Secret of the Dead (11 page)

Dawn looked around at the intense faces of her new team. “This could overturn the conviction against Daniel Weaver for Lucy’s murder. If those notes are the real thing, and had been part of the original prosecution file then I am not convinced he would ever have gone to trial, in fact they would have opened up the entire investigation into Lucy’s disappearance. It would have been nice if Jeffery Howson had left a note to explain all this, but I’m guessing that he didn’t leave one because he was fully intending to explain everything to Barry when they met. And as we all know he was murdered before he could make that meeting. So, now, in the absence of any other information, we are left to speculate why they were never submitted. Their discovery certainly supports the comment he made to Barry in his telephone call on Saturday night that the wrong person was convicted and he knew who murdered Lucy.”

She glanced at the incident board, where earlier that morning she had scribbled notes in red ink.

“There are only three people who can provide the answers to the validity of those notes. One is Jeffery Howson, who is now dead, the second is retired Detective Chief Inspector Alan Darbyshire and the third person is Daniel Weaver, who is currently serving life for Lucy’s murder. Hunter has already told us that on the original file he found that the contemporaneous notes outlining Weaver’s admission were not signed. The ones we have recovered from Jeffery Howson’s safe are timed and dated, exactly the same as Weaver’s admission interview notes. Only one of those sets can be the original notes and I know which ones I am inclined to go with.”

Dawn studied the faces of the detectives.

“I don’t want to even mention the unmentionable here, that two police officers perjured themselves to convict an innocent man of murder, but if the notes from Howson’s safe are the originals of Daniel Weaver’s final interview, then that is what we are looking at. And if that is the case, we have to ask ourselves why did Howson hold onto them? Why not destroy them? Because they clearly incriminate him and Alan Darbyshire. Were they some kind of insurance policy? Again, I am speculating. There are a lot of unanswered questions at the moment. But one thing is for sure– someone found out about the existence of those notes and wanted desperately to get their hands on them, even if it meant killing Jeffery Howson. And I guess that is also the reason why he swallowed his safe key to protect the evidence. Without doubt, the finding of this piece of evidence has opened up Pandora’s box, and for now we need to keep a lid on it. The last thing we want is an out of control media frenzy interfering with our enquiry which is still at its early stages. If anyone gets a whiff that the press is onto, this, they report back to me immediately okay?”

She returned her gaze to her handwritten comments on the dry-wipe board.

“Okay everyone, new set of actions.”

Turning to DC Bullars, she said, “Tony I want you to talk to Howson’s ex-wife. I want to know everything about his life. Who his friends and associates were during his CID days. I especially want you to see what you can learn about him during nineteen-eighty-three, when he was involved in the Lucy Blake-Hall case. We know from Katherine, his daughter, that he was separated and divorced a year later, so something had gone wrong in his marriage during this time. I want to know what that was.”

She switched her look. “Hunter and Grace, I want you two to find out where retired DCI Alan Darbyshire is living now, and go and talk to him about his CID days, particularly his partnership with Howson. I do not want him to know he is under scrutiny at this stage and I especially don’t want him to know about the discovery of the interview notes. See if you can sneak in about the Lucy Blake-Hall case without throwing up suspicions. I know that will be hard because he is ex-CID but I’m sure you’ll come up with some way of doing that.” She smirked at Hunter.

“We also have additional tasks, which DI Scaife will allocate after this briefing. The house-to-house forms have thrown up a number of enquiries, none earth-shattering, but they need to be bottomed and he has also drawn up a list of fresh actions from the Lucy Blake-Hall case. At this stage we have potential links, and although it doubles our workload they need to be established. I want all the main witnesses from the original investigation tracking down, and I want them interviewing as if it was a fresh enquiry. And find out which prison Daniel Weaver is serving time in. I know that the added enquiry is complicating matters. Lucy’s disappearance was twenty five years ago, but do your best guys. That’s it for now. Thank you all for giving me your fullest attention. There is a lot of work to do, but I know you will come up trumps.”

As she watched her new team move into action she realised the earlier tightness in her stomach had completely gone.

