Buried Secrets

by Ted Tayler

  She turned into the London Road HQ and found the Hub building exactly where her colleagues assured her it would be yesterday afternoon. After she took care parking in one of the many vacant bays, Blessing checked that she had everything she needed, It was still only a quarter to nine. Should she ring Divya to come to the main door? What if she wasn’t in yet?

  An Indian girl walked past her Nissan Micra and looked back, Was that Divya? Blessing waved a hand. The girl stepped back towards her.

  “You must be Blessing Umeh,” said Divya.

  “Is it that obvious?” asked Blessing.

  “Alex told me you were likely to be early. Come on. I’ll show you around before the others pile in at nine o’clock.”

  Once they were inside the Hub offices, Blessing could see what Alex meant. The equipment was state-of-the-art and a priceless asset to the force. The pictures on the walls featured well-known beauty spots and historical interest places within the county boundaries.

  “Have you worked here long, Divya?” asked Blessing.

  “Ever since it opened,” she replied. “I used to work at a computer bureau near Tottenham Court Road, but it proved too expensive to live in London. When an opportunity to get out came up, it was no contest. My husband and I moved to Marlborough. He’s a junior doctor at the Great Western Hospital in Swindon. We have the same commute, twenty-five minutes. A quarter of the time it took in the city.”

  “I lived in Claverdon, a village five miles from Warwick,” said Blessing. “I joined the police in 2015 and worked at Royal Leamington Spa. My team worked on a case that brought them to the Midlands in June. The next thing I knew, DS Mercer offered me a job. It was so lucky. My father got offered a new post at Bath University. My parents wanted to accept, but they were concerned about me living alone in Warwick or Leamington. Now they live just outside Bath, and I’ve got digs at a farm near Worton.”

  “So, you’ve only been in the county for a month? Have you made any new friends?”

  Blessing laughed.

  “My little car broke down when I moved here. A tall, handsome police officer from Malmesbury called Dave stopped to help. We’ve seen one another a handful of times. It’s early days, but we get on well.”

  “They’re a friendly bunch in Wiltshire,” said Divya. “I’ve never felt threatened, not as I did in London. You couldn’t move for people in the city. Out here in the countryside, you’ve got room to breathe. It must be great living on a farm.”

  “It can be quiet,” said Blessing. “The work I do with the Crime Review Team keeps my mind occupied throughout the day. My oasis of calm in the orchard behind the farmhouse is the perfect spot to unwind.”

  The room soon filled with Divya’s fellow computer geeks and Blessing realised they weren’t all as normal as her new companion. Several were eccentric, both in dress and behaviour. The room fell quiet again after several minutes.

  “It’s always like that,” said Divya, “a mad five minutes, and then everyone gets switched onto their screens. The list of search routines never seems to get any smaller. Talking of which, shall we see what we can do to help your team with their latest case?”

  “I wish I understood more what you can do for us,” said Blessing.

  “I’ll try to explain what I’m doing in layperson’s terms, Blessing,” said Divya. “Metadata contained in images and other files can give away more information than the average user thinks. Say I was a hacker, and I tricked you into sending a photo containing GPS coordinates; I could work out where you lived or worked simply by extracting the Exif data hidden inside the image file.”

  “You’ve lost me already,” said Blessing.

  “Exchangeable image file format data is information that accompanies image files,” explained Divya. “Look at this example on my screen. There are dozens of fields that can be filled in or left blank.”

  “We know that the photographs that I sent you were taken while the victim, Alan Duncan, served in the Royal Navy. He joined in 1993 and left in 2004. However, looking at him in the photos we have, I don’t believe he’s left us anything earlier than the turn of the century. Alan was thirty when he moved back to Corsham. He’s in his mid-twenties in what appears to be the earliest picture we have.”

  “That group shot taken in the Valley of the Kings, Luxor,” said Divya. “Yes, I would agree. I’ve put your photos in date order based purely on how he and his colleagues aged. We can check that later.”

