Chapter One; The Inquest
The bar was dank and musky; the kind of place that probably couldn't even boast to having regulars. Only likely kept busy and afloat given its proximity to the Magistrates Court on the opposite side of the street. Behind the bar stands a portly dishevelled looking bar man, he has the aura of a man who looks like it's too much effort to even serve a drink, let alone raise a smile while he's doing so.
"Pint of lager ....and a Whisky," I request.
"Someone had bad news?" he unnecessarily chips in with a tone I take to be condescending, although it may just be his dulcet almost rural sounding accent. I refuse to respond, I don't wish to be drawn, not least when I don't know the true answer to the question, he's just asked me. Either way he don't know shit about me, he doesn't give a flying fuck, he's just the first in a long line of gossips I'll no doubt have to handle but I don't have to share my burden with every cunt like him.
As the drinks are placed in front of me, I hold out a Ten note, which he takes ringing the drinks through a touch screen till, amusingly I watch as his stubby fingers stab at the tiny keypad before he finally registers the drinks, placed the tenner into a tray that's thick with cash, from where he also scrapes together my change, before dropping it into my hand.
Taking a window seat, I cast an eye over the road outside noting the constant steady stream of people coming and going from the Court House. I recognise them immediately. Huddled under an out of place large Red and White umbrella, it looks out of place given they're all dressed all in black; as they have been throughout every day of the inquest. Gemma Gregson's family, her Mum, Dad and two younger sisters who I don't think I've seen since I was at school with Gemma. That must've been near two and a half years ago now.
I'd known Gemma most of my life, we'd started school together, moving on to senior school together, boyfriend and girlfriend for all of around two weeks when relationships of that length meant the world at the age of thirteen. She had become Mica's best friend when Mica had returned to the area 3 years ago, and although I still knew here from simply bring around, I had started to drift away from her since the end of our school days. Life moves on, you keep in touch with some dnd you leave others behind, that's the way it works. The Facebook, Instagram, Twitter orientated world makes you think you keep in touch but in reality, you can go months and years without truly ever engaging.
I turned my phone over in my hand Mica had requested I contact with the verdict as soon as I could. I could not bring myself to do so, couldn't admit to the truth. As obvious as the verdict was. Even before closing statements had been read, even before opening statements had been read everyone present at that inquest knew the outcome, the verdict had lived up to all expectations.
Gemma's disappearance had troubled Mica at the time, it had upset her deeply that her best friend was nowhere near her when our daughter Grace had been born. Gemma's parents and the Police had launched Appeals for her to return home or contact them. Social Media had been filled with her smiling face staring back at them from blue green eyes, but over the weeks and then months nobody had heard a thing or seen her. The fight for the truth, that had never been fully given up on by her Parents sadly, inevitably subsided and soon as a result faded from public interest.
Until that fateful day. Until two those two bodies had been discovered in the basement of the building that had housed the Club my Father had run.
Just like Gemma's parents every day for the past week I had sat listening to every moment of the inquest, hearing Postmortem reports detailing Gemma's demise and that of her boyfriend, 10 years older than her, Rowan Blackstock. Mica suspected Gemma had been seeing someone, which had in some part explained not so much her aloof nature but why she had not been around as much. Blackstock himself was recently divorced and as had been detailed the timeline overlapped Gemma as being one of a string of other women who his ex-wife had believed he was in a relationship with, Blackstock's ex-wife's evidence had not provided a glowing reference for his personality it had to be said.
How they had both ended up in the basement of the Club was a mystery that no one had been able to confirm or clarify. As the Judge had detailed in 'summing up' the case. The DNA evidence gathered from the bodies and the scene irrevocably though linked my Father to their deaths. His was, "an amateur," attempt at disposing of the bodies as one of the Investigating Officers had surmised. There was suspicion he'd not acted alone, and an extradition order had been issued for a man called Errol Jackson, also believed to have been involved given his DNA had been discovered on both bodies by Forensic Teams evidence. The testimony of his evidence could have held vital evidence; his absence was crucial to justice some had argued. Errol Jackson was last known to have left the UK for the Caribbean, his whereabouts currently unknown. With or without Errol Jackson it did not alter the fact that two people were dead.
