Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

Instead, what Jack appears to be holding is a black and white picture of three men sharing some kind of joke, judging by the open-mouthed grins.

Jack holds the image in one hand while examining the envelope for any other documents and, when finding none, returns the envelope to the evidence bag.

‘Can you flick on the light?’ he says to Maddie, who is closest to the switch of the desk lamp.

She obliges, and Jack holds the image beneath the glare, examining all the surfaces for signs for prints, but even I can see there aren’t any. Whoever put the photograph in the envelope was careful not to reveal their identity. Does that suggest some wrongdoing, because they’re worried about being caught? Should we be looking for a co-conspirator rather than an unwitting witness?

Jack flips to the reverse of the image, but again there is no obvious sign of fingerprints, though I’m no expert. What is noticeable is the lack of any dates or imprinted postcodes.

‘Is this all that was in the envelope?’ Jack asks Maddie, scrutinising the front image again.

‘I swear. I opened the envelope and peered inside, and as soon as I saw the picture I checked the front of the envelope and stopped what I was doing. I didn’t touch the picture. I phoned Emma straightaway and then locked it in that drawer. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined anything.’

Jack doesn’t acknowledge the apology, instead straightening and holding up the picture for me to see. Now that it is straight and the desk lamp beam isn’t reflecting from the surface, I can see the three men more clearly.

My brow furrows as I immediately recognise the figure on the far left of the image. ‘That’s Arthur Turgood,’ I say.

Jack nods. ‘Anyone else you recognise?’

I concentrate on the figure in the middle, and I’ll admit there’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t place where I’ve seen those capped teeth and bushy grey moustache before. I gulp when I study the third figure.

‘Is that Peter Saltzing?’

‘Looks like him,’ Jack says, still looking at me rather than the image. He suddenly turns to Maddie. ‘Would you mind leaving us to it for a minute?’

She doesn’t argue, quickly standing and vacating her office, maybe less keen to hear the conversation, and still feeling guilty about jeopardising the evidence.

‘Turgood looks younger than when I met him,’ I say once she’s left, daring to take a step closer to the picture. And certainly not as vulnerable as he made himself look in court.’ I focus on Saltzing next. ‘He looks just like he did in the newspaper cuttings we took from the vicarage yesterday, but this isn’t news; we know he had dealings with the St Francis Home. Freddie confirmed as much last night. Why would this person send us this picture?’

Jack remains silent, allowing the connection to fire in my mind.

My eyes widen at the realisation. ‘Are they suggesting Saltzing and Turgood were involved in the abductions?’ A second connection fires. ‘Or are they saying that Turgood and Saltzing had something to do with the murders? Cormack is potentially buried in Jean-Claude Ribery’s grave, a service which Saltzing oversaw, but there’s been nothing to link him with Pendark thus far.’

‘But we know Turgood was at Pendark from what Freddie told us. Maybe all this picture is telling us is that Turgood was involved in what happened to Faye, and that Saltzing was complicit in Cormack’s burial, but I think it’s more than that. Do you recognise the man in the middle?’

I look at his moustache again, but shake my head. ‘Should I? It’s only when I look directly at Jack that I see the blood has drained from his face.

‘Unless he has a twin brother, that’s Sir Anthony Tomlinson, the former Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. The same man my DCI has been teeing off with.’

The implication hits me like a steam train. ‘Oh my God.’

Jack nods. ‘I’d bet my house on it being him, but before we jump to conclusions, it’s just a picture of three men laughing. Right? We don’t know where it was taken, who by, or whether it’s even genuine. There’s so much people can do with photograph manipulation on apps and software these days.’

I know he’s right to be cautious, but if I don’t say it, nobody will. ‘But what if it is genuine?’

‘There could be any number of reasons the former commissioner would come into contact with two prominent figures, right? I mean, we don’t know when the photograph was taken but all three look much younger, so we must be talking twenty to thirty years ago at best guess. Back then, Peter Saltzing was being celebrated for all his charitable work to support places like the St Francis Home, and there was no public outcry about Turgood and the home until you came along. It could be a perfectly innocent meeting – a fundraiser maybe, or a political event, I don’t know. We need to tread very carefully, before we start accusing Sir Anthony Tomlinson of collusion with known predators.’

When I think back to Freddie’s initial dealings with the police when he spoke about the abuse he suffered, and how no formal investigation into Turgood and the home ever materialised, this makes sense. I too know better than to muddy a person’s name without definitive proof, but something in my head has finally clicked, and even if Jack isn’t willing to say the words just yet, today’s picture screams conspiracy.

I take a deep breath, and slowly exhale. ‘Where do we go from here?’

Jack slides the picture back into the envelope and seals the evidence bag before snapping off his gloves. ‘I don’t know. We have to be careful but I’m not prepared to ignore it.’

‘Can you take it to your boss at the NCA? If he knows Tomlinson maybe he can shed some light on why he might have been pictured with the others.’

Jack shakes his head. ‘And what if Dainton is working with Tomlinson to influence