That’s a good thing
she told herself. It was a sign she was back to her old self.
Back to being in control.

* * * * *

“Push up girl, let me get in,” Barry Newstead said, wheeling his chair next to Grace and pushing her aside with his elbow. He tucked his legs under her desk and glanced between her and Hunter before hunching over.

“Listen, I did a little bit of digging last night,” he said, lowering his voice as if it was a private conversation between the three of them. “I contacted a few of my old colleagues to get the low-down on Jeffery and Alan Darbyshire after you told me about those interview notes. I’ll just tell you what I found out before you go and see Alan.”

Hunter’s brow creased.

“Don’t worry I didn’t tell them anything about the investigation, especially about the Lucy Blake-Hall link. I made out I was just after background stuff about Jeffery and his work and was chasing up anyone he knew or worked with him. It wasn’t easy getting stuff out of them. You know what the job was like back then. Nothing was ever straightforward and detectives took chances. Some are starting to distance themselves from Jeffery, not exactly clam up but they’re not so forthcoming about what he got up to. And I’m afraid I’m not much of a help. You see, although I knew him and Alan Darbyshire, they were part of another team, the only time we ever got together was during major incidents, and even then we worked with our own partners, so except for seeing them round the office and hearing what collars they had brought in, I had very little to do with the pair. To be honest, Alan Darbyshire grated on me. He was a bit too flash for my liking. Used to come to work dressed like a tailor’s dummy, three piece suit, matching tie and handkerchief, the works. And he always had to go one better. If you’d done a job well, he always let it be known that he’d done a similar one and better. And his villains were always more important than yours. I guess that’s why he got promoted.” He shook his head, cinched his lips together and huffed.

Hunter cut in. “Do I detect pangs of jealousy, Mr. Newstead?”

“Jealousy my arse! I could match him any day. It was the way he used to shout his mouth off in the office whenever he got a good collar. Don’t get me wrong, he did get some good results. He must have had some damn good informants on the go. It was just the way he went about things, always running into the gaffer’s office when he cleared a job up. It used to wind me up. I guess that’s why he got promoted and I didn’t.” He pursed his lips again. “Anyway that’s what I remember about him and I’m afraid I can’t help you with the years we’re focusing on because I transferred across to Headquarters Serious Crime Squad. So what I’ve done is track down who was in the office at that time to see what they could recall. I never mentioned Alan by name but a couple of my old colleagues actually dropped out his name during conversation and said that the pair were pretty thick with one another.” His mouth set tight. “And by that comment I mean thick as thieves. They were partners not just in work but it appears that they were close socially as well. A couple of the lads have said to me that from what they remember Alan and Jeffery sailed pretty close to the wind at times.”

“Didn’t every detective, during the eighties?” said Hunter. “You’ve already acknowledged that detectives took chances. I remember some of the things I learned from you, and your stories.”

“Not like that Hunter, not with the job, but outside of it. It appears the pair of them were regular visitors to a strip joint. Not just a strip club, it was also believed to be a knocking-shop. Back then, places of that ilk were well dodgy, and it was an absolute no-no to frequent them unless you were doing an operation. Well, talk in the office was that these two were regular visitors, and it was even hinted at that they were taking favours from the girls, and in exchange tipped off the owner every time it was due to be raided. Also one of my ex-colleagues mentioned that the pair were renowned for holidaying in Spain. Two, to three times a year, they’d go with their wives. Benidorm I’ve been told. In the same villa every time. Belonged to some businessman. No one’s said anything about them being bent or anything, and to be honest they were renowned for working loads of overtime, so they could easily afford holidays abroad. Their arrest rate was very good, especially on the important jobs, and because they kept the detection figures high they were the gaffer’s blue-eyed boys.” Barry pushed himself back in his chair. “What would you do without a real detective being around eh?” he grinned. “Well that should give you two a little bit of a heads up when you start pumping him for background stuff.”

* * * * *

Retired DCI Alan Darbyshire lived in a semi-detached refurbished police house nestled amid half a dozen others in a small cul-de-sac. He had been easy to find on the pension payroll computer.

