Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

“I’m afraid not,” replied Grace. “We’re looking into the possibility it was taken out of spite. A revenge sort of thing, which went wrong.” Grace knew she wasn’t being entirely honest with her answers because there was still the cover up she had got herself embroiled in. She continued. “Paul heard on the grapevine that you were also seeing someone else. Someone with a bit of character shall we say, who wasn’t too friendly with cops, and so we’re looking into the possibility he found out about Paul visiting you and took the car.”

Grace saw the perturbed look creep across Karen’s face.

“Hmm I can see your dilemma. Grace, can I just ask if all this is going to come out?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. If you were seeing another guy, and you choose to give us that name, he will have no idea it came from you. We’ll make him believe his name cropped up through our informants, because if he did do this as some kind of perverted joke he will have told someone.”

Grace lost eye contact again as Karen dropped her gaze to the steaming cup of coffee. Then she looked up. “Paul isn’t wrong. I was seeing another young man at the time. And I suppose he was a bit of a character, as you put it. I met him through my husband’s dealing with licences. Jerry used to be involved in the issuing of the licence for the local fairground ‘feast’ when it came to this area a couple of times a year. The fairground owner brought his son to our apartment one day and I got chatting to him whilst they did their business. We met a few times over about a six-month period and then it fizzled out, sadly. He had a hell of a body I’ll tell you for someone in their early twenties.” She suddenly had a sparkle in her eyes. “He told me he was some kind of fighter, bare knuckle stuff, illegal. He told me he regularly fought with the gypsies for money.”

“What’s his name Karen?”

“You sure, he’s not going to find out I told you?”

Grace crossed her chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Okay it’s Billy. Billy Smith. His family own a plot of land near the canal where they have some static caravans. He’s still around, when he’s not travelling with the fair.”

“Thank you Karen you’ve been very helpful.”

Karen picked up her coffee cup, wiped the base on the edge of the saucer and took a sip. “If you haven’t already tried it, you should you know.” Karen Gardner said, pulling away the cup and smiling at her.

“Try what?”

“Having sex with another guy. It does wonders for your self-confidence and it keeps your hubby on his toes. Life’s not always Mills and Boon you know.” Grace was sure she spotted a mischievous smile stretch across her face as she finished off her drink.

DAY TWENTY-TWO: 28th July.

The intermittent trill from the alarm clock pounded Hunter’s ears. Grunting he rolled over and swung out an arm to smack it off, pulling back quickly as the pain registered in his ribs. It was a sharp and tender reminder of the fight with the Paynton's.

The strong coruscating light of early morning sunshine filtering through the curtains should have given him the vigour to leap out of bed and yet somehow he felt totally drained. Dropping his head back onto the pillow he shut his eyes. In that instance the images of the melee flashed inside his head. Especially that look in his father’s eyes. Not one of anger, but actually of pleasure. He snapped open his eyelids again hoping to dismiss the mental pictures in his imagination, but they were still there, haunting him. He eased himself up into the sitting position, letting off a low moan. Seeing Beth’s face screw up as he disturbed her he kissed her gently on the forehead, rolled out of bed and made for the bathroom.

Stepping out of the shower he delicately dabbed the towel over his wet torso. He hurt like hell this morning. In the mirror he examined his well-defined stomach and ribcage. The bruising had already taken on an intense purple shade. Thank god he’d been able to cover his face.

It took an eternity to dress and he had to skip breakfast to get to work on time. As he pulled his Audi out of the drive Simple Minds, ‘Alive and kicking’ played out from the radio and he laughed to himself, and then winced as it caused him much discomfort.

Turning onto the bypass he wound down the driver’s window to let in the fresh morning air. It was already warm and not yet seven-thirty am. The road ahead was clear and ELO’s, ‘Mr Blue Sky’ had just started. He turned up the sound and forced down the accelerator.

Half a mile from the station the wail of two-tone horns approaching from the rear and at speed tore his attention away from the pounding music. Glancing in the rear view mirror he picked up the ambulance screaming towards him and he pulled in and hugged the kerb as it shot past. As he picked his speed back up he hoped to God it wasn’t going to be another call requiring his team to attend. They didn’t need another murder at this time — they were fast running out of detectives.

* * * * *

Following morning briefing and the de-camping of the teams from the MIT department to carry out their daily tasks the Detective Superintendent had called together Hunter, DS Mark Gamble, the two supervisors of the MIT teams, Detective Inspector Gerald Scaife, the office manager who coordinated all the actions, and Isobel Stevens, the supervisor of the HOLMES team, to review the investigation.

They had all been told to meet in the conference room and they were now seated around the large table. In front of them they all had several A4 size computer generated replications of the timelines relating to Carol Siddons and Rebecca Morris, and a summary of the important issues taken from key statements of witnesses, which had been supplied by Isobel’s team.

The Detective Superintendent had already mentioned that he wanted to discuss the status of the investigation and by the end of the meeting confirm the strategy for the next phase of the enquiry.

“Heard the latest?” said Detective Superintendent Robshaw, leaning forward, resting his chin on cupped hands and roaming his eyes around the table. “Seems somebody gave Steve Paynton’s two brothers, and one of his cousins a good hiding. One of the brothers has got two broken ribs and a punctured lung, another has a broken nose and cheekbone and several teeth missing, and the cousin has a broken jaw and a badly gashed eye. Rumour has it that a police officer was involved.”

Hunter saw the SIO land his gaze upon him. Defensively, he shrugged his shoulders and gave him a ‘why are you looking at me’ expression.

“Anyway it seems none of them want to make a complaint, and we’ve got too much on our plate to have to follow up on malicious gossip.”

As the Superintendent leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, Hunter saw that his eyes were still fixed upon him. Seeing that look, he knew in his mind that Michael Robshaw was letting him know that he was fully aware of what had gone on, and more than likely realised what lay behind it, and that he wanted him to know that nothing ‘on the shop floor’ slipped past him despite his managerial position. Equally Hunter knew that the Superintendent was making it quite clear that given the circumstances he was prepared to not make a great fuss about it.’

A bright shaft of sunshine pierced the gap between the partly closed blinds covering the many large windows which spanned one side of the conference room and reflected off the surface of the well polished oak veneered table giving additional warmth to the already stuffy room. Michael Robshaw unfolded his arms and, using a hand held remote control switched on the air conditioner. A low hum came from the unit high up against the ceiling and an almost instant coolness drifted down.