Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

Paul stopped his cueing action and turned to face Hunter.

“Why, what’s happened?” he asked, frowning.

“From what I’ve learned yesterday I’m now certain Carol Siddons was in that CID car on the night she was murdered. Do you recall when we answered the fire brigade shout, because they had found the CID car on fire on that track that used to run at the back of the old coking plant?”

“Yeah, when we got there they had put it out. Although it was only partially burnt it was a write-off as I remember.” He’d lost interest in the game now and was resting his hips against the side of the snooker table.

“And can you remember what you picked up from the back seat?”

He thought for moment. “A cardigan.”

“That’s right a greyish, blue cardigan. What did you do with it?”

“I bagged it and put it in my desk drawer. I can remember thinking it was strange finding that, because as you know back then we didn’t have lasses nicking cars in our neck of the woods.”

Hunter nodded in agreement. “And do you remember there was front end damage to the car?”

Paul pursed his lips. “On the same night it was nicked there was a hit and run accident in which my sister was seriously injured and her boyfriend was killed. I’ve always believed that the CID car was involved in that.”

Everything about that night, all those years ago, was now being played out in Hunter’s head. He could feel his face muscles pinch together in sadness and he nodded again.

Paul continued. “I told traffic what my thoughts were and they got involved in the fatal enquiry. But when I suggested to the DI that I should get involved as well, especially with my sister being one of the victims, he wouldn’t have any of it. All he kept whingeing on about was the loss of the department’s car. I had a head to head with him because he said that I only had myself to blame. The twat said if I had looked after the car better it wouldn’t have got nicked and therefore wouldn’t have been involved in the fatal accident. I totally lost it and one of the lads had to stop me from punching his lights out. That virtually signalled the end of my CID days.” Paul’s face was showing signs of flushing. Hunter could sense the frustration and anger welling inside his old colleague even after all this time.

“I went on a bit of a crusade for a while and showed the cardigan to every villain I nicked,” continued Paul. “But no one could place it to any of our female criminals. If you remember the gaffer went off on one when he found out what I was doing and gave me the shittiest jobs for months. That’s when I realised my days were numbered, so I decided to go back into uniform. And that’s when I joined Traffic division. To be honest it gave me some freedom to see if I could track down the bastard who crippled my sister.” He rubbed his shaven head again. “Do you know Hunter every time I see my sister in her wheelchair I play that night over and over again in my head, wondering if I have missed something or someone and especially regretting my stopping off for a stupid shag.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Paul. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. We’ve all done things we regret. Anyway the murder enquiry I’m involved in might now draw a line under who caused your sister’s and her boyfriend’s accident. That’s why I called you. I’ve mentioned the cardigan because yesterday I found out that our murder victim Carol Siddons was actually wearing the cardigan. Apparently her mother gave it to her to wear on the night she went missing.”

Hunter paused, as he saw Paul draw in his breath. He studied his features and saw a look of real perplexity. He was thinking how he could break the next couple of sentences, but there was no other way round it.

“You know what that means don’t you Paul,” he started. “The cardigan belonged to a victim and not to the person who had nicked the CID car. That’s why you didn’t get anywhere with your enquiries all those years back. You also know that we’re also investigating the murder of a Rebecca Morris don’t you?”

Paul nodded.

“Well the discovery of Carol Siddons body is linked to Rebecca Morris. The forensic pathologist has confirmed that the killings are similar. It looks as though the killer picked up Carol Siddons after he’d nicked your CID car that night, drove her around in it, murdered her, and then buried her. Her body was found only about fifty yards from the old track where the car was dumped and set on fire. It had been buried in a shallow grave.”

Paul almost dropped into the chair beside the table where they had placed their drinks.

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this,” Paul growled beneath his breath, and snatched up his beer and took a swift gulp.

“Do you still have that cardigan, because you know what I’m thinking now don’t you?” said Hunter now also seating himself at the table beside his colleague.

“DNA.”

Hunter nodded. His head tumbled around the knowledge he had of the scientific processes of matching DNA. Things had changed so radically since its introduction twenty years ago. He knew that forensic scientists were now able to work with the smallest sample of genetic material, such as sweat, or tears on clothing, often referred to as trace evidence, to enable a match.

“Bloody hell Hunter I never actually booked it in as evidence. I’ve told you what I was doing with it all those years back. It was like treading on eggshells with the gaffer so I kept a low profile with my enquiries. I just kept it in my drawer until I needed it.”

“Did you get rid of it then?”

“I’m sure I didn’t sling it,” Paul retorted. “I can remember taking it with me when I moved. It stayed in my locker for ages.” After a moments silence he suddenly blurted out “I do have it. I put it in my garage. It’ll still be there. But if I do get it how can we get it into the evidence chain without being disciplined for breaching standards? The gaffer back then, Jameson, died of lung cancer a few years back, so there’s no one to back up my story as to why I had to suppress it as evidence.”

“Paul this is something you need to sort out. It’s not me who breached standards. We need that cardigan for forensic evidence.”

“So much for being buddies.”

“Look Paul I don’t want to fall out over this but I covered up enough for you that night when you were out shagging instead of doing your job, and rightly or wrongly the DI did his best to play down the link of one of his department’s cars being involved in a fatal accident, even though it had been stolen. We know there was the death of your sister’s boyfriend that night involving the CID car, plus now the murder of Carol Siddons, and the only evidence we’ve got is that cardigan. You recovered it and it should have been booked in. You know how this job has moved on, especially where it comes to preserving evidence. I don’t care how you do it now but we really need that cardigan. It could be our best chance of catching this bastard.” He paused and took on a more sympathetic tone. “Look it’s like you said, this happened years ago. Things were different back then, and there’s no doubt that DI Jameson had some influence on your decision not to book it in. But if you think about this there must be some way you can turn this around. My guess is that the evidence property books will have been destroyed a long time ago, and you’ll be able to come up with something to cover your back.” Hunter took another sip of his beer, fixing his gaze on Paul, whom he could see was trying to make some sense of this dilemma. “Another thing” he added “And I know this could complicate things further but I also need to know where you were that night. Who were you shagging when the car was nicked, because there might be some vital witnesses to all this.”