Hunted: A psychotic killer is out for revenge... (THE DS HUNTER KERR INVESTIGATIONS Book 6)

by Michael Fowler

  “I think I might just give promotion a miss, then.”

  Letting out a short laugh, she said, “Don’t let me put you off. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I was on call last night, just for my sins, and I had to turn out to a domestic murder in Rotherham. It was four o’clock this morning before I got back to bed.”

  “Well, I’ll just get on with my nice holiday with my family on this beautiful island and wait for your call to tell me you’ve caught that ugly-looking twat, Billy Wallace.”

  “Very funny, Hunter, very funny. Well, you know where I am if you need me. Speak soon.” With that, she hung up.

  For a few seconds Hunter stared at the screen of his mobile, a smile across his face. Then, slipping it back into his pocket, he took another look out over the garden before returning inside.

  Given that they hadn’t enough time to shop, and the items in the basket of goodies left for them were snacks, the Kerrs decided to try out one of the hotels that Budgie had mentioned. On the top of a coffee table in the conservatory, Hunter found a well-used tourist information map of the island, and finding and tracing the hotel’s location, he checked that everyone was up for tackling the walk. Everyone was, and after a quick wash and change of clothing, putting on their stoutest, most comfortable shoes, they set off along the track outside the cottage gate. It was extremely narrow with overgrown hedgerows, and they had to travel single file.

  A hundred yards along, as they rounded a bend, they saw a sign for Dixcart Bay pointing them into dense woodland. Within thirty metres of entering the wood, they found that the light had diminished, and the gradient of the track changed to one that was downhill, and although not too dramatic a drop, the going became precarious, not only because of the lack of daylight, but also because of the vast number of tree roots that criss-crossed the path. In parts it was also covered in wet leaves, and Hunter kept looking around to check how Fiona and Beth were handling the conditions.

  Just over ten minutes in, Hunter noted dappled light dancing before them, and then the blue of the sky appeared as the woodland thinned out and a row of granite cottages came into view. Like the one they were renting, these had the same picturesque look with well-tended lawns, and Hunter paused for a minute to admire them and to let everyone catch up.

  The track briefly skirted around the cottages’ front gardens before leading them back into woodland, where they came across a bridge of wooden sleepers spanning a narrow stream. Daniel and Jonathan skipped across easily, but Fiona and Beth needed a helping hand. After another few hundred metres, the path exited the woods, giving them their first sight of the sea. The view was spectacular, though they couldn’t see the bay; the track dropped away beyond their line of sight.

  Hunter stopped and checked his bearings against the map. Just off to the right, another narrow path ran up the side of the hill, disappearing into a line of trees. “According to the map, that path takes us up onto the headland, and the hotel we want is a few hundred yards beyond.”

  The steepness of the path made the going slow, and by the time Hunter had reached the top even he was blowing heavily. He turned around to the stragglers. “I think we’ve certainly earned ourselves a drink,” he said, as the track evened out. At the top, the view was even more breath-taking. Huge rocky masses with coves and inlets stretched for miles, and the sea was so calm. There were barely any waves. “That’s Little Sark,” Hunter announced, pointing to the farthest headland. “We’ll go there tomorrow.”

  At the top of the rise, the track widened into a substantial footpath, taking them through a gate, where, after another fifty metres, they came to the Dixcart Bay Hotel, which was a long stone building with a cobbled courtyard, on which was set half a dozen tables all laid with blue-and-white checked tablecloths. They entered a building that was charming and elegant, with high wood-beamed ceilings, and although the setting was old-worldly, its furnishings had been brought up to date.

  The menu was à la carte with a special ‘dish of the day’; Hunter saw that this was freshly caught turbot, which he hadn’t tried before and so looked no further.

  Service was swift. Inside half an hour, their food arrived piping-hot. Hunter’s choice came with Jersey potatoes and a range of vegetables, and he attacked it with gusto, savouring each mouthful, swilling it down with another pint of the locally brewed beer. It was one of the best pieces of fish he had tasted in a long while, and Beth and his parents, who had all chosen sirloin steak, commented similarly on their meals.

