Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

“It does when it takes me half an hour to put my make-up on, and another half an hour to do my hair each morning. Bloody British weather.”

Shaking his head he said. “Anyway, I understand you had a good day yesterday.”

“The Paynton’s you mean?”

Hunter nodded and then turned the demister on the dashboard full-on to clear the fogged front windscreen.

Grace gave back a mischievously wicked smile. “They were really pissed off by the time we’d finished. In fact old man Paynton almost got locked up for breach of the peace when we dug up his allotment. We found the bodies of the dogs though, just like Barry suggested. Forensic have got those and we should know if we have a match with the hairs on Carol Siddons’s cardigan in a day or two. Oh, and by the way, did you know that some of the locals have graffited Steve’s house. Paedo’s been sprayed all over the front of it. The family are going ballistic,” she chuckled.

“Serves them all right. That family have plagued that estate for far too long. It’s nice to see them get a taste of their own medicine for a change.”

“Anyway where are we off to today?”

Hunter dropped the Claire Fisher file onto Grace’s lap. He wound down the misted over driver’s door window a fraction.

The burst of rain had halted but the skies were still rumbling and threatening overhead.

He pointed at the folder as he accelerated slowly out of the station car park. “We’re off to see a Mr and Mrs Fisher. Barry also had some success yesterday.”

As he drove, Hunter recounted Barry’s newspaper discovery and how he’d managed to confirm his findings with a dental match from Claire Fisher’s records.

“It looks as though the killer had Claire for five days at least before she was buried with that newspaper report. Is that sick or what? I find it hard to believe this has been going on in my own district for all these years. Now I know what the detectives were going through when they were dealing with Fred and Rosemary West.” Hunter slowly shook his head.

Grace felt her skin go goosey.

“This twisted bastard seems to be taunting us Grace. He doesn’t mind us finding out who his victims are. It’s as if he knew we’d eventually find this one and he’s actually helping us to identify her. It’s almost as though he thinks he’s never going to be caught. That he’s cleverer than us. We really are up against it at the moment. I just hope we can get a breakthrough before he kills again.” He slowed the car as he met the rush hour crawl. “And another thing Barry’s unearthed. He did some further digging yesterday, going back across old local newspaper reports and then made a few phone calls to other police stations in the District. As a result of what he’s uncovered there’s at least another three local teenage girls who have disappeared without trace over the past thirteen years.”

“What.” exclaimed Grace looking up sharply from the Claire Fisher file.

“Yes, Barry’s found that there are three other cases of girls missing from this area since nineteen-ninety-three when Carol Siddons was first reported. He’s pulled all their files and found that they all disappeared with no apparent reason and more disturbingly that they all fit the same profile, especially as to age and physical appearance as our present three victims.”

* * * * *

The Fisher house was a sumptuous, four bedroom detached residence on a small exclusive estate on the edge of Barnwell. Hunter had learned that the family’s engineering business had flourished over recent years and that Mr and Mrs Fisher had moved home on two occasions since nineteen ninety nine when Claire had gone missing.

The woman who answered their knock at the door took Hunter by surprise. She appeared a lot younger than the details on file. In fact she looked not much older than him.

As if reading his puzzled expression as Hunter introduced himself and Grace, the slim raven-haired lady responded. “I’m Julia. Mrs Fisher number two. Derek’s new wife. Well not really his new wife. We’ve been married nearly three years now. Beverley, Claire’s Mum, died in two thousand and one from cancer.”

“There’s no need to explain,” replied Hunter showing his police badge.

“Derek keeps telling me the same but I could tell by the look on your face that you were surprised that I was a lot younger than you were expecting. I’m used to greeting people like this even after three years. I suppose I don’t want people to think bad of me. As though I’m jumping into a dead woman’s shoes if you know what I mean. I was his secretary you see, at the firm, and got very close to both Derek and Beverley when Claire went missing. Then of course when Beverley was diagnosed with breast cancer I took on a lot of the responsibility of the business and of course got even closer to Derek especially when Beverley died. I know there are some people who think I was having an affair with Derek whilst his wife was dying, but that’s so far from the truth.”

“You really don’t have to explain all this to us,” Hunter responded.

“But I feel better now that I have done. Anyway Derek’s expecting you. He’s in the lounge. Come through.”

Hunter and Grace followed Julia Fisher along a bright and airy hallway into a large, tastefully furnished lounge. The room was filled with sunlight; its brightness enhanced by magnolia painted walls and highly polished oak flooring. Leather furniture and bespoke light oak units containing antique ‘blue’ pottery added to its expensive look.

Hunter noticed in particular a number of impressionistic style paintings hanging around the room, which looked original and under different circumstances he would have loved to have sauntered around to view them.

French doors at the end opened up into a large hardwood orangery, which gave view over a garden festooned with a wide variety of plant colour.

Derek Fisher was standing in the centre of the room waiting to greet them and he energetically moved forward upon their entrance offering his hand to shake. Hunter immediately recognised the Masonic signal and responded accordingly.

“Which Lodge are you in?” Derek Fisher asked, pointing to a tan-coloured leather settee, one of three in the large room, inviting Hunter and Grace to be seated.

“Knights Templar,” Hunter replied. “But I don’t get so much now. To be honest it’s not really my thing. I joined because of my father. He’s from Glasgow and as you know it’s quite a Scottish tradition to be involved in The Masons. When he came down here to live he joined the Knights Templar Lodge at Barnwell and then of course sponsored me just like his Father had done for him.”

“I must invite you to mine some time. In fact I’m in the chair next year, so I’ll send you an invite.” He paused and smiled at Grace “Enough of the funny handshake stuff eh, and down to real matters. You’re here about Claire you said on the phone.”

Grace took over. “We are Mr Fisher. We believe we’ve found her. But I’m sorry to say it’s not good news.”

“Don’t apologise dear. I guess I knew all along it would come down to this. Is this visit because of the bodies you’ve dug up on the old pit site? It’s been all over the news.”

Grace nodded. “The dental records point us towards it being your daughter and a simple DNA sample from you would make it conclusive.”

“I’m guessing you won’t be allowing me to see her. Although I suppose I won’t be able to recognise Claire after all this time.”

“I’m afraid not. She’s been buried a long time.”

Derek Fisher gave off a long sigh “The one good thing I’ve got now after all this time is closure. It’s such a shame her mum’s not around to know that you’ve found her, even though Claire is dead. She grieved right to the end you know,” he gulped and pursed his lips. “I’ll get the opportunity to lay her to rest?” he asked.