‘Just about,’ he said moving the papers around on his desk. He picked up a coin from his desk tidy and rolled it across his knuckles. A trick he had learned as a kid.
‘I’ve been updating the computer system today from your personnel file and I can’t find the papers relating to your time in firearms.’
The line went quiet. Now he was between that rock and a hard place... He threw the coin up in the air. Heads or tails? Could he trust such a decision to the spin of a coin?
‘You still there, Jack?’ she asked.
‘Yes, don’t worry they’ll be at the unit.’
Dylan put down the phone. The urge was to tell her. Would she understand? She was different from other women. In his mind’s eye he saw himself sat on the sofa beside her, confessing everything, justifying nothing. He would tell it how it was. ‘That’s what the job did.’ Trouble was, Jen had led a relatively sheltered life growing up. The Isle of Wight, crime-wise was twenty years behind the cities. And the child in her, despite her age was strangely untarnished in spite of the police world she was now part of. She could read, see images, listen to transcripts of victims’ horror stories that were shocking enough as they told of man’s inhumanity to man but they retained for her their reality, a kind of conventional separateness.
Would she be shocked at his revelation? She worried. It wouldn’t be easy to tell her, and as time had passed he had often thought how the edge of that cliff seemed to grow steeper and steeper. His secret was a burden to him and the fact that Avril Summerfield-Preston had told him she knew, was always a worry.
Dylan was mindlessly shoving paperwork from side to side in his trays when he saw the advertisement for Chief Inspector vacancies. Should he throw his cap into the ring? Give Jen something to soften the blow? He had been a Detective Inspector now for a few years, and longer than most in the post, but did he really want to jump through the hoops at the promotion circus? There was nothing stopping him, but to him the whole promotion programme was nothing but that. It had proved to be for him a spectacle that had a variety of juggling acts to be learned, a few electrifying words to recite and a variety of clowns in it that performed in the ring. One positive was an increased pension, but did he want to return to uniform. Some people spent their entire police service doing nothing other than study for promotion boards, involving themselves in the art of assessments, working at police headquarters just so they could achieve the next rank, whilst doing as little actual police work as possible. He’d toyed with the idea, it could be amusing and it would cause some agitation to some of the hierarchy along the way, to think that he was even considering it. There was time before the deadline. He knew some Inspectors would have the application written and already be having their submission vetted by a senior officer so they weren’t paper-sifted at the first stage by now. He also knew not everyone who applied would be afforded that scrutiny. The promotion system was a unit that was like a force within a force and a drain on resources, and self-serving for some. He’d only just seen the advertisement and it was already starting to cause him concern. He flung the paper to one side. He had murderers to catch and he needed to speak to the Divisional Chief Superintendent in respect of an extension to detain Derek Harper. The normal twenty-four hours would be insufficient that was now clear. Now, he would request the further twelve hours Hugo-Watkins could give him. If that was still not enough he would have to go before the Magistrates and request permission to detain him for a further thirty-six hours.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was Jack Dylan and Detective Sergeant Paul Robinson who sat across the table in the interview room from Derek Harper and his solicitor David Scacchetti. Dylan shuffled in his seat that was secured to the floor. He hated the fact that it wasn’t permissible for him to stand in interview as this was deemed as oppressive.
A morbid thought struck him. If he did obtain the next rank he would not be allowed to interview a suspect, no matter how serious the crime. Anyone who reached the rank of Chief Inspector or above under the Police & Criminal Evidence Act deemed someone of such rank would be seen as tyrannical by association of their title.
Derek Harper had been examined both medically and educationally and he was declared fit for interview by the doctor. His solicitor had no comment to make about these findings, he was in agreement. After the usual formalities Dylan opened the questioning.
‘Derek, you said you were tired in the last interview and due to that we stopped it for you. Now you have had an opportunity to rest and perhaps also reflect on your situation, do you feel okay to continue?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘During the previous interview you stated that you removed the body of Kirsty Gallagher from the mortuary. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. I didn’t want her spoilt.’
‘Spoilt? Can you explain what you mean by that?’
‘In the process of the post-mortem they spoil them... I’ve seen what they do.’
‘So, you didn’t remove her body to avoid anyone finding out the reason for her death?’
‘No. I did not.’ His eyes were dark, staring and cold.
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes. I am very sure,’ he said applying a tissue to a rapidly flickering eyelid. ‘If she hadn’t come into the mortuary, although I’d seen her from a distance, I would have never met her, would I?’
‘So the first time you “met her” was at the mortuary?’
Dylan observed Mr Harper.
He spoke with an air of breathlessness. ‘Yes, like I told you before. I met her on the Friday.’
Paul wriggled cynical shoulders as he sat at Dylan’s side silently.
‘I think the alleged breakdown of the fridge, the alarm and the alleged burglary was all instigated by you to cover up what you did, wasn’t it Derek?’ asked Dylan his eyes narrowing as he looked at him for a reaction.
