Deadly Focus Page 12

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jack woke the next day feeling a lot brighter. For once he had slept well, and it was Christmas Eve. He cuddled Jen to him.

  ‘I’ve a feeling today is going to be a good one,’ he said enthusiastically.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ she said kissing the tip of his nose before she jumped out of bed to get breakfast.

  Funny, he thought as he sniffed the air, rising from bed, no smell of bacon.

  ‘Porridge for breakfast,’ she shouted from the kitchen, as if she had read his mind ‘It’ll give you a good start.’

  ‘Bacon,’ Jack shouted in response from the bathroom with foam on his face as he shaved.

  By half past seven he was on his way into the office having had his porridge. The coffee was percolating, and he could smell the strong aroma as he opened the door to the incident room. Before he had time to sit down behind his desk, John and Vicky knocked on his door in unison.

  ‘Morning, you two,’ he said brightly.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ they both chirped, equally eager.

  ‘The store you asked us to look at,’ said Vicky, sitting down in a chair adjacent to his desk.

  ‘Yeah, how is it?’

  ‘Full. But the good news is that we think the murder exhibits will fit easily into the void. The most recent exhibits are neatly catalogued and marked up, on the shelves boxed and labelled, so it’d just be a matter of lifting and relocating them. We could do it in a day.’ Vicky smiled.

  ‘Looks like our little property man has been passing his time reading some of the old files, so they’ll need to go back to the void anyway,’ said John.

  ‘That’s brilliant, thanks a lot.’ Dylan was delighted.

  He stood up and put on his jacket. He needed to speak to the Spencers and the Hinds.

  ‘Larry, you ready?’ Dylan called. ‘We’re going to see the Spencers. Dawn, I’ll meet you for lunch and then we’ll go and see the Hinds.’ Larry jumped up from his chair as though he had been roused from sleep and ran out of the incident room after Dylan.

  Sarah Spencer made them a cup of tea and placed a plate of biscuits on the table in front of them. Both she and Martin still looked pale; red, puffy eyes circled with dark rings. Weight had simply dropped off them, made apparent by their clothes, which hung on their frames.

  ‘I won’t ask you how you are, it’s obvious. Is there anything or anyone that’s come to mind that may help with the case? An argument within the last few weeks or months that you’ve been able to think of?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘No, sorry, there’s nothing at all that we can think of. We’ve racked our brains trying to think of something or someone but there really is nothing, nothing at all. Clive and Fran, your officers, have been so good, we feel so useless. We know there has to be an explanation but we haven’t got a clue. It’s the not knowing. It’s just wearing us out,’ said Martin, who looked just about all in.

  The room they sat in was adorned with pictures of Christopher and his little sister, Jane, school pictures, holiday pictures and party pictures. The most noticeable thing was the absence of Christmas decorations or cards.

  ‘Martin, Sarah, I’m sorry, try not to worry. I know that’s easier said than done, but we’ll get there, I promise,’ said Dylan. ‘By any chance did you know Daisy Hind, the little girl that was murdered? She went to the same school as Christopher.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, is there some connection? We haven’t watched the news or bothered with papers ever since … it happened. They’re just so awful. I’m sorry.’ Sarah dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  ‘What about her mum and dad, any connection there? Trevor and Wendy Hind?’

  Martin looked shocked, sat up straight, and moved forward on the settee.

  ‘Trevor Hind, did you say? I went to school with a Trevor Hind. Was it his daughter that was killed? That’s unreal.’

  ‘How well did you know Trevor?’ enquired Dylan.

  ‘We were best mates, but we never kept in touch. I don’t think Sarah has even met him.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Gosh, about six months ago at the Harrowfield School reunion.’ A smile flickered across his face as he reminisced. It was the first time Dylan had seen a smile on Martin’s face. It made him look younger somehow.

  ‘Did you go, Sarah?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘No, I stayed home and looked after the ki … well, you know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’m interested. Tell me more, Martin. Where was it? How did you get to know about the reunion?’

