Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

“You know the girl was found murdered in the old Barnwell Inn, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I saw it on the local news. But I swear that is nothing to do with me. That’s down to Peter and Ronnie.”

Hunter leaned forward, rested his forearms on the bed and for a few seconds scrutinised Alan Darbyshire’s face. Then he asked, “What are you after Alan? Telling me all this?”

“Look, I know you’ve got enough on me for a charge of perjury, I’m not stupid. Those notes Jeff kept have sunk me, but at least I can broker a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes.” He grabbed Hunter’s sleeve. “Do you know, DS Kerr, I wish I could turn the clock back. I really do. And believe me, recently I’ve not been able to sleep over it, but I can honestly say that at the time I believed Danny Weaver had murdered Lucy”

“But he didn’t, did he?”

He looked shamefaced. “That’s why I need to make amends. I’ll stand up in court and give evidence against Peter and Ronnie about those photographs you have of us. I’ll tell the court what that meeting was about, just before Jeff and that girl’s murder. It’ll be enough to swing a jury. And in return I want a reduced sentence in an open prison. That’s the deal.”

DAY SIXTEEN: 9th December.

“He doesn’t deserve it, but I think CPS will go for it. Evidence in a murder, or in this case four murders, outweighs a twenty-five-year-old perjury charge. And also don’t forget the press coverage on this one. Everyone’s under immense pressure at the moment because of the miscarriage of justice appeal,” Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw said, having listened to Hunter’s version of the previous evening’s chat with Alan Darbyshire. “I’ll speak with CPS first thing this morning and run it past them.” He rubbed his hands together and then gave them a loud clap. “Okay everyone, we pick up where we left off yesterday.” He pointed at Hunter. “You and Grace re-interview Peter. The clock on him runs out at two pm today. Hit him with the photographs which Guy Armstrong took and Kerri-Ann Bairstow’s statement. Let’s see what he says about those. I’ve asked the techies at Headquarters to examine the memory of his phone today, to see if we can put him anywhere near our murder sites and also check if he has any incriminating texts. If I get that information back in the next couple of hours, then we can hopefully squeeze in another interview before the end of his detention. Given what Alan Darbyshire has said, together with Lisa Aldridge’s statement, I’m going to see if CPS are happy with what we’ve got so far and get them to agree to a holding charge for the murder of his wife Lucy.” Next he turned to Tony Bullars. “Tony, I want you and Carol to take Jessica out to her father’s house and see if anything comes of it. It’s a real long shot, but I know of cases where it has worked. The psychologists call it recovered memory therapy. Let’s keep our fingers crossed it works in our case.” Then his eyes scanned the room. “Good news, everyone. Mike came round yesterday afternoon and except for a few war wounds he’s none the worse for wear. And he’s identified his attacker as Ronnie Fisher. We’ve got him bang to rights on one thing at least. Now, the rest of you have your tasks for the day. We have the search of Peter’s club and we have some new addresses to check for Ronnie Fisher.” He clapped his hands again. “People let’s make today count. Good hunting everyone.”

* * * * *

Peter Blake-Hall, now sporting a fresh shirt and pair of jeans, looked relaxed as Hunter and Grace entered the interview room and sat opposite.

His solicitor sat beside him, legal pad and pen at the ready.

“Found Ronnie yet?” Peter asked smugly.

Hunter slowly opened his folder and took a deep breath. “This interview is about you, Mr Blake-HallI. It does not concern Ronnie Fisher.”

“I take it then that you haven’t found him,” Peter said with a wide grin.

Hunter felt himself tense.

Grace toe-tapped one of his ankles, her reminder to him to stay in control. Then she started the tape machine and went through the opening procedures before the interview could commence.

When she had finished, Hunter said, “Peter, this morning I want to talk to you about an incident which went on at the front of your club on the morning of the tenth of November just over a month ago. You and Ronnie Fisher had a meeting with a man called Alan Darbyshire, a retired police officer.” He watched the smirk disappear from Peter’s face. “Or rather, I should say disagreement. Do you remember that?”

“No.”

“Well, let me help you remember.” Slowly, for dramatic effect, Hunter opened his folder and slid out the A4 photographs Guy Armstrong had taken. He had chosen three. One of them was the shot of Peter stabbing Alan Darbyshire in the upper chest with his finger. “Take a look at these carefully, Peter. You’ll see they are timed and dated. Do these help?”

Blake-Hall’s head was down, his eyes on the photographs, but Hunter could see the colour draining from his face.

He mumbled, “No comment.”

“Now I’ve shown you these photographs, can you recall what was said during your meeting?” He exaggerated the word ‘meeting’.

“No comment.”

“I can help you there as well. Because I’ve been chatting with Alan Darbyshire and he says he came to see you that morning because he had a phone call from an old colleague of his, who had evidence relating to the murder of your wife. That ex-colleague was a man called Jeffery Howson and he had evidence, which he had kept hidden for twenty-five years, which would exonerate Daniel Weaver, and blow the whole case wide open again. And I understand you were not too happy about that and threats were made with regards Jeffery Howson, together with suggestions that the evidence should be made to disappear.”

Peter Blake-Hall raised his head. He looked livid.

“And a couple of weeks after this meeting, Jeffery Howson was found murdered at his home. Do you know anything about that?”

Blake-Hall chewed on his lip.

“I would appreciate an answer. In your own time of course.” Hunter sized his prisoner up across the table. After several seconds of silence, he repeated, “An answer please, Peter.”

Through clenched teeth, Blake-Hall replied, “No comment.”

Hunter leaned back in the seat. “Did you expect Alan Darbyshire to keep quiet about this Peter? Well, unfortunately for you see he’s decided to see the light and he’s in the process of making a deal with CPS. Also, he’s not too happy about his friend being killed.”

“Detective Sergeant Kerr!” The solicitor intervened. He tapped his pen sharply on the table. “Kindly stick to the proper methods of interviewing, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sorry, Mr Wilkinson I thought I was.”

The solicitor scowled.

Hunter put on a false smile and returned his gaze to Blake-Hall. “Peter, have you ever been to Jeffery Howson’s house or near Woodland View where he lived?”

“No.”

“You’re absolutely sure of that?” Hunter studied his face. Blake-Hall seemed to dwell on his question for a good ten seconds, before he answered.

“I would know if I’d been to his house, wouldn’t I. No, I haven’t.”

“Okay, thank you.” Hunter played with the photographs, straightening them along the table. “I just want to take you back to these photos. I’ve already mentioned Alan Darbyshire’s take on this meeting. What if I also tell you that your conversation was overheard by a girl who was working that morning in your bar. What if I tell you that she told a friend of hers that she overheard you talking about the murder of your wife Lucy, and that person has made a statement about your conversation between yourself, Ronnie Fisher and Alan Darbyshire.”