Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

Hunter returned his gaze to the documents spread out over the large oak coffee table. The previous evening, he had brought home the Daniel Weaver prosecution file and photograph exhibits. At work he had already read through all of its 500 pages twice but he wanted to fully ingrain the important elements of it to memory before he and Grace visited Daniel Weaver later that day: Grace had earmarked a visitors’ slot for 4pm at Wakefield Prison where Daniel had been held for most of the twenty five years inside.

He pawed at the bound file, searching for the first statement he wanted. He had four hours to plough his way through the file before Beth came home from work to join him for lunch; it was her half day today, and she had dropped the boys off at school on her way to the surgery, leaving him to get on with his task.

Jeffery Howson’s witness statement was the first he had earmarked, and he pinched together the dozen or so typed sheets and settled back against the tan leather upholstery of the sofa to read through it again, slowly. This was one piece of evidence he couldn’t afford to rush through — this, and the testimony of Alan Darbyshire were the crucial accounts which had condemned Daniel all those years ago and he concentrated on the facts and comments they had recorded. The forensic results had come back on the notes found in Jeffery Howson’s safe — the tests on the paper and the ink had confirmed that they dated back to 1983. Daniel Weaver’s conviction was now unsafe and he knew that Detective Superintendents Robshaw and Leggate had a meeting scheduled that morning with CPS to discuss the latest developments. The likelihood was that Daniel Weaver’s case would be presented before the High Court inside the next seven days and he would be released on bail pending a re-trial. Hunter knew that this afternoon’s interview was not going to be easy. Weaver’s solicitor had already started asking pointed questions.

Next to him was a pile of foolscap papers, each one covered by a series of boxed grids, Hunter’s own personal index system to record and summarise the evidence in each individual witness statement. On one side of the A4 sheets were the names of all thirty-two witnesses within the file; on the opposite side was a section for noting a summary of their evidence. Some had very little to say, but others had played a crucial role in Daniel Weaver’s prosecution. The evidence was in two parts — independent witnesses, who had seen Daniel and Lucy together on the night of her disappearance, and police witnesses, including forensics. Hunter knew some of the detectives who had been involved in the investigation. They were all retired now and he wondered what their reaction would be when he broke the news that the case was being re-opened. Given the new nature of the investigation, he wondered if they would be willing to talk. This was going to be a very uncomfortable case to examine, he told himself.

From time to time, as he read through Jeffery Howson’s statement, he paused and made notes on important points. When he got to the part detailing the first visit to Daniel Weaver’s flat, two days after her disappearance, he turned to the folders of bound black and white crime scene photographs, picked up the booklet which contained the interior shots of Weaver’s flat and slowly thumbed through the images. The ones he was especially interested in were those of the garden shed where Lucy’s handbag had been discovered. There were two close-up shots of a small, fake leather bag, which Jeffery Howson’s statement, told him was cream coloured, poking out of a pile of hemp sacking beneath a bench. The discovery had been crucial to the prosecution’s case and was now one of the pieces of evidence being put under his spotlight. The other photos of interest to him were of Daniel Weaver himself, particularly the close-up head shots of the left-hand side of his face and the three diagonal scratch marks on his cheek. Unlike the allegations of the ‘planting’ of evidence, which surrounded the finding of Lucy’s handbag, there was no such question mark over how Daniel Weaver had obtained his injuries. He had already admitted they had been caused by Lucy. He had stated both in his statement and at his trial that they had been caused when she had pulled away from him during their argument in the market place.

Hunter sighed as he finished reading Jeffery Howson’s statement. The evidence appeared so precise, yet most of Howson’s testimony was in doubt because of the contemporaneous notes found in his bedroom safe. If only he had left a note explaining matters, Hunter thought. As he set aside Howson’s statement and picked up Alan Darbyshire’s, he let out another sigh. He knew this was going to mirror exactly what he had just read, but nevertheless he had to scrutinise it thoroughly before the interview with Daniel Weaver that afternoon.

* * * * *

Hunter steered the MIT car into HMP Wakefield car park and aimed it, nose first, into an empty visitors’ parking space. He killed the engine.

“What do think the reception’s going to be like?” Grace asked, pulling down the passenger side mirror, wetting the tip of her right index finger and smoothing it across her right eyebrow.

“I think Daniel Weaver’s going to be pretty pissed off,” said Hunter as he gazed at the fortified entrance gates of the Victorian prison. “And I guess he’s every right to be. Although, if you had asked me that same question before we found those contemporaneous notes in Howson’s safe I would have given you a different answer. I’ve read the prosecution file three times now and know it back to front. At the time of his trial, you can see why the jury returned a guilty verdict. Several witnesses saw him and Lucy arguing that night and no one saw her again after that. And there is no one who can alibi Daniel Weaver after he left the market place. He told police he went home, got drunk and then the next morning went to his mother’s house for breakfast. Weaver lived alone and no one saw him come or go. His only comments in his defence is that he had no idea where Lucy had gone once she left him and that the police planted the handbag in the shed and then fabricated his confession. We now know the last part of that could be true.”

“I spoke with Prison Intelligence yesterday to get a bit of background on Weaver. It appears he’s kept himself to himself at every prison he’s been in. There are times when he has been a pain in the arse, as the prison officer put it, because he regularly challenged officers when he felt he was being badly treated. For that he served some time in the punishment block. Added to that, he also refused to engage in any prisoner therapy; one of the main reasons why he hasn’t been considered for parole or early release.” Flipping the mirror back up in place, Grace added, “Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

Hunter shook his head, “Not exactly. I’ve got an idea of where I want it to go.” Hunter reached behind and pulled a bulging folder from the back seat. “I’ve made notes and I’d like to lead him back through that night, but it all depends on what his brief has advised him to say.”

Tucking the folder beneath his arm, Hunter locked the car and strode towards the prison gates. Grace trotted beside him.

At reception, Hunter produced his warrant card and appointment letter, after which he and Grace passed through metal sliding doors into the search area, where they emptied their pockets into trays and stepped through the airport style electronic security portal. Then they were taken to the main hall, where the wives, girlfriends and families of prisoners had all congregated to meet their loved ones and children were chasing around screaming at one another.

They were shown into a small room just off the main hall which mirrored one of their own interview rooms back at the police station. As the door closed behind them, most of the noise muted. In the centre of the room was a table, the surface of which had been well-graffitied and gouged, together with four chairs, all secured to the floor. Hunter and Grace each took a seat.