Deadly Focus (26 page)

‘But Meredith …?’ asked Larry confused.

‘Larry, enough is enough.’ Dylan held up his hands. ‘Listen to me. You’re jumping to conclusions.’ Larry looked stunned. ‘Number one priority: find the young lad. Let’s have an organised search. Number two: find me Harold Little. Circulate him again and start from where he was lost. I want a street by street. Shop by shop. Number three: put Meredith’s car details out over the radio. If anyone sees it, tell him or her to stop it and search it for occupants. Number four: find Barry Sanderson.’

A lady came towards the pair offering warm drinks from a tray.

‘You’re a lifesaver, love, I truly mean that,’ Dylan said, sipping the hot sweet tea. She smiled before moving on to offer some to the rest of the group. Dylan looked at Larry. ‘What street was Little on when you lost him? Has anyone thought about trying to contact him? He may be at home by now.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Town centre CCTV. Have we anyone looking at the tapes?’ Larry stood, pen poised, a blank expression on his face. ‘Any problem with that Larry?’ asked Dylan.

‘Boss, you all right?’ Larry asked, as if seeing him for the first time.

Dylan was pale, his eyes sunken and rimmed with grey circles. His legs shook, but a sniff of smelling salts from his inside pocket made him throw his head back and his eyes water. ‘Hell fire,’ he stuttered as he shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. Just find me the boy, Little, Meredith, and Sanderson,’ he said.

A uniformed officer approached Dylan and Larry. ‘Meredith’s not home. We’ve a unit at his house, sir,’ he said.

Dylan drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. Does Meredith know Little?’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Pete and Gary strolled down the road, pushing each other in fun. Troy followed. Penny ran towards them and scooped Troy up in her arms.

‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘We’ve been out of our bloody minds.’ She kissed her son and cradled his head.

‘We’ve even got the police,’ Becky said.

‘I saw Dad and he gave me the money to get in, legal like. We thought you two had gone t’toilet to do your hair and stuff, so Pete and Gary let me hang round with them. Look, I got my hand stamped.’

Becky yanked him into her arms and held him tight. ‘You scared the death out of me. I thought some creep had got you like the others and I’d lost you for good.’

‘Where’s your dad now, Troy? Do you know where he was going when he left you?’ asked Dylan.

‘Probably to the nearest pub, he said he needed a drink. He’s always pissed.’

‘Hey, watch that language, young man,’ his mother said, clipping Troy’s ear. ‘I might be glad to see you safe and well but I won’t stand for that.’

No longer needed, Dylan spoke with Larry and Dawn. ‘Make sure there’s no possibility of foul play and then leave it to uniform to deal with. I’ll see you back at the office.’

‘Boss, just go home. You look shocking.’ Dawn stroked his arm.

‘Actually, yeah … yeah, you’re right. But keep me updated regarding Little, Meredith and Sanderson. I’m on my mobile.’

‘Sure,’ Dawn called as she walked over to Troy and the rest of the happy group.

‘You can remove the tape and clear the scene now,’ Larry called out to the officers on site.

Dylan stopped his car en route to get some money out of the cash machine in the high street. His bank was on the opposite side of the road to where he’d parked and he got out of the car gingerly. The traffic flashed past him and he pressed his body back against the car. His head felt woozy and his vision was blurred. A gap in the traffic would have allowed him to make a dash across the road, but he was rooted to the spot. He told his legs to move, but they wouldn’t; it was as if his feet had been glued to the ground. There was no more than fifteen feet to walk, but he couldn’t. He felt himself growing hot under his shirt collar and his face burned. He broke out in a sweat. His heart started pounding and he felt dizzy and sick.
Oh, my god, I’m going to pass out,
he thought.

He swayed, but managed to turn and grab the door handle and, pulling the door open, he collapsed into the driver’s seat. Shaking, but in the safety of the car, he began to feel silly.
Pull yourself together,
Dylan told himself. But it didn’t work. He sat quietly for a moment to see if it passed. His ears rang, his body shook, and he was sweating profusely. He undid his tie and the top button of his shirt. Luckily Jen always kept a bottle of water in the glove compartment and he fumbled for it. Sipping it slowly, he felt the cold liquid trickle down his throat. He tried desperately to control his breathing.
Breathe in to the count of six and breathe out to the count of six
, he told himself.