  ‘What has that to do with Christopher and Daisy?’ Martin said with disbelief. ‘It was boring. Nothing happened. I’d a couple of pints, a chat with one or two old mates, and then came home.’

  ‘Where did they have it?’

  ‘The Con Club opposite the school.’

  ‘Were there a lot there, a good turn out?’

  ‘Probably about thirty. I went on the Friends Reunited website about eighteen months ago, just out of curiosity. I put in my details, what we were doing as a family, a picture just like others had. I should imagine there’d be pictures on the site from the reunion because folk were taking them. I went to see what my mates looked like after thirty years and to drum up a bit of business, to be honest.’

  ‘So you saw Trevor there? Anyone else in particular that you were mates with from school?’ Dylan felt an adrenaline rush. Was this the link that he’d been missing?

  ‘There was me, Trevor, and a lad called Barry Sanderson. We knocked about together. We liked to think we were the three musketeers. “All for one, one for all”, we used to shout.’

  ‘Was Barry at the reunion?’

  ‘Yeah, he looked terrible. He’s got a drink problem. Poor old lad.’

  ‘Can we look at the site on your computer?’ asked Larry.

  ‘You could if it was working, but it’s on the blink. I haven’t used it since the reunion. I kept saying I’d get it fixed, but with everything else that’s happened, it’s been the least of my worries,’ he said, then he sighed. For a few short moments, he had thought about something other than his little boy. ‘There was nothing untoward, it was just a drink.’

  ‘No skeletons in the cupboard from your schooldays that could have anything to do with it?’ Larry asked tentatively.

  ‘No, nothing at all. A few boys’ pranks I can remember, but no, I’m sure it can’t be anything to do with the old school crowd,’ he said shaking his head.

  They stood to go. ‘It’s just one line of enquiry. Something we’ll look at like everything else. No stone will be left unturned. I promised that and I meant it. If you do remember anything else, don’t hesitate to contact us. We’ll be in touch.’

  Dylan drove Larry back to the nick. They were both deep in thought.

  ‘We need to do some research on the reunion, Larry, as a priority. I’d like you to find out about Barry Sanderson and everyone else there. Draw me a list up whilst I’m over at the Hinds’ this afternoon please.’

  ‘I’ll get straight on it. See what I can get off the site and from the organiser. Leave it to me.’

  ‘It’s about the right time,’ Dylan said thoughtfully. ‘Lunch? Canteen?’

  ‘Suits me, boss, it’ll be interesting to see what the Hind family have to say this afternoon.’

  Omelette with salad for lunch, Jen would be proud of me, he thought as he stood in the canteen queue. Larry, however, couldn’t resist the full, all-day breakfast, served with extra toast. Dawn joined them at the table and they told her about the reunion.

  At the Hind house, Trevor and Wendy were duplicates of the Spencers. Both looked completely drained and distraught. Wendy was still taking medication and looked particularly drawn, her eyes dull and glazed. It was understandable.

  ‘Is there something new, something to tell us?’ asked Trevor. They both looked eager for an answer, any answer.

  The house was full of cards, they blanketed every flat surface, but they weren’t
Christmas cards. Wendy saw Dylan and Dawn looking at them.

  ‘We’ve had condolence cards from people we don’t even know. Letters from people, some who’ve lost their children in horrific ways, they’ve been so kind, so thoughtful and comforting. It’s really helped. Mum would’ve loved them all. They’d ‘ave made her cry. It’s been worse because I wasn’t … I couldn’t … be with Mum. I just feel like I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry,’ she said as her hand covered her mouth and she fled from the room in tears. Trevor’s eyes were swimming too.

  ‘I’m sorry, she has good days and bad, mostly bad, but so do I.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t leave her to go back to work yet.’

  ‘We understand, Trevor. All I can say from experience is that time does heal, but it doesn’t take away the pain of these dark days. Can I ask you something? Do you know a Martin Spencer?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Why? He’s nothing to do with it, has he? We were mates at school.’

