Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

“Hi, I’m to give you the full works.” He held out a hand to shake. “My DCI can’t speak highly enough of Barry Newstead.” He glanced behind them. “Barry not with you?”

Hunter shook his head.

“Pity. The DCI was hoping to catch up with him. It appears they worked together on some secretive joint force investigation into corruption in the Met during the early eighties.”

He held open the door as Grace and Hunter joined him and then pointed an extended arm up the open staircase that connected all three floors of the building. “We’re on the top floor. MIT has all one corridor. Too hot in summer and freezing cold in winter but whose complaining, still get the cheque in the post thirteen times a year, don’t we?” The Sergeant grinned. His features were strong and his hazel eyes displayed genuineness about him.

The top of the stairway opened onto a bright and airy corridor that led to suite after suite of rooms and offices, each one seemed to be bustling with activity. Its airiness took Hunter by surprise.

As if reading his mind the DS offered, “This place was given a full refurb before we moved in eighteen months ago. Everything we need is here. You ought have seen the place before it got its make-over.” He took them down the corridor. “I’ve got us a room at the far end where you can look at the files from the Kelly Johnson murder.”

He stopped at a glass-panelled door and pushed it inwards. They entered an eight-foot-by-eight-foot carpeted room. It was lit by a pair of fluorescent lights set in a chrome frame for maximum brightness. Along one wall was a framework of metal shelves adorned floor to ceiling with boxed case files. Hunter guessed this was where they stored the cold case work; previously undetected serious crimes of rape and murder which required reviewing now that new scientific methods, such as DNA, had come into play. In the centre, two desks had been pushed together, the light oak surfaces almost covered by an array of paperwork, organised into piles.

“The Kelly Johnson case.” DS Deakins pointed out with an open palm, almost as though he was introducing someone rather than something. “I know this job like the back of my hand. I worked on this as a young detective back in ninety-six. In fact it was my first ever murder case. I spent over six months on it before it was wound down to just a small team. It was filed as undetected after eighteen months and its one of our review cases now.” He rested his hand on one of the piles. “Everything is here. The witness statements, door-to-door reports and suspect interviews in date and alphabetical order.”

Hunter eyed the pile-upon-pile of paperwork. “You might be able to shortcut things for us without the need to plough through all this lot, especially as you worked on it for so long.”

“Yeah, no problem. To be honest when the gaffer asked me to show you the case it gave me the opportunity to skip read back over some of the actions I did on the case. In fact now it seems only like last week when I was working on it.” DS Deakins pointed out the chairs around the table to Grace and Hunter and lowered himself into one. Leaning forward, intertwining his fingers, he rested his chin, and flicked his gaze from one to the other of his guests. He paused for a few seconds as if gathering his thoughts.

In the background Hunter became suddenly conscious of the bustle of activity, which was coming from the rooms further along the corridor. He reckoned behind those doors would be similar scenes to those of his own murder team back at Barnwell. Officers busy on telephones or computers following up their leads to crack the case. Working practices the length and breadth of the country were distinctly similar despite each murder being different.

“Kelly Marie Johnson, thirteen years old,” Glen unlocked his hands and spun an A5 size photograph of a smiling teenage girl towards them. The colours were still extremely sharp despite the photograph being twelve year old. A picture of a very pretty girl, and yet with many similarities to the other victims; dark collar length hair, glistening hazel eyes, and with an air of innocence about her.

Hunter noticed that the girl was wearing heavy make-up and the pose of Kelly appeared more confident than the photos they had of the other girls. This shot was more professional altogether.

Grace took the photograph from the DS’s fingers, angling it slightly towards herself. “This is an unusual photo. Was it taken in a studio?”

“It was actually,” Glen replied. “Kelly had just been taken on by a modelling company. She was doing shoots for catalogues. That photo came from her portfolio. As you can see Kelly was a very pretty girl, looked a lot older than her thirteen years, and because of that she attracted a lot older type of boy. It caused a bit of friction with her dad.”

“What was she like as a person?” Grace continued.

“Well until she got the modelling contract just a normal teenage girl, but the six months leading up to her death her parents and her friends said her personality changed. She began to hang out with older teenagers. Putting jealousy to one side her closest friends painted a picture of a girl who suddenly got very cocky and arrogant and who began picking on girls who she considered less attractive than herself, humiliating them and even bullying a couple of them. She began wagging school and we found out she’d been meeting up with a couple of lads, sixteen and seventeen. We questioned them on several occasions and both eventually admitted they had had sex with her, but they insisted she had told them she was herself sixteen. What they did have however was unbreakable alibis on the day she was murdered. They were at work, witnessed by dozens of their co-workers.”

He took back the picture and viewed it himself.

She’d begun drinking as well; cider; and heavily. She rolled in drunk on several occasions and had bust-ups with her parents. She’d also been warned by the modelling agency about her attitude.”

“A girl with everything, pressing the self-destruction button,” said Hunter. “How many times have we seen that?”

“These characteristics you are describing identically match our victims. All the girls seemed to have been going through a real chaotic phase in their lives leading up to their deaths,” added Grace.

“In a short space of time Kelly changed from a naive young girl into a real wild child.”

“What happened on the day she was murdered?” asked Grace

“She’d come home from school.” Glen paused. “This was one of the rare occasions in recent times she had actually attended. She was on a final warning from the modelling agency. A clean up your act or your finished ultimatum,” he continued. “Anyway she got changed and told her mother she was meeting a couple of friends and would be back for her tea.”

He picked up some typewritten notes turned a couple of the pages over and then continued reading from one of the sheets.

“At four forty-five pm on the second of August nineteen ninety six Mr William Burridge was in woods at South Elmsall,” he glanced up, “Billy was known as a bit of a peeping-tom in the village. He did admit under questioning that he used to visit the woods on a regular occasion because they were well known as a rendezvous point for courting couples.” He returned his gaze back to the notes. “He heard a girl screaming. He could tell from its tone that it was someone in trouble and ran towards the sound and began shouting as he got closer. He described seeing a young man wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans running with a small wiry-haired dog before he disappeared amongst the trees.” The DS looked up from his notes again. “He got a glimpse of his face, just for a split-second glance, but it was enough for him to do an e-fit picture for us.”