Secret of the Dead (22 page)

It was a mess.

Not the type of mess one would associate with untidiness, Hunter thought, as he scanned the space. No, this place looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. The mattress from the single bed had been flipped over onto the floor, its duvet and pillow shredded. A set of double cupboards above a small sink and draining board were open, and judging by the debris over the floor its contents had been emptied. A single wardrobe had its doors wide open and various items of clothing littered the floor. A portable TV had been upended, and a large number of photographs, DVDs and CDs covered the threadbare carpet.

Duncan glanced back. “I think you’re onto something here Hunter. I would say this is no ordinary burglary. Someone was looking for something in particular.”

“Well I hope he didn’t find it.”

“We shall see, we shall see.” He turned and handed Hunter his clipboard. “I’m going to make a call back to the office. I’m going to need a hand here.”

* * * * *

It was ten past six in the evening before Hunter, Grace and Mike got back to the office.

Mentally running through the day’s events, Hunter made for his desk. He’d left Scenes of Crime still examining the scene, and managed to get the duty Inspector to provide a uniformed officer to stand guard and preserve the scene.

So far the door-to-door enquiries by Grace and Mike had not revealed anything startling about Jodie. A couple of the tenants had spoken with her on most days, but none of them were friends. However, the young man he had exchanged insults with earlier in the day had been surprisingly helpful. He  had seen a skinny girl, with dyed blonde hair, roughly the same age as Jodie, going up to her bed-sit on several occasions and he had heard them partying together quite a few times. After one such party, about a month ago, he told Grace that he’d got so pissed off with the pair of them making so much noise, that he’d marched upstairs and banged on Jodie’s door. The skinny blonde one had answered, and when he’d complained, she’d just laughed in his face and told him to ‘fuck off, you’re only jealous, freak.’ He’d collared Jodie the next day on the stairs and she’d apologised. He told Grace that he had seen this girl twice in the past week going up to Jodie’s room. Realising the significance, because Jodie had been dead for well over a week, Grace had pushed him for a description, but he hadn’t been able to offer any further help. Grace had fixed up for him to do a digital e-fit in a hope that it would help identify the girl.

It’s been a good start.

The only person in the office was DI Gerald Scaife. He was sat at his desk, head buried in a large amount of paperwork.

Hunter said, “Only you in boss?”

The DI looked up. “There are a few of the HOLMES team next door, the rest have gone. The Detective Super sacked it early. He’s had to go over to Sheffield, to the BBC studios, to do a piece for Look North, for tonight’s news. Not much has happened here today so everyone is back in tomorrow for eight am briefing. I’m just trying to clear some of the backlog.” He laid down his pen and pushed himself back from his desk. “Your day’s been quite eventful, I understand.”

For the third time that day, Hunter told Jodie’s story, quickly brushing over the part where he had been assaulted. He was still embarrassed that he had come off second best. “The place had been well and truly turned over by that guy, and it’s now looking likely that she’s been murdered. Someone injected her with a lethal dose of heroin to make it look as though it was an accident.” He looked serious. “What for yet, we don’t know. When I left, half an hour ago, SOCO had not turned up anything, and we’ve still got to track down this blonde girl who’s been a regular visitor in the past few months. With a bit of luck, she might know the secret Jodie was keeping. Until we find that out, we’re struggling to come up with any answers. The Super, Dawn Leggate, was going to arrange a second PM for tomorrow to see if that will turn anything up. Jodie had bruising to her cheek and I have to confess I initially thought it was where she had fallen, but it now could be evidence of an assault. It’s something the pathologist can check.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Grace picking up items from her desk and returning them to drawers. She was ready for home. He asked. “Do you know where Detective Superintending Leggate is? Has she said anything about what she wants us to do?”

“Yes, she told me to tell you to call it a day. She went off to headquarters a couple of hours ago to see if she could sort out an incident suite and see what other resources were available. She’ll ring you later at home and let you know where you need to be for briefing tomorrow.”

Hunter turned to his own desk to tidy things away.

The DI said, “There’s a couple of messages on your desk. That reporter Guy Armstrong has been trying to get hold of you most of the afternoon. He’s left his mobile number and home number and asked if you’d call him the minute you got in. I think he’s also left a message on your voicemail.”