I felt sick, my stomach knotting just thinking about the situation. I knock back the Whisky shivering as I do but still follow up with a heavy swig of lager.
I sense a presence approach from behind me. I don't look up. The fear of being recognised; the fear of association grips my body. My gaze still out the window as I watch the Gregson family all clamber into the back of a black mini cab.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
I grimace, I don't look up my hand gripping tightly around the pint glass set on the table in front of me. I don't want company, any kind of company.
"It's Jack isn't it?"
Her voice is soft, despite her question her tone isn't accusing or confrontational. As the Black Cab pulls away into heavy traffic. I keep watching as the rain refuses to abate. The gloom of the October sky adds to the sense of gloom that defines this day. The weather fits the mood perfectly.
Whoever she is she refuses to step away. Slowly I turn my head from the window and look up at her. I recognise her but I cannot place from where. I'd seen her earlier in the day in the public gallery of the hearing but I'm not sure that's where I know her from.
"That's right" I respond bluntly after a long pause since the question she'd asked, sensing she's not for simply moving away anyway. "And you are?"
I don't invite her to take a seat, but she sidles into the bench seat on the opposite side of the table from me anyway. Blonde straight hair to the shoulder frames a pretty face. She must be in her mid to late thirties. She smiles weakly as our eyes meet as she sets down a glass of white wine on the table.
"Jamie" she offers, hesitating on offering me her hand but she doesn't extend it "Jamie Pierce... I... I knew your Father before he... well before he...."
"Before he raped and murdered."
Her face drops visibly stunned she shakes her head gently from side to side.
As if the post humous sentencing as a murderer hadn't been shame enough of those that survived him. The inquest had brought forward a number of witness statements from both former employees at The Dark Star and any number of girls he'd met at the Club; each with a story of how Logan Hughes had drawn them into his deprivation, manipulating them and coercing them into all too often short hard brutal experiences. One former employee, who'd wished to remain anonymous, offering testimony that suggested on one occasion she believed he'd drugged her and followed her home and attacked her. Did anyone truly know who he was? Others detailed nights at his apartment where they'd been subjected to cruel often viscous sexual encounters. I'd listened as shocked and appalled as anyone else. Not quite understanding why so many came forward only now as opposed to when he was alive.
"I was going to say..." Jamie continued ".... before he died."
"Was murdered himself," I correct her.
Was there an irony, or a travesty, that even given every sordid revelation made about him and every allegation against him my Fathers murderer had never been caught, had never been brought to justice themselves; herself as it was strongly believed to have been a female . His body discovered by a landlord of a property who'd been chasing down a Tennant who hadn't paid rent. He'd lay strapped to a bed decomposing for nearly 2 weeks before he'd been discovered. His body slashed and stabbed 76 times. His face unrecognisable as it been hacked at by a knife, discovered in a bowl of caustic soda in the kitchen of the same property he'd been discovered in. Even his dick had been cut off; someone had fucking hated him that much. Someone had exacted their revenge brutally and methodically. Hearing all that I'd heard in the last week I was no longer shocked as to why someone would want to do that to him.
"Yes," Jamie nods her head her eyes a little wet. "Yes... murdered."
In that moment I know where I know her from, she'd been at Dad's funeral stood on the opposite side of the church and the grave. I'd only attended under duress from Mica. Mica having insisted that if I did not attend, I'd regret not being there at some point in my future, right now I regretted him even being a part of my past.
"You... you were the one that identified him you were at the funeral" I speak my thoughts aloud cross referencing that's definitely where I know Jamie Pierce from. She simply nods, taking a moment.
"He was a good man... he was a good friend. We worked together for over a year" she takes a sip of her wine.