  By the time they left the hotel, the day was giving way to dusk, and walking back through the woods in the low light was not only precarious but also spooky. Hunter reminded himself to bring a torch next time they ventured out this late in the day.

  Once back in the cottage, the boys immediately made for the TV and began flicking through the channels. Jock asked if they all wanted coffee, but Hunter took one look at Beth and asked if she would prefer the wine they had been left. Her face lit up.

  Hunter started searching the cupboards for glasses. Over his shoulder he said, “Fancy going into the garden with it? It’s still warm outside.”

  Before Beth had time to answer, Fiona said, “You two go out and relax. I bet it’s a long time since you have done. Me and your da will sort the boys.”

  Hunter checked Beth’s expression to see if she was okay with that, and seeing her nod, he grabbed the bottle of wine and followed her out into the front garden to where the table and chairs were. It was the perfect end to their hectic day.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hunter woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat; he had come out of a nightmare where dark shadows and phantoms from previous cases had attacked his sleep. Among them Barry had suddenly appeared, and it had been his ghost that had jolted him awake. For a moment, as his eyes registered only darkness, fear gripped him, and then the sound of Beth softly snoozing anchored his reasoning, reassuring him that it was all a dream.

  His head remained stationary on the pillow, his eyes staring upwards. It was far darker than their bedroom back home, and he could just make out the beams in the ceiling. He lay there, slowing his breathing, reflecting on the people he had seen in his sleep. At that moment, Billy Wallace broke into his thoughts, reminding him just what he was capable of. Hunter tried to shake the image out of his head, but it refused to go away, and after a few minutes he realised that there was no way he was going to get back to sleep anytime soon, and so decided to get up and make himself a cup of tea.

  He rolled over gently so as to not disturb Beth, and slipped out from the duvet. In semidarkness he found his shorts and quietly made his way down the stairs. Opening the door into the lounge, he stopped in his tracks. A dim light was coming from the kitchen. He was the last one to retire and he thought he had turned off all the lights. A sudden noise from that direction made him jump, and his heartrate picked up. He clenched his hands into tight fists and caught his breath. Another sound came. He recognised this one — the chink of bottle against bottle told him it was the sound of the fridge door opening. Burglars don’t root around in fridges, he told himself, and, releasing his fists, made his way into the kitchen.

  Entering, Hunter saw his father pouring milk into a cup.

  Jock stopped and looked his way. “Couldn’t sleep as well, son?” he said. “I’ve just boiled the kettle. Want one?”

  Hunter nodded, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair. Watching Jock put aside the bottle of milk and line up another cup, he couldn’t help but think how drained and washed-out his father looked. For the first time, he saw him as an old man. Jock’s muscular, sinewy frame, sculptured by years of boxing and training, suddenly appeared withered and bowed. There was a moment’s silence between them.

  Jock spoke first. “I never wanted this, Hunter. For you or your ma.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before, Dad,” Hunter returned, squashing the tea bag with a spoon. He watched the hot water slowly turning golden brown.

  “I know, but I feel
so guilty about all of this. If I’d have thought all those years ago that driving two dodgy guys around was going to cause me all this grief — not just me, but my family as well — I can assure you I’d have walked away.”

  Adding milk to his tea, Hunter gave it another stir and brought the cup up to his chest, clasping it with both hands. Meeting Jock’s eyes, he said, “You’ve told me the story of how you came to be driving Billy and Rab around that night they shot that woman and her daughter, but what’s always puzzled me is how you got mixed up with them in the first place. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know that Billy was a dodgy guy.”

  Hunter’s dad returned a down-at-heels look. “Yes, you’re right. I did know Billy was dodgy, and to be honest, son, I also knew his dad was a wrong ’un. Everyone knew they were into dodgy stuff, and yes, there were also rumours about some of the things they had done, beatings and the like, but because I lived on the same street and had known the Wallaces all my life, I just saw them as a family who were always having run-ins with the law.