Finally, he admitted defeat; there was no way he could get to the cash machine. Dylan decided he would try to get home instead. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He felt drained, exhausted. He drove slowly, but felt as if the car was going round a permanent corner. He leaned toward the middle of the vehicle to try to counter the effect. He tried to steer towards the pavement so he’d a line to follow, then almost drove into the kerb. At that moment his stomach churned as if someone had punched him. The adrenaline flowed.
What the fuck is happening to me?
He finally made it to Jen’s house and staggered out of the car. Pushing open the front door, he stumbled inside. His phone bleeped a message as he took it out of his pocket, intending to ring for a doctor.

Mum’s
, he read as he collapsed face first onto the floor.

‘Have you got any pain? Do you need me to call the doctor or an ambulance?’ Penny asked as she stooped over Dylan’s prone body.

‘No, no,’ Dylan protested, his hand in the air. ‘I just want to go to sleep. I’m tired,’ he mumbled, as he closed his eyes. Max barked excitedly and jumped around his head. Dylan could hear Penny on the phone.

‘Ambulance, please, I’ve found a man collapsed in his home,’ she said. ‘Hello, hello, what’s your name?’ she asked Dylan as she stroked his head. ‘I only know him as Jack,’ she told the emergency operator. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not responding.’

Dylan kept hearing her voice as he drifted in and out of consciousness, it sounded as if she was talking to him down a hollow tube. As Penny rolled him onto his side, trying to put him into the recovery position, she realised the man she was helping was DI Dylan, who had helped find her son Troy. What on earth was he doing at Jen’s?

The doctor was a tall man with greying hair, delicate hands, and an air of quiet authority. He did the necessary tests, checked Dylan’s blood pressure, took a blood sample, looked in his eyes and ears, and performed an electrocardiogram (ECG).

‘I’m fine now,’ Dylan protested, trying to get up off the trolley.

‘Let me be the judge of that,’ the doctor said, as he pushed him back down. ‘Blood pressure is a little low, temperature’s a little high, but there’s nothing untoward.’

‘You don’t understand, I’ve got a murderer to catch.’

‘Your father died of a burst heart when he was sixty, is that right?’ the doctor asked, reading from Dylan’s notes.

What was he saying? That Dylan was going the same way, so young? He felt numb. His head hammered. His heart raced. There were wires and electrodes fastened to his chest.

The doctor hummed to himself as he waited for the printout from the ECG machine. ‘Due to the fact that you’ve a family history of heart problems,’ he told Dylan, ‘I want you to have an ultrasound scan.’ He was already picking up the phone to get Dylan transferred to the X-ray department. Dr Roebuck was a neurologist. He wasn’t a person who pulled punches, he gave the facts as they were. ‘This sounds like a slight stroke. Let’s get a scan done.’

Dylan gulped.
A stroke.
His heart sank.
Fucking hell,
he thought.

He was pushed on a trolley to the X-ray department, following the yellow line marked on the floor.

‘It’s like the Wizard of Oz,’ the porter said cheerfully.

Dylan was transferred from the trolley to a bed. At the press of a button it moved in slow motion and Dylan felt himself going backwards into the hollow of the circular scanner.

‘Try to relax, Mr Dylan,’ said the radiographer.

Dylan was trying to relax;
after all,
he kept telling himself,
what is the point of getting worked up?
Easier said than done, though.

‘Think of nice things,’ the radiographer said, and visions of the sea rolling onto a sunny beach filled his mind while soothing music played around him. By association it hit him then. Jen’s mum: what had happened to Jen’s mum? What did the text say? What was he doing here when he should be with her? He struggled to raise himself off the bed.

‘Steady, Mr Dylan, nearly finished,’ said the radiographer.
Thank god,
thought Dylan, flopping back on the bed. He had to speak to Jen.

‘My girlfriend … she needs me,’ he said.

‘The doctor will be with you in a minute,’ said the radiographer. ‘Try not to get upset.’

Dylan’s mobile was dead, so he replaced it in his jacket pocket. He couldn’t even read the text.

Fifteen minutes later, a nurse carrying a large envelope wheeled him into Dr Roebuck’s office. The doctor took the negatives from the envelope and placed them on a light board. He cleared his throat as his eyes scoured the negatives.

‘Clear, clear, clear. Nothing untoward here,’ he said, bringing his glasses to the end of his nose as he turned to face Dylan. Dylan hadn’t realised he had been holding his breath until he exhaled.

