The Dark Star - Aftermath Pt. 01

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.

"A good man? ...Despite him forcing himself on all those girls.... were you aware what he was up to?"

"That... that wasn't him" she utters; I flinch but don't pull back as she reaches across the table and places her hands over mine. "I don't know why any of those girls came forward like that.... that was all one sided .... that was all untrue."

"Bullshit" I sneer unable to bring myself to defend him or hear anyone else attempt to defend him as innocent.

Her hands squeeze mine before she withdraws them, "Yet he didn't get to defend himself."

Her eyes look into mine; her conviction is unwavering, as if she reads my mind with her counter argument.

"Your Father once saved my life Jack... I knew him I know he couldn't have done anywhere near half of what they said he did".

She sips from the wine glass again.

"He was complicated.... there was a darkness in him... there were a lot of girls some of what they said was true... but he'd never... never force himself upon...

"Did you and him ever?"

She grimaces a little nodding her head "Yes... briefly".

No wonder she defended him, another notch on my Fathers bed post.

"There was an endless string of relationships.... which I guess eventually caught up with him in the end," Jamie stated.

"Only after Infecting all his victims with fucking AIDS."

The final damnation of my Father via the inquest. My Father had HIV. The legacy for a number of girls, a number of unsuspecting victims; to be condemned to a life sentence via the illness. Speculating the judge could not offer detail if this had been a witting or unwitting act on his behalf. It could not be certain he knew he had the virus. Casting favour on my Father by his statements the Judge had stipulated that no known victims had come forward in the time since between his diagnosis at a private clinic and the time of his death.

Modern medicines from what little I knew of meant that infected individuals could lead a normal healthy existence but the stigma of such a cruel disease lived on with them.

"I knew nothing about that either, it makes a little sense when..." Jamie defends him yet again yet but seemingly can't find the words to finish her sentence.

"Are you..." realisation dawns on me ".... did he infect you?"

Jamie shakes her head "No"

I take another swig of my pint before looking her square in the eye. "He was dead to me long before whoever killed him did us all a favour".

Jamie looks back at me visibly shocked "I know you two didn't speak .... but I know he thought the world of you Jack"

I sneer at her silently unable to disguise my contempt for the cheap, meaningless sentiment she's just offered.

"Do you know he had a picture of you on his desk at work?"

Her revelation catches me off guard. As though someone has leant over the booth and hit me in the back of the head with a hammer. Even if this were true just how was I to know or verify the notion? Did she not know I hadn't seen him for near two years. Since he'd caused a scene for myself and Mica when we'd joyously confided the news of Mica being pregnant to him. His massive, unfair and completely out of character overreaction to the situation had come as something I couldn't comprehend, not then and not now. That he sat their daily presumably with a photo of me in his desk, to portray the doting Father stuck sharply in my throat.

"So, why'd he never reach out then .... cheques in the Post is all he ever came to fucking represent. He didn't give a fuck about me, about my Girlfriend... about his own fucking Granddaughter... who he never even fucking met."

"I can't speak for him," Jamie responds, "I just know he regretted how he lost you and how he left it too long to turn to you .... far too long as it turned out."

Jamie wipes a tear from the corner of her right eye. She appears sincere. "That's..." she sniffles "That's why I came here to find you. I've seen you at the inquest daily but could never find the right moment."

I offer a weak smile, "Could there ever be one?"

"There's still a box of his belongings at the club... including that photo... I think you deserve to have them... it only seems right".

"The Club closed."

"The Dark Star closed but his co-owners reopened not long after .... perhaps too soon after he died. It's not the same ...no one could match his enthusiasm his passion for that place... at its height that place was incomparable."

"Servitu right" I interject knowing a new club had opened on the former site although I didn't know it was his business partners that were running it. I'd never been; never felt the need to

"That's right" Jamie nods "I still work there... albeit in a slightly different capacity these days."

"Jobs a job" I surmise; having spent too long off work myself this week; given I was not entitled to even basic employee rights such as holiday pay on my zero hours contract. Not that it could have been any less like a holiday over the last week, in which I'd seemingly lived and breathed the enquiry. Watching on like a car accident in slow motion occurred before me; knowing I was hideously unable to prevent what I was seeing and hearing. Going home to only scour what news reports I could find that covered the matters.

