Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

“Is there a question there officer?” the solicitor said.

Hunter fixed him with a hard stare. “There is, if you’d let me finish.” Hunter looked at Blake-Hall. “Did you know that a girl called Jodie Marie Jenkinson, who worked for you behind your bar, overheard your conversation that morning?”

“No comment.”

“And that she then contacted a reporter called Guy Armstrong, who I know you do know, because he was at your house that day we came to visit you, and that she told him of the conversation. Were you aware of that?”

“No comment.”

“Was that why he was at your house that morning when we came? He wanted a comment from you regarding the conversation Jodie had overheard. That was why we caught you arguing and pushing him away, wasn’t it Peter?”

He jutted his chin forward, “No comment.”

“Jodie was found dead about three weeks ago in a pub called the Barnwell Inn, which is currently undergoing renovation and we’re treating that death as murder. Have you been to that pub in recent weeks?”

“No.”

“Sure about that Peter?”

“Definitely.”

“Peter, we seem to be going nowhere here. I’ve explained that several people have either given statements against you, or are about to give a statement, which puts you in the frame as our number one suspect for the murder of your wife, Lucy. Would you like to say something in your defence other than answer no comment?”

“No comment.”

“What about the murder of Jeffery Howson?”

“No comment.”

“Do you want to say anything in relation to the murder of Jodie Marie Jenkinson?”

“No comment.”

Hunter shuffled the photographs together, stacked them one on top of the other and slipped them back into his folder. He said, “This interview is over.”

Grace took the tapes out of the machine and as was customary procedure, allowed Peter Blake-Hall to select one. Then she sealed both cassettes, let Peter sign for them, dropped them into her jacket pocket and made for the exit.

Hunter picked up his folder and followed. As he got to the door Peter Blake-Hall called out, “How is your colleague, detective?”

Hunter swivelled. A menacing stare was targeting him. He spat out, “Sorry?”

“Your colleague? The one who was stabbed outside my club?”

“Why, do you know something about that?”

The edges of Blake-Hall’s mouth curled upwards. “It’s a dangerous place out there detective. In the words of the sergeant from Hill Street Blues, ‘be careful out there’.”

Reading the underlying threat in what Blake-Hall had just said, Hunter stared back. He wanted to smash that smug grin right off his face, but instead, he replied, “Thank you for your concern, but I’m a big boy now Peter, I think I can look after myself.”

* * * * *

Jessica and her grandmother arrived at reception ten minutes before their appointed time. Carol Ragen nipped downstairs to meet them, and then showed them outside to the front of Barnwell police station, where Tony Bullars had brought an unmarked car into the visitor’s car park.

Carol opened the passenger side rear door and Jessica and Margaret slid into the back seat.

As they belted up Tony thanked them for coming. He noticed that Jessica, looked very much like her mother, Lucy. She even had the same straw blonde hair, though in Jessica’s case, it was slightly longer. It was swept back from her face, cascading down the back of her quilted coat.

He asked. “Your grandmother’s explained the purpose of your visit today?”

Jessica nodded. She glanced at her grandmother and grasped her hand.

“And you’re okay with everything?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Before we take you to your father’s house…”

She interrupted Tony, “He’s not there, is he?”

“No, he isn’t.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Before we go there, I just want to ask you a few questions Jessica. If you are uncomfortable at any time with what I’m asking, you just tell me, okay?”

She nodded.

“When we spoke with your grandmother the other day, she happened to mention that you had seen a psychiatrist…”

“Only until I was fifteen. I didn’t think there was any point after that.”

“Okay, fine. And you had been seeing him I understand because of the dreams you were having?”

“Nightmares. And I still have them, but I can cope with them a lot better now. They’re just part of my life.”

In a soft and steady voice he said, “Jessica, I just want to ask you what you see in these nightmares. We haven’t spoken with your psychiatrist, and I appreciate this is confidential and personal to you, but it might just be of help to us.”

“I don’t see how it can.”

“Well, you never know. We’ve completed a lot more enquiries now that were overlooked in the original case when your mother went missing and we’ve learned a bit more. It might link in with something. After all, something in your past is responsible for triggering them. Don’t you agree?”

She shrugged.

“Can you just tell us what happens in them?”

She squeezed her grandmother’s hand tighter. “They always seem to start off with either a scream or a moan. Sometimes it’s both. And then I’m in this long corridor and then suddenly I’m standing in a doorway and when I look down…” she paused and stared blankly through the windscreen, before continuing. “It’s like an out of body experience, you know? Weird like. Well, then I’m looking down at my feet and blood’s coming up through my toes.” For a couple of seconds she remained transfixed, staring out. Then her focus was back and she said, “That’s it. Almost the same thing, every time.”

“So you don’t see anyone in these nightmares?”

She lapsed into a thoughtful silence for a few seconds and then replied, “No, I don’t think so. Though I do see shadows.”

“Shadows?”

“Just shadows. That’s it I’m afraid.”

“Okay, thank you.” Tony twisted back and engaged gear. “Right, let’s get you over to your dad’s place.”

They had only travelled a mile before Jessica piped up from the back. “Where are we going?”

“To your dad’s house.” said Tony.

“But you’re going the wrong way.”

“No, this is the way to Hooton Roberts.”

“Hooton Roberts?”

“Yes! Where your dad lives.”

“No, we didn’t live there. Me and mum. We used to live outside Wortley.”

Tony slowed the car and pulled into the kerb. A car behind blared its horn.

Turning around, he said, “You’re saying there’s another house?”

“Another house? No I’m saying the house that I know, and where I was brought up, was a cottage between Wortley and Birdwell. Dad was doing it up when mum disappeared.”

Glancing sideways, Tony’s surprised look mirrored his colleague’s. He turned back to Jessica. “We’ve been searching the wrong house. We thought Peter’s current home was where he lived when your mum disappeared.”

“No I’ve never been to that house. He got that house about eighteen months after Daniel’s trial.”

Tony slammed into first gear, wrenched hard on the steering and spun the car around onto the opposite carriageway. He managed a u-turn in one manoeuvre.

“Right Jessica, Wortley here we come! You point out the way to the house when we get there.”

From the Dearne Parkway, Tony picked up the Stocksbridge bypass and then took the signposted lane into Wortley.

It was a small village; one pub, one church, the grand Wortley Hall, which was now owned by the Trade Unions, and a few dozen cottages.

It was the first time Tony had taken notice of the place. He thought of the many times he had travelled this ridge-backed road, through God’s Own Country, to one of his favourite places Holmfirth, where they filmed ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ and all that time he had missed seeing how pretty this village was. The next time he was here, he told himself, he’d call in at The Wortley Arms. He’d noticed that it was now a restaurant and it looked pretty damn good.