‘So tell me,’ said the doctor, ‘What’ve you been doing recently? Working hard, no doubt. I’ve heard you on the radio, read about you in the papers, and seen you on the news. How many hours a week does that entail?’

‘I need to go to my girlfriend right now.’ Dylan started to get out of the wheelchair.

‘Hold on there,’ said the doctor, placing his hand on Dylan’s arm. ‘Answer my questions first, then you can go to your girlfriend.’

Dylan relented. ‘Dealing with murders,’ he mused. ’About eighty hours a week, I should think.’

The doctor held his hands in the air. ‘Enough. Enough. Neither you, I, nor any other mortal being, is superhuman, even if we like to think we are. I think your mind is just jamming with the amount of plates you are trying to spin. I don’t need to tell you this, though. You’re an intelligent man. Slow down. Say “no” and cut down the hours. Oh, and make sure you eat properly. Knowing you lot, you live off caffeine.’

Dylan looked sheepish.

‘If you don’t follow my advice, you’re going to make yourself ill. Today’s a warning. Next time, who knows?’

Talk about feeling he’d had his hands truly slapped; all Dylan could do was agree with him. He shook the doctor’s hand, gratefully. Even though he didn’t feel great, at least he knew he wasn’t dying.

Penny Sanderson was waiting for him in Casualty.

‘Don’t worry about an ambulance,’ she told the nurse. ‘I’ve got my car. I’ll take him home.’

‘You’re going to ‘ave to put a lead on your fella to stop him from doing too much,’ laughed the nurse, making the assumption the girlfriend he spoke about was Penny. Dylan shook his head, there was no point in going into detail, and Penny took the hint and smiled sweetly.

‘This is really kind of you, Mrs Sanderson. I’m very grateful,’ said Dylan as they walked to the car park.

‘It’s nothing after what you’ve done for us today,’ she replied.

‘If I hadn’t been taking Max out, goodness knows how long you’d have been there. Isn’t it a small world, eh? Jen didn’t mention she was seeing anybody special.’

‘We agreed … I thought it best to keep the relationship quiet until we saw how it went. It sounds daft now. Have you heard from her?’

‘Yes, she phoned me. Her mum’s critical. They don’t expect her to live.’

Dylan held his head in his hands. ‘Oh my god. The missed calls,’ he groaned. ‘Please don’t tell her about this. She’s enough on her plate at the moment. I’ll ring her as soon as I can. Dying.’ Dylan shook his mobile in his hand.

‘Well, as long as you promise to look after yourself,’ Penny said.

‘Yeah, and thanks I really mean it,’ was all there was time for as he got out of her car.

He walked in the house, clicked on the kettle, and plugged in his mobile to recharge. No sooner had he turned his back to get a cup out of the cupboard than it bleeped and then rang.

‘Boss? Boss, where the hell ‘ave you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Thought you were going straight home,’ said Dawn.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘Dawn, just give me five minutes, will you? I’ve a personal call to make.’

‘No, wait. Don’t hang up. I’ve had a call from forensic. We’ve a full DNA match for Christopher Spencer with the blood on the cane from Little’s van,’ she told him.

Dylan looked up to the ceiling. ‘Thank you, god,’ he whispered.

‘Boss, you still there?’

‘Yeah, Dawn. Fantastic, just the news I needed. At last they’ve given it priority.’

‘I rang Little’s home and he picked up, so we know he’s in. Larry’s chomping at the bit to go lock him up.’

‘Tell him to stay put. Do you want to go with me?’ He smiled as he imagined the glee on her face.

‘I wouldn’t have spoken to you again if you’d done it without me,’ she said.

‘Pick you up at the nick in fifteen minutes,’ Dylan said, looking at his watch as he turned the key in the door. ‘You arrange the uniform car with two officers to come with us. I’m not having that murdering little shit in my car,’ he said as he threw his mobile on the passenger seat beside him and sped off.

Dylan knocked at the door. Harold Little opened it cautiously.

‘Not you again. This is harassment,’ he said, boredom in his voice as he tried to shut Dylan out.

Dylan put his size ten in between the door and the jamb and pushed the door open wide. Dawn followed him into the hallway. Dylan grabbed hold of Little by his cardigan and threw him against the wall. With his face almost touching Little’s, he growled, ‘I am re-arresting you for the murders of Daisy Charlotte Hind and Christopher Francis Spencer.’