Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

“Bingo!” He spotted the green metal safe tucked into the far corner. It wasn’t large, roughly thirty centimetres square. He tested to see if it would move by prising his fingers into a gap at the back. It was set fast and he guessed it had been bolted into the floor joists beneath. It had been fitted so that the door was facing upwards. A chunky brass coloured handle was set off-centre and a key-hole was to one side. He gripped the handle and tried it. There was no movement. He took out his mobile and speed-dialled his partner.

* * * * *

Tony Bullars turned up ten minutes later. He had left DC Ragen with Katherine, working through the history and background details of her father.

Calling Mike from the hallway, he bounded up the stairs and joined him in the bedroom.

Mike pointed out the safe and Tony removed the small brass key from the sealed clear plastic exhibit bag. On bended knees, he leaned inside the wardrobe and tried it.

“Fits,” he called back excitedly, turning the key. The door, though surprisingly heavy for its size, opened upwards smoothly. In the gloom, Tony could make out a number of packages and envelopes. He took each one out individually, using only finger and thumb, and passed them back.

Mike laid them out on the plastic sheeting.

Running a hand around the inside of the safe, satisfying himself it was empty, Tony pushed himself up and turned to his colleague. In better light he was able to see the contents from the safe more clearly. There were two small Jiffy bags and three envelopes, A4 size. Each was marked in neat copperplate handwriting. He scanned the packages, picking out the words ‘last will and testament’ and ‘life insurance’ on two of the envelopes.

“That’s the one we want,” said Mike, picking up a brown envelope. He handed it to his partner.

Tony Bullars read the words written across the front and felt at the package. It was apparent to him from its thickness and flexibility that it contained a small wad of paper. He turned the envelope over. It had been stuck down and additionally sealed with sticking tape. He turned it back and re-read the front sentence neatly written in black ink.

‘For the attention of Barry Newstead’

* * * * *

Hunter stretched in his chair, hooked his hands behind his head and gazed around the incident room. It was the first time in over an hour that he had looked up from his desk. He and Grace had got back from the Cold Case Unit at midday, and over a sandwich and mug of tea he had immediately delved into the Lucy Blake-Hall murder prosecution file. Now he became conscious of the noise levels and activity going on around him and realised that he had immersed himself in the story of the 1984 trial of Daniel Weaver, who had been charged with his part in the killing of Lucy, and he’d been oblivious to the work going on in the room. He spotted his counterpart, DS Mark Gamble, leaning back in his chair, one leg propped upon the corner of his desk, a telephone handset clamped between his right shoulder and ear, doing more listening than talking.

Grace was at the front of the room leaning over a long table, moving postcard size buff coloured cards across the surface like a croupier in charge of a Black Jack table. In front of her were row upon row of similar cards and she appeared to be switching or adding to the piles she had created. He realised she was sorting out the old recording index system from one of the case boxes.

“Having fun?”

She looked up. “Having fun? This is a nightmare. It’s like sorting out a thousand piece jigsaw with some of the bits missing. I can’t make head nor tail of some of the cross-referencing or the information written on some of these cards.”

“You can see how they made so many mistakes with the Ripper enquiry, can’t you? That’s why they introduced HOLMES.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m hoping that when I start going through some of the paperwork it will all fall into place.”

“I’m sure it will Grace.” He unhooked his hands and pointed to the bound prosecution document he had just read. “Interesting story, and a well put together file. The summary is a lot more long-winded than some of today’s files but it makes for good reading. In fact, having read it, I’m puzzled now why Jeffery Howson made that phone call to Barry, because on paper the job seems cut and dried. The evidence against Lucy Blake-Hall’s killer is so strong.”

Grace pushed herself up and stretched her spine. “Give me a quick run-down then and fill me in. It might help me make some sense of this lot that I’ve got to sort out.”

“Okay, briefly, Lucy was just twenty-two years old when she disappeared back in August nineteen-eighty-three. At the time, she was married with a young daughter…” Hunter paused and glanced down at some notes he had made, “…Jessica,” he added and continued with his narration. “It appears she’d been having an affair with a guy called Daniel Weaver for approximately six months and he’d made arrangements to rent a place in St. Neots, near Cambridge, where they were going to live together. On the night of her disappearance, he checked his notes again, “Friday the twenty-sixth — the start of the Bank Holiday weekend — witnesses saw her and Daniel together in a pub, and an hour later they were seen arguing in the market place. That’s the last anyone saw of her. Husband reported her missing the Saturday morning and when Daniel was paid a visit a day later, on the Sunday, he had scratches to his face so he was arrested. Jeffery Howson and a Detective Sergeant Alan Darbyshire were the arresting officers and they had several interviews with him. Initially he denied the affair and denied meeting her on the Friday. On the second interview he changed his story. He admitted the affair and admitted seeing her that Friday. He also admitted that the marks to his face were caused by Lucy. He said they had rowed because she had changed her mind about running away together. His place was searched and they found Lucy’s handbag hidden among some sacks in his garden shed. In a third interview Weaver confessed to killing her. That’s it, in a nutshell.”

Grace looked puzzled. “But didn’t Sue tell Barry that while she was working as a reporter with the Barnwell Chronicle, they’d repeatedly covered the story because Lucy’s body’s never been found?”

“It hasn’t.”

“Well if Weaver admitted to killing her, why didn’t he tell the interviewing officers where he had buried her?”

Hunter casually hunched his shoulders. “Well he did in a fashion. In his last interview he coughed to strangling her during a later row back at his place and then, when he realised she was dead, in a panic he took her up to Langsett Moor in his works van and buried her somewhere up there. He said he couldn’t remember where because he was drunk at the time.”

“But I thought he pleaded not guilty.”

“Oh he did, but the ins and outs of that are not on the prosecution file. I know from Barry’s conversation with Sue that Weaver alleged at his trial that he’d been fitted up, so I’m hoping to find the details of his defence among the paperwork in one of the other boxes I’ve yet to go through. But on this file all there is are the main witness statements and his interview notes.”

The unexpected ringing of his desk telephone made Hunter jump. He reached across and snatched it up.

“DS Kerr, Major Investigation Team,” he offered. Then he listened to the caller, reached for his pen and began scribbling notes onto scrap paper. Less than two minutes later he was dropping the handset onto its cradle.

“Come on Grace, get your coat on,” he said pushing himself up from his seat. “That was Bully on the phone. The key found in Jeffery Howson’s stomach was for a safe which they’ve found hidden in a set of wardrobes. He wants us to join him at the scene. He said he’s found something of great interest.”