So when the news came of her death, it was not a surprise to him, though the circumstances of her death were.
Five months ago, Susan had got back in touch and told him their daughter’s body had been unearthed. She had been brutally murdered and buried in a shallow grave.
Hearing the news had made Barry focus on his life for the first time in a long while. He had been retired from the force for almost six years and in that time had lost his wife to a stroke. With his second daughter married, the past four years had been boring and lonely. He needed to get back into the job; get involved in the murder enquiry and catch his daughter’s killer.
Barry contacted his favourite CID protégé, Hunter Kerr — now a Detective Sergeant — heading up one of the squads of Barnwell Major Investigation Team and persuaded Hunter to take him on as a civilian investigator so he could immerse himself in the case. After three months, he had finally discovered her fate. Carol had been the first victim of the infamous ‘Dearne Valley Demon.’
He and Susan had buried Carol in a proper grave and supported one another in their grief. Two months ago she had moved into his home and they had begun the slow process of rebuilding their lives.
“Are you sure we’re at the right pub?” Sue asked as she picked up her bottle of orange juice and slid into her seat.
“Definitely. The George and Dragon he said to me. It’s where everyone in CID meets whenever they’re on evenings. Or at least it was in my day.”
“And he definitely said he wanted to talk to you about the murder of Lucy Blake-Hall?”
“Yeah he said something about the wrong person being convicted. Why, do you remember it?”
Susan pondered the question. “Hmm,” she mused through pursed lips, and continued. “I’ve forgotten a lot of the finer detail, but I recall the story. It was a case I followed religiously back in the early eighties. I used to follow our crime correspondent around like a little lap dog. I’d pick up all the crime stuff when he was off or on holiday and that was one of the crime stories of the year for the Chronicle.” Susan took a sip of her orange through a straw and then nursed the bottle. “From what I remember, Lucy was in her early twenties, married with a kid, a daughter I believe. She was having an affair with a local guy — I can’t remember his name now. From what I recall she was last seen arguing with him outside a pub in the town centre and then no one saw her after that. Husband reported her missing, and within days they had tracked down her lover, arrested him and charged him with her murder, but he pleaded not guilty and there was a long court case. He made allegations he had been fitted up by the police but the jury found him guilty. That’s it in a nutshell. He got life but he might be out by now, what with sentencing these days.” She took another sip at her drink, never taking her eyes away from his. “One thing about the case,” she continued, still clenching the straw between her teeth, “And which kept the story running in the Chronicle for quite some time, was the fact that they never found Lucy’s body.
Barry slowly nodded his head, “Interesting.” He took another look at his watch. “Howson should have been here over half an hour ago. He definitely said half twelve to me.”
“Did you say this Jeffery whatever his name is is retired?”
“Jeffery Howson,” Barry reminded her. “Yeah, long time ago. He’ll be well into his sixties now. He was a senior detective when I went to district CID. He was on another team so I didn’t have that much to do with him and can’t really remember that much about him but he can obviously remember me.”
“Weren’t you involved in the Lucy Blake-Hall case, then?”
“No, I had a couple of years away from the department. I went on attachment to Headquarters Serious Crime Squad for a few years.” Barry picked up his beer and eyed it. There was a quarter of a pint left. He drained it in several swallows, then set it down, letting out a satisfied sigh as he wiped the residue from his thick, bushy moustache.
“Do you know I wish you’d shave that thing off, it would take years off you.”
He set down his empty glass. “This morning you were having a go at me, saying I could do with losing a few pounds. Are you fed up with me already?”
“Now we’re an item, I’m going to lick you into shape so you can keep up with me.” She twinkled her hazel eyes at him. “Either that, or I’ll trade you in for a younger model.” She reached across and mussed a hand through his dark mop of unruly hair.
He shrugged away from her and picked up his empty glass. “I think you’d best remember your place, young lady” he retorted with a smirk. “I’m going to get another beer. It doesn’t look as though Jeffery Howson is going to show up.” Pushing his 6’ 1” seventeen stone frame up from the chair he added, “I have to say he didn’t sound too good on the phone last night.”
He suddenly recalled the chilling last words Jeffery Howson had said before hanging up.
“I hope nothing’s happened to him,” he mumbled as he made for the bar.
CHAPTER TWO
DAY ONE OF THE INVESTIGATION: 24th November.
Hunter Kerr eyed the paperwork littering his workspace. He didn’t like it when his desk was messy.
He had arrived in the office early with the intentions of making a dent in the stack of overdue reports, but he’d been here an hour already and somehow hadn’t quite clicked into gear even with two cups of strong, sweet, tea inside him. The third cup he’d brewed two minutes ago rested in front of him. He dropped in two lumps of sugar and stirred the steaming contents with the end of his biro. Then he sucked the residue from its top and returned to the task in hand.
Leaning back in his seat, pushing a hand through his dark brown hair, he read over the last sentence he had penned and then glanced up to the ceiling in search of inspiration. He was really struggling with piecing together his report on the sudden death of the young woman whose body had been found in the derelict cellar of a disused pub three days earlier. The main problem was the sheer lack of detail on the front page of the ‘Report of Death’ form before him.
There was certainly no lack of specifics in the ‘Circumstances of Death’ section on the reverse of the document. He’d been able to complete that part quite easily. A small team of builders carrying out renovation work had discovered her lying face down on the concrete floor, immediately realising from the bloated face and pungent smell that she wasn’t sleeping rough. The foreman had dialled 999 straight away and, except for where one of them had kicked through the bottom panel of the cellar door, they hadn’t disturbed anything.
Although he was still awaiting results from toxicology samples taken during the post-mortem, all the indications were that she had died of a heroin overdose. At least a dozen empty syringes surrounded her body. Added to that, the numerous discarded foil wrappings and a couple of spoons which showed signs of being heated over a naked flame, clearly set the scene that the cellar was being used by addicts as a shooting den and she had accidentally ended her life there.
For a brief second, he recalled the first images he had of her, lying amid the detritus of a damp old pub cellar, in the early stages of decomposition and with bits of her missing — vermin had begun to nibble at her purple-coloured bloated flesh. He closed his eyes and shook his head, then returned to focus on the file.
The only reason Hunter had been landed with completing the report was because the Pathologist had picked up on an injury to her right cheek; there was some bruising and the cheekbone was cracked. The cause of that injury was inconclusive, though Hunter had pointed out that she had been found lying face down on hard concrete ground. If the toxicology report came back that it was a heroin overdose, which had caused her premature death, then he could clear its ‘suspicious death’ status and leave it in the hands of the Coroner.