Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

“So they instigated a search and everything?”

“Yeah. Alan rang his boss and the next thing the whole place was swarming with cops. Later on that day in fact, it was early the Saturday evening Alan rang and told me that Lucy had been seen arguing with a man in the market place on the Friday evening and gave me a description of him. I told him I thought it fitted Danny and mentioned that he worked for me.”

“And the next day the Sunday they arrested Daniel?”

“Yeah that’s right. Alan told me that Danny and Lucy had been seen having a fight, or something like that, in the market place and he had scratch marks to his face. They had also found her handbag hidden beneath some sacks in his shed.”

“Did you see the handbag they found?”

“Yeah. Alan and Jeffery brought it round. It was definitely Lucy’s. Her purse and other stuff with her name on it was still inside. Later on that night, Alan and Jeffery turned up at the club and told me that Danny had confessed to killing her.”

“Can you remember roughly what they said to you about the confession?”

Blake-Hall’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’m intrigued now. Why would you ask me about Danny’s confession like that? Surely a confession’s a confession?”

“Humour me Peter. It’s just an angle in a number of enquiries we’re following up.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. I suppose you’ll tell me at some point.” He pursed his lips. “Well as I say they came to the club to tell me that Danny had given them a statement and he would be charged with her murder.” He paused and scanned the room. After a couple of seconds, he looked back at Hunter. “This was such a long time ago now, you appreciate. I was so delighted at the time, I just wanted to treat them to a drink.” He paused again and cleared his throat. “I may have used the wrong word there, detectives. I think the word I should have used was relieved. Relieved that I knew what had happened to Lucy, and yet also sad of course.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, we had a couple of drinks together and they told me that Danny had told them that he had strangled Lucy during an argument at his flat and then put her in the back of his van and taken her up on Langsett Moors and buried her. And she’s still up there somewhere. They searched but they never found her body.”

“Just to clarify. You said they told you Danny had confessed. Was it both Alan and Jeffery, or was it one of them?”

He screwed up his face in deep concentration. Then he answered, “It was Alan who told me.”

“I know it’s a long time ago now Peter, but can you remember what Jeffery Howson was like that night when they came to your club and gave you the news?”

“Not really. You have to appreciate it all came as a surprise. All kinds of things were going around inside my head.” He paused again. “Although now I come to think about it, Jeffery was a little subdued about it all. Usually if they’d had a good result and came into my club, the pair were buzzing. That night Jeffery was a lot quieter than normal. Why? Is that significant?”

It was Hunter’s turn to shrug. “Honest answer Peter don’t know yet. As I say, our enquiries are really in the early stages.”

“Do you have any clues as to who killed Jeffery then?”

Hunter gave him a smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I? Let’s just say we have a number of leads we’re following up, and leave it at that.” He pushed himself up from the sofa. “Well Mr Blake-Hall, you’ve been most helpful. We’ll leave you in peace now, but we may be back with some other questions before the investigation is over.”

Pushing himself up from the sofa, Peter Blake-Hall proffered an outstretched hand. “Well, you know where to find me.”

Hunter shook his hand.

Peter then offered his hand to Grace. After the shake, he didn’t let go. Looking deeply into her eyes he said. “Forgive me, I didn’t get your name.”

“DC Marshall,” Grace replied, peeling away her hand.

“And does DC Marshall have a first name?”

“She does, but I’d rather keep things formal if you don’t mind.”

Blake-Hall pulled a face. “Well, that’s told me.”

Hunter stepped in. “My colleague’s right, Mr Blake-Hall. We have to distance ourselves at all times during an ongoing enquiry.”

He smirked. “Things have really changed, haven’t they?”

Peter Blake-Hall showed them out through the large glazed entranceway. It was still raining and Hunter made a dash for the car, popping the locks as he jogged.

Jumping into the driver’s seat, he quickly slid the key into the ignition. Grace bounced into the passenger seat beside him, flipped down the visor mirror and flicked a comb of fingers through her damp curls.

“A little feisty there, Miss Marshall,” said Hunter.

“What a tosser,” Grace replied, snapping up the visor.

“Now now, don’t let Mr Blake-Hall get inside that pretty little head of yours.”

Grace glanced sideways. “And don’t you start with that Hunter Kerr, you’re not too big to get a slap.”

He laughed as he started the engine.

* * * * *

Most of the day’s jobs were completed before 6pm. Except for Hunter’s and Grace’s feedback from the meeting with Peter Blake-Hall, there was very little in the way of de-briefing and Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw wound things up early. En masse, the MIT team decamped to the George and Dragon, in Wentworth village, for a swift drink before heading off home.

Hunter didn’t immediately go into the pub. He sat in his car and phoned Beth on his mobile, telling her would be home within the hour. He had just disconnected the call when his passenger door swung open and in jumped Barry Newstead. Barry kept the door open, leaving one leg dangling outside. He leaned in towards Hunter.

“I’m glad I’ve caught you. I couldn’t make the briefing because I was tied up with the HOLMES team, but I wanted to have a quick word with you about your visit to Peter Blake-Hall this afternoon.”

“Oh yeah. Well actually I’ve got something to tell you, because guess who was at the house when we got there?”

A frown creased Barry’s forehead.

“None other than that journalist friend of yours.”

“You mean Guy Armstrong?”

“We didn’t get his name, but from your description of him it certainly fitted. We just turned up in the nick of time. Blake-Hall was giving him the same reception as you. In fact Grace had to protect him. It looked as though Peter was about to hit him.”

“You should have let it happen.”

“Now, now Barry. This is the modern police service.” Hunter smirked. “Anyway, what’s so important it can’t wait ’til we get in the pub?”

“I got a phone call today from an old friend of mine from my CID days about Alan Darbyshire.” Barry lowered his voice. “You remember what I told you before about Alan and Jeffery Howson being thick as thieves and using a strip club et cetera. Well surprise, surprise, guess who he’s linked with?”

“Peter Blake-Hall?”

Barry shot Hunter a bewildered look. “How did you know that?”

Hunter tapped his temple. “I’m psychic.” His mouth creased into a smile. “No I’m not. Peter actually mentioned that he knew Alan, and I put two-and-two together from what you already told us. In fact, he told us that Alan worked for him for a good few years at the lap-dancing club after he retired, hiring and firing staff and generally making sure the place kept a clean licence.”

“Ah, but did Blake-Hall tell you how he originally got to know Alan Darbyshire.”

Hunter shook his head. “No.”

“He was a snout for Alan for years. You know how I said about how good his arrest rate was?”