  “You mentioned hackers,” said Blessing. “What they do is illegal. How is it we can access so much data from photos or files? Aren’t we breaking the law?”

  “There’s a fine line, Blessing,” said Divya, “but when people publish photos and images, then it’s available for what they term open-source intelligence. I can use what’s visible in the picture itself, plus the metadata about when the photo got taken. Sometimes the data includes the device used and the precise geolocation of the image.”

  “I thought I read somewhere that many social media platforms stripped out metadata from files,” said Blessing. “I’m paranoid with what I post online.”

  “Me too,” grinned Divya, “but then I know how dangerous it is not to take advantage of every scrap of security available. If a user doesn’t know what data gets kept in a particular file format, they won’t understand the risk they’re exposed to by making a specific item public. We take advantage of that here in the Hub when pursuing a criminal case where suspects have left the data held on a file entirely intact.”

  “None of these photos has ever appeared online as far as we know,” said Blessing. “Alan Duncan sent them home to his parents to show them what a great time he was having in the Royal Navy.”

  “They do look a cheerful bunch, don’t they?” said Divya. “Right, let’s make a start.”

  The time flew by, and Blessing realised it was lunchtime before she knew it. Several techies left the room, and a buzz of conversation made it difficult to concentrate.

  “Do you want to take a break?” asked Divya.

  “My landlady never lets me leave the farm without eating breakfast,” said Blessing. “Every day, when I’m ready to leave for work, she hands me a lunchbox. I left it in the car.”

  “Gosh,” said Divya, “you’re spoiled, aren’t you? I grab a sandwich at the nearest deli if I’m lucky. I’ll come with you to your car and then walk into the town centre. I’ll collect you on the way back. Shall we say thirty minutes?”

  “That will be fine,” said Blessing. “I can see I’ve got a message from Luke on my phone. I’d better get that.”

  “Luke? Is that another young man you’ve met since you moved here?”

  “No, Luke’s part of the team. He’s gay and lives with his partner, Nicky, in Warminster.”

  “What’s your boss like?” asked Divya as they returned to the ground floor and into the car park.

  “Old-fashioned in some ways,” said Blessing. “He’s reluctant to use a facility such as this, but when he’s interviewing a witness, he’s got the knack of getting them to reveal something that progresses the case. The best thing is that he makes us feel like an equal part of the team. My old boss would tell me to listen and learn in interviews. I was very much a junior partner. Gus is happy for us to chip in if we spot a weakness in someone’s replies and can help him prise out that nugget of information.”

  “I hope I’ve shown you this morning that the Hub can sift through far more sand for that gold nugget than is possible from a series of interviews.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Divya,” said Blessing. “The search routines that are the Hub’s bread-and-butter are more than helpful when trying to identify a burglar or a rapist who’s in the system. Unless we’re mistaken, then these submariners won’t have a criminal record. After we collate the data from those photos, I’ll return to the office, and Gus Freeman will ask Luke to set up meetings. When he speaks to someone like Keith Smith, Gus will know his friends called him Smudger. He’ll know that Smudger w
as in the Valley of the Kings on December the sixteenth of 1999. If you were Keith Smith, would you try to hide anything from someone who seems to know everything?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Divya. “I’ll see you in half an hour, Blessing. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Blessing sat in her Micra and opened her lunchbox. How was she ever going to lose weight if Jackie Ferris gave her such delicious food? Blessing grabbed her phone and checked the message from Luke.

  Blessing learned that Gus and Luke had returned from their meeting with Davinia Campbell-Drake. That sounded like a fun discussion. The farmer’s wife lied about where she was and what she saw on the night of the murder. Yesterday, they had highlighted the mystery man, who may or may not have come from Eastern Europe, as a person of interest. Today, he had moved to the top of the list. When Divya returned, they should make the search for this man their priority. The submariners could wait.

  CHAPTER 10

  Blessing called Dave Smith to catch up. His shift pattern didn’t make life easy organising their next date. Dave’s phone went to voicemail, and Blessing had to leave a message.