Derek Harper put a hand to his chin and rubbed it gently: his face was expressionless. David Scacchetti and Derek Harper exchanged glances. All eyes were on Derek Harper now and it seemed that time stood still. There were voices in the corridor outside. It appeared to shift his thoughts. When Derek Harper did speak he spoke directly to Dylan. His eyebrows were raised, his voice clear and strong.
‘You believed my story for a while though, didn’t you?’ he asked with a smirk. ‘I managed to have some time with her alone. I laid with her on my bed and held her all night.’ It was Derek Harper’s turn to look for a reaction. The serious mask of the detectives didn’t slip. He paused. His lips curled at the edges. He had expected a response, a consequence for this disclosure but all three professionals present showed none.
‘But you abandoned Kirsty’s body in the outhouse under a pile of boxes. It was you who left her to decompose and become nothing more than a rotting corpse? A post-mortem, the necessary investigation to find out how she died has now been carried out. You said yesterday that what you felt for Kirsty Gallagher was love. Your actions couldn’t actually be described as loving could they? All you’ve done is cause her body to decompose more rapidly than if she had been kept in the mortuary. I am in no doubt you knew exactly what you were doing and what would happen to her body.’
‘And your point is?’ asked Derek Harper.
‘My point is that you were using her body for self-satisfaction, nothing more, and you’ve been caught. Just as a matter of interest, what were you planning to do with her body if we hadn’t found her? It is very obvious you couldn’t leave it where it was much longer because of the smell.’
‘Ah, it was always going to be short but sweet, and alas all good things have to come to an end. Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, so they say. And one thing you can never do Mr Dylan is take away my memories,’ Derek Harper put his finger to his lips and licked the end of it.
‘We know Kirsty’s body isn’t the first dead body you’ve photographed.’
‘What’s that to do with anything?’
‘How do you
choose which body to photograph?’
He remained silent. Paul Robinson took over the interview.
‘We’ve got your computer and it’ll only be a matter of time before we see the pictures you’ve taken, in their entirety. Early intelligence suggests to us that there are hundreds. Isn’t it about time you were honest with us?’
Derek Harper looked at his solicitor who made no comment but gestured to him with palms upwards.
Dylan and Paul remained silent. It worked.
‘Okay, okay! Persistent aren’t you? Since I got the job, someone who I won’t name, suggested I take pictures of the dead people, post them and call the site “Bare Poster.” It seemed harmless. Like I said, they were dead, what harm could it do?’
Dylan wanted to question him regarding his latest revelation but he held back. Derek Harper was talking freely.
‘So that’s what I did. I fitted out my office. You’ve seen it. It’s my den. I took pictures. One or two to start with and then when they were well received I began to take more. I have a big following.’
‘Were these photographs taken at the mortuary?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are they all of women?’
Derek Harper’s brow furrowed. ‘No.’
‘We will be seeing the pictures you uploaded in due course, but before we do, can you explain how you took them. Did you open the fridge door, or remove the bodies to take them. Tell us, how did you do it?’
‘My digital camera’s good but it would have been a bit pointless taking a shot of them in the fridge, wouldn’t it?’ he smirked. ‘Of course I had to take them out of the fridges to get the right lighting and position them.’
‘Okay, so we’ve now established that they are all naked?’
Derek Harper nodded.
‘For the purpose of the tape Mr Harper is nodding his head. Derek please could I remind you to speak,’ said Paul Robinson. ‘Are any of the pictures you took in sexually suggestive poses?’
‘I did what people asked me to do.’
‘So why not do the same with Kirsty Gallagher’s body? I don’t understand why you needed to remove her from the mortuary.’
‘She was unique; in mint condition. I told her...’
Beads of sweat appeared on Derek Harper’s forehead and he mopped his brow with his tissue.
‘You’d moved on... And what, something more you want to share?’
‘Nothing. She looks good on the photos, you’ll see. Everyone said they thought they were extremely good…’
‘I’m trying to understand. Everyone? Whose everyone?’ Dylan said screwing up his eyes.
‘Members of Bare Poster.’
‘So you are admitting to publishing obscene pictures Mr Harper, is that right?’
‘Not everyone can see them. It’s a private group.’
‘And who is in this group?’
‘Ha ha! I knew you’d come around to that. I can’t grass, it’s secret,’ he said. He tapped his nose.
‘But how do we know this group exists if you don’t tell us?’
‘I assure you it does,’ he said.
‘You sure you’re not making it all up? It’s not just a fantasy of yours?’
Derek Harper shook his head. ‘No, why would I do that?’
‘It’s not like you haven’t lied to us before,’ said Dylan.
Derek Harper’s head turned on Dylan as if a spring had been released. His eyes grew round and staring.
‘You made a comment at the mortuary about the old guy, Alfie, that you’d placed on top of her. Do you recall that conversation?’ asked Dylan.
‘I do,’ he snapped. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory.’
‘Was he a member of your group?’
Derek Harper didn’t reply.
‘So did you find her dead body desirable, sexy even?’ asked Paul.
He made no reply.
‘Well, did you?’
‘I’m not into necrophilia if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Well, under the circumstances, if you’ve slept with a body...’ Paul said.