  “Billy was younger than me, and I didn’t mix with him, so I didn’t know him well. Billy’s old man, Gordon, was someone who had a bit of a reputation for being a hard-man, but he always seemed to look after his neighbours, and I knew him from boxing. It was Gordon who provided the venues for my fights and brought in the crowds. When I got that nasty cut above my eye, and was told by the surgeon that I couldn’t fight anymore, it was Gordon who said he could put some business my way as a doorman. I was twenty-two, without a job, no skills apart from boxing, and with a flat to pay for and your ma to look after. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. And the pay was good. I ran the doors on a number of his clubs and did a good job.

  “Then, one night, Gordon came to me and told me that his son Billy was having trouble with one of the rival gangs, and he wanted me to look after him, driving him around and acting as backup muscle. I genuinely didn’t know what exactly Billy was involved in until that night. When I realised I was running him around to collect his drug money, I’d already decided that at the end of that night I was going to tell Gordon that I was having nothing more to do with him.

  “Then, as you know, there were the shootings. We’d gone to these tenements, where Billy said this guy owed him a couple of hundred quid. He and Rab went to find him, and they’d been gone about twenty minutes when I heard the gunshots. Billy came running back to the car covered in blood, with this really nasty cut to his face. He told me that he’d been attacked with a knife and that he’d shot them in self-defence. I didn’t know it was a woman and her bairn he’d shot, I swear. I thought it was the guy they’d gone for. He told me that he had to get rid of the gun, so I drove them to the Clyde and Billy threw it in. Then I drove them home.”

  “So, how did you caught by the police?”

  Jock shrugged his shoulders. “A few days later, three of those detectives that Billy murdered eighteen months ago turned up at the gym where I was training, and said they’d been given my name for the shooting and they arrested me. I was absolutely terrified at what was going to happen to me. They just kept telling me I was going down for life, and so I told them the truth and took them to where Billy had dumped the gun. Then they told me if I made a statement, and was prepared to give evidence, they would make sure your ma and I got police protection, and we’d be looked after, otherwise they’d make sure I went down as well, as an accessory. My solicitor advised me the deal was the best I could hope for under the circumstances, and so I helped them. In return, they helped me with the house in Barnwell and the paperwork to change my name. As time went on, I thought it was all behind me — that was until eighteen months ago when Billy and Rab got out from prison, and you know what happened then.” Jock sipped his tea, and swallowing hard continued, “I thought when he got caught again, and got convicted for all those murders, that would finally be the end of things. How wrong I was.”

  Watching his father’s crestfallen face, Hunter felt a sudden sense of powerlessness and sorrow for him. “I’m sure Billy will be caught again soon, Dad, and then we can all relax again and get on with our lives.”

  “Well, I hope it’s sometime soon,” Jock responded, shaking his head.

  Hunter’s thoughts echoed his dad’s words.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hunter awoke with an arm across Beth. He had finally dropped off after returning to bed just after 3 a.m. Now, sunlight was streaming in, and he remembered he had opened the curtains before slipping back into bed because of the privacy of the garden the window overlooked. He felt surprisingly refreshed given his disturbed sleep. Draping a leg over Beth’s thigh, he pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her body. He moved her hair to one side and kissed her neck.

  Beth returned a moan that registered tiredness as well as pleasure.

  “I’ll make us a cuppa,” he whispered, pulling back his leg and slipping out of bed.

  After taking Beth a cup of tea, checking the boys were still asleep, he returned back downstairs and drank his tea in the conservatory, looking out across the rear garden. Dew covering the grass glistened, and above the trees, the sky was beginning to show bright patches of blue. For a moment, snippets of last night’s conversation with his dad entered his head. If this was how they were going to spend their time in hiding, he thought, it might not be so bad after all.