Hunter viewed several scrap pieces of paper on his desk blotter. There were four notes in all, two of them with phone numbers. He bundled them together and dropped them into his pending tray.

Turning toward the doors, he called back, “He’s a determined man if nothing else. He’ll have to wait until tomorrow now. I’ve got a glass of whisky with my name on it waiting for me back home.

- ooOoo -

DAY NINE: 2
nd
December.

Closing the garden gate behind him, Hunter stood for a moment admiring the landscape. A hoar frost blanketed as far as he could see. Taking in a long, deep breath, expanding his chest, Hunter held it a few seconds and then exhaled slowly. The breath left his mouth as a wisp of freezing air.

After speaking with Det. Supt. Leggate late last night, he knew he had the time this morning to have a lengthy run into work; she had earmarked an incident suite for the Jodie Marie Jenkinson investigation, but it wouldn’t be up and running until later in the day and so she told him to turn up at the MIT department as usual.

Jogging on the spot to warm up his leg muscles, he gazed at the sky. A milky light from a pale winter sun was just beginning to bleach through a thin veil of light grey. The day ahead looked promising, he thought, as he set off on his run.

Within a couple of seconds he had pushed his way through frozen waist-high ferns and joined the track of the old racecourse which abutted his garden. Adjusting his breathing, and fixing his gaze to where the straight hit the first bend on his route, he kicked his heels up a pace and headed off in the direction of work.

Showered and changed into his suit, feeling buoyant and fresh, Hunter entered an office bustling with activity. A couple more detectives swelled their ranks this morning; two members of the Cold Case Unit had joined the team.

Despite the new arrivals, he knew they were still going to be stretched, especially now there was his investigation to add to the mix.

Putting a Windsor knot in his tie, he settled into his seat, glancing across his desk to where Grace was blowing into a well-filled cup. He saw that his own mug, resting on its coaster, had been filled. The contents were still steaming. He picked it up firmly between two hands and took a gulp.

“Mmm, that tea’s like nectar. Just what I needed after my run,” he said, then asked, “Been in long?”

“Ten minutes, that’s all.”

“Much happening? I see a couple of lads from the cold case unit have joined us.”

“Yeah, they came in apparently after everyone had gone home to help the HOLMES crew man the phones following Mr Robshaw’s appeal yesterday.”

“I saw that on the late evening news. Did anything positive came out of it?”

“I had ten minutes with Isobel this morning and she tells me that they only got a dozen or so calls all night. She said a few of those were helpful. One of them was from a friend of one of the girls who was a witness at Daniel Weaver’s trial. She says her friend saw Weaver and Lucy arguing in the market place. She told me that the girl’s now married and lives near Yarmouth. Isobel’s expecting to get a call from the woman this morning. That’ll be a good run out for someone. And one has given us a lead in the Jeffery Howson case. A couple coming back from the pub on the Saturday night saw a car parked up close to the bottom of the path which leads up to the back of Jeffery’s garden. That looks promising. Other than that, the usual crank calls - a couple from mediums who say they know where she’s buried. That sums it up, I think. I’ve had a quick chat with one of the new lads as well. He told me that their brief is to help with tracing the remaining witnesses from the Lucy Blake-Hall case.” Grace set down her cup. “By the way, have you heard the other news?”

“News? You mean TV/radio news, or police gossip news?”

“Guy Armstrong’s dead!”

“Guy Armstrong, as in nosy, pain in the arse reporter, Guy Armstrong?”

Grace nodded. “Killed in a road accident last night.”

“You are kidding me?”

“No. Isobel told me that she bumped into the duty Inspector last night, before she went off. He was just turning out to the accident. I don’t know all of the details - Traffic are dealing - but it looks as though he’s missed a bend on his way home from the pub last night and crashed into a tree. His car went up in flames.”

“Jesus, poor guy s’cuse the pun. I know I said he was a pain in the arse, but I wouldn’t wish that on him.” Then Hunter remembered his conversation with DI Scaife. He set down his mug and rifled through his pending tray, pulling out the four scribbled notes on scrap paper he had tidied away. He spread them out on his blotter and studied each one. None contained any specific details, other than to state that Armstrong wanted to speak with him. Two contained a mobile and landline telephone number.