  ‘No. No, nothing like that. His son, Christopher, was murdered.’

  ‘God, that’s weird. I only saw him … October, at a school reunion. I did hear on the radio about a boy being found dead by the canal, was that him?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I never made the connection. Bloody hell, that’s really shocked me. When you leave school, you have every intention of staying in touch with yer mates don’t ya - but once you start work, you end up drifting in different directions. I’ve seen him knocking about occasionally, but we don’t socialise or anything like that. Then we got invited to this reunion and I thought why not, let’s go and have a look at some of the people I went to school with, and he was there.’

  ‘How did you hear about it, the reunion?’

  ‘I’d been on that website, Friends Reunited, a few times, updating what I was doing, working as a fireman and that.’

  ‘Did you put on any pictures?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘Just one of Wendy, Daisy, and me showing off, like. You don’t think the reunion’s got anything to do with it, do you? Nothing happened; we only had a drink and a chat. There was no bother or anything like that. I can let you look at the website if you want. I think they’ve put a couple of dozen pictures on since, from that night. They were trying to catch everyone who went.’

  ‘Who organised it and put the photos on ,Trevor, do you know?’

  ‘A girl called Liz Green. She was always ”the” organiser at school. You know, planning the school disco, the school play … she was there. Her contact number’s on the website. Do you really think there’s something there?’

  ‘It’s just another line of enquiry, but it does connect you with the Spencers. Or it may be nothing,’ said Dylan. He didn’t want to build Trevor’s hopes up.

  ‘I’ll get my laptop and you can print off what you need. Liz’ll have everyone’s details, I should think. We had to get back to her if we were attending, for buffet numbers.’ Trevor sat on the sofa busily booting up the computer.

  ‘What about the schooldays, Trevor? Did you knock about with anyone else apart from Martin?’ asked Dylan as Wendy walked back into the room and sat next to her husband. Her eyes were red from crying and her face looked flushed and puffy. Trevor put a protective arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

  ‘Barry Sanderson, mainly. There were just three of us.’

  ‘Nothing you can think of, anything, from back then that would come back and haunt you?’

  ‘No, we were just ordinary lads. Sports, girls, and in that order too. Got it, I’ll print it off for you. I hope this is of some use.’ Trevor stood, waiting for the printer to finish, hands on his hips as he sighed. ‘Martin’s son, I never knew,’ and then went on to tell Wendy what Dylan had just told him.

  ‘Do you know, we didn’t even exchange phone numbers. It isn’t as though we’d anything in common after all this time.’ He shook his head and handed the printouts to Dylan.

  ‘Is there anything else that you’ve thought about, any incidents, any other events you’ve been to, any people you know who died in suspicious circumstances, anything?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘We’ve sat for hours, trying to come up with something, but we just keep drawing a blank. I’m sorry, but if you see Martin will you pass on our condolences, please?’

  Dylan nodded. ‘We’ll be in touch before the funeral. In the meantime if there’s anything you think of, don’t hesitate.’

  Dawn and Dylan left and drove back to the station.

  ‘There is a definite connection between the two dads, but what’s the motive?’ Dawn asked Dylan.

  ‘Don’t know yet, but it’s certainly a priority line of enquiry. We’ll wait and see what Larry managed to find out. We could certainly do with some luck.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Back at the office, they sat down to discuss the latest developments.

  ‘There’re two sites. One is Friends Reunited and the school also has one of its own, but I’ve come up with a name,’ said Larry, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Liz Green,’ Dylan jumped in.

  ‘That’s right. I gave her a call and said someone would see her later today to get a download of photos from the reunion. She said she’d try to tell us who’s who and give us a list of names and contact numbers for those who attended.’

  ‘I don’t mind working later tonight. Ralph’s out so I’ll do that one if you like, boss.’