  “Only me. Are you free this weekend? Miss you. Bye.”

  Blessing looked at the only item remaining in her lunchbox—the chunky orange Kit-Kat. There was something all kinds of wrong about that bar of chocolate. It was as wrong as someone deciding a blue banana was a great idea.

  Divya tapped on the window. Time to return to the fray.

  “Did you enjoy your sandwich?” asked Blessing as they headed up the steps to the door.

  “I try to eat healthily,” said Divya. “It might do me good, but I never feel full.”

  “Are you allowed chocolate?” asked Blessing.

  “It’s a sin,” wailed Divya.

  Blessing retrieved the Kit-Kat from her bag. She’d brought it with her to throw in the bin.

  “If you’re desperate for a chocolate fix,” she said.

  “Wow! Are you sure?” said Divya.

  “Positive,” said Blessing.

  Seconds later, at least the wrapper ended up where Blessing had intended.

  “By the way,” said Blessing. “Luke wants us to concentrate on identifying the mystery man in the ninth photo. Gus needs to know where and when our victim took that photo and the identity of that man.”

  The two women spent the rest of the afternoon analysing the nine photographs. When Blessing left the Hub at five o’clock, she hoped she had everything that Gus needed.

  “Thanks for your help,” said Blessing hugging Divya.

  “We aim to please,” said Divya. “Try to convince your boss that we’re a force for good. I’m sure his superiors keep telling him we’re here for his benefit.”

  “I’ll try,” said Blessing. “Can you remind me; do I turn right when I leave the car park?”

  Divya studied her phone.

  “Take the A361 and A360 to Court Hill in Potterne,” she said.

  “Thanks, Divya. I know my way from there.”

  Divya walked to her car and watched Blessing edge her Nissan Micra into the heavy traffic.

  Whatever this case that Blessing’s team was working on, it had just taken a strange turn. Divya wondered how far they could pursue it.

  Gus Freeman didn’t pass Blessing Umeh on London Road as they both made their way home after a busy day. He’d spent the afternoon trying to fathom why Bunny Campbell-Drake had felt it necessary to lie to the police. He and Luke had updated their versions of the Freeman Files and brought the others up to date with the morning’s events.

  “How does this case feel to you, guv?” asked Neil.

  “If you’re asking that question, you must have an opinion you want to share, Neil,” said Gus. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “We have learned nothing in the past forty-eight hours that has brought us closer to identifying the killer, guv,” said Neil. “Despite having carried out dozens of interviews, we’ve turned up the same scrap of information from several sources.”

  “If we used your jigsaw analogy, guv,” said Alex, “we’ve found half a dozen pieces that fit together to complete a tiny portion of the entire picture.”

  “When you finish the jigsaw, you realise how insignificant the section you took hours to puzzle out proved,” said Lydia.

  “You think I wasted time this morning by interviewing Davinia Campbell-Crake?” asked Gus. “She lied to the police. Phil Banks could have sewn this case up within a week if he had known what she witnessed.”

  “I can’t argue with that, guv,” said Neil, “but Tilly Spiers, Val Huggins, and Greg Meakin had already confirmed that the man in Biddestone in the days before the murder, and the mystery man in that photo, were the same.”

  “Blessing could have concentrated on that photo from first thing this morning,” said Lydia. “It’s the only one that matters. The others are just holiday snaps, aren’t they?”

  Gus wondered whether Suzie’s announcement last night had prevented him from giving the case his full attention. He’d always found a way to park any personal problems during his marriage. They had been few, thank goodness, and he couldn’t recall an occasion when he felt his performance fell short of his self-imposed high standards.

  “Sorry, guv,” said Luke. “We’re struggling with this case. I don’t think this morning was a complete waste. We have to stick to the methods that you insisted the team should adopt from the beginning. The only way we’ll succeed is through solid and meticulous detective work. If it means going over the same ground, checking and re-checking witness statements, then so be it. When we left High Ridge Farm this morning, you said that Alan Duncan’s secret was well hidden. He did that for a reason, and the holiday snaps might hold the key. All the photographs, not just the one of the mystery man who scared Bunny Campbell-Drake to death.”