Suddenly he felt guilty about not calling. Hunter started to collect together the notes, and then recalled something else DI Scaife had said just before he left the office. He snatched up the handset of his desk phone and punched in his voicemail number and code. Gripping the receiver between ear and shoulder, he grabbed several blank sheets of scrap paper from a pile and picked up his pen, ready to make notes. Then he hit the number one key to retrieve his recorded calls. He had six messages on his list - five of them were old ones he had stored. Guy Armstrong’s was the only fresh one. He tapped the star key to play it. The message lasted twenty seconds. Although he had his pen poised over paper, Hunter never made a note. While listening to Guy Armstrong’s recording, his eyes wandered blankly around the office as he took it in.

When it had finished, he said excitedly, “Bloody hell Grace, just listen to this message Armstrong left me.”

He punched the play key again and engaged the speakerphone. Despite sounding a little bit mechanical, there was no doubt that it was Guy Armstrong’s voice.

“Detective Sergeant Kerr, this is Guy Armstrong. It’s important that I speak with you. I’ve just learned that Jodie Jenkinson is dead and that you are investigating it. The reason why I am ringing you is because Jodie was the source I mentioned to you the other night. It was her who tipped me off about the Lucy Blake-Hall case. A couple of weeks ago, she overheard a conversation between two people which leaves me to believe that Daniel Weaver really is innocent of her murder. I could do with seeing you. I’ve left you my mobile and home phone number and I’m going to call into the George and Dragon at Wentworth tonight to hopefully catch you. As soon as you get this message, please call me.”

Hunter struck the store key on his desk phone and slowly set down the handset.

To Grace, he said, “Talk about a voice from the grave.”

* * * * *

It was almost ten-thirty before morning briefing started.

Following Hunter’s phone call, Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate hot-footed it back from District Headquarters, and with the help of Hunter and a member of the HOLMES team set up an incident board displaying all the latest information associated with the death of Jodie Marie Jenkinson.

Grace had printed off the computerised incident log, relating to the previous evening’s incident involving Guy Armstrong, which was still categorised as a fatal road traffic collision. The print-out was lengthy and had taken her a good quarter of an hour to read and digest. She had underlined wherever a police officer’s, or fire officer’s name appeared and had made a note of which Scenes of Crime Officer had turned out - all were potential witnesses. She had also been given the job of locating Armstrong’s address as well as finding out who he worked for.

The two Cold Case Unit detectives seconded onto the team were already hard at it, working alongside Barry Newstead, following up the previous evening’s phone calls from the Detective Superintendent’s TV broadcast, and tracking down the last few remaining witnesses from the Lucy Blake-Hall file, who had not been traced because they had either moved, changed their details, or both, since the court proceedings. Other members of the team were making phone calls relating to the tasks they had been given, or writing up the results to feed back into the system.

The sudden call of, “Okay folks, listen up,” grabbed everyone’s attention and a sea of eyes followed Detective Superintendents Michael Robshaw and Dawn Leggate as they made their way to the front of the incident room.

There were now three separate incident boards. The two SIOs stopped either side of the latest addition; the one which displayed information relating to Jodie’s death.

Michael Robshaw opened the briefing. “First things first. Last night’s TV appeal. I’m guessing you all saw it? We’ve got a couple of good calls. One of them, giving us the new details and address of a previous witness in the Daniel Weaver trial, which we’ll be following up. But one I’m especially excited about relates to Jeffery Howson’s murder. A couple who live three streets away from Jeffery were on their way back from the pub just before half-past-ten on the Saturday evening, when we believe he was killed, when they noticed a dark coloured four-by-four parked very close to the entranceway of the path which leads into the woods. And as we all know that path runs past the bottom of Jeffery Howson’s garden. I want that call following up as a priority this morning. See if we can identify that vehicle, and more importantly, if they saw anyone with it. That’s our first positive lead.” He paused and looked around the team. “We don’t happen to know what vehicle Alan Darbyshire drives do we?” The SIO’s eyes levelled on Hunter.