Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

Hunter watched the Detective Superintendent’s expression turn studious. He knew she was saying it more to herself than him.

A couple of seconds later she said, “You didn’t show him the photographs, taken by Guy Armstrong yet, did you?”

Hunter shook his head.

“Good. And you didn’t drop out what the tramp saw?”

“For what that evidence is worth, no.”

“I know it’s not worth much, but we have to put it to him and see what answer or reaction he gives to it.”

“You want me and Grace to do another interview with him then?”

“Not today Hunter, no. We’ll let Mark’s team and SOCO finish off completely at his house and have another go at him tomorrow. We’ll bed him down for the night and start afresh. I’ll authorise the extension to his detention. We can’t have him disappearing like his mate Ronnie. In the meantime, check on how Alan Darbyshire is getting on. The last I was told was that it definitely was a heart-attack, and that he’s now comfortable on a ward, but they’re not going to release him for a couple of days at least. I’ve already given instructions for them to release his guard. He’s not going anywhere.” She yawned and clamped a hand across her mouth. “God, I’m knackered. I need my bed.” She rested her elbows on the desk and supported her chin in her hands. “Mr Robshaw’s going to give a de-briefing at seven tonight. I’m going to call it a day before I collapse. Is there anything you and Grace can pick up?”

Her question triggered a thought from his nighttime musings over the investigation.“There is something I’d like to run past you.”

“Go on then. As Dumbo says, I’m all ears.”

He cracked a grin, then said, “No one’s talked to Jessica. Yes, we’ve spoken with Lucy’s parents but we’ve not spoken with her daughter ever. Her grandparents said she’d seen a psychiatrist in the past because of nightmares and problems she had suffered as a child, but we never asked if their sessions had revealed anything. Why don’t we speak to her? It’s not going to harm anything is it? You never know, there might be something. She was five when her mum disappeared and I know that’s young, but I think of what my own kids were like at five years old and it’s surprising just how much they’re aware of at that age.”

He waited for a response. After a good fifteen seconds of silence, she replied. “I agree Hunter. What harm will it do? We’ve absolutely nothing to lose. You and Grace see if you can fix it up, and feed it back in at briefing.” With that, she pushed herself out of Hunter’s chair and headed for the door. She waved a hand without looking back. “See you in the morning.”

Following Dawn Leggate’s departure, Hunter updated Grace, and as he completed the day’s paperwork she tried to contact Jessica. They hadn’t a phone number for her but they had her grandmother, Margaret Hall’s telephone number on file.

Grace’s call to Lucy’s parents was picked up and the first few minutes of the conversation were a barrage of questions about the latest developments in the investigation. Grace happily provided the answers, then moved on to the real purpose of her call. She explained that they had Peter in custody and needed to speak with Jessica. She was met with a good twenty seconds of silence, so she explained in detail about how they wanted to see if her granddaughter could recollect anything from her past. Grace could sense the anxiety in her voice when Margaret came back on the line. “She’s very vulnerable you know,” she repeatedly said, and added “She’s gone through such a lot in her life, losing her mum and not having a father who loved her.” After ten minutes, Grace managed to convince her that it was necessary, assuring her that they would tread sensitively. She invited Margaret to come along with her granddaughter and arranged to meet them the next day. Before she hung up she gave them directions to the police station and fixed the time for ten am.

As expected, the evening briefing was short. Nothing incriminating had been found at Peter Blake-Hall’s home and the search teams were going to start on his club the next day. Ronnie Fisher had gone to ground. Task Force and CID had turned over a number of homes belonging to family members and close associates but they hadn’t been able to find him. A nationwide manhunt was now in place.

Detective Superintendent Robshaw concluded the session by telling everyone that he wanted them all in for seven am the following morning.

Hunter squared up the edges of his loose papers and dropped them into his pending tray. They could wait for the next day. He grabbed his padded coat off the back of his seat and threw it over his shoulder.

He watched Grace tidy up her desk. As she dropped a couple of pens into her desk holder he said, “I’m just going to call in and see how Mike is on my way home, what about you?”

She glanced at her watch. “I’d love to be able to say yes Hunter, but I promised everyone a cooked meal tonight. I daren’t be in the bad books again.”

“No probs,” he replied and made for the door. “I’m only doing a flying visit myself. I’m totally knackered,” he called back.

“Send him my love,” Grace called after him.

Hunter rode the lift up to the third floor of the District General hospital. Mike was on the surgical ward after his operation. Following the signs, he strode down the corridor, entered the ward and passed the nurses’ station towards the six-bedded unit where Mike was. At the glass partition he stopped and scanned the room, until he spotted Mike sitting up in bed. But he was with a woman and the sight of her caught Hunter by surprise. He had only ever seen Chief Inspector Janet Dobson in uniform. He knew from his visits to Headquarters that she was in charge of the Prosecutions Department. But here she was in civvies, leaning across Mike’s bed chatting to him and holding his hand.

Hunter smirked. Well you crafty old bugger. All that time I felt sorry for you, thinking you were alone. And you’ve been knocking off a Chief Inspector. Hunter retraced his steps. You don’t need me tonight for company, Mike Sampson.

He was about to get back in the lift when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Pauline Darbyshire. She looked drained.

“I thought it was you,” she said.

He picked out a note of nervousness in her voice. “Have you just been visiting Alan?” This felt awkward.

“Yes, have you just come to check on how he’s doing?”

“No, I’ve just called to see a colleague.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“No he’s fine. Just had an operation.” He wasn’t going to expand on that. He didn’t want her knowing what had gone on since her husband’s arrest.

“I’m glad I’ve caught you, DS Kerr. Alan said he’d like to talk to you.”

Hunter was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“He’s finally told me what’s happened. He’s in a right state. He knows it’s pretty serious, but he wants to get it sorted out. He said he wanted to talk with you.” She touched Hunter’s arm. “I think he trusts you. Go and have a word with him will you? He’s only just down the corridor.”

“But I can’t speak to him Mrs Darbyshire. I can only do that in a proper interview. I can’t do it here in hospital.”

She gripped his coat. “Please, DS Kerr, he sounds desperate.”

Hunter sighed.

“Please,” she repeated.

He was about to politely refuse until curiosity kicked in. A quick chat with Alan Darbyshire was not going to harm anything especially if he documented the conversation tomorrow. He knew it could be a point of debate at court, but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Hunter patted Pauline’s hand still gripping his coat, “Of course I’ll have a chat with Alan.”