hoarse.
The incident room was already a hive of industry. The tapping of fingers on keyboards was like rain on a windowpane. Searches were continuing and these had now extended to the reservoir and surrounding areas. Dylan sat quietly in his office, scribbling down notes as he thought about the lines of enquiry.
Where are Daisy’s clothes?
Soil samples, vegetation samples could link the killer to the area. Possible routes of access to Rochester Road and Rochester Way? CCTV, garages en route? Who are the ‘creeps’ the ‘weirdos’ the strange people in the area? The locals will know who they are. Sensitive searching of Daisy’s room. Enquiries at Daisy’s school - Harrowfield Middle School. Did she know her attacker?
Dylan knew people wanted results, not words. His thought process was disturbed by the telephone ringing, and it made him jump.
‘Is that DI Dylan?’ asked the sharp-tongued voice at the other end of the phone. ‘This is Avril Summerfield-Preston, the Divisional Administrator.’
‘Yes,’ he replied absent-mindedly. He’d seen Avril flouncing about the upper floors of the station for as long as he could remember, but he didn’t know her or in fact what she did. She sat on her own in a corner at meetings and never offered her opinion, which he’d thought odd for her position. He’d never seen her talking to anyone socially, probably because everyone thought she was arrogant, abrupt and a joke as part of the senior management team. Avril appeared to be a loner and gave the impression she thought she was above everyone else. She was a strange woman. She tried with her appearance, he’d give her that, but even dressing in Chanel wouldn’t have given her style or stature. She was just one of the unfortunates of the world. ‘Beaky’ was her nickname around the station, due to the fact she had an enormous nose. Her ears protruded through mousy, thinning hair that always looked as if it was in need of a good wash. Her overpowering perfume arrived before she did, and Dylan couldn’t decide whether she used it to cover up a rather embarrassing perspiration problem or not.
‘My property store is full to capacity because of your murders.’ She broke his reverie, speaking as if Jack Dylan had committed the murders himself. ‘It’s a Health and Safety issue, Inspector, that I want sorting immediately. I don’t want any more exhibits going into the store.’ By this time, he had held the phone away from his ear and promptly hung up. He wasn’t going to be spoken to or dictated to by a jumped up administrator who never went out of her office and had no idea of real police work. The telephone rang, and he’d no doubt it was her trying again, so he ignored it.
There’d been a rumour about her and Superintendent Walter Hugo-Watkins, he remembered. Allegedly, she’d been seen leaving his office and walking down the corridor to her own office unaware that her dress was tucked in her knickers. He smirked to himself.
It takes all sorts,
he thought,
but what a boring pair they’d make. Then again, perhaps a match made in heaven.
He smiled, then shook himself: he’d much more important things to think about. The Hinds wanted to know if they could plan the funerals. It was a fast decision for anyone to make, but then again he knew that everyone dealt with life and death differently and focusing their mind on something positive was a good thing. He spoke to the coroner stating that it may help the Hind family to come to terms, or give some closure to the deaths, if they could be buried as they wished. They had no immediate suspects and so far the enquiries were unyielding.
The days rolled by, unnoticed due to the pace of work. He worked, he ate, and he slept but not always in that order.
Chapter Nine
Dylan opened the door. Max ran to greet him, nearly knocking Jen flying in the narrow hallway.
‘Hiya. Someone is pleased to see you,’ she laughed placing a kiss on Jack’s head as he bent to stroke Max. ‘Kettle’s on, you eaten?’ she asked as he followed her into the kitchen.
Before Jack could reply, his mobile’s shrill tone made him jump. He pressed ‘receive’ and they looked at each other in anticipation.
‘Sir, I’ve been called out to a shooting at a flat on the Greenaway Estate. A friend of the occupant couldn’t gain entry and noticed a strange smell. Entry has now been forced and there’s a dead man in there with head injuries and a gun at his side.’
‘Are you at the scene?’ Dylan asked. Jen turned away before he could see the disappointment in her eyes. Busily she made him a warm drink.
‘No.’
‘Well fucking go then. Get suited up and ring me back when you’re standing by the body. It sounds like suicide.’ He threw his phone on the table.
Jen swung round. Dylan didn’t speak like that to anyone, not in her presence anyway.
‘Well, the man is fucking useless,’ he said noticing the look on her face. ‘He hasn’t even been to the scene, how the hell can he describe it to me?’ She ignored his outburst and concentrated on making him something to eat. There was one thing for sure. He would be going back out to work soon.
‘I’m sorry, Jen,’ he said, rubbing his forehead, unsure if the apology was for the outburst or the language. He ached; his eyes were struggling to stay open. ‘He’ll be ringing again. He won’t make a decision. He’s pathetic.’ He stood behind her and turned her round to give her a cuddle, closing his eyes with the comfort of the embrace. It wasn’t like him to get mad and lose his temper. In silence, he ate the omelette that Jen had prepared for him. As they sat together at the dining room table Jen looked at him closely. She noticed his face was grey and puffy, dark circles ran around his eyes, and darkened either side at the bridge of his nose. For once he looked older than his years. The phone rang. He picked up slowly and put it to his ear, his elbow resting on the table. His head was bowed to the receiver, eyes closed. Detective Sergeant Wigglesworth attempted to explain the sight that greeted him.
‘Well, sir, half the head is missing,’ he said. ‘There’s a gun on the floor near to his right hand. I’m not happy. It might’ve been staged to look like he’s done it himself. Someone could have easily locked the door behind them on the way out. We don’t know who he is. Sir, will you be attending? I’ve told control I think it’s suspicious.’
‘Come out of the scene.’ Dylan exhaled loudly. ‘Make sure SOCO are there and doing the necessary photographs. I’m on my way.’