  “Thanks, Luke,” said Gus. “We’ll catch a break in the end. If only we knew why that particular photograph went missing.”

  “The one from Happy Valley with five guys in Hawaiian shirts, guv?” asked Neil.

  “It had to mean something,” said Gus.

  Gus didn’t believe the others agreed. He recognised Luke had his back, but Alex, Neil, and Lydia thought the case was floating towards the rocks. He would drive home, talk with Suzie, and return to the office in the morning with a clear view of how to get this case solved.

  As he turned into the gateway of the bungalow, Gus saw they had company. The Reverend’s bicycle was leaning against the fence on the right-hand side of the driveway. Gus parked alongside Suzie’s Golf and got out of the car. He heard voices in the back garden.

  “Hello, Reverend,” he said as he turned the corner, “what a pleasant surprise.”

  “We’re enjoying a cool lemonade,” said Suzie, “shall I fetch you a glass?”

  “I’ll get it,” said Gus, “you two carry on chatting.”

  “Oh, we’ve only just started,” said Clemency. “Suzie passed me on her way home. I’d visited a couple of sick parishioners and needed having my spirits lifted. Suzie waited in the gateway for me and then invited me in to cool off.”

  Gus fetched a glass from the kitchen and poured a measure of lemonade.

  “I think a Chardonnay would have hit the spot after the day I’ve had,” he groaned.

  “A tough day?” asked Clemency.

  “Several of my team members aren’t convinced we’re taking the right approach on the case which we’re working on. I’ve told them before that the original detective team would have solved it if it were easy. Here, if certain people had told the truth, the whole truth, from the beginning, then it’s true, we wouldn’t have needed to take this second look.”

  “People don’t tell the whole truth for a variety of reasons,” said Suzie.

  “It’s not as simple as them having something to hide, d’you mean?” asked the Reverend.

  “It’s always that they have something to hide,” said Gus. “No matter how they dress it up and justify what they left out. T
here’s no excuse.”

  “I didn’t expect you to see everything as being so black and white, Gus,” said Clemency.

  “Perhaps we should change our topic of conversation,” said Gus. “How did Brett fare on his first day at the clinic?”

  “Have you spoken to Bert?” asked Clemency. “The old rogue probably suggested I was monopolising his grandson’s spare time.”

  “Bert mentioned a trip to the cinema,” said Gus.

  “We watched ‘Life of the Party’, where a middle-aged mother returns to college,” said Clemency. “It was a comedy. As for his work at the clinic, it’s fair to say it was busier and more varied than expected.”

  “Will you and Brett be around at the weekend?” asked Suzie.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Clemency. “Are you two free?”

  “I have no plans to work this weekend whether or not the case is falling apart,” said Gus.

  The Reverend finished her lemonade and got to her feet.

  “I’d better get on my bike, as they say. I’m keeping you two love-birds from your evening meal. It’s time to cycle to the rectory and pray for those poor souls I visited this afternoon. They won’t be with us much longer, I fear. Still, neither of them will see eighty again. They’ve had a good life.”

  Gus and Suzie followed Clemency to the driveway and watched her cycle through the gateway and along the lane.

  “How are you?” asked Gus.

  “No change,” said Suzie. “Still weighing the pros and cons.”

  “Sit yourself back on the patio,” said Gus. “I’ll get dinner and bring it out when it’s ready.”

  “That case must be getting to you,” said Suzie. “You were a tad brusque with the Reverend. Everything isn’t black and white in your world, is it?”

  “Of course not, darling,” said Gus. “Luke made a valid point today when he suggested that solid, old-fashioned police work would uncover the evidence we need to find our killer. From the day the ACC handed me the murder file for Alan Duncan, I’ve had this awful feeling that there’s more behind it than meets the eye. Tomorrow, we could find a clue that will have the same effect as dropping a heavy pebble in the middle of a pond. The ripples will go on for ages.”