  Showering and dressing, Hunter and Beth came downstairs to a laid-out kitchen table. Hunter’s mum had made a pan of porridge and a pile of bacon sandwiches for breakfast, and Jonathan and Daniel had already pulled up chairs and were tucking in. It instantly brought back a memory for Hunter of Sunday mornings at home, eating breakfast with The Archers on the radio. He fondly ruffled his hands in both his sons’ hair as he took a seat. He went straight for the sandwiches, lavishing brown sauce between the slices of bread. As he took a bite, he was reminded of being a teenager again. As he chewed, he mumbled, “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven.” Everyone looked at him and chuckled. Afterwards, he and his Dad washed and dried the pots, and then they all got ready to go and meet Beth’s parents: Beth had phoned them earlier and arranged to meet near the Information Centre in the village.

  By the time they set off, the weave of clouds they had woken up to had broken up, and although it was the first week of October the sun was throwing out enough heat for them to not need coats. They took the route they had used the previous day and within five minutes were entering the village. Hunter had expected the place to be small, but it was a lot smaller than he had envisioned. Just over a dozen single-storey buildings, clustered either side of a long straight lane, made up the shopping area, a line of trees separating them. It was jostling with tourists, and they meandered along, stopping every few yards for a quick window-shop as they made their way to the end, where they came to the Information Centre. Beth’s parents were sitting on a bench by the door, and Jonathan and Daniel yelled excitedly upon spotting them, bolting and quickly embracing them.

  Beth’s parents were younger than Hunter’s — they were both in their mid-fifties. Ray had been a firefighter, retiring two years ago. Sandra had been a primary school teacher, who had taken early retirement within two months of her husband leaving, and the pair had quickly settled into their new lifestyle. It had been so convenient having them around, especially with Hunter’s unsettled work pattern and Beth working three days a week. Then, six months ago, things had taken a dramatic shift. Ray and Sandra had turned up one Friday evening with the news that they had taken a year’s lease out on a cottage here on Sark and were renting out their own home to subsidise their move. Hunter knew from many chats with them over the years, even before he and Beth had married, that this was their favourite holiday destination, and they had constantly talked about one day getting a place here, but neither he nor Beth saw the announcement coming. It had been a shock at first, especially for Beth, but he knew from the many phone calls since that she was happy for them. And he knew it was a decision Ray and Sandra were so glad they had made. They
were already negotiating to stay on for a second year. Hunter also knew from their calls and texts that they had ingratiated themselves with the people here — Ray had become the leading firefighter among the volunteers and Sandra was a volunteer at the school.

  Beth hugged them both. As she pulled away, Hunter caught the beaming smile on her face. It was good to see her happy again.

  Hunter shook hands with Ray and cheek-kissed Sandra, and as he looked them up and down he couldn’t help but think how healthy they both looked. Ray was a broad-shouldered man who had looked after himself. His short hair, the colour of brushed steel, and tanned complexion gave him a distinguished look. He was wearing a blue Ralph Lauren polo with cargo shorts and walking boots. Sandra, wearing a white sleeveless top and light blue shorts, also had a glowing tan. She looked younger than her age; except for a few laughter lines around her blue eyes, her skin was flawless. Beth had inherited both her mum’s attractive features and her slim, leggy build.

  “How’s the cottage?” Ray asked.

  “Perfect, Dad,” Beth answered.

  “What’s made you decide to do this?”

  “We all had some time we could take and just made the decision to go for it,” interjected Hunter. The last thing he wanted was for Beth’s parents to worry unnecessarily about their predicament.

  “Well, its lovely to see you all. Why don’t we all have a coffee and then take a stroll? Have you been down to Dixcart Bay yet?”

  “Not yet. We haven’t had time. We went past it when we went to the hotel last night for some food,” Beth replied.

  “Well, why don’t you show us around the cottage? We’ve only seen it online. Then we’ll go down to the bay. It’s the best one on the island.”

  They grabbed a coffee next to the Information Centre, where a resident had opened up their large garden to serve drinks and sandwiches, and then, on the way back to the cottage, called in at the only supermarket, where they picked up enough provisions to last them a couple of days. Back in the cottage, Fiona made them all a hot drink, while Beth and the boys showed Ray and Sandra around the house and garden. Beth’s parents both commented on the seclusion and quaintness of the place, telling them that one of ladies at the Visitor Centre had recommended it.