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  Caffeine Nights Publishing

  Deadly Focus

  RC Bridgestock

  Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2011

  Copyright © RC Bridgestock 2011

  RC Bridgestock has asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work

  CONDITIONS OF SALE

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher

  This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental

  Published in Great Britain by Caffeine Nights Publishing

  www.caffeine-nights.com

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-1-907565-09-0

  Cover design by

  Mark (Wills) Williams

  Everything else by

  Default, Luck and Accident

  To

  Our family who lived with us through the real crime

  And support us in fiction

  For law enforcement officers - the true heroes - who strive for justice for the victims and their families

  Deadly Focus

  Chapter One

  Nine-year-old Daisy Charlotte Hind was proud of the striking, red, curly hair that cascaded down her back in a haphazard fashion. She was often teased and called names like Carrot Head or Copper Top, but she didn’t care. No one had hair like hers at school. It was special, her mummy told her, just like she was.

  Being a bridesmaid for the first time was so exciting; Auntie Sam and Uncle Tom were getting married, and they’d told her all she had to do was look pretty. That couldn’t be too difficult, she thought. Daisy loved all the attention the wedding entailed. The grown-ups laughed at her as she stood on the kitchen table being fitted for her dress.

  ‘Stand up straight now,’ the dressmaker mumbled with pins in her mouth as she altered the hemline. ‘Look forward. Don’t look down. Let’s have a twirl now. Gorgeous.’

  The bridesmaid dress was ready at last, and Mum had picked it up. Daisy thought she would just burst with excitement as she skipped home from school that day.

  The dress hung proudly on the living room door as Mum and Daisy walked into the house.

  ‘Yippee,’ she said with glee as her mum took off its plastic wrapping so she could try it on. Daisy bounced up and down with joy, her arms waving feverishly in the air as Wendy lowered the dress over her head.

  ‘Oh, wow, it fits a treat,’ Wendy said, carefully fastening the tiny buttons on the lace collar.

  ‘Quick, Mummy, I want to look in the mirror,’ Daisy said, hopping from one foot to the other as Wendy tied the sash.

  ‘Stand still, will you, for goodness sake,’ she said as she turned Daisy around. ‘Gosh, you look so grown up.’ She was caught unexpectedly by the emotion of seeing her daughter taking an important step toward independence.

  Daisy flew up the stairs in her long, silk, jade-coloured dress as fast as her little legs would carry her. She spun round in front of a mirror, making the skirt balloon out.

  ‘I’m going to be a bridesmaid, I’m going to a wedding,’ she giggled. Her black school shoes and old socks looked a bit scruffy, she thought, but she had been promised they were going shopping for some silver sandals on Saturday, and she was going to wear tights just like a grown up on the day. She really was the ‘princess’ Grandma called her.

  ‘Mummy, it’s so … beautiful. Can I go and show Grandma, please?’ she begged as she ran down the stairs.

  Wendy looked out of the window. It was cold and growing dark, but Irene lived only a few hundred yards away. What harm could it do? ‘Go on then, as long as you don’t stay long,’ Wendy said. ‘But be careful not to dirty it,’ she told her daughter. Daisy grabbed her duffle coat from the banister at the bottom of the stairs and ran out of the door before her mum could change her mind.

  ‘Don’t run,’ Wendy called out into the night as she watched Daisy go. The girl’s hair flew like a kite behind her as she ran around the corner and out of sight.

  The street was well lit. Wendy stepped back inside and closed the door. The house felt warm after the bitter cold wind that rushed up the street. She shivered as she pulled the lounge curtains closed and went upstairs to do the same in the bedrooms to shut out the night.

  She started to prepare tea, humming softly. Trevor would be home soon. He was working a day shift at the fire station, so she planned to bathe Daisy and get her tucked up in bed by half-seven. It had been a busy and exciting day and Wendy was looking forward to a quiet evening with Trevor, curled up in front of the telly with a glass of red wine. Coronation Street was on twice tonight.

  Grandma Irene lived on her own; she was seventy but Daisy made her feel so much younger. Her husband had been dead for ten years, and all of the community activities she’d joined in didn’t begin to fill the hole dear Syd had left in her life. As Daisy had grown, she’d gained a friend, a little girl who lit up her days and talked her to distraction. She idolised her granddaughter.

  A rap came at her door and although she didn’t normally open it after dark the tiny voice shouting excitedly through the letter box was unmistakably Daisy’s.

  ‘Grandma. Open up, it’s me.’

  Grinning, Irene lifted the latch and pulled off the chain, and the little girl fell in, stumbling over the threshold in her haste.

  ‘Be careful, sweetheart’ she said as she grabbed her arm.

  ‘Look, Grandma, I’m a real bridesmaid now.’ Daisy squealed with delight as she threw off her coat, stretched out her arms, and proudly spun around to show off the dress in all its glory.