"I guess" Jamie offers a little remorsefully at my suggestion.

Altering the direction of the conversation Jamie brings the subject back to the mysterious box of belongings "Swing by one afternoon I'm usually there from around four.... please"

She implores and I offer a weak smile, "Maybe."

She matches my smile "I'll leave you to it Jack ....it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I offer even if only to be civil as Jamie slips from the bench leaving a half a glass of white wine on the table.

She pauses as she turns to walk away "You probably don't want to hear this but... well you... you have his eyes."

I hold off a scowl, too polite for my own good as I watch her leave, side stepping through the tables and chairs between us and the main doors not looking back once. I drain the rest of my pint glass and look to my watch. Time for one more I consider, but in truth not even debating the matter with my conscience.

Headed to the bar I look back to see two guys in suits jump into the booth I vacated, the only free seats in the bar. The place has gotten busy. My phone vibrates twice in quick succession a WhatsApp from Mica checking I'm Ok and a news alert entitled "Club Owner Guilty of Double Murder".

Ignoring both I slip the phone back into my pocket as I approach the bar. Trying my best not to dwell on the unexpected conversation I'd just held with Jamie Pierce.

"Same again?" the unenthusiastic Barman asks.

"Just a whisky," I reply counting out the loose change in my hand while considering whether to have a double or afford the bus fare home. "Make it a double,"

"A man after my own heart," I hear the words from my right turning to see a stunning blonde looking across her left shoulder at me as she stands at the bar her hand resting on a tumbler. She catches the Batman's eye, "Same for me ....and I'll get them."

She smiles and narrows her eyes a little as she looks me up and down. I return the gaze. A leather biker jacket zipped up to the neck, little black denim skirt over black tights and black ankle boots with a high heel. I smile back at her. She's stunning.

The Barman places two tumblers before us as she finishes her first glass.

"So what's your name handsome... Who are you?"

I feel myself flush a little; caught enormously off guard by her brash approach.

"Jack," I reply regaining my composure a little, "Jack Wilson."

Using my mother's maiden name, as I often did these days but not least because the name Hughes was probably a little too damaged around here today.

She smiles and raises her glass to me, picking up my glass I clink it against hers.

"I'm Chloe," she offers. "Chloe Macready...what brings you here today Jack?"

"Just a pit stop on the way home from work" I lie to her again. As I look into blue green eyes framed by dark eye make-up that seems exaggerated by her peroxide blonde hair that's dip dyed pink at the ends.

Chloe perches herself up on to a bar stool her eyes not leaving mine as she wraps her hair around her fingers. My mind recalling something my mate Tubbs had once said about girls playing with their hair if they find you attractive. I park the thought. For one she's out of my league and two I have Mica and my daughter Grace to think of. Still my ego somehow welcomes the attention.

An hour and three double whiskeys later I'm making my excuses but in truth I'm struggling at having to make excuses to leave. I could stay in her company all night. The Whisky coupled with no breakfast and furthermore no lunch fuzzes my mind but it's nice to hold a conversation not centred around the inquest for once as we discuss music, favourite Netflix shows and debate despite my lack of a point of reference the merits of her heading out tonight with her friend Sam, who I presume is a girl from the way she is speaking.

"Short but sweet" Chloe states with a flirtatious smile her hand gently reaching and touching the back of my hand as I let her know I have to leave. She then grabs a napkin from the bar and using an eyeliner pencil from her pocket scribbles an eleven-digit number on the white flimsy paper; scribbling her name, as if I'd forget, with a little x for good measure.

"Thank you I say," stuffing the paper napkin into my jacket pocket.

"Will you call is the big question," Chloe chuckles mischievously.

I smirk, "Maybe."

"Just a maybe?" She looks offended.

"My Father once told me to never appear too desperate" I realise what I've said and who I've referenced at the same time.

"Sounds like a shrewd man," Chloe considers my response. 'If only you knew the truth' is the first thought flashing through my mind.

"See you around Chloe." I offer as move away from the bar.

"Here's hoping," she states without looking back at me.

Crossing the still busy pub I exit the warmth of the building into the cold wet night. Taking one look back up at the Magistrates Court. I slip my phone from my pocket, messaging Mica.