‘I know what it looks like but... You think I’d have sex with a dead body?’ he asked, pulling a face.
‘Really?’ Paul asked.
‘I knew that’s what you’d be thinking.’
‘How did you take her home? Was it your vehicle? And before you answer, it is being examined,’ said Dylan.
‘No.’
‘So how then? Why are you keeping things from us?’
Derek Harper sat quietly tearing holes in his tissue, his head was down.
‘Are you scared of someone?’ Paul said.
He didn’t reply.
‘Or, is it that there isn’t really anyone else involved? You’ve just been caught and it’s a fantasy? You obviously have no respect for the dead or their families. What will they think of you?’
He still didn’t respond but his eyes flashed upwards. Dylan knew from his expression that he was listening to what was being said.
‘I think you’ve carried out these crimes for self-gratification,’ said Dylan. He leaned back, stretched his legs to the side of the table and crossed them at the ankle.
Derek Harper lifted his head and focussed his eyes on the ceiling.
‘If we’re wrong, then now is your opportunity to tell us what the reason for your actions is?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Are you being paid for people to be in this group?’
‘Might be.’
‘If you want us to believe you were earning money by your little venture tell me how lucrative it was?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Was it big money? Was it worth it to do such horrific things if you weren’t doing them for your own personal gratification?’ Paul was pushing him for a reaction.
‘Sergeant please, that’s two questions at once,’ David Scacchetti said.
‘Sorry, yes you’re right,’ Paul said. ‘But would you like to answer either or both for me Derek?’
The corners of Derek Harper’s mouth rose into a sneer.
Paul leaned across the desk. David Scacchetti sat back.
Dylan terminated the interview before Paul took the bait and reacted. He could feel his inner frustrations. Dylan would speak to the Chief Superintendent and request for extended detention. Twelve hours. Dylan hoped that that would give them sufficient time to gain more intelligence and evidence to put to Harper in the next interview.
The team were working diligently, other specialist teams were involved and they still hadn’t set eyes on the photographic data on Harper’s computer. Dylan didn’t see a problem in the request being approved but he didn’t take anything for granted. Sometimes in his experience both Chief Superintendents and Superintendents were over-cautious, especially if it meant they had to sign and record their decision on the detention documents, which they would have to do in this case. It would be recorded on Harper’ s custody record. Dylan informed David Scacchetti of their intention but there was no representations.
***
Back in the office Dylan asked Paul for this thoughts.
‘Having listened to his first interview and reading the background on Harper my initial thoughts were that he was someone with a low educational ability. However, now I’ve had chance to sit in on an interview with him I think you’re right, that’s what he wants us to believe. There is no doubt in my mind he knows exactly what he is doing.’
‘I agree totally, he’s pausing to think about his answers before he gives them. It’s also apparent that he is only telling us part of the truth. Have you noticed how still he is? Body language always gives them away. Not many people can be animated in their gestures and look relaxed whilst telling lies.’
Lisa knocked on the office door. ‘The computer suite are into Derek Harper’s database sir. They want you to go to their offices to show you what they’ve found as soon as you’re free.’
Paul jumped to his feet.
�
��Good,’ said Dylan. He put his palms down on his desk and lifted himself from his chair. ‘Prepare yourself, Paul.’
‘If Kirsty Gallagher was a relative of yours, how the hell would you keep your hands off him?’ Paul said as he walked up the stairs alongside Dylan.
‘I think I’d rip his fucking head off,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vicky could hardly believe her luck. She replaced the telephone on its cradle and smiled. They had a hit on the National DNA Database for the samples taken from Jane Simpson’s neck swabs, and the hair found in the mask worn by Billy Simpson.
‘Got ya!’ she said aloud as she quickly typed the details into the computer.
‘Richard Bryant, thirty-two years, his only conviction was one for assault in 2006. Self-employed. Yeah, yeah,’ she said tapping her fingers on the desk as she waited for the inputted data to upload. When it did she flicked from screen to screen until she found the information she was looking for. The brief circumstances of the assault which led to his arrest and details being stored on the database were as follows, she read on…
Attack on a male which entailed kicking and punching him to the ground. The motive was unknown.
‘It must have been a nasty assault,’ she said, ‘for Bryant to receive a nine-month prison sentence.’ Andy got up from his seat and came to read the screen over her shoulder.
‘Suspended for two years too,’ he said.
‘It’s expired.’
‘His punishment?’
‘To behave for twenty-four months,’ she said. ‘Or don’t get bloody caught. So much for justice for the victim.’
‘The guy he assaulted has probably only just recovered from his physical injuries never mind what Bryant did to him mentally,’ Andy said returning to his desk.
‘Poor bugger. The trauma will stay with him forever, no doubt,’ Vicky mumbled as she searched other databases for more information on Bryant. ‘What’s the link between Jane Simpson and him then?’ she muttered. She wanted more about Bryant before she spoke to Dylan. At least to confirm his present address and she wanted to let the fingerprint unit have his details to check against any other marks that had been lifted at Jane Simpson’s home.
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