Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

Duncan Wroe was filming everything using his digital camera.

As he watched and listened, Hunter tensed. He had waited for this moment for so long. He hoped it was Lucy’s body.

Carefully, Lizzie peeled back the first membrane of semi-transparent sheeting. There was another layer beneath, and she cut through this and repeated the process. Slowly, the covering was pulled away and the body was revealed. Its flesh was gone and only a dirty brown skeleton remained. A stained and dirty, blue satin, knee-length nightdress covered the torso.

“Definitely female,” announced the Professor, in her soft Scottish burr. “And I think this goes a good way to help identify her.” She reached down and hooked a finger around a thin metal chain, which encircled the corpse’s neck, raising it slightly. It was a silver necklace with interlinked lettering. There was no mistaking what the lettering spelled — ‘Lucy.’

“Bingo,” said Dawn Leggate through gritted teeth.

Lizzie McCormack smiled. She rested the necklace back onto the bones and then moved a hand down towards the pelvic area, lifted her head and peered over the top of her spectacles. “And this definitely proves it!” She pointed into the pelvic area and drew a circle in the air. “This young lady was with child. Not full term, but there’s enough bone and cartilage to determine it was over the twenty-four weeks’ stage.” She pursed her lips. “And I can see straight away the cause of this young lady’s death.” She moved her hand away from the pelvis, up towards the skeleton’s skull and pointed to the right temple.

Duncan Wroe leaned in with his camera.

Hunter stepped to one side to get better sight of what the Professor was pointing to. He got a good view over Duncan’s dipped shoulder. An irregular-shaped hole, the size of a two pence piece, had been smashed into the head.

“Fracture of the skull,” Lizzie continued, “And looking at the area of damage, and its position, that would have caused death within a few seconds, or at least would have rendered her immediately unconscious and she would have died within a very short period of time. A lot of force has caused that injury and the object would have had a sharp edge.”

“Like a knife, for instance?” Hunter said.

“Ooh no. Something far more substantial than that. A hammer is the more likely object.”

Hunter was just about to ask another question when the light-bulb went off inside his head. He hadn’t spotted its significance at first.

He said, “Got him!”

His eyes met those of the Detective Superintendent’.

“When Peter Blake-Hall made his original statement, the day he reported Lucy missing, he described her as going out wearing a yellow smock dress and a fawn cardigan. And the witness Lisa Aldridge, states in her statement that she saw Lucy being dragged into her husband’s car and the yellow dress stood out in her description of Lucy. If that’s the case, how do we account for this body here wearing a nightdress? The only way that could have happened is if she went home and got changed into it.”

Detective Superintendent Leggate nodded in agreement, “And that would fit in with why we found blood at the farmhouse and Jessica’s recollections from her nightmares. Peter dragged her into his car that night and brought her back home.”

“She got changed out of her clothes and into her nightie.”

Hunter and his SIO put their thoughts into words.

“And they had an argument over her meeting with Daniel Weaver. Remember, he had asked her to run away with him?”

They finished the last sentence together, “And that’s when he struck her and killed her!”

* * * * *

Turning away from the bar, clutching the round of drinks he had just bought, Hunter felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Are we friends?”

He met Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate’s questioning look. “We were never enemies.”

She removed her hand. “No, but we didn’t get off to a good start did we? You’re in my team now and I just want to know that things between us are good for the future?”

“Things are good, boss.”

She smiled. “Good. I feel like a drink now.” She pointed to the three drinks he was holding. “I see you’ve got yours already.”

He laughed. “Not all for me boss. One’s for Barry Newstead and the other’s for Grace.”

“And I’ll stand the next round when those have gone. Everyone’s earned this. That was a good result, Hunter. Finding Lucy’s body was the icing on the cake.”

“Yes. And it’s especially good for Mr and Mrs Hall, and for Jessica. They can finally have closure after all this time.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a shout of “Mike’s here,” from Grace.

Hunter looked towards the door. Mike Sampson was being helped through by Tony Bullars. He stepped in gingerly, his right arm clamped to his side, shielding the area where he had been stabbed. Mike raised his free hand in a gesture of thanks and then headed off towards his team mates, Grace and Barry, who were in the process of dragging seats around a table. Tony followed behind like his minder.

Detective Superintendent Leggate spoke into Hunter’s ear. “I’ll get their drinks. I’ll bring them over.”

Hunter acknowledged her with a nod and then edged his way to his crew.

He slid the drinks onto the table, pushed a pint towards Barry and handed Grace a white wine. “The gaffer’s treating you two,” he said to Mike and Tony. Mike seemed be having difficulty getting himself settled in his seat. He turned to him, “I’ve told her to get you an orange, you’re on antibiotics.”

Mike wagged a finger at him and they all chuckled.

Hunter raised his glass, said “Cheers,” and took in a good mouthful of Timothy Taylor beer.

“Cheers,” came the reply.

Wiping his mouth with the edge of his hand Hunter focused on Mike again. “I came to see you the other night.”

“Oh, yeah? I can’t remember. Was I sedated?”

“No, you were otherwise engaged.” From the look on Mike’s face, Hunter knew he’d made the connection. He took another sip of his beer.

A moment of silence ensued, until Grace piped up “What’s this then?”

Hunter nodded at Mike, “Are you going to tell them, or do I let the cat out of the bag?”

Sheepishly he replied, “You mean me and Janet Dobson.”

Grace’s jaw dropped. “You mean Janet Dobson, as in Chief Inspector Janet Dobson?”

He affirmed with a quick dip of his head, his face coloured.

“Well you’ve kept that a bloody secret. When was this?” Grace asked.

“Just over a year.”

“And you’ve kept it to yourself all this time?”

“We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while longer.” He added, “I’ve no bloody chance of that now, have I?”

Everyone laughed.

“How did this come about then?” asked Barry.

“I knew her husband. I used to go match-fishing with him. He collapsed and died of a heart attack three years ago while we were out fishing. Nothing I could do to help him. I helped her get through things, and then I used to go round and keep her company and we just hit it off.”

With a sardonic grin Barry added, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a vulnerable widow.”

Grace gave Barry a friendly punch to the arm. “You leave him alone. I think it’s wonderful.” She raised her glass. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

Hunter flopped back against his high-backed seat. The warm atmosphere, the relaxing effects of the beer and lack of sleep over the past few weeks had all taken their toll.

As his team’s banter drifted into the background, he was thinking about home.

He finished his beer and checked the time, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. He’d spend a couple of hours with Beth and the boys, have a warm bath and then he’d collapse in his bed.