Hunter and Grace didn’t call ahead, they wanted to see his reaction when they turned up unannounced, flashing their warrant cards.

Recalling what Barry had told him earlier, Hunter knew that cops and guilty ones at that felt the pressure just as much as guilty villains especially when they were being interviewed by one of their own. What prevented Hunter from approaching this interview the way he would have desired was Alan Darbyshire’s rank even though he was retired. Despite what Barry had told him, he knew that in some way Darbyshire would have earned his promotions and it had been instilled in him throughout his career that respect should be granted to those of seniority, regardless of what you thought of them.

As Hunter pulled up outside the retired DCI’s home he glanced across at Grace, wondering if she could tell he was uneasy. He checked his watch as he alighted from the CID car. Just after 10.30am. He made a mental note of the time as he pushed open the front garden gate.

Double-glazed windows and a side extension had been added to the property in an attempt to differentiate it from the other police houses around it. Hunter knew that many other cops who had bought identical police houses during the Thatcher era had done the same.

The man who answered the door was the same height as Hunter but twice his build. He was vastly overweight, with a double chin that blended into a flabby neck. His hair was thinning and Brylcreemed back in a style which Hunter thought lent itself more to the early 1960s than today’s fashion, and he had a neatly trimmed pencil-thin moustache.

Hunter pushed his warrant card in front of the man’s face and introduced Grace and himself. “We’re here about the murder of Jeffery Howson. I guess you saw it on the local news last night?” He watched for a reaction. There was none.

Casually, Darbyshire answered, “I got a phone call on Monday afternoon about it actually. You know what the police grapevine is like, even if you are retired. I guessed you’d be coming sooner or later to talk to his old colleagues.” Then he checked with, “It is a social visit?”

Quick-off-the-mark, Hunter replied, “Course, why shouldn’t it be?”

“Only kidding,” he grinned. “You’d best come in then. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind taking your shoes off before you come in the lounge,” he added, padding away in carpet slippers to an open door at the end of the hallway.

The room they entered was tastefully decorated and furnished, though a little too chintzy for Hunter’s tastes. A plain cream carpet, allied with similar coloured painted walls, was complemented by a mocha coloured large two-seater Windsor style sofa and two matching armchairs. Swag-and-tail curtains framed the large lounge window. Above the replica Adam’s fireplace, Hunter spotted one of Ashley Jackson’s wild moorland scenes, and despite the fact that it was a print he knew it would have set Darbyshire back a few hundred pounds.

This was a different scene to the one he had taken in at Jeffery Howson’s home.

Alan Darbyshire lowered his bulk into the armchair, nodding at Hunter and Grace, indicating them towards the sofa opposite. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, then added, “Now what can I do for you?”

“We’re trying to build up a picture of Jeffery. We know you were a colleague of his for quite a good few years.”

“We started out as DCs together,” Darbyshire said. “And then I was his DS when I got promoted. I was lucky, they kept me in the department and we carried on working together on the same team until I was promoted again. We always kept in touch though, before and after retirement.”

Grace had already removed her notebook from her handbag and begun making notes.

“How did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Course not Alan. He was suffocated.” Hunter wasn’t going to expand on the fact that a cushion was used to carry out the act, while another person held him down. Given the fact that Alan Darbyshire could also have been involved in the murder, he needed to be guarded about what he divulged.

The retired DCI inhaled sharply. “Good God. Poor Jeff.”

Hunter watched his face. He looked genuinely shocked.

“When did you last see Jeffery?”

He took another deep breath and composed himself. “It’d be about two weeks ago now. I called in to see how he was. As I’ve already said, we still kept in touch, though visits dropped off over the years. You may have already gathered that Jeff was very much a recluse, kept himself to himself. I don’t think he really got over his wife leaving him. She took his daughter as well, which made it even worse. And when she married again, well that really hit him hard. It’s awful to say, especially with what’s happened to him, but I thought at one stage he was going to top himself so I spent a lot of time with him. That’s why I asked you how he died.”