Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

The technician pushed his spectacles back over the bridge of his nose, entwined the fingers of both hands together and bent them back until they clicked. For a few seconds his elongated digits hovered above the laptop.

The image reminded Hunter of a pianist about to play a concerto.

As if reading his thoughts his fingers dropped onto the keyboard and began their dance upon the keys. After a few seconds he mumbled. It seemed more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “The guy’s password protected his system. This will take me a little time.” The techie began to work the keyboard again.

Around the room the Scenes of Crime officers’ activity had also begun. They were setting up a camera to record the scene, and taping the unmade bed for fibre samples.

Hunter knew from experience that finding transferred fibres could link a victim to the scene. He tugged at Grace’s elbow. “There’s nothing we can do here for now. Bag up all the photos and we’ll get back to the station. We need to get Collins circulated tonight.”

She acknowledged with a nod of her head and finished sealing the exhibit bag.

* * * * *

Hunter entered the MIT office to find that Barry Newstead was its sole occupant. The big man was hunkered over a computer, laboriously plink-plonking the keyboard using only his index fingers. Hunter smiled to himself as he watched the seasoned ex-detective thump each key with his stubby fingers. It was a complete contrast to the typing skills he had recently witnessed being performed by the young computer technician on Collins’ laptop.

Hunter scraped back his seat with his leg, slipped of his jacket, dropped it over the chair back and flopped down. “Shall I get you a bucket of water Barry, that keyboard’s going to be on fire soon,” he said straight-faced.

“Piss off,” Barry retorted, eyes still focussed downwards.

“Now, now Mr Newstead show some respect.”

“Piss off Detective Sergeant.” He glanced across at Hunter, pushing his spectacles up onto his head, catching his gaze.

They both cracked a grin.

“Bloody computers, they’re more trouble than they’re worth,” Barry added, rolling his neck and knuckle-rubbing the tension from around his eyes. “Anyway Mr Sarcastic where’s your side-kick?”

“Grace is booking in some evidence we got from Collins’s place. We found a whole bunch of recent photos of Kirsty Evans. They look like they were taken in the park just before she was attacked. We’ve got him bang to rights when we catch him.”

“Any stuff relating to the other girls?”

“When I left Scenes of Crime were just starting, and a computer whizz-kid was just going through Collins’s laptop. Anyway I’m surprised to find you in. I thought you’d got a load of statements to get.”

“I heard on the radio that you’d not got Collins and I guessed you’d want all his background stuff to track him down. That’s what I was doing, or trying to do, when you came in.”

“Okay what have you got for me then?”

Barry snatched up a bundle of papers and pointed them towards Hunter. “I got most of it from the Sex Offender Officer in the Public Protection Unit. He told me over the phone what they had got on the computer, which wasn’t as much as what was held in a paper file they had, so he faxed me that. I’ve skip read it and it contains his entire prosecution file. I’ve also rung Probation and they’ve given me snippets from his prison intelligence record as well as info from all the meetings they’ve had with him. They’ve e-mailed me everything but I can’t seem to pull the bloody stuff off.”

Hunter couldn’t help but grin again.

“It’s alright for you. This technical crap is all new to me. Give me a phone and a pen any day.”

“You’ve done a good job anyway Barry. It’s saved us loads of time, but you didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“Oh I do, believe me I do. What I wouldn’t give to be part of the team to track him down. Just a couple of minutes with him are all I would need.”

During his detective constable days he had been with Barry on more than one occasion when he’d meted out his own form of justice on arrest, but it was the way in which he had almost spat out the first part of the sentence, which caused consternation in Hunter. “What do you mean?” he probed.

“Nothing Hunter. I just want to catch Geoffrey Collins like you do. The guy’s got a lot to answer for, killing all those innocent girls.”

Hunter thought that he faltered over his words and that wasn’t like Barry. “There’s more to this isn’t there?”

“No, no. What makes you say that?”

Hunter saw that Barry was blushing.

“Come on spill the beans.”

“Nothing to spill. You’re reading too much into this.”

It was the look on Barry’s face, which caused the alarm bells to ring in Hunter’s head. It was one of unquestionable guilt.

“Barry I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking and you more than anyone should know that. We go back a long way.” He stopped in mid-sentence. Things were clicking into place. “This is about Susan Siddons isn’t it? All the work you did off your own bat when her daughter went missing. Susan was more than a snout wasn’t she?”

Barry’s face set grim. “Nail on the head Hunter. I wanted to tell you ages ago but I knew if I did, you wouldn’t allow me onto the team.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t Barry.” Hunter raised his voice. “Be straight with me now. How long were you and Susan carrying on?”

“On and off for years Hunter.” He paused. “Carol Siddons was my daughter.”

DAY THIRTY-ONE: 6th August.

Nursing a cup of strong coffee Hunter leaned back in his seat. He didn’t normally touch coffee until mid-afternoon, but he needed the huge caffeine hit this morning. He felt so weary after another restless night. What with the images of his crazed father still replaying themselves in his sub-conscious, coupled with Barry’s surprise revelation yesterday, he seemed to be spending more time worrying about people than this case.

Recounting Barry’s confession he realised only too well the implication this could have on the investigation. True, Barry had shouldered this burden for too many years, but what a time to reveal it, thought Hunter. The ex-cop had fathered a child to an old informant. A child who featured centrally in a murder case. In fact one of the biggest murder cases Hunter had ever been involved in, and the ex-cop was part of the investigation. It could compromise the whole enquiry, Hunter said to himself. If defence council got a whiff of this the case might not even get to court. Hunter knew he had to keep this suppressed, and last night he had warned Barry not to reveal this to anyone else.

Hunter’s head was beginning to thump. He reached into his top drawer, took out two paracetamol tablets, popped then into his mouth, and swilled them down with the remainder of the coffee.

Around him he noticed that the office was beginning to fill up ready for that morning’s briefing.

Grace practically fell into the office, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She snatched the cup from Hunter’s hands and made towards the kettle at the far end of the office. She sniffed at his cup before she set it down. “What’s with you drinking coffee at this time of day?” She said, switching on the kettle and turning to face him. Catching sight of the dark rings circling his eyes, she quipped, “Jesus Hunter you look shit.”

“Thank you Grace, for those words of comfort.”

“No I’m being serious Hunter. Are you going down with something?”

“Could do with a good night’s sleep that’s all. This case is getting to me.” He wasn’t going to expand on his reply, not even to Grace.