Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

Hunter drove the unmarked CID car out of Barnwell Police station following the route towards the A1 for the hour-long journey to Retford. Grace in the passenger seat shuffled uneasily on her seat scanning the file on Steven Paynton.

“Listen to this” she said keeping her eyes on the paperwork, whilst Hunter negotiated the bustling out of town traffic. “He’s a real bastard. Social Services have written loads of notes on this woman we’re going to see. It seems he started to beat her within a month of moving in. He scalded her with hot tea. He beat her with a dog leash, and he even pissed on her when she was asleep. And listen to this, he held a knife several times to her throat and simulated slicing her open. Now that is interesting. It’s making our Mr Paynton seem like a hot prospect in our enquiry. What with this and Sue Siddons’s statement it should give us some lever to hold him long enough to rattle his cage.”

“We don’t know yet if she’ll make a complaint. Don’t forget this was fifteen years ago. She’s got a new identity and a new life now. She probably wants to put all this behind her.”

“I’ll do everything I can to get a statement from her,” said Grace.

Hunter knew that was not an idle threat. Although outwardly Grace came across as being gentle for a detective, from experience he had discovered that there was a sharper and harder edge to Grace, which she could switch on like a light bulb when she needed to. He had personally seen many villains rue the day they had challenged her.

As he swung the car onto the unmarked country lane that led to the trunk road, Hunter knew from the determination in her voice that Grace was on a mission to get Steve Paynton. And he knew that when Grace got something into her head there was no holding her back.

Just before the A1 slip road he pulled the CID car into a lay-by and killed the engine.

“About the other day” he began, and in the next ten minutes he revealed everything from the discussion with Paul Goodright the previous evening. “That’s why I reacted like I did when Sue Siddons mentioned the cardigan. I realised it was the one Paul recovered from the back of the nicked CID car.”

Grace shook her head. “Bloody hell Hunter, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m hoping Paul can come up trumps and find some way of getting that cardigan into the system. If he can it’ll make it easier, but the other problem is Mrs Gardner. At the time she was having her dalliances with Paul she was also seeing someone else — a villain according to Paul, who likewise could have found out about Paul and was trying to stitch him up. As soon as Paul found out he didn’t stick around to find out who that person was. If we can find out that was the case, it’d make things very interesting.”

“Especially if it was Steven Paynton,” interjected Grace.

“Great minds think alike. The problem is Mrs Gardner’s respectable status now. What she probably did in her thirties is well behind her now and one thing she won’t want is some hairy-arsed cop stirring up her past. Besides that it’s going to go down like a lead balloon if the Police Authority gets whiff of this.”

“What about a hairy-arsed female cop having a word with her?”

“Grace, one thing I don’t want to do is get anyone else involved in this mess, especially you.”

“Listen Hunter, no one is any the wiser yet about Paul’s and Mrs. Gardner’s indiscretions all those years ago, and at this stage we don’t even know if they are relevant to this enquiry. If I’m seen going to visit her by a neighbour or a friend it will just look as though I’m seeing her for coffee, or one of her charities she’s probably involved with. I’ll plan it when her hubby is out and also it will be a lot easier coming from another woman.”

“I have to admit I was worried how I was going to approach this, I’m not exactly renowned for being subtle.”

“Well then, you’ve answered the question yourself. And if it looks like we’re on to something, then we’ll worry how we can feed it into the enquiry system after.”

“It would be a help Grace. Thanks. And I promise if this blows up in our faces, I’ll just say this was on my orders.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“By the way Grace.”

“Yes?”

“Have you really got a hairy arse?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

* * * * *

“What a beautiful house. Victorian by the looks,” Grace Marshall commented as she and Hunter strode up the black and white decorative tiled path towards the wide open porch of the semi-detached house. They had already tried two other addresses amongst the terraced rows close to the town centre before being directed to this house on the outskirts of Retford. As they got nearer to the stained glass front door Grace snapped open the folder she was carrying and took a quick look at the photograph pinned inside. It was a dog-eared, discoloured, and dated picture of the woman they were seeking, and she hoped she would be able to recognize her from it. They could hear the sound of a woman singing from within, and Hunter tried to steal a glance through the front bay window only to find that thick curtains prevented his view. Grace pressed the original brass buttoned bell set in the door frame and the singing immediately stopped, quickly followed by a shout of “Just a minute.” from somewhere at the back of the house. The clop of footsteps resounded along the hallway before the front door swung open.

Though there were now crows-feet around the hazel eyes, and a slight greying around the temples of her chestnut brown hair, which was dragged back and tied in a ponytail, Margaret Brown, as she now called herself, had changed very little. She was still the fresh-faced, attractive woman, depicted in the photograph, despite now being in her early forties. Switching her gaze quickly from one to the other she snapped off her yellow marigold gloves. “Sorry, I only just heard the bell. It’s my cleaning day. Can I help you?”

Grace flashed her police warrant card. She introduced herself and Hunter and smiled reassuringly. “Are you Margaret Brown, used to be Mary Bennett?” she continued.

Hunter saw the colour visibly drain from Margaret’s face.

Her eyes glazed over and she went rigid as if paralysed. Then she said, “This is about Steve isn’t it?”

“Steve. You mean Steve Paynton?” returned Grace.

She shook, then clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. He’s found me hasn’t he?” She shot her gaze past them, searching over their shoulders, staring up and down the street.

“Not that we know of. Look this is about Steve Paynton, but it’s to do with his past. That’s why we’ve tracked you down after all this time. Please can we come in? We really need to speak with you,” said Hunter

She hesitated, took another nervous glance along the road, and then stepped aside to allow them entrance. Then she pushed the front door shut, turned the key and snapped on the safety chain before pointing to the front room.

Hunter and Grace went in first and seated themselves down on a leather settee without waiting to be asked.

“Sorry I reacted like I did,” Margaret said picking up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of a side unit. She shuffled one out quickly and put it to her mouth and then offered the packet to the two detectives. They declined and she lit it, taking in a long drag, holding her breath for a several seconds before exhaling the smoke from one corner of her mouth.

“If I appear nervous that’s because I am. To be frank I’m shit scared. I’ve looked over my shoulder for so many years because of that man, and I was just beginning to think I had got him out of my life before you two showed up.”