Hunter could see that the man was well over six feet tall and judging by the broad shoulders, expansive chest and bulging arms, which strained the white T-shirt he was wearing, he was someone who regularly trained and maintained his physique. His facial features were quite striking. Overall he had a tanned weather-beaten appearance framed by a head of thick, naturally curly, almost black hair.
His ice blue eyes, wide and alert, strafed the compound. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Hunter leaped from the driver’s seat. Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars were also pulling themselves out of their CID car and Hunter signalled towards them with a raised hand. “You and Bully hang back five,” he ordered and turned to the thick-set man framed in the doorway of the caravan. “Billy Smith?” He shouted, raising his voice over the now hysterical dogs, wishing he could silence them — permanently.
As if reading his mind the man suddenly ordered loudly “Quiet! Sit! Sabre, Spike!” Then with a smug grin turned towards the detectives as the two dogs immediately stopped barking and settled back on their haunches. “What do so many cops want me for? You’d think I’d murdered someone.”
“Funny you should say that,” Grace mumbled under her breath.
Hunter caught the comment and nudged her arm. “We could do with a word with you Billy. You got a few moments?”
“Sure come in, but wipe your feet,” he replied and disappeared back inside the van.
As Hunter stepped up into Billy Smith’s home, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the vision, which met him. The plushness of the interior took him completely by surprise. Thick pile carpets, lush furnishings and soft pine cabinets ran from its entranceway into the open lounge. Expensive pieces of Crown Derby were much in evidence, both on the windowsills and in the glass units. The smell of fresh polish hung in the air. The mobile home was immaculate with everything neatly in place.
“My next question is,” said Billy Smith as he eased himself into an armchair, “What is so important that it needs two car loads of detectives to turn up at my door?”
Strong sunlight shone through slatted blinds behind him throwing his form into silhouette.
Hunter narrowed his eyelids to catch a glimpse of Billy’s face.
“How did you know we were cops? We haven’t introduced ourselves yet,” Hunter responded.
“Dogs can smell you a mile off” he retorted. “Now get to the point and tell me what’s going on?”
“We’re here making enquiries into the murder of Rebecca Morris.” Hunter replied.
Prior to setting off from the station Hunter had briefed his team and decided against introducing the parallel investigation of the slaying of Claire Louise Fisher which provided the fairground link to at least two of the three murder victims, and only he and Grace knew the tenuous link to Carol Siddons through the Billy, Karen Gardner, Paul Goodright ménage a trois.
“I’ve seen that on the telly. Why do you want to talk to me about that? I don’t even know the girl. I’ve never met her.”
“We believe there’s a link to your fair, in as much as she was at the Feast fair shortly before she died.” He lied in order to get a reaction from Billy, which might indicate guilt.
“I hope this is not leading where I think it is. I swear on my mother’s death I had nothing to do with that girl. If she was at the fair I never saw her.”
“In order to satisfy ourselves, is it all right if we do a search of your home?” Grace interjected.
Billy thought for a moment. “What if I say no?”
“Well we have got a search warrant,” Grace responded waving the magistrates’ document in her hand.
“Looks like I’ve got no choice does it? But please don’t wreck things. I’ve heard about police and searches.”
Hunter called in Tony and Mike and the four of them split up to begin a methodical high and low exploration of the caravan.
Hunter ensured Billy remained in view throughout his search, continually glancing towards him through the corner of an eye, at the same time chatting in general terms endeavouring to relax him with a view to throwing him off guard when it was time for the more probing investigation-based questions.
Then after about twenty minutes Mike Sampson shouted from one of the bedrooms at the back of the static.
“Got something,” he announced and appeared in the doorway holding aloft a small item in a latex gloved hand. He strode purposefully through to the lounge followed by Grace and Tony. He showed the item to Hunter and then held it in front of Billy Smith.
“Whose is this?” he requested sharply.
“Mine, why?” Billy responded.
“Not with these markings on it,” returned Mike. “This is Rebecca Morris’s mobile phone.
* * * * *
“I’ve told you a dozen times I found the damn thing,” Billy Smith replied, an agitated note in Billy Smith’s reply to Grace’s question.
“And so you keep saying” she responded, “But you’re not convincing me.”
Hunter watched Billy’s face beginning to flush across the desk. Grace had pressed Billy hard to the extent that sweat was now staining the front of his T-shirt.
“All right, all right, I might well have not been straight with you but I thought you were just trying to pull a fast one on me with that Rebecca Morris business.”
“Believe me Billy we do not lie about murder. Especially of a fourteen year old girl.” Grace said calmly leaning across setting her stare upon him.
“I thought the phone was nicked that’s why I’ve not exactly been straight okay. But I really did find that phone.”
“Tell us where then, and stop messing us about or you’re back in that cell and on remand,” Grace snapped back.
Billy dropped his head into his hands, but only for a second. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and pushed himself back in his seat. “It was partially buried in the woods over by the canal — honest, you’ve got to believe me. I walk Spike and Sabre there every morning. I go over the canal bridge near the Low Lock and then let them loose in the woods. A couple of days ago they were digging round a hole just above a dyke and when I shouted to them they wouldn’t come away. I thought they’d found a badger set or a foxhole with cubs in so I went to drag them away. When I got to them they’d dug out a black bin liner and started to shred it. Inside it there was some clothing, a backpack and that mobile phone. I thought it was gear from a burglary that someone had buried to come back for later. The bag was only filled with what looked like schoolbooks and so I just took the mobile. It was the only thing worth anything.”
Grace turned her gaze away from Billy and looked towards Hunter.
If he was to be believed then this meant that the investigation was taking another twist.
Hunter had been carefully watching Billy throughout the last half hour of the questioning, studying every aspect of his body language. Looking for those tell-tale signs that spelt guilt. To put a finger on what those signs were was never easy and certainly not something Hunter could define. It was built on years of experience, gained with every arrest and interview. And he’d also learned from others — others like Barry Newstead. He had heard his colleagues refer to it as a sixth sense. Whatever it was he knew he had it. As he had observed Billy he had noticed that the man had always held Grace’s stare. He had never shifted nervously, or gulped when he had responded to her probing questions. Hunter somehow sensed that on this occasion Billy was telling the truth.
Hunter said. “Billy it’s getting late now, we’re going to terminate this interview, lodge you in the cells overnight and then tomorrow go and see if you’re telling us the truth. First thing in the morning, I want you to show us where you found the mobile.”