  ‘Oh, Princess’ Irene exclaimed, clapping her hands with joy. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘I can’t stay though; Mummy said I had to get straight back. We’ve got to keep my dress under a plastic cover to keep it clean.’ she said.

  Irene smiled. ‘Thank you for coming to show me, darling. Here, shall I see what I’ve got in my cupboard for you?’ she asked, opening the door of her dresser.

  ‘Thanks, Grandma,’ Daisy said as she struggled back into her coat. She took the sweets eagerly in her hand and gave Grandma Irene a fleeting hug.

  ‘Bye bye, sweetheart, see you tomorrow after school,’ Irene said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Daisy stopped and waved to her grandma, who watched from her doorstep as the little girl turned the corner into Rochester Road. Bless her, thought Irene as she closed the door and locked out the cold. She’s such a good little girl.

  Daisy was almost home when a ferocious blow from behind shattered her skull. She never touched the ground. Her falling body was caught, scooped up, and thrown through the side door of a van. She was gone. Her tiny footsteps and quiet singing voice were no more. Warm, dark-red blood oozed from the head-wound, prevented from splashing to the floor only by the spread of her bridesmaid dress. The vehicle was quietly and swiftly driven away, its prey on board. There was no one in sight, nothing to bear witness to the fact that such a brutal, evil attack on a child had just taken place.

  Wendy was getting cross. Daisy had been gone for at least twenty minutes
. Where the hell is she? She’d better not have got chocolate on that dress, she fumed. Wendy knew her mum was a beggar for treating the little girl. As her anxiety began to mount, she looked out of the window. She stood at the door, but there was no sign of Daisy.

  ‘Have you got an excited little bridesmaid with you?’ Wendy said, trying to disguise her irritation over the phone. Irene hated it when Wendy got cross with Daisy. She’s just a little girl she would say, and you were just the same with your Nana when you were young.

  Her mother broke her reverie.

  ‘Our Daisy? She left here ages ago. I watched her. She didn’t stop a minute. Said you’d told her not to be too long.’

  Wendy felt as if someone had just thumped her in the stomach. She dropped the phone and ran frantically to the door. The street was empty but for a few parked cars. The eerie silence in the street was suffocating. Her steps pounded the pavement as she ran down to the corner of Rochester Road.

  ‘Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.’ she called. Her voice got louder and louder until her screaming echoed for streets around.

  ‘Oh my god, oh my god, where is she?’ she whispered, warm breath visible in the air as she continued running. Her heart beat quickly within her chest, sinking against her stomach, making her feel sick. She hammered at Irene’s door, frantically shouting for it to be opened. She flew past her stunned mother. Wendy ran into every room calling Daisy’s name. There was no time to talk. Irene was left shaking in Wendy’s wake as she screamed out for her daughter and ran back towards her own home. Launching herself through her front door, Wendy snatched the telephone off the hallway floor. Breathless, her heart pounding, she dialled 999 with a shaking hand. Impatient, she tapped her foot and closed her eyes, willing them to answer.

  ‘My daughter’s gone … please help me.’ Tears streamed down Wendy’s face. Her body shook. She slid down the wall and sank to the floor with the telephone grasped tightly in her hand. She sobbed, her body doubled in agony. The only explanation she could think of was that someone had taken Daisy. Spluttering out her name and address, she gasped, sure she was about to faint, trying to listen, digest and answer the questions the operator asked. Over and over she begged them to be quick before being told the police were on their way. Hearing the dialling tone, she rang Trevor’s mobile, although she was sure he wouldn’t answer. She looked at the clock. He’d be on his way home. He picked up.

  ‘I know I’m ….’ He was stopped suddenly as Wendy’s frantic voice spewed down the phone.

  ‘Trevor, Trevor, oh my god, please come quickly. Daisy’s gone. Oh god, Trevor help.’ She didn’t hear his response but knew he had heard her. She didn’t ring off, the phone fell out of her hand and she sobbed heart-wrenching sobs.

  Blue lights appeared outside their home, illuminating the lounge. Trevor’s car screeched to a halt.

  ‘Wendy,’ he cried as he ran in. The door was ajar and he could hear her hysterical weeping.

  ‘Trevor, somebody’s got her ... somebody’s taken her.’ She sank into Trevor’s shoulder as he bent down to his wife. He picked up the phone, put it on its cradle and gently helped his wife to her feet. She cried into his chest, her hands clawing the front of his jumper as he held her.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ he said gently, brushing her hair from her tear-stained face.

  ‘She wanted to show Mum her dress.’ The image of her daughter in her bridesmaid dress was imprinted in her mind. ‘She hasn’t come home. I’ve looked for her … everywhere.’ Trevor caught his wife as her legs buckled beneath her.

  ‘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.