  ‘That would be great, Dawn, thank you. The other friend of Trevor and Martin, Barry Sanderson, we need to know about him. You’re working Christmas Day, aren’t you, Larry? Boxing Day, Dawn?’ They nodded. ‘Everyone on the list who attended the reunion needs to be seen as soon as possible. There could be up to thirty people, according to Martin. Can you get the team who are working over the next two days to look at that for us? I’ll see you Boxing Day, Dawn. Are you both in on the twenty-seventh? Here for nine a.m.?’ suggested Dylan.

  ‘Yes. What could’ve happened at the reunion that could possibly cause someone to kill like that? Our two said it was a quiet evening and nothing happened,’ said Larry.

  ‘We need background on them all. Let’s stay positive, eh? Anything else?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘When you were out, the divisional administrator telephoned and left a message about the store again. She said you hung up on her, boss.’ Dawn’s eyes went skyward.

  ‘Me? Never. I must ‘ave got cut off,’ protested Dylan. ‘I’ll go and have a look at the store for myself. John and Vicky reckon it would only take a day to move the exhibits to the void. If not, we can use the attic at Tandem Bridge.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought we would need to use that,’ said Larry, lazily doodling on his pad.

  ‘I might nip in nevertheless, just to check, in case we do,’ Dylan said.

  Liz Green was a bubbly lady with verbal diarrhoea, as Larry would have said and as Dawn found out, much to her amusement.

  ‘How can I help you? Are you into the reunion thing? It seems so popular these days. I’ve always tried to keep tabs on my classmates and school chums. Their lives run parallel to mine, but oh, how different they’ve all turned out,’ she grinned. ‘Not what I expected, I can tell you. And now with Facebook, Friends Reunited and our school website, it’s so much easier. Can I offer you a drink?’ She spoke so quickly that Dawn didn’t manage to get a word in edgeways.

  ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’ Liz kept a pristine home. She was definitely the ‘ironing socks and undies’ type. ‘No, I’ve never been into that sort of thing myself, never had the time.’

  ‘Oh, you should try it. I don’t spend that much time on it, just update my profile once in a while, or if I’ve got some spare time I try to contact one or two “blasts from the past”. I’m researching my family tree, too. Thirty years since we all left school, though, what a milestone. “Let’s have a reunion,” I thought, “The Class of 75”.’ She stood in a star-struck pose for effect. ‘I was so pleased with the response. Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Yes please.’


  ‘Help yourself to the mince pies. They’re just out of the oven.’ Liz placed a full cooling tray in front of Dawn. She can’t be all that bad, thought Dawn as she bit into a mince pie. She was definitely warming towards the woman. She might rattle on a little, but she makes a good shortcrust.

  Liz Green had a computer station in one corner of the neat, brightly-lit kitchen. She beckoned Dawn over and offered her one of the two chairs that she had positioned ready so that they could both see the screen, talking all the while.

  ‘Right, let’s get organised. I’ve got a list of people in the class, some addresses and a few dates of birth. We’ve even got two with the same birthday, would you believe it?’ She brushed her long, straight, brown hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and picked up a piece of paper from the desk, handing it to Dawn.

  ‘Okay, here’s a list from 1975. Now this one,’ she said, passing Dawn another sheet, ‘Is the list of people who came to the reunion. The Club required numbers for health and safety, and food. We had three different meats, six pounds fifty a head. Not bad, if you ever need a venue, it’s good value for money.’ She searched for her hankie in the front pocket of her blue floral apron. Wiping her nose, she said, ‘You know how it is. Some people join in wholeheartedly, some not at all.’

  Dawn helped herself to another mince pie; she could be in for a long evening.

  ‘Some people update their website regularly. Put on recent photographs, like, and others just enter a brief resume. It’s nice to see pictures though, don’t you think?’ Dawn nodded in agreement as she sipped her tea.

  ‘The man who telephoned me said you wanted to talk to me about a murder, though. That’s frightening. Who’s been murdered, do I know them?’ Dawn saw her chance to talk.

  ‘Yes, well, you know the parents. In the last six months, Trevor Hind’s daughter Daisy was murdered, and then, more recently, Martin Spencer’s son, Christopher. You’ve probably read about it in the papers?’